| the leaves wouldn't turn red. |
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paper cranes and picket fencesi am folding you one thousand paper cranes because it is all we have left.paper cranes and picket fences
legend says that if i fold one thousand paper cranes, i will get a wish. i could wish for a pair of iridescent wings or an ocean in a teacup or just to finally be happy again, but i don't want any of that--with every crane i fold i am imagining you. one crane for the circles under your eyes, one crane for your jutting ribs, one crane for every seizure.
i love you and you're dying and i will run out of paper trying to fold your broken pieces into birds.
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you drew me a picture of us in the future. our houses were
by *estallidos
interstate 81.there's a metal star that is wasting away on a hill overlooking interstate 81. it blends in with the surrounding area; you can't really even see it unless you know it's there. and no one does. i like to think that it is a signboard from god, and i make tiny little prayers on it. my religion is in curling wires and burned out light bulbs, and my lord is the same colour as the sky and the treetops. honestly, i believe that rusting metal has as much a chance as anything for inspiring faith.interstate 81.
there's a deer lying broken on the side of the road. it's sprawled in a shallow ditch with its four legs splayed awkwardly, h
by *estallidos
by *estallidos
an elegy for a cicada.i'd read that saying something three times makes it come true, like a spell, an enchantment. a curse.an elegy for a cicada.
i'm not saying that i ever found truth in those words, but when i was seven i wrote my wishes down three times on purple stationary and tucked them into drawers where they lay forgotten, and last night i woke up in a cold sweat and dug them out and smoothed their creases.
i had written, "i don't want grandpa to die/i don't want grandpa to die/i don't want grandpa to die," but he's buried beneath some marble slab and you are here, painful and human and blood and bone and your heart is going to break when she dies an
by *estallidos
being in love.it's like when you were five, when your pet rabbit died and you learned that nothing good lasts.being in love.
it's like the time you dropped him off at his house to watch tv
before you drove yourself to the emergency room, sobbing.
it's like the first time you saw your kindergarten teacher cry.
it's like ring around the rosie, a pocket full of posies, ashes. ashes.
it's like when he went too far, and he said, "is this okay?" and you said, "no," but it didn't matter.
it's like when he said, "but i want you."
it's like the number seven, or rubies.
i
by *estallidos
stuff i should've told brian.1.stuff i should've told brian.
if i ever have a son i will name him isaac, because isaac means laughter and that is what you gave me and then took away. or maybe i will name him elliott after the musician elliott smith, or oliver because guess what, i just like the name.
you said that if you were ever to have a daughter you'd name her kelsey because you met me and you loved me and so you thought that the name kelsey means "someone beautiful who will come into your life and change you forever." i didn't have the heart to tell you that kelsey is really just some scandinavian name that means "from the ship island."
i'm laughter and an
by *estallidos
fifty-seven degrees.i.fifty-seven degrees.
it is summer and i want to write you poems
about how it is fifty-seven degrees and i am shaking. it is summer and i want to crawl through your second-story
window and tell you about the butterfly i saw and named "cloudcityscandal," but you are always asleep and dreamless. it is summer and whenever i sleep i only dream about you, so how is that fair. it is summer and i don't go to church but spend all my time confessing. it is summer and i don't discharge static before pumping gas. it is summer and where is my paradise. where is my sanity.
where is my personal weight-loss
by *estallidos
telling a sad story backwards-17.telling a sad story backwards-
it smells like grief and sterilized metal.
i climb into andrew’s bed, though the nurses have strictly forbidden it. he closes his eyes and holds me tightly, because he says when he can’t see me, it is easier to pretend i never happened to him.
15.
he pushes the cart aggressively down the aisle, pretending to mow over old ladies doing their sunday shopping.
"stop," i say giggling, lobbing a can of ravioli at him.
for a moment i think he simply didn't see me throw the can; it glances off his chest and falls to the floor, exploding in a pattern of
by *estallidos
| just don't. |
Random Favourites
kelseydear kelsey,kelsey
i thought of you last night. i sat upon my roof top at four am in shorts and a singlet because i wanted to feel the cold in my bones. i realised how much i miss seeing your voice and i wondered where you were. please come back to us.
s. x
by ~Baby-Girl-Fourever
EstallidosI read one of Kelsey’s poems again... And I looked at her profile, her ID, her eyes that really do bore into you... And her icon... “Shit, I was almost happy again”Estallidos
Sometime it really sums it up. Sometimes I wonder who Brian is; or Andrew; or anything that makes you so sad; I wonder what some things mean. I even looked up cicada because I didn’t know what it was.
But I always think of you. In the end. Not Kelsey or Brian or that 17 year insect You, even though I wish I wouldn’t.
Kelsey,
You commented once and wish
by ~PrincePuck
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--
I really should be studying.
active in:
*DailyLitDeviations ~alphabetspawn *Critique-It
so you're still my favorite writer on here. i don't know what i'd do without your work, hehe.
Good luck ^_^
--
Live free,
Die hard,
And leave a confusing autopsy.
I stumbled upon your works through a relative quoting his favourite line from one of your pieces and insisting that I visit your page. I did... at far too late an hour of the night and subsequently I read until my eyelids were closing of their own accord.. Then, whilst brushing my teeth, I felt something I have not felt for a while; the once familiar yearning to put pen to paper... the words were already spilling forth... and my mouth was all foamy with toothpaste!
So I wrote. And I felt renewed. And I felt in control.
And today I wanted to share that with you. So I signed up to dA. And I have posted a minor piece that bears reference to you so I thought it only fair to tell you. It lies very quietly, right here: [link]
Thank you,
LH
--
"The value of life is not in the length of days, but in the use we make of them; a man may live long yet very little."
I wish I could express the way your poems make me feel.
Sorry...
--
"The mind is the most dangerous weapon one can have..."
Your writing is so amazing, so heart warming, heart breaking, so real. I'm so glad you've decided to share your talent and pour out your soul like you do.
Thank you.
ofcourse starting @ the journals is better from what i hear
--
If only, if only the woodpecker cries,
The Bark on the trees was as soft as the skies.
The wolf waits below, hungry and lonely,
And howls to the moon, if only, if only.
--
I really should be studying.
active in:
*DailyLitDeviations ~alphabetspawn *Critique-It
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