[x]

GlacialJanuary wolves stalk her shivering heart;
bitter ice-fangs sink into feverish skin.
Frost devours slowly, succinctly, shamelessly;
yet the howling tossed chains around her
paper-thin limbs and dragged her down.

Arctic icebound lips quivering,
silver eyelashes fluttering emptily,
alabaster fingertips reaching out;
frenzied yet frozen and fractured.

"Drowning," she whispers in a winter song,
and places her mouth upon snow-dusted fur.
"Blood freezing in these frostbitten veins."

And then the pack of aurorean wolves bolt away,
leaving her smiling in the blizzard of humanity.

Freedom.

lowercasei carve insignificant poetry into my tongue
and hope the world will pardon the lack of
bated silence, for i write in nothing but
despondent screams and uppercase;
i've forgotten how to let everything go
and i'm tired of my incessant howling,
because it seems to me that the quiet
words are the ones that are the most
heard.

lost.Wandering,
waiting for your voice to
reach out for mine.
Fingertips of satin,
caressing the confines of my
soul;
whispering a thousand constellations to my waning sanity.
Promises upon promises,
mosaic labyrinths etched into mutilated
flesh.
Trembling lips — July's blasphemous sun
lingering above December's intangible moon,
and these looking-glass limbs scream for your
tongue to shatter me into one million
pieces.
Rose eyelashes; iron thorns and liquid petals
flutter open to the dull luster of our
salt-licked sarcophagus—
and in the end, your nebula fades away
in the disintegrating morning, just like my [heart] broken
heart.

-My mind
just can't
seem to

s h u t u p.

Too many "fuck you's"
that morph into
"I'm sorry's"
drip off this
dagger-tongue
like acid.

Monster.
Grotesque.
Liar.
Erratic.

Try and make it better. Fail. Try again. Break down.

So many faults
that seem to just
turn me into someone
I'm not.

Look into the mirror. See nothing but a clone. Fabrication. No longer me.

I stare and want
to break that glass
so that I can also
b r e a k.

Try and say something. Turns into nothing but rage. Take it out on you.

This shattered heart
only wants to make it
better
and become one again.

"I want to hate you."
"But I can't."
"So I hate me instead."
"But

.I stare at the screen, waiting for some burst of inspiration to rain upon me like a meteor shower sent straight from the gods of literature heaven.

Nothing.

A sigh escapes my lips, and I haphazardly bash random buttons of the keyboard, watching as the blank document before me is littered with an incoherent placement of characters. The monotone click-clack seems to just resonate with the narcoleptic beating of my heart, further fueling my senseless crusade.

Where has all my writing gone?

It feels like it was just sucked right out of my soul. Ideas constantly plague my mind, yet all I can do is write them down. When I go to type them out, n

For YouYour heart may bleed diamonds,
but they all they see is dust.
Your soul may run black with ink,
yet they see it as pandemonium.
The miasmas you feel in your mind are not discord,
but a precious, beautiful gift meant solely for you.

The letters care not
however you arrange them;
perfection is perfection
when it comes from your veins.

These worlds exist for you created them—
there is no such thing as
“imaginary”
as long as you know their universes.

Cry and laugh and weep and smile,
for the blossoms you water shall grow
into a microcosm of your own design.

You are a god and a king,
a queen and a demon,
whose words

NecromancyI wanted to see what makes a human heart
beat,
so I took a scimitar and ripped apart your decrepit
flesh,
and inside that primordial ribcage I found nothing but
corruption.

And you merely gave a cruel parody of a
smile,
dug your bloodstained claws into your
chest,
and tore out that infestation you called a
soul.

"Analyze that well, my little necromancer," you
sneered,
fangs dripping with the acid I once begged to
taste,
"Perhaps you'll be as wise as me once you find the
pulse."

I could only watch as you sunk back down into
Hell,
clutching that contaminated Philosopher's Stone
hazardously,
knowing you had replaced my heart with the pois

Into the PlungeBuild me a sandcastle on the edge of the sea,
where the cliffs are sprayed with the salty tears of the tide,
and sirens cry into the night for the arms of a lover
to whisk them away into a dry night free of brine;
Where we shall dance the sunset's furtive sigh of redemption
on the edge of saline bluffs, and kiss with the gunpowder
of forgotten cannons high on the waves of an abandoned ocean;
Teetering the edge of the world, where the Kraken and Leviathan lay in wait
for lost-lorn victims of broken hearts and brackish undertows
coursing through their veins.

D
r
o

AbsenceShe used to lie awake all night
consuming letters with voracity;
it was the utopian lair she created
to slip away from the turbulent world.

Only too soon she learned
that you can't always hide
within parchment crevices.

(reality always finds you)

Even now, when she yearns to fall between printed canyons,
she can't help but curse those passive and lethargic days;

"It's too damn easy to fall in love with words on a page."

Storybook EndingHer ink-stained lips have kissed too many a forgotten page,

[dragon's blood
and phoenix down]

And her Prince Charming has yet to come,

[glass slippers
shattering like stars]

So all she can do is gaze out her tower window,

[enchanted forests
concealing poisoned apples]

Clutch that corroded and timeworn blade,

[cursed beasts
tearing down castle walls]

Toss her childhood fables to the waltzing of the moon,

24 Hoursi.
Dreams will slowly fade
as dawn breaks through the windows;
morning’s here again.

ii.
Stomachs growl and groan
as smells from the kitchen waft;
afternoon is here.

iii.
Dusk paints a red sky,
the sun retires for the night;
evening shall bring peace.

iv.
The stars and moon dance,
a waltz of shining passion;
night has come at last.

Witch OilThere's magma boiling in her frostbitten veins;
incandescent pixie dust and
soot-stained stars,
sluggishly making its way through
a childish heart — wishing for one last chance
to spread her wings and soar to
Neverland.

AimlessSpring forgot how to begin anew,
so Winter stole her amnesic heart and tossed it to the wolves.

"Devour me," the stars seemed to beg;
so Gravity plunged them into the ocean's nebulous depths.

These lips no longer offer hymns up to fallen gods—
so Fate sacrificed herself for the chance to be reborn.

HellfireYou see her nonsensical whims and think to yourself,
"nothing but a simpler state of mind."

Yet —

She hides behind an ivory mask,
skeleton smiles
and torpid mirth;
Radioactive sulfuric masses of artificial
crystalline lips upturned in an adamant curve.

Laughter echoing throughout hollow bones, concave and
just as empty as the cartilage ensnaring the vacant
smirk.

You can't fathom the netherworld tucked deep in her translucent limbs;
nor comprehend the frenzied howls from the fangs of a decaying Cerberus.

For when you will at last board Charon's ferry and float down the conflagrant waters of
Styx, regarding her perched upon a thro

are my words poetic enough for you?maybe not.

because i will never be the fire-hearted girl with remedial stardust lips,
dancing with the astral wolves that hunt beneath her moon-kissed skin,
with the courage to plant wilting lilacs into every crippled soul she finds.

but what if they were?

then i would be the ink blots coating the archives of humankind,
the fractured jewel tucked away in a catastrophic dragon's chest,
and the lyric every mismatched bone engraves into their marrow.

if only.

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Poetry is what We Do Here

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Poetry is:

by *PrussianPersephone, Feb 21, 2013, 12:41:17 PM
Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

`Poetry is:`

the adhesive to
a fragmented soul;

broken wings that still dream of

_F ^L _Y ^I _N ^G

how snapdragons breathe stardust
and orchids perform ensembles.

when 'imagination' and 'reality' at last discover a
c r o s s r o a d s,
and rush to embrace one another with fervent limbs.

why gravity seems to f
a
l
l, taking the world with it.

what flows through the veins of every pair of _{[shipwrecked; star-crossed]} lovers.

`who I am; who I was; and who I want to be.`

Poetry is:by *PrussianPersephone

Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

Now that I've grown more comfortable with poetry, I realize just how important it's become in my life. And I realize that in a sense, it's always been important to me. As has writing. Poetry is just one big step in my "literary career."

So. This is what poetry is for me.

I wanted to play around with formatting a bit more since I'm still trying to develop some sort of "style," so this was fun.

One of the few pieces I am requesting critiques on, since this is also a piece that is extremely relevant and meaningful to me. Though it may not be as well-structured as some of my other pieces.

Critique by *forbravery Feb 21, 2013, 1:27:52 PM

Hi there! :3 there is a lot in this poem that settled nicely with me and a few things that didn't quite mesh.

I love the imagery, the play with words that snapdragons (animal-like, but floral) are breathing stardust (a bit like fire, I suppose). I really thought that this line was unique, and it's my favorite part of the whole piece.

It's very interesting how you chose to give your poem some visual movement by creating s p a c e between the letters or arranging them in a certain way, but I think that "crossroads" doesn't have as much of an impact as the others, simply because the visual didn't represent the literal meaning of the word, I would have done

R
CROSS
A
D
S

Because that is more literal, like your other visual pieces.

On the other hand, "shipwrecked/star-crossed" is a bit cliché, the complete opposite of the originality of the snapdragons line.

The poem is a bit self-declarative, it is clear that along some lines, this poem was really written for yourself (see the last line of your poem) and because of that it is difficult to critique. How can I fairly critique something that has loads of personal significance that I will never understand. Plus, personal pieces are often times difficult to relate to unless you are very general and vague I your descriptions, which doesn't make for good poetry anyway. ( your poem was not general or vague, so in my opinion it dodged that bullet quite nicely) :3

It was definitely interesting. Thank you for that.

What do you think?

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~apple-fresh Mar 3, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

*crossroad

anyway, friking love this!

~greenmusiclovingfrug Feb 28, 2013

This is so pretty!
I seriously like your poetry style.

*PrussianPersephone Mar 1, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

Thanks!

~Hetalia-Spain Feb 27, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

((Did you know I love it when you play with the format? It really makes the poem pop even more than it already does. Like that extra special touch. Keep up this fabulous work~))

=HEYxItsTori Feb 22, 2013 Student

Lovely

*PrussianPersephone Feb 22, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

Thank you very much.

~LilRedBird101 Feb 22, 2013 General Artist

This was beautiful and fun. Don't get angry, this is just my opinion, but I think this is one of your top works from the past few weeks. It feels happy and BAAA!! I don't know what it is!!
WAIT!
Lovely. Flowing. Captivating.

*PrussianPersephone Feb 22, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

I'm not angry. Thank you very much.

~LilRedBird101 Feb 22, 2013 General Artist

You're very welcome

=autumn--thunder Feb 21, 2013 Student General Artist

_{This is lovely, and I can really tell how much it has come from the heart. (: I reckon all of your poetry is beautiful. You should be proud of how far you've come.
Poetry is a wonderful thing to take pleasure in.

I wrote some myself, today, after like eight months of not doing it. That's what school does to me.}

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Poetry is:

`Poetry is:`

`who I am; who I was; and who I want to be.`

Poetry is:by *PrussianPersephone

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