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Don't Do Flowers"I bought you a rose" he said
and it was finished before it began.
I don't do flowers.
I don't do flowers, like I don't pay for sky,
as if to buy some dirt.
To what extent
can't we be bothered?
To use what we have -
To say what we mean -
But we can't.
So we let something dying
and I can't stand
so I don't do flowers;
I'll do it myself.
SpeechlessWriting is my passion.
It's what I do.
It's who I am.
I can weave words easily, without thinking.
But when I think of you,
NaPoWriMo- Day 5She used to try and catch butterflies
until she realized their beauty
rubbed off on her fingers;
but she will always be loving you
with those digits.
20 years from now
when even the love on her arms
sometimes i forget how to breatheAn overwhelming need to shut myself
underwater and drink in my inevitable
death. Crawl out to shore and gasp
out apologies while tending to cut knees,
but leave the internal damage. Find something
to tether me to the ground, clutch it
between pruned and shaking hands.
Water drips off my nose, down my arms,
plinks into the puddle in my lungs.
I am drowning on dry land, choking
on the irresistible thought of you.
NaPoWriMo: Day 3Today,
I wanted to pluck my ribs
from out my chest &
hang them about my house
like wind chimes-
a taunt for hungry wolves.
I didn’t grab for sharp objects,
I just wrote about it.
I never knew
I wanted to be a writer
until I lost something.
I still don’t know what that is-
(my mind, maybe.)
they fill gaps
that had no stories
to keep them
from hollowing out
in the first place.
enduring biopoiesis getting over it
in quick gasps of rabbit fur
and valley tangles
we would have
had such darling
strung out on fake roses
floating on our sun-striped backs
but we're so
some world-children cutting
out, tuning in yet
psychiatry of lonely nightsThe Psychiatry Of Lonely Nights
we open your chest,
we find his words tucked inside
they hide within each crevice
each folded, words from letters,
you stored them in your ribs,
you'd swallowed them whole,
flossing them between bones
and sealing them closed
only to open to us lonely nights
or a sleepless time
or a remembered phrase at the bedside
once covered over by parietal
peritoneum and solemnstitch,
pierce of each enunciation
and far-off thought
cut apart by an ample knife
a thoughtful gaze
heart hurt to see the sight
feeling like concrete
sifted around the valves
off-set with cracks
all shuddering with each repetition
he is gone &
he is far away &
your thoughts thread into your eyes
your fingers reach toward each letter in your chest
when we lift words, tentative at the corners,
your breath trembles and refuses to leave,
pain all in your hand that shakes on the precipice
between heavy shoulder gaping wound and
visceral pericardium, tattooed with
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Lilyas has dedicated herself to making our community a brighter place with her vibrant artwork and infectious enthusiasm for interacting with others in our community. It has certainly paid off, as many deviants flock to her page on a daily basis to let her know how much of an inspiration she is. We absolutely agree, and couldn't let all that hard work go without recognition, so it's with great pride that we bestow the Deviousness Award for March 2014, to ... Read More