I hope that every girl I meet will come etched and inked
with wings all scarred out along her spine.
I hope that every butterfly I capture can be mine.
I'm the raindrop falling on your wings and I know how it stings,
but you don't know how ecstatic I was to rip you part from part
to part, to rip you apart.
Sweetness, Angel, the storm is coming.
and if you want, I'll fall on every butterfly I can find
just stay inside tonight and keep me in mind
you can fall down or float away
so long as you keep me in mind
I can be every sadistic little boy who ever caught you in his jar
I'll be the knife-edge to cut off your sides so you can neve
Please forgive me the way I write these characters, I don't know them that well, so I doubt this will seem as.. "natural" as MC... *apologetic shrug*
Damage Control c:
English, Erich, Waffen snapped, ignoring the warning expression on Jimmys face, Im in no hurry to start understanding German just because its all you can manage.
I said, Karma forced, his voice thick with pain, that its strange youre not not making a joke about Germany losing the war.
Waffen looked away, letting out a little, hmph, in response, pushing harder against Karma in o
Let me sew your heart apart into a quilt.
Stalagmites on my breath bow inward -
wires and braces on uneven teeth.
I am graycat, an antidote to mild luck,
and leper whiskers -
Spell me hey-moi-lack-ria.
How do you spell not-quite
and almost-didn't?
I am graycat, inadequate for purpose,
ears just that ragged shade of wrong,
teeth uneven on braces, wires, and bows
of sleek ship cruising over quilt-patch water.
Let me sew your heart asunder.
It flowed past her pale shoulders, a river of black. Down her back, past wide hips, stopping just at the top of her thighs. It had taken years to grow, but now seemed as if it had always been there, its weight a comforting tug at her head as she moved.
She rarely did this look at herself in a mirror but she was curious as to what Brian had meant when hed called her a black-and-white photo of herself. Shed laughed at the time, thinking it was a joke, but the momentary flash in his eyes betrayed him. Now she wondered what he meant.
She stood away from the mirror, neck crane
For Allen
Who are the best minds of my generation?
Who doesn't hitch anymore because we're scared of hick pig-stroking rapists,
and who doesn't hang out?
Who stares at colourful boxes and taps on little buttons and we don't drink on roofs, man.
Who aren't scared of our senators, because we're white, and the current Red Scare's brown?
Who sits on their ass 22.5 hours a day and waits for their little box to glow in the right way?
Who needs calcium pearls, micro-granules and accessorised under-arms, caffeinated make-up, good bacteria and Activium?
Who imbibes ceramides and emulsifiers, nanosome electro-cosmetics, and who takes trichologi
I am not your Chernobog, not your black god -
I am not
I take your words, o chronica, and bark them to the sky.
You are the one who is cursed.
Not me.
I am not the one you dragged across the screen,
lathered with pixels and gore,
nor am I yours, o author -
let-go.
I do not answer to your imaginings -
you crucified me across your parchment,
wiped me into silence, trapped me with a name
to be reinvented into scythes and robes, away
from the tundra and silence and rotting dust
dust of those who whispered to me
in furious, terrified prayer.