[x]

earth circuitAnd when the sun sinks, the earth's skin crawls:

I.
I wonder if this awkward creature would notice me the way I notice him.
He's so tragic at his throne
I stare after him longingly.
And yet,
He never realizes that I'm the one
Who forever basks in his brilliant beams.
If only he knew how much brighter he could burn
[with me]
He'd light up the universe.

II.
I heard him speak of thirst, once.
The quenching lust of the stars had run dry.
So that night, I brought along a jar of acid.
(And how it gleamed in his glow).
I handed it to him, wrapped in taffeta ribbons,
screaming
I wish curdling joy
On my gurgling boy

starspunobserving the romanticism
of hooded cemetery kids,
smoking cigarettes pretending
they are not dead.

you were always so sure
about my uncertainty,
you watched
all my pick up lines
drop things.

we built the heat
of the evening from the solidity
of starlight,

pretended
that two teens at the park
at midnight
is the stuff of teen novels
(cliches dim on
our leaf-gold horizon)

your eyes darted
from the gray expanse
of the churchyard & wandered
in thoughtful
paths.

i wanted to ask you
if i could follow. shove
the words aside &
remember that i came here alone.

i remember our innocence
in the static b e t w e e n
stars

relearning i. stardust scatters with the
direction of my pupils –
maybe secretly i am an
astrology teacher, waiting
for a sign to wink
happily at me.

ii. excuse the rambling
nature of forgotten question
marks, but tell me:
would you like to be the
object of handwritten clichés
would you like to whisper
secrets in my palm
and would you
like to be the possibility

iii. air brushes against my
skin like the torn petals
of a flower still standing.
[ hold your head up high, honey,
and tell tomorrow to wait just
a while,

iv. so you can figure out
the difference between
patience and having all the

Like petals and leavesWhen she thinks of him, she thinks of tree branches:
spindly fingers spread out, stretching
in angles wide for handfuls of sky.

And she thinks of him.

She thinks of him digging his toes
into soft, damp sand,
wading in shallow depths before
being carried by crescents of the sea.

She thinks of him in a blur of curls, in the
warmth on her waist and the coolness on her lips,

pressing the memories and the maybes
like petals and leaves
to paper.

And she thinks of him.

Pausing By The WineMarriage is
the frustration of reality

when the man who works the wine section
pauses in his tracks to make sure
you've found everything you "really need...are you sure?"

With a look that tells you
he finds you sort of beautiful

and you wonder how your life
might be different,

if any man other than this one
had ever looked at you like that.

Justifications and Salted Smiles"I don't think I'm holding on any longer
I'm diving in.
I wish that you would see,
there's a magical land at the bottom of the ocean
where waterproof lungs let you be
everything you've dreamed.
You can bury underneath the sand
and not be found-
it's the land that's been promised to me
in late night whispers
and burnt tears
wasted on things that don't matter.

I know it's real,
broken minds can't lie
and I can feel it in my bones-
there's something more.
What other reasons would we live for?

They say you inhale saltwater
and exhale enlightenment.
The waves pour over you
and finally make you clean (pure)
No one knows where y

if teen dreams were teen novelsthere was once a boy who had all the write words to say
with all those fancy allegories, metaphors and similes
and antonyms of synonyms, like rails and snares and storms
and organs and trains and drums and hurricanes and
hearts,

and she was only a girl with plain words, the kinds of things
that are only found in piles of papers and pens, books
she keeps where she sleeps,

that will only break when he leaves in the morning,
but she shares everything, like a boat shares a bard,
like a cigarette shares a lung, like a mouth shares other mouths,
like an artist shares her heart.

but there is a running in her heart:
not that type of b

LingerieEvery woman owns one garment
that remains tucked away,
saved for special occasions
when it will be seen.

It is almost always midnight
black, or blood red, and
covered in lace, or made
of mesh, soft and delicate
as the skin it covers.

Such things should be hidden,
lest the owner be labeled
as something other than "lady."

It has a power we can't
control, one that transforms
denim and cotton clad
ragdolls into Barbies,

perfectly proportioned plastic,
smooth and flawless hourglasses
that turn on command.

We groan and flinch
as satin strings pull us
apart and together,
and heartstrings are plucked
as we scrutinize our reflection;

we are not

despondenti.

"are you sleepy today?"
"yes."
"but you were sleepy yesterday."
"i know."

ii.

she stirs her pomegranate green-tea until it turns from clear to purple
setting it on her bedside table and climbing back into bed again.
her fingers follow the bluer-than-usual constellation veins on her wrists and down
to the freckle on her forearm and then the scar on the inside of her elbow
crossing the tendon as if it were crux.
and then she remembered that God hasn't been with her lately.

iii.

today is long and sunny but when she steps outside the humidity creaks her bones
and her skin starts to inflame.
she assumes that if getting the mail

on watching the night close its eyes on you1. I will not tell you
you are pretty.

How can the halls and angles of such honest humanity
be so pinched between sounds as elementary as these?

2. You need not be two stringent boughs of syllables
nor weave your viney bones abreast these five petty letters,
whirling in the fire of the river
Styx.
Do not attempt to peel yourself layer for layer,
leaving all the disgust behind.
Do not tally your body six &

resipiscenthe was one of those dick-faced kids in shades of bright polyester salmon who seemed to always be laughing or looking at me. an ambiguous-named, feminine-famed all-school american douchebag in those quality leather sandals in the wintertime and golf-green shorts.

ta give you some background i'm about as far away on the social scale from him as one can get. you know how all the little groups overlap and flap together, pushed around in the wet sand like wave-rivulets blending little facets of stones together until it makes a dune? well our groups---they didn't even touch. i mean you could go from pop-jock to lacrosse to dipper to weed-dealer to

The Best is Yet to Comeif we grow old
there will be a sigh
an attention to the change
as your muscles slacken underneath
your faded, favorite shirt
the one that's threadbare, "holy"
in a sense less than divine
I'll have washed it for
the thousandth time
our eyes will crinkle, wrinkle
in ways that start to match
and we'll hold hands and ask:
when did the nerves and veins
begin to let our hands get cold?
-if we grow old

A Product Label.Love. (Requited Edition)

Directions:
Apply thoroughly all over body
Avoiding contact with delicate eye area
Repeat on a regular basis
For best results:
Use in conjunction with other products.

Keep stored in a cool place
Keep out of reach of children
Do not use if seal is broken or missing
Choking hazard
Do not swallow
For external use only.

If irritation occurs, discontinue use-
Rinse eyes immediately with water
If symptoms persist
Seek medical advice or see your doctor
Handle contents with care.

IfWe can
draw lines and give them names
like elements
as they are discovered

Or etch into our skins
this soloecal desire
until it is impossible to tell
where words stop
and life begins.

I would

Find a common rhythm that includes
you in my arms, my hands
and lungs and thoughts
tracing the outline of you
entangled with me
colliding like two lost particles
locked in a shared gravity
drifting through the vacuum
of space.

I could.

Exhale, and
remember
sentence structure.

red leaves and Robert Frost.When I was young, my virginity was sacred. Entire religions pray over it and my father bought a gun so long as it meant protecting it.

We throw away half of our refrigerator each week – meanwhile, 24,000 people die of starvation every day.

Hardest part is, sometimes wasting things can't be helped.

At the bus stop, before I could drive, boys would ask for my phone number while I tugged up the neck of my shirt. Asked me how old I was while I crossed my legs under my skirt.

I told them I had a boyfriend even when it wasn't true, because they'll always respect another man more than my disinterest.

Hearing "I love you" for the first time

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More from ~Vynlorin

Appropriate Stimulation Bastard – I endure you.
We boiled over the feeling
When we were fevered,
Uncomfortable,
And crawled to sleep.

How many can you really not remember?
You mentioned me back into the room,
And we waited.

You said:

I believe you're right – the views and beliefs of the lost sheep,
How the silver faction defected to the silver soil.

I simply stated I had been concerned.

But our situation is surging terror only.
We chase the fight, ridicule our bad feelings.
The hanging sign shouts to shout.
Your fighting is low; I don't pinc

Learned SilenceAs children, we fret and long for escape
From small beds and dull toys -- from where we're bound
To the hem of mum's skirt, behind its drape
Which hides the long shadows of a world drowned
In bitterness and fear. We stray, taunted
By things we can't have, but we're forced aground
Where we blither, and they say if we want
To be all grown up, we won't make a sound.

Years later, we find ourselves in our prime
Wasting away in a cave of books bound
By primer men. We live on borrowed time
From their words, our words, we wait to astound
Someone, somewhere, with lackluster moonlight;
To painfully crawl towards being renowned,
Through the thorny wood

A Body with a SoulI saw him once or twice before
Through a hazy pane of words
Scrawled upon scraps of pages for

My eyes to find their dark absurd
Contours, tangles, and implied sighs.
And once or twice before, I heard

His voice in my mouth as a cry
That laid shadowed beneath my own,
A flame that smoldered against my

Instinct, impulse, deep in my bones
And in thick beats of vicious blood,
That once or twice my mirror had shown

To him in our stead where I stood
While he sank deep in darkened woods.

KyrielleisonIt weren't at all rare for the pastor to say
That a Hail Mary a day'll keep the Devil away
'Cause there ain't no messiah in Tennessee
Where God don't judge what God don't see.

The boys pick their poison and pick their grave
In the churchyard dirt and call themselves brave
'Cause they know they can't fly on bended knee,
And God don't judge what God don't see.

Saint Michael himself, he'd pawn off your soul
For a set of new wings and rings solid gold
'Cause I give my soulbound guarantee:
God won't judge what God won't see.

Forsake us not thus, dies irae dies enough;
Cups runneth dry when they run out of bluffs
'Cause the landlord here's an ab

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Down the Drainby ~Vynlorin

Literature / Poetry / Emotional / Free Verse

©2013 ~Vynlorin

Mature Content

Written for class. No particular assignment. I was just playing with the "o" sound and letting that guide me from line to line.

Revised - 4/11/13

Daily Deviation

Given 2013-01-25

Down the Drain by ~Vynlorin takes the ordinary and writes it in an extraordinary fashion. ( Featured by ^NicSwaner )

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~Ilovepitbulls123 Jan 25, 2013 Student Artist

0.o

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~usaginu Jan 25, 2013

_{beautiful! c}

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~usaginu Jan 25, 2013

c:*

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~craazhy Jan 25, 2013 Professional Writer

I find the "o" thing fascinating. I've been writing all my life, albeit it has only so far lasted two decades, and I'm sure I could never pull that off while the poem remained coherent.

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~Karinta Jan 25, 2013 Student General Artist

I like it. It totally paints a scene that I can see!

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~Pencil-Wolf Jan 25, 2013 Student General Artist

This is beautiful!

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~keidream Jan 25, 2013

Congratulations on the DD! I like the twist at the end.

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~Euxiom Jan 25, 2013

I really like how you did this, letting the o sound guide you.

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Mood: Joy

*12who Jan 25, 2013 Hobbyist

_{Congrats on your Daily Deviation!}

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~WolfxButterfly Jan 25, 2013 Student Writer

Fantastic.

Keep up the wonderful work!

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