DevilsLiquidHeart

Go do stuff thats not around me.

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Literature

Man as Novel

He is your unfinished novel. chapter one - a casino in Biarritz, your mother's sapphire locket, a beacon below your smile; fingers cooly fanning out a hand of baccarat as he swears he would give up his daughter's soul for you. Chapter four- sipping Kir Royale at a garden party in Mayfair, a spare husband or two wondering how you would look dressed only in his wife's pearls or a strand of diamonds. The eighth chapter, a train in Morocco; the wheels keeping time with your stories. You're Mata Hari when a stranger invites you to the dining car to share a dry martini. And the last twelve pages - the streets of Curacao;

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Literature

Dick Figures- Let's Play

I take my lute to the woods. I sit on a tree stump and play it. I do it every day and nobody ever asks me why. Of course I enjoy it, but that's not why I do it. I do it for my brother. I know what you're thinking. 'Lord Tourettes has a brother? Cool! I want to meet him!' Good luck with that. No-one's seen him for years. I could sit on this tree stump and play my lute forever, but it still won't bring him back. You want to know what happened, don't you? I thought you would. --x-- "Come on, Scarlet. Let's play." "I told you, I'm busy. Go and play your guitar or something." "It's not a guitar, it's a lute." "Whatever." I sloped awa

Dick Figures

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Man as Novel by Poetrymann, literature

Literature

Man as Novel

Undone by Poetrymann, literature

Literature

Undone

I cannot remember what she wore that night, or the smell of the moon at her wrist, or the blur of her cheek grazing the pillow. I cannot recall details of her voice - what was said or promised once the heat of July nested in the curve of my tongue and pressed back her hesitation. But I remember the shock - the last tremor of bricks and skin carving an arc into our breathing, shaking the walls of her room and the sound of the world coming undone.

Courting Death by Poetrymann, literature

Literature

Courting Death

Death should be a glorious fiend, an indulgent lover who cradles your head and feasts off the slow twine of body and soul. He must court you, run his long, cool fingers from temple to spine and count the days that climb toward heaven. He should caress that cleft behind your knees, find the delicate shift between flesh and blood - a music only he can taste, and knead the supple and smooth hopes you hold and turn them into pledges. He will love you as richly as you deserve - that final lilt of joy blotting out your breath, his bleak and sinewed body covering what lies beneath, making the light within your cheeks

Your Words by LithiumJones, literature

Literature

Your Words

Your words, they make me smile, They make me cry, Telling a bittersweet truth within a lie, How you form them and shape them, Like a promise, hoping no one will break them. Your words, they make me grimace, They make me laugh, Painting a picture of a multicolored giraff, The way they speak and whisper, Just like a dear lover, wishing to be tender. Your words, how I am in love with your words.

Through the Looking Glass by Poetrymann, literature

Literature

Through the Looking Glass

You're Alice through the glass again - mercurial, and hidden from your brothers - Jacob, sloe eyed with words that stuck to the roof of his mouth and dirty palms, his feet terrified of running. Michael - drowning, thick with dreams and the burden of a mother's troubled love, his voice unable to find its way home. You wanted to stay a child, and chase rabbits through the garden and wear a crown to tea parties like the other girls you knew. Not play house with strangers and bury what you couldn't feel deep enough to lose you.

Medicine by Poetrymann, literature

Literature

Medicine

This wasting illness, her belly heavy with my indifference, weighs upon me and sleep is a strange land without a suitcase or room to call its own. Her skin tastes pallid like something kept too long - brown bottle bitter and frail. She stains my fingers every time I reach for her, her love medicinal and thin, as if wondering how I put my shoes on in the morning or know which air to breathe, and hoping silence leaves this pregnant space between us unbearable and unknown.

Sleeping by Poetrymann, literature

Pirate by Poetrymann, literature

Literature

Pirate

He wanted to be a pirate - a rogue of waves and plankton and teakwood decks that smarted under the sharp rap of stars streaming off the bow. He longed to feel rum cut the back of his throat and hoist the skull and crossbones over a ship so far gone the horizon would never find it. He wanted to chart winds that warmed the equator and let the anchor carry off the ballast in the boatswain's burly arms; to watch gold cover his hands to the elbows and sink his lash into the belly of the storm. And know the beauty of his enemy come calling late at night.

Girl as Building by Poetrymann, literature

Literature

Girl as Building

i fell in love with your architecture the cross beams of your cartilage how your tendons knotted over nerves like girders, holding up your arms and the supple curve of neck a room unto itself the doors and windows of you opening and each brick a voice that resonates my mortar the simple stairs of your legs leading me skyward where shoulders meet like corridors and I find myself taking up residence.

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