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Array
(
[sid] => 149522
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => untitled V
[time] => 2009-04-29 19:41:33
[hometext] => A letter to the siren-child, the unattainable phantom of ravaged hearts... (We are pure fiction, poetry of massacred romantics.)
[bodytext] => Dear Adoles, I struggle for breath as I write this; there is a howling in the cavities beneath my heart that fill with your fragile smoke, echoing sonnets that I wish I could sing, but the winds do not deserve my love. They are still, unyielding. Empty as god’s breath, they try to sift through me, and I laugh, bitter with anguish because how can they carry me to you if I bear no wings? My room swells with silence, a dark thing that exhales phantoms I would rather forget. It is never completely free of chaos, as my thoughts and breath are never liberated from your weak hands. I think of them sometimes, hoping that if I squeezed my eyes hard enough, if I just skipped one more heartbeat, they'd caress secrets along the wounds that refused to be beautiful, no matter how many times I carved the word. Would you kiss them, Adoles? Would you whisper love to each poetic destruction I engraved as tribute to my self-hate? Would you cringe? Weep? You are as voiceless as my walls. They quiver in the new faces I painted, uneven and slightly mal-functional, but pure white. It reminds me of the snow we have yet to form angels in, fresh cream you so love, the hearts of bleached almonds cradled within the pink of your mouth. It reminds me of how very unattainable you are, dear phantom of human colours. I float restlessly between nothing, and the home that resides in your beggar arms. I must tell you how much I abhor this songless purgatory, the endlessness of it; perhaps it is punishment for the words I have not said, that little melody of three. I would say that you cannot fathom the madness of my ache, this longing for immortality beneath your very flesh, but… I hope I'm lying. I love you because you make me feel small, Adoles. Breakable. Because regardless of my frailty, I know I conquer every breath as you conquer mine. I know that if a dagger pierced my heart, a rose would spill across the vastness of your child breasts and our last moments would tangle into one infinite silence. Write to me, Adoles. Drown me in your presence, your shattered soul, the stories that haunt you, the dreams that cross the miles and mold the foundations of my crumbling sanity... Ruin me with parchment and ink. Ruin me with the songs of your bleeding heart because they are proof of your existence - They remind me that my arms are empty, my house devoid of your fragrant sufferings and joys, my bed placcid without your small indentation. Adoles, sweet Adoles, I await for the death you will bestow upon me as eagerly as if you were to kiss me. Perhaps I would perish then, as well. Ah, but you frown with disdain when I speak of death so exquisitely. Then, Adoles, resurrect me; flood me with the agony of living, of loving so viciously, because only you can rekindle such flames. Oh, Adoles, I am breathing! Adoles, how you make me weep with life! I dance at the edge of eternity, waiting for you, - A. [comments] => 0 [counter] => 235 [topic] => 2 [informant] => FleurdeSang [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 5 [ratings] => 1 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => LovePoetry )
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