[x]

the weeds across the street.She’s the little girl with flaxen curls at four pm flouncing down her driveway with her hands buried in her pockets, lips pressed out like she’s whistling. You’ll watch her out your window, with your tea lukewarm on the sill, and splutter a cough; fogging up the glass just enough to miss her smile.

You saw her once, twice eating petals off the roses in your garden. You’ve forgotten how to converse with children, you cussed between the wheezing and she stared right past like you were simply a knurled twig catching the wind in its leaves.

One morning you found her; purple stockings, blush mittens and a head of sunlight cur

picture death.I couldn’t bring myself to bury her.

I couldn’t bring myself to empty the ground of dirt and of earthworms and of the spindly weed roots, and fill in the ochre gap with her body. Her coffee-cream fur held her tiny skeleton from falling out when they hit her. I try not to think of miniature beat-less hearts and mute lungs. I never saw her dead, but I can imagine.

They found her on the median strip. Breathless and still by the endless whoosh of traffic.

In my mind I see Mum’s face; I see her heart throbbing at her feet and her cradling the dog, like a precious baby to her chest. I see the love flowing down her withered cheeks

why didn't you say goodbye?Love wasn’t in the air the night you unbuttoned my shirt and kissed my skin. No, love definitely wasn’t in the air the night we spent in heat of moments, sweating and tumbling and fumbling on your father’s bed.

It was anywhere but there. Does love go on vacation? I ponder and make fleshy butterflies from my outstretched fingers. Probably.

I can’t remember much but I can remember the beginning. The burn of acid bleeding and gushing past my tongue and down my throat. The noises and then your silence. The clumsiness and then the awkward kisses.

You had a garden of dark hair growing from your scalp and dirt eyes. You had a

the fluttered- a collectioni

Hear my joints dislocate, coming apart at the notion of sunlight. It falls and it settles in pictures of loveliness, golden tree branches and hints of leaves; of autumn, of spring.

I am so tall in the water. My legs are never-ending, crooked lines of peachskin- watching my fingers draw out ripples until they strain and buckle and fall into the cool. I’ll touch my toes and loop my figure and I’ll make giant ripples, abhorring fallen leaves and sending shivers of blue through his legs.

It’s a faded crimson red holding my breasts, tugging my hips and leaving my ribcage bare to the current. It’s smudged lipstick and smear

fall asleep with me tonight.If I wrote you a lullaby with verses of moonlit, fogged breath and a chorus of heartbeats- would you fall asleep with our melody in your palms?

I lie awake at night and watch traffic lights outside my window shout RED into the peace quiet and occasional hazy rev of traffic. I lie awake and shiver through layers and wish to silent stars it wasn’t winter, wish the nighttime cool wouldn’t paint quite so many goose bumps on my skin and make my eyelids so cold. I lie awake at night and night-dream without sleep- about you and all your eyelashes and beautiful wordings.

I like the way your collarbone lies horizontally beneath your neck,

oh the little thingsIt’d be nice if he'd let me breathe. Just inhale a little air to keep my teeth company- maybe even exhale again when they grow tired of one another. You really don’t notice how wonderful it is to breathe until you’re lying stomach down with empty lungs and the creepy man from the corner store sitting on your back.

But what can I say? Not- ‘please get off of my back, I can feel my spine against my stomach and I don’t like it.’ Because I really can feel my spine against my stomach and am breathless to say such. My cheek makes like feet against the wooden floorboards. This man has a whole forest of trees in here! A

exhalation.Sixteen. Sixteen years since she was the size of a deflated lung beneath her mothers ribcage- now she has her own mass beneath her ribcage. Thumping sometimes to the outside, treating the skin of Laylla's stomach like a door. It will open in 3 months, it will be sliced open because her flesh is meat and they'll bring Sophie to air and she'll swallow until all she tastes is that dull white of the hospital. And then she'll cry and the music will drone in Laylla's ears until she tastes vomit and she is numb in all the aching places.

She doesn't know the father. She thinks Michael but she tells herself it is Louis. She repeats his name over and

colour blind.She saw him at the park once. He was the colour of dirt; with bird eyes and white, mapped palms. Her little forehead lined as she felt the bile force its way up until her saliva was acid. She counted her toes and bit the inside of her cheek, should she run? Are they fast runners? She figured this one must be if he kept himself out of jail. The dark man flashed a mouthful of pebbles and held out his hand- which would have swallowed hers.

'Don't touch me.'

Her hands were all knuckles and her baby eyes tore into his. He faltered and stepped away, a half mouthed sorry. He looked upset, a grin spread like fire between her dimples.

Suddenly she

of storms and skysee my hair dance wild as wind-strings jerk it about//hear the ocean-wind heave itself against us all- crashing into our eyes and mouth//feel the winter-wind brush our skins in summer//then inhale the heaviness of air and sink through the dirt- because darling, you don’t deserve god’s beautiful violence.

(it drags the tree by its leaves saying kiss your trunk, kiss it and it does; releasing with a snap. the other trees flitter-flutter violently, crying within the cacophony of rain on concrete. white stars fall where light exists, and only sound where it disappears. the sky -the colour of sunburnt skin- watches it all with hunger. a

sickDeath slouches over the edge of her bed, licking his lips as he caresses her thighs. He sings the noise of wind and rain crashing all around and her head throbs with the sound. Her head is hot. Her forehead is on fire and her cheeks catch alight with it. She burns silently and sees red, red, black.

Tiny insects have crawled beneath her fingernails and they dig with tiny claws and teeth until they are swarming beneath her skin, biting outward at her flesh. Each vertebrae carries bruises and as she tosses her body about the bed they ache loudly and sharply.

All the heat has rushed to her face, her body shakes like a leaf in wind and goosebump

sleep-talk.

isn’t it curious how your fingers fit perfectly between each of my sclerous ribs, or how your breath mimics mine with belated accuracy

(count each breath and you’ll run out of fingers.)

don’t you remember the fairytales?

(and they both lived happily ever after, until after ran out and the monogamy became as non-existent as the magic.)

you were never one for myths. with discerning eyes, you’d plant kisses along the ridges of my back
across my shoulders
and the hollow beneath my jaw, questioning my pastel skin and every involuntary blink.

“I am not a myth.”

this aprilThe moonlight falls through squinting blinds, bowing softly to hug the arc of his naked body. The blankets are strewn about his toes as a girl, no more than sixteen, lays wide-eyed and warm-bodied beside him.

She silently watches the dreams come and go beneath his eyelids, she quietly feels his chest rise, rise then fall and she listens to the heavy breathing that accompanies it. Beautiful breathing, she thinks, tracing generous lips with fingertips.

The air is cool but she is alight.

Everything in this room bathes in blue shade. She watches the alarm clock beside the bed, numbers coming and going out of fashion before her eyes.

dear diary, today i diedshe's a ghost of a girl in the mirror. dark hair tangles like weeds below her shoulders and cuts at grey eyes. harsh shadows don't leave her with a skeleton like she sometimes hopes, but she feels it in her mind. feels the sharp edges and the trembled fragility, the silent cry for another's flesh and that outward plea of don't break me. cold fingers make love to cold glass while the sky cries over and over for sun.

this afternoon death made to kiss her lips but missed. he'd come so close she now knows what nothing doesn't feel like and she cannot fear it. it's a blankness so removed from consciousness she cannot reach it with thought- but sh

pretty boys break hearts.sometimes I think I’m just a mess of badly drawn lines. I’m just scrawled veins beneath paper rough skin, I wear poorly sketched scars on my thighs [skin deep red pen lines] and even my smile is lop-sided- but he never seemed to notice.

my skin [spread like thick icing over my skeleton] is a monotonous pattern of pores, a stretch of the world the sun never kissed. I can’t see the beauty in multitudes of freckles and chipped fingernails- but he does.

‘why do you love me?’

‘you make me happy.’

I never could figure out just how. was it my illegible love notes, or the tiny hearts I drew into his bare back wi

circles in the sand.you will be drawing circles in the sand when he finds you.

'why are you bothering to draw in the sand?' he'll ask. 'the waves will only wash your circles away.'

you'll finish the circle by writing love in the center, then you'll stand up to answer him, hair in your eyes from the wind and sand on your face.

'because maybe it won't get washed away,' you'll say. 'isn't it a chance worth taking?'

and instead of laughing at you like you expected, he'll smile. 'yes,' he'll say. 'oh, yes.'

--

you will be weak with lack of sleep, drowsy and stumbling, and he'll catch you before you run into the wall.

'go away,' you'll tell him. 'just go away.'

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leavemedon'tleaveme.

by ~Pretty-As-A-Picture, Aug 2, 2008, 3:57:28 AM
Literature / Prose / Non-Fiction / Biography & Memoir

you make me sick. you make my stomach fold in on itself and press out against the lining of my flesh. you put lumps in my throat and you tie strings to my tear glands and tug until the world is just a panoply of blurred lines, hazy colour and bokeh.

you made me do this. you put the knife in my fingers and you told me to tear, you said you would care if i hurt myself like this. you said you’d care if i opened my flesh up for you like a gift of blood and flesh and tissue. but you never really did.

i like being small, i like being the blue eyed girl sitting amidst background noise, rubber band arms holding the necks of her legs together. i like being the blue eyed girl with hands holding her from spilling in a mess at everyone’s toes. i like it when they’re your hands.

i try to define you with mental disorders. i say you have schizophrenia and pretend it’s a valid excuse. i’m in love with one of your personalities, but the other doesn’t even notice me.

when you are quiet are you imagining your hands around my throat with my spine caressing your wall? shoving your fingers down my throat until I can’t speak or ripping my ribcage outwards the way you outstretch your fingers?

sometimes you love me. sometimes you kiss my neck just to hear me laugh and some nights you hold me so close to your chest i feel your heartbeat between my wingbones.

some mornings you forget i exist.

leavemedon'tleaveme.by ~Pretty-As-A-Picture

Literature / Prose / Non-Fiction / Biography & Memoir

i am aware of how crap this is
unedited
if i keep it
i'll edit it.

it's just, i needed to write.

i was writing this for myself no one else
so i didn't really care what other people thought
if you hate it thats fine. you don't have to like it.

~~joy 0 0~~

~~fear 0 0~~

~~neutral 0 0~~

~MolasisAndPlanets Mar 12, 2012

I love this. So much. Both because I can relate and because it's just so well done.. Seeing some of your photography show up on google images is what brought me back to Deviantart and I love your work!

~wanekalily Apr 15, 2009

I love all of your writing.
Somehow I feel like I can identify with you so much.

~lumiere-dor Mar 31, 2009

you could not have made this any closer to perfection.

~ScralatchticaAmongus Feb 28, 2009

yes, the intense symbolic imagery is extremely compelling.

~ScralatchticaAmongus Feb 28, 2009

really, really, really truly amazing.
this reminds me of..........my everyday thoughts being in love for the first time......

i shed quite a few tears reading this while watching my boyfriend sleep.

you've got something small blue eyed girl.

~ScralatchticaAmongus Jan 22, 2009

this made me cry, it reminds me of my boyfriend

~RandomSpinda Nov 16, 2008

All of your work amazes me. Very expressive- I love it!

~Misuzu27 Nov 15, 2008 Student General Artist

crazy thing is... i have blue eyes and i feel the same way..... this is me written al over it. literally....^^ i love it

~sirenseranade11 Nov 4, 2008

i relate
i hate that its true
but i relate

~pixijane Oct 15, 2008

this is exactly how i'm feeling at the moment. it's wonderfully written. you get a favourite my friend.

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