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Deviant for 4 Years
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Literature
pluto has the right idea
the gravity of the situation is that i am neither sun nor moon,
do not get too close or i will fly like a meteor,
flashing ice-cold against the void
as i find someplace to hide in the cosmos -
i am not a planet with a breathable atmosphere,
one in which you can become intoxicated by and stay in forever,
i am not an inhale of hope
but an exhale of despair, and after meeting me
you will want a reset button, a chance to undo,
but i am not a god that can give you that choice -
i do not love you like trees love the soil
or clouds love the sky, i do not feel emotion
like the babbling of brook and birdsong in the air,
i feel anger like a snapping volcano, spewing lava and unrelenting
ash that will bury you and break your bones -
i am not the harbor your boat will adhere to, nor the pillow
upon which you will rest your head. i am not the stars for you to reach towards.
i am not the end that anyone is searching for -
i beg you, take your sanity and depart to keep it,
leave me alone on this dese
:iconKhaimin:Khaimin
:iconkhaimin:Khaimin 5 1
Literature
i don't remember the color of your eyes
you suffocated yourself
in the weight of what-ifs
and the memories you wanted to rip out of your head;
you wished nothing more than to be left alone
and cold in the dark,
while every night you closed your eyes to the thought
of someday -
i dissipate in the churning air,
i let myself be swallowed whole and let out again as poison,
let myself be blown by the wind
and shattered by the leaves of trees that haven't learned to let go -
you dared to breathe and found you liked the taste of spring,
found you liked the way the sun felt on your skin
and frosty grass felt on your feet, you realized the way the rain falls
is the most interesting of things,
you took a breath -
i am breathlessness embodied, i am the choking sensation of
lost changes and shattered hearts and i was the tornado
that broke you apart again -
(you dared to breathe in hope, you breathed in me)
i all but killed you as a hurricane, the rain you loved lashing out
and striking you down, the winds too fast to take in
and too ha
:iconKhaimin:Khaimin
:iconkhaimin:Khaimin 9 2
Literature
break the gates with rings of fire
halt, the sky sings in seraphic tones,
the clouds roar as they race to part in unholy droves -
like the breaching masses of old-world seas,
on the quaking earth, the shores tremble and seize -
the trees collapse inward and cave to forest floors,
left to rot and crumble now and forevermore -
man steals fire, escapes the cave,
angels pick man off in one winged clave -
man's lowly ashes will drift to the earth
as the gods above die and new ones are birthed -
and as centuries pass with storms and with fire,
man will return to consequences dire -
they'll turn to be angels as angels turn to be gods,
and gods they will be against all the odds -
though slow and sure, the world will keep turning
as heaven reigns hellish, and angels keep burning.
:iconKhaimin:Khaimin
:iconkhaimin:Khaimin 14 2
Literature
wolves get shot and the moon mourns the day
i'd say my lungs have atrophied
but that seems too corporeal
to deal with what i've lost -
it's more like my soul
and my self, as plato would say; it left to
the realm behind our heads and
didn't bother taking my body down
before it ran
                 out -
i watched the rain fall yesterday
and dreamed of thunderstorms
and dry lightning,
wished for a drought that would never end
because i was tired of things growing
in the barren crevasses of my skin
take hold of hands in the night
and watch me waste away, i'm
skin and bones and bones and
soul gone missing
(i miss tomorrow already
and it ain't even here)
hold still darling,
it hurts to fall apart;
it'll be better if you close your eyes
and dream of gumdrops and gunshots
to lull yourself to sleep
(shh, sweetie, mama ain't gonna let you fall
to the ground, ain't gonna let you
rise to the clouds
and fly away, i've got you hidden softly,
this rotting world don't reach heaven no more
and you'll
:iconKhaimin:Khaimin
:iconkhaimin:Khaimin 11 3
Literature
to whomever it may concern
at night i lie half-sleeping with you
on the couch, the television screen blaring
propaganda and 2-am comedies.
your fingernails are getting long again,
and you won't let me cut them 'cause you say
baby, they're all i've got left to fight with
on my way outta this hell
.
so i let you run them over my skin, gentle
in their calamity
(you wreck me without knowing
the price i pay to sink with you).
and when the sun dips above the
curtains you write half-posed
prose on my wrists and up my elbows,
onto my collarbones
and the twist of my neck,
you write phrases that make your mind dance
and my skin sing;
you call me beautiful in the light of
a static-screened telly
and the words on my arms sting like tattoos i've wanted
since i was thirteen
(you became my forever two lifetimes
ago, and even if we never move
from a worn-out couch
to the hollywood we've always dreamed of,
i'll be happy to listen to laugh-tracks
and late tomorrows
as long as you're around to place your poetry
in all my emp
:iconKhaimin:Khaimin
:iconkhaimin:Khaimin 22 4
Literature
justice is blind in the eyes of the wicked
wolves come running.
their howls light the moon
and the diamonds in their eyes make wild beasts flee;
the stars glint a deadly shade of beautiful
as the trees wrap branches around lost children,
turn them into wild-bred fae.
there is magic in the air
that glints dangerously
from lupine paws, pounding into the earth.
mushroom circles rise from the dirt
and doorways open;
travelers stumble awry
and the fair folk feast well tonight.
(the wolves howl and come running,
their teeth like death snapping at moonbeams,
tails whipping shadows;
and slowly they melt into the night as the sun rises.
doorways lock and mushrooms burn -
the magic is lost again
until dusk-time comes and it is reborn,
chasing on the heels of night creatures gone mad)
:iconKhaimin:Khaimin
:iconkhaimin:Khaimin 10 4
Literature
every(little)thing
i am just one word
bleeding into another,
one breath finding its way to my bones
and back again.
i am a universe of almost
and the past tense of maybe;
i am everything the in-between spaces
never had room for,
and all the lines in stories
never found the space to squeeze me in.
candles burn bright like stars
when i steal a glance their way,
but the lights burn out when i get close
and leave me alone to tell the moon goodbye
as the sun rises over the
horizon.
i am three hundred and twenty-four
different books scattered across
lonely spaces
and i am nineteen years of new beginnings
and old ends.
i have culminated both
apathy
and
empathy;
they twist together to create
something yet unseen.
i will forever bleed words
onto these pages
and these pages will wrap around me when i die,
send me off to the next world
with a little sound of home.
(this is everything i've dreamed of;
this is all i need to be)
:iconKhaimin:Khaimin
:iconkhaimin:Khaimin 17 11
Literature
the past haunts and the future beckons
you knocked on the door;
i opened it and let the ghosts in.
they settled in the halls
on the stairs that creak
when you tiptoe past;
they settled in the bedroom, above your pillow
and against the light switch,
waiting to be found in the dark
and diffuse in the light;
they settled atop old frames with new pictures,
dusted themselves in memories
best forgotten, found their way into
photo albums and calendar pages.
one found its way onto my shoulder
above my heart, twisting misty fingers
through my skin
and into the ventricles, twining delicately
through the fiber of my being,
making a long-dead ache begin to breathe.
and through it all you stood in the doorway,
let them settle, let them sigh;
you never were good at saying no
and chasing away the phantom pains.
you were washed out in the moonlight;
i could see through you beneath the stars,
and what you used to mean to me
was as dead as the beat of your heart.
(you always were quite ghostly,
here then gone, disappearing at a breath
and co
:iconKhaimin:Khaimin
:iconkhaimin:Khaimin 16 6
Literature
like a candle turned supernova
you lit fires to watch moths
toss themselves into the flames,
as though sacrificing themselves to some primitive god found
begging for prayers on a street corner
was any way to make a place in history
the hippies drink beer and beg for peace
from inside the trees, spirits gone wild
and native in the dark
(they flinch from the light)
the girls wear short dresses
and run barefoot through the fields because
they say it feels like flying,
they say it feels like coming home
(and we used to set fire to oil on water
to see contradiction on the lip of the world
now we just waste away beneath shunned stars and
sit with dry lips tongues lives
and wait to meet our makers -
the sun is a fire and we are
slowly
falling in)
:iconKhaimin:Khaimin
:iconkhaimin:Khaimin 14 11
Literature
those days half-remembered
i left off in the corners of half-remembered places.
i left off mid-sentence while staring at the sea.
i left off in a cornfield maze where the sky was so gold it was falling
and the air smelled like sweet summers.
i left off on the side of the road where the cars crashed together,
where the tires ran flat and the blinkers didn't blink anymore,
where the windshields were cracked into spiderwebs that caught the last breath.
i left off at the top of a cliff right before i jumped,
right before i fell and dove into the inky waters below
where the jagged rocks missed me by inches that could have been miles.
i left off finding shapes in the clouds,
skirting them with small fingers
and naming creatures that don't exist outside of fairytales.
i left off in a thousand different places, slowly speaking through space and time until my voice stopped -
i left off always and forever; i will leave off again.  
but i have a thousand stories to tell,
and though many have been left endless a
:iconKhaimin:Khaimin
:iconkhaimin:Khaimin 22 9
Literature
hello / goodbye / goodbye again
lovers bleed into each other
until there's nothing left.
they take the ghost train
to the place where nothing ever hurts,
as if that will change anything.
and as they get off, their hearts ride on;
they ride to the place where there's something to live for,
they ride to a place where they see the beautiful mess that they could have been,
they ride to see the fire at sea,
they ride to the corner of me and you,
of you and I,
they ride.
lovers bleed into each other.
they take needles and ink and write love poems into each other's skin,
but it doesn't matter because ink fades -
not fast, but eventually.
lovers feel love - quickly -
but that rush of adrenaline is gone
after one night, ten nights, two years;
after the ring is thrown into the ocean
and the tide washes it away.
lovers come together in a fragile art,
the art of (never) letting go,
and in the hopes of remaining forever entwined,
they bleed into each other;
until there's nothing left.
:iconKhaimin:Khaimin
:iconkhaimin:Khaimin 13 3
Literature
ocean blues and skyline hues
the corners of your mouth
frame the shipwreck in my head.
the pattern it makes in the system is a maze;
the colors of the sea are everywhere at once.
we have wet hair and wet eyes
because we're drowning in this ocean.
there's a lantern in the lifeboat that's painted black,
but it's okay because our truths are found
in strange places.
(being here in the water
is an excuse for your company;
we are slowly drowning, but it's okay -
together we will fall into this sea and
learn to love just as deeply)
:iconKhaimin:Khaimin
:iconkhaimin:Khaimin 21 5
Literature
it's a young man's game
i.
once upon a time he was a military man,
hard-jawed and jaded by the wars of the world
and you could see the remnant of every battle he'd been in
by the burden in his eyes.
he'd pulled the trigger tens too many times;
he had never known forgiveness,
but mercy was a mistress he had courted often.
now he's old-boned and sits in the recliner while he watches the ballgame;
he laughs at jokes and clenches a fist in the hardest of times;
his daughters say they love him
and tears form in his eyes.
he's a soft soul in a hard body,
bruises on his skin from brushing against a table,
scratches on his arms from trying to take care
of the only woman he'd ever loved.
ii.
once upon a time he was a military man
that took the world in to his hands and refused to let it go.
now the world turns around him and he spends his days
with his wife's hand clutched closely to his chest
as the world turns on around him, without him.
he took care of it for twenty years until it almost broke his bones,
and now th
:iconKhaimin:Khaimin
:iconkhaimin:Khaimin 23 7
Literature
the songs cicadas sing
it was a miracle that she could breathe
when he ran his hands along her skin;
when he brushed his lips against her hair
and told her he loved her
more than flowers love the soil.
he told her he would never leave
and that the world would stop turning if he stopped looking in her eyes;
he said the moment he said goodbye would
be the last breath he ever took.
she looked him up and down
and crawled inside his ribs
to hide from a city gone mad,
like he could protect her from the imploding universe
that pulled at her cells
and her soul.
they rode in taxi cabs and didn't hold hands
but they held gazes,
staring into each other's windows
and waiting to see what lay inside
behind the sheltered glass.
at night they snuffed out candles
and lay on a bed made of memories,
listening to the sounds of humanity surrounding them
and hounding them until the moment
they closed their minds
and fell into oblivion.
they held each other in their sleep
and as the stars shone above so did their dreams,
soft and
:iconKhaimin:Khaimin
:iconkhaimin:Khaimin 15 10
Mature content
it's why we pray and don't get answered :iconkhaimin:Khaimin 81 45
Literature
tomorrow and the next day 'cause it never ends
there's a woman in the laundromat staring down at her phone;
she got off work three hours ago and she doesn't wanna go home
'cause all that's waiting for her there
are screaming sons and a pregnant daughter;
she takes her time as her laundry air-dries slowly,
takes her time to breathe in the quiet-loud atmosphere of shaking machines;
she takes her time.
there's a man in the corner booth talking nonstop on a headset;
he laughs and it's strained 'cause he knows he's on borrowed time,
his wife's got another man in the sheets
and he pretends he doesn't notice that she smells like whiskey and cologne
when she walks through the door at 2 a.m.;
he closes his eyes and takes time to convince himself it'll be okay,
closes his eyes and pretends that he's asleep when he feels the bed dip beside him in the morning;
he closes his eyes.
there's a kid on the street holding a cigarette;
his hand shakes as he lights it 'cause he hasn't had his fix yet,
he knows it's cracking up his lungs but he can't ge
:iconKhaimin:Khaimin
:iconkhaimin:Khaimin 29 17

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The Daily Magnet #249 by FridgePoetProject The Daily Magnet #249 :iconfridgepoetproject:FridgePoetProject 88 38
Literature
you and whose army
soldier, what measure
could encompass your courage
in staring truth in its dead eyes
and then inviting it into your arms
without a single whisper
to acknowledge the pain it will cause?
you walk to the beat
of a powerful melody, the one set down
by the ink from your veins,
and for your sake, i hope that those
who aim their blades at your heart
will know it is better to stand down,
for those who know best how to heal
also know best how to hurt.
and when you know this,
an army of clattering 
catastrophes, apostrophes,
impostors, and catharsis
of blind mice 
only do so much damage.
when you have the pot ready to boil
and the knife ready to behead,
shake earth and shake red,
quake the stakes, slate
the dead, prepare them
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because the past (li(f)e)
is only one flashlight, gaslight
flickerswitch on its silhouette
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pluto's crave
i.
i look like a shadow
and you don't
you look like an arrow
of sharp want
i feel like the gallows
and you're drunk
we've destroyed the bedroom
and old earth
you shouldn't ask me
i've been at the precipice
there aren't saints here
i've been dire for
ii.
lately i feel unclean
but you won't
understand an inkling
in my throat
i feel like there's grumblings
of our death
we've deployed the slumbering
and gross lunge
you should not have
taken me to genesis
there aren't snakes here
play the lyre for
iii.
i look, light and
hallowed evenings
crumble with deceit
we've wondered when
the pillars would shake
you should
bask in your importance
we have given orders
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Avengers collection by Kibbitzer Avengers collection :iconkibbitzer:Kibbitzer 1,719 87
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your poem
you tell me on a thursday that you can’t find
the god inside of yourself anymore, that
you think that you are finally
too much honeycomb and not enough human
because lately everything has been slipping
through your fingers, and you don’t know how you can
keep holding yourself together anymore.
if today is the day that you look
at the stars and you no longer
feel their burn beneath your bones,
i will show you the blanket i tried to make
when i was eight, and i will tell you all i know
about the string theory, which isn’t much, i admit,
but i do know the basics,
and that’s that everything in the universe
is composed of strings that somehow
loop onto each other infinitely.
so whenever you feel like you’re
walking a tightrope without a safety
net below you, know that you are
thousands of tightropes strung together,
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i have never told you about the way
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The Writer
She entered libraries 
the way she would
cemeteries 
            & gazebos,
calm,
     breathless,
            toes on the tips 
     of what she calls
obscure,

but never for long. 
Aisles and hallways and steps
and the scent of near-to-be-falling rain
send her to a cascade of a maze
of quills and pens and nibs
wrought into thoughts and dreams
            and heartbreak. 

She isn’t the keeper of secrets 
on the white lines 
of overly-opened
spines,
nor is she the coffee-table book
you open 
when you’re bored. 
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a ghost among the pages,
both the pen and the words
and the last stuttered poetry
you spoke. 
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New Icon by Entitaria New Icon :iconentitaria:Entitaria 7 2
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[57]
-and i ask you
 do you feel their pulsing
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 bright)
 
 and do you
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The Sky Beneath My Feet by yuumei The Sky Beneath My Feet :iconyuumei:yuumei 24,052 430
Literature
A Moment Of Heaven
Driving top down in my weathered purple convertible
The starry blanket of night wraps us in tender embrace
The biting chill of winter air surrounds us
As a soft piano ambiance drifts lazily from the stereo
Parked in our favourite spot on that old country back road
We tilt our seats back and hold hands
We gaze into the crystal clear night sky
Naming the constellations
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there goes one more
darling, the songs in your throat
won't die with you.
you were never one to bite down
hard - you only showed
your shiny teeth. i never got to know
the soul that glittered underneath your
galaxy hair, your doe eyes, sharp smile
and i can't help but
wonder how death has crept up
beneath your skin and ro(o/t)ted
over your face, statuesque, but
there is heaven in your
hips, there is life in the
roundness of your cheeks
and the brittle strength in
your voice, flaking.
your melodies are swollen and
bursting, love. your flanks
are swallowed by stardust.
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breaking news: an ember bursts
i: vixens do not have faces.
and hers is blank, just
brows and bridges.
streaks of colors skid
into the thick lines
of her hair, but she
has not
blurred them,
she has not
killed her
darlings.
they are the
only bright things
in a world which,
for her, has
shrunk to the size
of a city window.
she is swallowed
by her pack
for the rest of
the night.
ii: dragon scales are soft and warm.
my pupils stretch to fill
the spaces between my sentences.
his finger pushes up
against my forehead,
and it's the realest
thing i've felt all night. he is
a good soul, i know it, and
poems stirr in his blood
the same way they latch
in my breath. i tremble
endlessly, and he
stares on. i feel
small, and yet
his faith
makes me
mountainous.
iii: moons leave puncture wounds glowing.
each spin of the waves
brings her further from me.
the tide simmers to
her heartbeat, and she
does not think of me, or
the stanzas (she doesn't
know) i spun for her.
the next ti
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The Daily Magnet #246 by FridgePoetProject The Daily Magnet #246 :iconfridgepoetproject:FridgePoetProject 126 47
Literature
[55]
  -and like a deer
   caught in the headlights
   of an oncoming storm
   you, gesture
   whispering, fearful;
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   stop, there's
   no danger'
   as your
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   the wrist-
   watch chiming
   twelve'o'midnight
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   bones, rattling
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[your blueprints
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moondance.
he had a mouth that tasted of kisses, spoke
words sweet like secrets, had promises shaped
like hands and hands shaped like promises, he
had a way with remembering people’s whole
names, great with birthdays, he could name
every capital city in europe if you asked him to.
he was a man too tall to be a be a boy, a boy too
wonderful to be a man, he could play the bass
guitar and would serenade seagulls, old ladies,
he was charming in his placidity. he was a moth-
bitten tapestry of something beautiful, he was
a crocus blooming on a devil’s grave, he was the
moment the rain stopped when you realised you
had no umbrella, he was the mist quiet on the
rocks that hid the tears you threw into the ocean
the day your parents divorced. he was a gentle
boy, wavering eyes, rock-pool skin, he would hold
anything for you until you snatched it back and
retreated like the tides, he would hold your hand
crossing the road, he would hold your heart when
you were ready to give up, he was my fourt
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:iconcomatose-comet:comatose-comet 40 20
Literature
unlovable lovers
   The doctor walked into his office, sighing with an usual breathing. His lungs felt compressed, and his feet were inflated; the edges were not, however, and they were worn from his tight leather dress shoes. He began to undress. Clothes collapsed upon his swerving grey chair and so did he. Dragging himself up to his desk, he discovered piles upon piles of documents. He had no clue for as to what was going on; in fact, he didn't even understand what all of these things meant.
the first appendage's complaint.
i hate when she tosses me
around, running in the street
like that. hands are tired. they
keep telling me that they greatly
dislike the way that she drags them
up to her face to wipe the sweat away.
i get tired whenever she throws me back
and forth, like the swings she passes in front
of during her morning jogs. at least she hasn't
shaved my hair. i can't get the screams of legs'
torture out of my head whenever the things grow
back.
   The doctor quizzica
:iconskullhips:skullhips
:iconskullhips:skullhips 16 8

Groups

  • Watching: Psych
  • Drinking: Water
Hey everyone! First and foremost, this is a feature for my favorite of the ten thousand accumulated notifications I have that I need to look through (okay, it's more like 92, but still). I've been meaning to glance through them for some time now, but things seem to keep coming up. Classes starting, moving back to school, dealing with a sick roomie, it all takes up some time. But that's no excuse! Not for ignoring my notifications nor never posting anything new. I'll try to get the ball rolling again soon, especially because I gained a bunch of new watchers recently and I don't want to disappoint them. c: 

(by the way - hi y'all! i'm happy to have you here. :hug:)

Anyway, now I've got that tidbit out of the way. So here's the feature! Hope you guys enjoy them as much as I did. <3

The Daily Magnet #299 by FridgePoetProject i'll miss you when i'm gone by trappedwitch after time and magical thingsi believed you, whoever you were.
flinging fictional lives
around your shoulders like a
coat worn well, it's by you
i found roots
between pages, a place
in every story.
a throne, a bed, a ship, a hammer,
a home.
tell us one more, don't go.
the world is weeping words,
memory-tears of you, for you.
villain, lover, in between,
voice of velvet heart of gold
you are our prince.
silver deer slip through the wood,
stars who lost their way
searching for your heartbeat.
dogeared books can be reread,
but a life is only once
and you touched more lives
than any bit of ink or paper
ever could because
you made magic real
forever, and
always.
:thumb583977745: broken heart syndrome.i was born in a december that was
no more mine than the snow or the
sky was, the stars would glint like street
-lights dancing in shards over black ice, i
held my mother’s hand.
my first kiss was at midnight new years
eve, and january slipped off its overcoat
as it stepped in the door, i thought it
would be the shortest month but it was
the longest, lingering still on the edges of
every other heartbreak (nothing hurts like
the first).
february with all her pretty smiles, with all
her quiet tragedies, i tucked my cat’s death
in the corners of a leap day spent crying,
folded my parent’s divorce in the fortnights
sleepwalking without dreaming, february has
become a phobia.
the winter breathed its last as depression
blossomed from frostbitten soil, i still wish
i knew what spring meant but march has
left my fields fallow.
april showers poured down on a world
outside our windows, we kissed on the
sofa and we closed the curtains thinking
we were waterproof, but i wasn
[cut short]-this, where the sun dives into the other
 world, is where they made their
 enclave-promise; and she
 bowed
 low
 into the ground, her sugar-
 melt skeleton, glowing only
 for a moment, decomposing
 before his eyes, twisted.
 shivering, into a memoir calamity-
The Daily Magnet #300 by FridgePoetProject if at first you don't succeed, try try again you razed my mind
into a wasteland of souls
all dampness and haze
conspiring against the colors
faded into porcelain irises
ghostlight and feather dust
bone shavings
bitterness
i only wanted to be remembered
[parasitic, growth]-like a
 plague
 covered in frozen moss,
 shimmering under the guise of water;
 moths drawn, drunk, dying
 within your unfortunate idea of
 affection - a hold that was never
 meant to last for more than an
 aeon
[you should
 have
 let her
 go]-
sully's a druggie but he isn't a monsterhouston has
a problem with me
because i want everything
that does not belong to me
i cried for four hours three
days ago; i just replayed everything
over
and over
and over
and over
and over
because you are the
yin to my yang and i
know that i'm lodged in
your head still like the lipstick
that you can't scrub out of the cracks
in lips so fucking sour and now i know
that i wasn't alone
i was your cosmonaut
and you were the galaxy that i traversed in
you know every word to my
songs— the tip-toeing of lyrics
and beats and i don't know why
you want to buy me an rv when
we graduate i'm not yours i don't
think but i never know
sometimes i lay in bed looking like
a corpse out of a movie scene and i
listen to sir sly on repeat without
formal punctuation
sometimes i lay in bed and
i remember the converse i wore to
school in fifth grade for about two
weeks; i heard that monsters' favorite
shoe brand is /ˈkɒnvərs/.
/kənˈvərs/ with them like two
friends meeting e

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Khaimin
Paige
Artist | Hobbyist | Literature
United States
"I have pretended to go mad in order to tell you the things I need to. I call it art. Because art is the word we give to our feelings made public. And art doesn’t worry anyone.”
- pleasefindthis, I Wrote This for You



To all my Watchers:
I don't normally say thanks for faving to you guys because usually the people who favorite my stuff favorite a lot of my stuff, and I don't want to spam you guys with "THANK YOU" all over your comments section. xD


I have a side account here: :iconwings191:. I don't put a whole lot up on it, but once in a while something'll get posted. c:


**Anything that I happen to put up on this website, be it poetry, photography, or drawings, is copyright to me. Don't steal it and cause yourself trouble.**
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:iconoliverbphotography:
OliverBPhotography Featured By Owner May 8, 2017  Hobbyist Photographer
Just wanted to stop by and say hi. "Hi!". :D

But seriously, how have you been? I miss talking to you and reading your stuff. Hope you're doing well! :hug:
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:iconkhaimin:
Khaimin Featured By Owner May 16, 2017  Hobbyist Writer
Hi friend! I certainly have been away for awhile now, haven't I? Sweating a little...  I can't say it's been anything more than being a busy bee, but now that summer's here I'm in the mind to be a bit more active! It made me so happy to hear from you! HugI'm doing just fine, and I hope you're doing great as well <3 
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:icona-girl-named-divine:
a-girl-named-divine Featured By Owner Mar 13, 2017  Hobbyist Writer
i haven't spoken to you in ages but hi i love you and appreciate you and you're so talented and so beautiful and generally just super lovely :heart: hope you have a good day!
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:iconkhaimin:
Khaimin Featured By Owner May 16, 2017  Hobbyist Writer
aww, thank you lovely! you are also lovely and beautiful and i hope that you are happy as can be <3
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:icona-girl-named-divine:
a-girl-named-divine Featured By Owner May 17, 2017  Hobbyist Writer
:tighthug: :heart:
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