*exhalant

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the process of falling and flying

by *exhalant, May 4, 2013, 7:56:59 PM
Literature / Poetry / Emotional / Free Verse

i.
we
swam in the clouds, often-

you breathed, once-

twice we
sailed in the
dirt

the amount of time
we bathed in ecstasy, rarely
(it is that second your tongue
did not entwine with
my own)

so
how far down
did you say
i fell into the hole
the rabbit owned

i dirtied my floral dress
that my mother had sewn me
so your hands would try to get
through the fabric
in order for me to become naked

my mother had sewn
a second coat of skin for me

there were only scrapes left
from my
escalation

but they were not
my own

i know they did not belong to me
i did not possess
these scrapes

the collection of china
clanked and imprinted the
revelation
of how
     the clouds
    are no
    longer
    the color of
    ecstasy
    rarely, they were even
     clouds

but i am breathing now

Newest Deviations

the process of falling and flyingi.
we
swam in the clouds, often-
you breathed, once-
twice we
sailed in the
dirt

the amount of time
we bathed in ecstasy, rarely
(it is that second your tongue
did not entwine with
my own)
so
how far down
did you say
i fell into the hole
the rabbit owned
i dirtied my floral dress
that my mother had sewn me
so your hands would try to get
through the fabric
in order for me to become naked
my mother had sewn
a second coat of skin for me
there were only scrapes left
from my
escalation
but they were not
my own
i know they did not belong to me
i did not possess
these scrapes

the collection of china
clanked and imprinted the
revelation
of how
     the clouds
    are no
    longer
    the color of
the process of falling and flying by *exhalant

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rawit is gone: it is now all gone and you decide to give yourself to the sadness that does not betray you. because the sadness was always attached to your rib cage. it does not stubbornly bruise like the non-sadness. (the non-sadness i will not and do not know how to name. i do not want to name the non-sadness because it is sadness itself.)
they are screaming.
you are standing and you have a wire twisted around your neck. they are trembling under the table, silently leading and shaking and convincing to untwist that wire around your neck. that thin little wire that will leave a red imprint on your skin and threaten them with, and you will piss yourself, hanging from the ceiling. your piss will sparkle in the sun or in the rain, but it does not make your lover crying and screaming beautiful.
you have created the wire to execute your life well, the simple plan to swing along and set your mind to the place you’d imagine you’d call safety.
it is like sherlock holme’s araw by *exhalant

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darya
Artist | Student | Varied

Fiji

i currently have a quarter and some lint in my right pocket (in other words - i am exceptionally rich), and work part-time and wish to reside in the bahamas one day.

i write and illustrate things on occasion and if you ever desire to establish an emotional connection with me, you must wear my undergarment in appreciation to getting to level one.

i am also intrigued by shenanigans, bukowski, 40 degree weather, and ridiculously pretty men and women.

i like my coffee black.

as you see here, i'm quite mad and it's beyond me if there is any sort of deranged engrossment regarding my personal health or works that have spit themselves out of me. and i'd rather not ask why.

there's trees in the desert since you moved out

Tue May 14, 2013, 8:19 PM

numerous works in progress which will have high chances of being completely abolished and never finished at all, how will i ever afford the attention for a novel with a steady plot (the answer is 'c', not likely)

aren't i grand

and according to the schedule, i won't be back to visit in the weekends in my old place until next thursday, quite possibly friday - and do i miss it

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Listening to: 'youth' - daughter

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i.

“On the girl's brown legs there were many small white scars. I was thinking, Do those scars cover the whole of you, like the stars and the moons on your dress?
I thought that would be pretty too, and I ask you right here please to agree with me that a scar is never ugly. That is what the scar makers want us to think.

But you and I, we must make an agreement to defy them. We must see all scars as beauty. Okay? This will be our secret.

Because take it from me, a scar does not form on the dying. A scar means, I survived.”