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Array ( [sid] => 148401 [catid] => 1 [aid] => mick [title] => Untitled II [time] => 2009-03-10 09:34:33 [hometext] => A nocturne of past whisperings that remain nameless.. If anyone has ideas, please feel free to share them. [bodytext] => The sun sits on the horizon like a blood clot.

my skull, a
bowl of bees, that
white marble sanctuary
of madness,
splits open and

my words drip out
like a miscarriage
and your chameleon eyes
lap up the fetus,
wrap it around your mind’s
tongue, and savor
the bloody reiterations of
my instability.

it is an art to die
the way that I do each day.

With every gray moment,
Tiny drops of s.u.i.c.i.d.e, like rain
or tears,
swallowing each other to form the ultimate death

And perhaps the moon is a frozen tear

Of god,

Or of no one.

They laugh at each other from
the same mirror.

~*~

my mouth blooms like a cut.

that vibrating red demon
sleeps inside, but
is silent
Today.

There’s an ice-box at
the bottom of my soul,
The tears never wept,
The screams,
The child,

all prisoners in its porcelain belly,

only at midnight
do all my ghosts rise
from that heart-shaped grave,

all my pretty ones,
my rotted loves...

it is an art to shatter
the way that I do.

A noiseless cataclysm,
An apocalypse of glass

and oh, Father, Father-

i am stained with your red fingers

Father,

i am the one you broke.

[comments] => 3 [counter] => 217 [topic] => 75 [informant] => FleurdeSang [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 10 [ratings] => 2 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => anguished )

Untitled II

Contributed by FleurdeSang on Tuesday, 10th March 2009 @ 09:34:33 AM in AEST
Topic: anguished

The sun sits on the horizon like a blood clot.

my skull, a
bowl of bees, that
white marble sanctuary
of madness,
splits open and

my words drip out
like a miscarriage
and your chameleon eyes
lap up the fetus,
wrap it around your mind’s
tongue, and savor
the bloody reiterations of
my instability.

it is an art to die
the way that I do each day.

With every gray moment,
Tiny drops of s.u.i.c.i.d.e, like rain
or tears,
swallowing each other to form the ultimate death

And perhaps the moon is a frozen tear

Of god,

Or of no one.

They laugh at each other from
the same mirror.

~*~

my mouth blooms like a cut.

that vibrating red demon
sleeps inside, but
is silent
Today.

There’s an ice-box at
the bottom of my soul,
The tears never wept,
The screams,
The child,

all prisoners in its porcelain belly,

only at midnight
do all my ghosts rise
from that heart-shaped grave,

all my pretty ones,
my rotted loves...

it is an art to shatter
the way that I do.

A noiseless cataclysm,
An apocalypse of glass

and oh, Father, Father-

i am stained with your red fingers

Father,

i am the one you broke.

Copyright Â© FleurdeSang ... [ 2009-03-10 09:34:33]
(Date/Time posted on site)

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Re: Untitled II (User Rating: 1 )
by venkat on Tuesday, 10th March 2009 @ 10:18:18 AM AEST
(User Info | Send a Message)

You have terrible images in your brain..
they formed these poetic musings which are abnormal and astounding..

Re: Untitled II (User Rating: 1 )
by Former_Member on Thursday, 12th March 2009 @ 03:19:06 PM AEST
(User Info | Send a Message)

You have an incredible way with words.
The pain here is tactile. It left me feeling stained. While the content is distasteful to me, I have to admire you talent!

Re: Untitled II (User Rating: 1 )
by doug on Monday, 13th April 2009 @ 12:20:55 PM AEST
(User Info | Send a Message)

I have a fondness for poems that are not just something to be read and savored for a moment but something which provokes the reader and haunts them for years. You're the kind of writer that makes me love poetry again , that makes me want to write again. When a poet grabs emotion , drinks the blood from it and spits that blood violently onto paper.... that is when poetry becomes more than just a hobby. It becomes ingrained in ones soul. Anyways I've got to go but I do love this poem. I keep looking back at many of the lines and they are wonderfully cutting. By that I mean the lines that cut right into the heart of those who read them. Outstanding.
take care , truly , Dusty

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