the tattoo sprawls across his back,
its edges flirting with his ribs:
a tapestry on a hollow puppet
she runs her hands over it,
fingers skimming from the sharp
angles of his shoulder blades to
the dent of his lower back to
the puckered flesh of his sides
it's eating you, she says,
and he does not answer.
under the sunlight she is divine. she breathes stitches of words at a time, secrets knotted up in her ribs and staining the soft skin of her stomach. no one is innocent without a little guilt, and she has hers in purple-brown marks. press them, and the pain makes her smile. she had hair to her waist and the children on the street called her rapunzel, but she chopped it to her chin and there it hangs now, brusquely. her throat is naked but her new bangs shield her eyes from the sun.
Everyone calls him Slug. He's a scrappy kid, with the kind of scrawny ribs and chicken legs that gets you towel-whipped in the locker room, and looks more twelve than sixteen. I suspect I'm the only one who remembers his real name, Mark Gartenberg, and that's just because he lives next door.
Even when I was four and my family had just moved in, I knew there was something off about him. His eyes were too big, his mouth too straight, and he wouldn't play normal games like everyone else.
The first time I met him, I was excited to play with someone other than my sister, who only ever wanted to play Castle Rescue, demanding that I save her from
Rickshaw Chained to a Rickshaw by icy-moon-shadow, literature
Literature
Rickshaw Chained to a Rickshaw
He had cheekbones like god's fingers and a rickshaw chained to his spine. The links swung as metal trapeze artists and made the air taste like rust. He could hear the audience murmuring, but did not know where they were. Where are your eyes? the lady in the cart asked him. He was ashamed; he could not weep. The curtain swept down, but the links never stopped swinging.
angels with
butterfly eyelashes
and slatted ribs
they slide past
walls, curve through
windows, tuck inside
blinking streetlamps
they have no wings
and no eyes but when
they wrap against me,
they swear they are whole
he has cheekbones like
god's fingers
she twined her hand in
his and looked up with
quixotic eyes
but he pushed her wrist
away and breathed a
pyrrhic victory
Cookiecutter Houses by icy-moon-shadow, literature
Literature
Cookiecutter Houses
she sliced the sky with cookiecutters
and the pieces fell like bodies
into her arms
she built sandcastles out of the ashes
of her fireplace
but they sank apart under
a single breath
the bricks of her house curl up
like bones and gawp at her with
their ugly teeth
she removes them, one by one,
and weeps when her house refuses
to crumble
her body curved like a spoon,
pressed flat on the wooden floor
with dank moonlight clinging as
drunken, sloppy kisses on her flesh
her hair splayed in a soft blond
halo around her skull, the skin at
the top of her head thin enough to
let blue veins track through
the room was black except for the
light through her window and
the cancerous glow of her cell phone
vibrating on her bedspread
she dreamed she was immortal;
even as her tissue-paper lungs racked
for breath and her sunken heart
gasped and her anorexic fingers
gutted the air
she stilled
and in a moment she lived forever
The Insomniac's Desire by icy-moon-shadow, literature
Literature
The Insomniac's Desire
she would be dead before their metal
bodies rust; her swollen heart would
quit churning and her watery blood
would stop flowing
so they built a glass Heaven for her
and erected stiff metal supports
below gaping windows, like mouths
without air
they teased flowers out of the dust
on her floor and stroked sunlight
all through the enclosure
they watch her:
her face, dull and expressionless,
her lips, fumbling at half-formed sounds,
her fingers, curled into claws, smear
the glass with fingerprints
they do not understand her or
what she is supposed to be
they are alone so they believe
she is beautiful, and they know
only
the tattoo sprawls across his back,
its edges flirting with his ribs:
a tapestry on a hollow puppet
she runs her hands over it,
fingers skimming from the sharp
angles of his shoulder blades to
the dent of his lower back to
the puckered flesh of his sides
it's eating you, she says,
and he does not answer.
under the sunlight she is divine. she breathes stitches of words at a time, secrets knotted up in her ribs and staining the soft skin of her stomach. no one is innocent without a little guilt, and she has hers in purple-brown marks. press them, and the pain makes her smile. she had hair to her waist and the children on the street called her rapunzel, but she chopped it to her chin and there it hangs now, brusquely. her throat is naked but her new bangs shield her eyes from the sun.
Everyone calls him Slug. He's a scrappy kid, with the kind of scrawny ribs and chicken legs that gets you towel-whipped in the locker room, and looks more twelve than sixteen. I suspect I'm the only one who remembers his real name, Mark Gartenberg, and that's just because he lives next door.
Even when I was four and my family had just moved in, I knew there was something off about him. His eyes were too big, his mouth too straight, and he wouldn't play normal games like everyone else.
The first time I met him, I was excited to play with someone other than my sister, who only ever wanted to play Castle Rescue, demanding that I save her from
Rickshaw Chained to a Rickshaw by icy-moon-shadow, literature
Literature
Rickshaw Chained to a Rickshaw
He had cheekbones like god's fingers and a rickshaw chained to his spine. The links swung as metal trapeze artists and made the air taste like rust. He could hear the audience murmuring, but did not know where they were. Where are your eyes? the lady in the cart asked him. He was ashamed; he could not weep. The curtain swept down, but the links never stopped swinging.
angels with
butterfly eyelashes
and slatted ribs
they slide past
walls, curve through
windows, tuck inside
blinking streetlamps
they have no wings
and no eyes but when
they wrap against me,
they swear they are whole
he has cheekbones like
god's fingers
she twined her hand in
his and looked up with
quixotic eyes
but he pushed her wrist
away and breathed a
pyrrhic victory
Cookiecutter Houses by icy-moon-shadow, literature
Literature
Cookiecutter Houses
she sliced the sky with cookiecutters
and the pieces fell like bodies
into her arms
she built sandcastles out of the ashes
of her fireplace
but they sank apart under
a single breath
the bricks of her house curl up
like bones and gawp at her with
their ugly teeth
she removes them, one by one,
and weeps when her house refuses
to crumble
Marionette's Grief (Collaboration) by icy-moon-shadow, literature
Literature
Marionette's Grief (Collaboration)
I remember the moon
in your dark pigeon eyes
as you clung to my wrist
like I was destined to fall.
Your fingers stung into my
flesh like steel coils, and I
pried them off one by one,
whispering, I don't love you.
I don't love you,
darling,
but sometimes I need you
like fish need air in their gills;
I'm a puppet on your strings
and you've tangled me.
Without you I'm breathing ice,
snakes freezing the soft layers
of my lungs with their scorching
touch; but pain isn't love
and there's no happy ending
trapped between these pages
like dried rose petals.
You're a villain
with a mask pulled over your heart
and I have an itch I
Kissed by Lightning by icy-moon-shadow, literature
Literature
Kissed by Lightning
Here is a garden,
and here is the boy who lives with his
fingers tangled in superposed roses
and his spine arched with arias
Here are the red veins
where the lightning lacerated him
('how lucky you are,' she says
'to be kissed by the skies')
and the steam of his skin sheathed
the muscles shuddering on the stained
mattress he bought for half off
Here are the bruises on his wrists
and the snakes tattooed up and down
his shoulder blades, and here are
the inky deposits of words that
swam like tears out of his eyes.
skin taught hipbone to hipbone like the skin of a drum as my fingers play the keyboard of my ribs,
digging deep to pluck them like boomerangs from the corset of my chest. stomach like a cave whispering lies that echo in my bones.
there's a vortex in my middle
that i refuse to feed,
a blackhole that only grows.
(but it doesn't seem to know that i've forgotten how to be hungry).
the empty echos the ice in my heart and the empty in my head.
the countdown has begun.
(caged rabbit heart is dying slowly).
and i know you'll come again soon. you always do.
there is a dead songbird in my chest,
and its wings are clipped and laid to rest.
Curled around alpine legs and caught
within hollows and inclines of pale skin,
she carries her endless winter always.
It settles upon frosted shoulders and
caps heavy-lidded eyes, clinging close to
the darkness of each snow-flecked breath;
lingering above cracked lips and the
remnants of a long forgotten warmth.
But darling, don't we deserve each other?
(She'd been Spring's child before Winter's whispers.)
so turn on your charm and let it shine by DamagedHomewrecker, literature
Literature
so turn on your charm and let it shine
weed my bones together and you can
find out how to write only
the most beautiful love stories
with the most tragic endings because we all breathe
when we can't. and you are so full
of sunshine and fireflies and mooncandy and i
want to braid your skin around me
like i am a cigarette or neon lights or maybe
even a cat scratch. we could forget the roses bleating
beneath the streetlamp that doesn't flicker anymore
and i could be the victim
that i've always aspired to be and you,
you would never love me
even as new york screams that you do.
and oh, you really do.
Watcher Contest - Win Points + Features + Thanks by TimberClipse, journal
Watcher Contest - Win Points + Features + Thanks
Hey Everyone!
So, I have been absolutely amazed by all of my amazing watchers :heart: So for the next few days, I want to send a thank you back to you all... I originally planned to do this during Valentines Day, but other stuff got planned then... So let's do it now =)
I want to thank a ton of you guys! So here is how I am going to thank 33 of you! :love: (Yes there's a lot more then 33, but that's all I can do for now...)
- Give 25 of my watchers a 5 piece journal feature
- Give 5 of my watchers a 5 piece front page feature (my front page, for a month)
- Give 3 of my watchers 100 :points:
So what do you have to do to get one of these priz
come morning light, you and i'll be safe and sound by DamagedHomewrecker, literature
Literature
come morning light, you and i'll be safe and sound
i've got my head in your lap and we're watching lady and the tramp and i've been so incredibly happy lately; i haven't been mad in forever and i'm just laughing with you and i've been thinking about him a lot even though the anniversaries never get to me but this year, it's getting to me and i'm not sure why, and then you say that one sentence, that one perfectly sharp and barbed shot, like an open palm slap right to my face, a lightning strike, and i wrench away from you, shocked and startled and hurt.
i cannot even look at you.
and you tell me you're sorry, a lovely round gem of a stone, and i know you mean it, but
i cannot even look at
bite your spine
and break your lip
count the dead stars lining your axons
but don't bother keeping track
just go back to the beginning every time
one, one, one
split apart like apple halves
the seeds couldn't germinate
and everything became decay
even the full words
which was more of a surprise than the empty ones
toughening up
but you can't find the right combination
of lifts and squats and numbers
to rid your mind of what you were or
what you are-no it's mostly what you used to be
you don't know the worst
let's run through the hot deserts and look for living fossils of thylacine gapes and devil's laughter. we can close our eyes and find seaweed tucked between our toes as the corals weep like willow trees beneath the full moon sun. we can brush our fingers through the sand and leave our footprints on trails unmarked otherwise. we can sing like the wild dogs climbing in trees and we can wonder aloud of vibrant fruits breaking against the bricks of our teeth.
i can feel adventure itching along my palms and buzzing beneath the skin of my neck. i need to chase through the stars as bats call for dinner. i want to sleep when i'm dead beneath the rai
I'm doing a three-way collab right now, and it's so fun :D If anyone wants to do a collab with me, let me know!
British
[ ] You drink a lot of tea.
[ ] You know what a brolly is.
[ ] Deal or No Deal has taken over your life.
[ ] You wanted Ben to win X Factor.
[ ] You use the word "bugger" or the phrase "bloody hell."
[x]Fish and Chips are yummy.
[ ] You can eat a Full English Breakfast.
[ ] You dislike emos almost as much as you dislike chavs.
[]Its football...not soccer.
Total: 1
Australian
[ ] You wear flip flops all year.
[ ] You call flipflops thongs not flip flops.
[ ] You love a backyard barbie.
[ ] You know a barbie is
RULES
1. Copy and paste it
2. Erase all the answers
3. Fill in your answers
4. Spread it around
001. Real Name? Wouldn't you like to know?
002. Nickname[s]? Izzy.
004. Male Or Female? Female
005. Elementary? Not currently.
006. Middle school? Not anymore.
007. High School? Couple more weeks :D
008. Hair Color? Dark brown, almost black.
009. Long Or Short? Depends how you define long/short. It goes a bit past my shoulders.
010. Loud Or Quiet? Um, quiet, I guess.
011. Sweats Or Jeans? Hmm... I look better in jeans, but sweats are so nice and comfy-cozy.
012. Phone Or Camera? Camera. I almost never use my phone.
013. Health Fre
Please take the time not only to favorite these, but to view them and think about them and - best of all - comment on them. Comments are always more meaningful than favorites, even if you think you have nothing to say.
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