You pin me where I stand How are they not rendered speechless By the way you smolder and die away You burn in colors of pain and titian Cripple me with the line of your jaw The crush of your lips The finest thing imaginable I am mute and listless Still and pale and misshapen A poor vessel for the thrill of fear That tears apart my paper heart I was never prepared for you But ready and willing to try You are much too alive Imperfect and blazing through I want to hold you still Pull you together for an instant The most beautiful thing in worn out shoes And desperate bones
As the cracked marble lay there, On the fine velvet cloth, It slipped. As it fell, no one tried to catch it, No one cared. It was the cracked marble, That's all, Nothing more. Most marbles had names, Not it. It was the cracked marble, Nothing more. So it fell, Hitting the cold, shattering ground. Shards of it fell across the rigid floor. Nobody cared. It was the cracked marble, And nobody cared.
I also wrote this around the same time after having a nightmare...
THE RED EYES
The Red Eyes will haunt you, And taunt you. They'll engulf you, Until you smother, Like a dying flame. Are they to blame? They think it's merely a game. You'll hide, They'll seek. The rules you'll abide, But they'll peek. They'll beat you, Defeat you, And eat you for the fun, Until you're a pile of bones, In the setting sun.
Holy crap, way to be the the most upsetting child ever. D:
I can totally see you on the playground:
"It's my birthday! I brought cupcakes!"
"Wow, congratulations for surviving this hell-hole for 365 more meaningless days. Another year closer to being old and washed-up with no one to love you and only broken dreams to keep you company. You might as well just end it all rig- oh look, the tetherball is free! Sweet!"
I KNOW. Everyone else sucks, or has not actually gotten over their teen angst enough to laugh at themselves yet.
Here, I'll post another one.
Age 13-14 (not sure which), Grade 8-9
If
If I came home and found you Asleep the way you always were One arm flung over your eyes (How was it that the bones in your wrists were as hollow as those of birds?) And your sharp form curled up under the thin white cotton Your mouth parted, winestained And your eyes flickering softly beneath your veined eyelids I think that I would probably take off my coat (I found your note in the pocket three weeks later.) And sit beside you on the edge of the mattress I would not cry, no, things have gotten far too urgent for that No I think I would just press my hard fingers to your cheekbone Your warmth radiating against my body (numbed by February’s alien cold) And lower my lips to your temple (really just a fluttering pulse beneath thin skin) And in the softest whisper so as not to wake you harshly I would tell you of how I had stood outside my door, imagining finding you there And how I had clenched my key with nerveless fingers And how I had stepped inside (tracking mud on to the worn carpet) To find in the bed only the jarringly familiar emptiness I had left this morning And how I had realized that there was no such thing as you anymore And that the world was largely the same as it was before And that nothing grand had been created or destroyed- You just no longer existed And that half my heart had been extinguished And you would stir, mumbling something inaudible Your eyelashes trembling slightly I would pull off my muddy shoes And wrap myself around your sleeping form And hold you in the hollow of my body The heat of your breath making the skin of my collarbone tingle And my thoughts would drift off to the emptiness you had left behind And how you, who I had come to love above all else in the world Had vanished from the world that was mine And how it was never possible to find you here again And I would curl up against my own aching chest My nails pressing half moon graves in to my palms And dream that I was holding you Asleep the way you always were
Here, I will go first.
Age 15, Grade 10:
Hold Still
You pin me where I stand
How are they not rendered speechless
By the way you smolder and die away
You burn in colors of pain and titian
Cripple me with the line of your jaw
The crush of your lips
The finest thing imaginable
I am mute and listless
Still and pale and misshapen
A poor vessel for the thrill of fear
That tears apart my paper heart
I was never prepared for you
But ready and willing to try
You are much too alive
Imperfect and blazing through
I want to hold you still
Pull you together for an instant
The most beautiful thing in worn out shoes
And desperate bones
Oh man, I had to dig, but here we go...
Age 11, Grade 6:
THE CRACKED MARBLE
As the cracked marble lay there,
On the fine velvet cloth,
It slipped.
As it fell, no one tried to catch it,
No one cared.
It was the cracked marble,
That's all,
Nothing more.
Most marbles had names,
Not it.
It was the cracked marble,
Nothing more.
So it fell,
Hitting the cold, shattering ground.
Shards of it fell across the rigid floor.
Nobody cared.
It was the cracked marble,
And nobody cared.
Oh man, that's pretty nihilistic for an 11-year-old.
I was ahead of my time :D
I also wrote this around the same time after having a nightmare...
THE RED EYES
The Red Eyes will haunt you,
And taunt you.
They'll engulf you,
Until you smother,
Like a dying flame.
Are they to blame?
They think it's merely a game.
You'll hide,
They'll seek.
The rules you'll abide,
But they'll peek.
They'll beat you,
Defeat you,
And eat you for the fun,
Until you're a pile of bones,
In the setting sun.
Holy crap, way to be the the most upsetting child ever. D:
I can totally see you on the playground:
"It's my birthday! I brought cupcakes!"
"Wow, congratulations for surviving this hell-hole for 365 more meaningless days. Another year closer to being old and washed-up with no one to love you and only broken dreams to keep you company. You might as well just end it all rig- oh look, the tetherball is free! Sweet!"
I think I was just in love with shock value.
I think most 11-year-old boys are, but usually express it through the esteemed art of armpit farting.
we seem to be the only ones brave enough to vom all over GTI with our old writing...
I KNOW. Everyone else sucks, or has not actually gotten over their teen angst enough to laugh at themselves yet.
Here, I'll post another one.
Age 13-14 (not sure which), Grade 8-9
If
If I came home and found you
Asleep the way you always were
One arm flung over your eyes
(How was it that the bones in your wrists were as hollow as those of birds?)
And your sharp form curled up under the thin white cotton
Your mouth parted, winestained
And your eyes flickering softly beneath your veined eyelids
I think that I would probably take off my coat
(I found your note in the pocket three weeks later.)
And sit beside you on the edge of the mattress
I would not cry, no, things have gotten far too urgent for that
No I think I would just press my hard fingers to your cheekbone
Your warmth radiating against my body (numbed by February’s alien cold)
And lower my lips to your temple (really just a fluttering pulse beneath thin skin)
And in the softest whisper so as not to wake you harshly
I would tell you of how I had stood outside my door, imagining finding you there
And how I had clenched my key with nerveless fingers
And how I had stepped inside (tracking mud on to the worn carpet)
To find in the bed only the jarringly familiar emptiness I had left this morning
And how I had realized that there was no such thing as you anymore
And that the world was largely the same as it was before
And that nothing grand had been created or destroyed-
You just no longer existed
And that half my heart had been extinguished
And you would stir, mumbling something inaudible
Your eyelashes trembling slightly
I would pull off my muddy shoes
And wrap myself around your sleeping form
And hold you in the hollow of my body
The heat of your breath making the skin of my collarbone tingle
And my thoughts would drift off to the emptiness you had left behind
And how you, who I had come to love above all else in the world
Had vanished from the world that was mine
And how it was never possible to find you here again
And I would curl up against my own aching chest
My nails pressing half moon graves in to my palms
And dream that I was holding you
Asleep the way you always were
A Haiku About Fake Blood
You really scare me
And if you were the real thing
You would scare me more
@Dr. A: nice