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Evening Bus StopI am late for nothing.
Staring into the robin's egg sky,
watching my breath tumbling
to cloud about me.
There is a bus coming.
The light is fading.
Growing numb about the edges,
of frosted steel railings
and heavy molten hedges.
There is a bus approaching.
Fiery tree before me,
swallow the wintry sunset.
As a fading reddish memory.
In similar shades, I know we met,
many times, and we were happy.
The Last Thing I NeededThey forget to mention
how cold it was,
how your legs were pale and twisted in your sheets.
They don't talk about the tear-tracks on your sunken cheeks
or the purple marks on your paper eyelids.
They don't talk about how you were alone in the end.
It's not nice-
to die alone.
Two days after your death,
I woke up with a sheet over my mouth-
the feel of loss that clings to my bones and
the familiar weight of your clothes on my skin.
There were bad days;
the ones where you'd throw your words back
and then drink them down. Afterward we'd stumble home
on blistered feet and fall asleep unhappy.
You'd wake up at dawn and spill your secrets onto the floor
and cry when you couldn't put the pieces of your
life back together again.
I'd pull you back into bed with me and
our knees would brush. You were always cold.
fall to intangibility with meYou're just one of those lionhearted rarities; distinct in this world of fast-moving heartbeats and electric cacophony. For every key you touch is another second of pending and disquieted love. One of those ethereal extinctions; before everyone turns their eyes on you you've already flown away.
I stand watching under your dim balcony behind a happy façade; Watching you like a dream catcher. Because I keep cotton clouds in glass jars and paint my world in shades of white and write your name in the spaces between my fingertips.
Weeks are rigid borders like prison barring minutes in; and cliffs made of metal;
I watch you laugh and frown through those incandescent gold reflections.
I want to write you the most beautiful nocturne and paint you something abstract of gold swirls and blue intangibilities to hang on your ceiling;
to make you think of me.
While years and years race past me I drag old clothes out of closets until flecks of dust dance in the air because I want to be a butterf
SunkissedShe steps a little closer
and smiles. There's freckles
blooming across my nose and I
don't know if she placed them there
or if they just wandered astray
Her hair is bleached honey by the
long term exposure and I guess I'm
lighter at my roots, too, because
I could float away when she's near and
my feet will not stay grounded
Sometimes a breath of searing air
darts past my ear and I can feel the
singe of warm skin on mine and I relish
every single golden minute of it
She's burned my cheeks blush red
but I still refuse to hide my face
And the only time the dusk ever came
was when the night closed her lashes
and she set off on her path towards
somewhere that wasn't with me
A Broken DreamHe was just eight years old when he witnessed death for the first time. They had been moving through staccato traffic for fifteen minutes in the growing dusk before his Mother spoke.
It's beautiful she had said softly, her eyes settling on something caught in the headlight reflection bouncing back from the front window. He had leant forward in his seat, craning his neck to see what had captured her attention. An opaque moth lay helplessly trapped beneath the wiper blades. Touching the cold glass gently he had pleaded with her to set it free.
As they crept forward, inching along the motorway, the traffic on either side grew parrallel with their wing mirrors. People were looking up, pointing. There was somebody stood on the bridge, an inky sillouhette against a blushing sky.
Look Mum, he pointed, but she was already tilting her neck to see above them. I know, Honey she replied, her mouth set in a grim line as they both realised what they had missed before. The f
Way OutSo here i am sittin with my thoughts/
hand on the glass of all my empty shots/
grin and bare it Easton you'll be ok/
that's all they ever say/
i'm living on the edge of every single fuckin day/
won't get on my knees cus i refuse to pray/
pass me by it's okay/
pay no mind to the facts/
tear myself apart on tracks/
i'm spittin these words like i'm lookin for a cure/
"Easton I need your help" no worries yeah sure/
i've got problems of my own but never mind/
cus sooner or later it consumes the mind/
i dream of puttin a gun in the mouth/
pullin on the trigger/
the fuckin gun jams/
tried silencing the lambs/
shaken and scared/
all these scars that were bared/
how can't they see this pain/
i'm standing screamin at the sky in the rain/
wishin i could shut it out by killin off my brain/
i think i'm sick or maybe i'm sane/
but me and you we just aint the same/
cus it all came crashin down/
your to blame/
but i'm the one who feels the shame/
cry myself to sleep/
cus i know im in to
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A two-time Community Volunteer for the deviantART Related category, Anne is well-known as a positive, helpful force. She is the community's resident expert when it comes to CSS (Cascading Style Sheets), and her personal gallery offers a wide variety of tutorials for new and experienced coders alike. In addition, each winter she hosts a calendar project encouraging members to create Journal designs for all to use, bringing more creativity to the community.
It is with immense gratitude that we acknowledge Anne as the recipient of the Deviousness Award for October 2014. Read More