An older, untitled poem

I found this on poetry.com. I don't know if I've posted it anywhere else... I remember liking it a great deal.

Untitled
you are next to me
close enough to turn my head
and lick your salty skin
the moment between this and the next
frozen in a half-second
wide-eyed rabbit waiting
for the sharp bliss venom can bring
i want to keep you this way
hot and hard against me
temptation's lips on my ear
telling me what a very
bad girl i've been, crooked as my smile
as our bodies wrapped together
deep inside and out
filled to the brim and waiting for that
last drop to spill
everything over the crystal edge
skin to skin
teeth against my pulse
something wicked, beautiful.

the ruin of me.

the ruin of me.

the ruin of me
blackened
a statue carved in
ashes.

is there a phoenix beneath this,
feathers blazing glory
pride, beauty?

is there resurrection in this
destruction?

what is left?
there's nowhere
left to run
and only shadows
left
to hide within
no crimson red
to all this skin.
to ease the pain
with sweet dark promise.
suffer in silence instead.
hiding under smiles.

i want to be good again.
strong, pure.
not dust, not ashes, spent and grey.

beautiful for you
something worth holding
worth
that most sacred, hated word.

one day, one day, one day
like a siren, late to the fire
here only for the aftermath.
one day, one day...
it keeps me warm enough.

my jonni (unfinished, Simon's POV)

unfinished.

in shadows you are a fallen angel, deceptively serene, silver eyes lighting like candles in some sacred place. those around you, they pay homage, your honeyed voice a hymn calling the faithful to worship, arms open. radiating love, the primal sensuality that drips from your blood.

you sing wicked words, and they press their hands to you in awe, complete adoration. my precious cat, voice like velvet, trailing down my spine in a slow, tempting caress; years pass and still the sound makes me shudder, turns my knees to water.

fire in those eyes, and silken promise in the gleam of your perfect skin. radiant in simple perfection; those who have never seen a god would mistake you for one. fire and ice- your eyes hold history, hold me, always...

i crawl from my place across the room, muscles flowing like tides called to the moon. i ache for your touch.

you own me. body, mind, soul. the adoring hands slither away. they know their place, and it is not by your side. not when your most willing acolyte kneels before you, eyes as wide as they were so many years ago.

my jonni.

i love you dearly...

and...

and.

Maybe enough, just another
painted mark
black and blue and... so close
a little
deeper.
spread the skin.
spread the guilt
spread the pain beneath.
unfurling in a blossom of helpless, regretful hate
grey and choking, leaving the trail of
decay in its wake
enough, enough.
it's never enough
my own hand, helpless in this
my own hands, bound
under the facade of personal strength
is it truly, finding another way
to relieve the disgust that boils
wishing my soul would stop
bleeding all over everything
remembering, remembering
that it isn't perfect
remembering the crimes
how could i forget?
my hands will be stained red
with blood
you never
should have let me spill
and i would forever
paint those perfect fingers
in my own
to avoid those words, those cold eyes
to take back the memories
that wake me still
ugly words and broken glass
feeling used and frightened
shattered
i know how it feels
not in your place, not in your place
because you did
nothing
wrong.
but it hurts inside
and the wall was built so high
i am afraid i will never have
strength to scale it again
and see your heart unprotected
see your heart mine
because all the while
mine was yours, letting you hold it,
tear it, bruise it
because it is precisely the pain
i still deserve
feigning wishful thinking
watching black windows
hidden pathways under dry autumn leaves
turning cold, december
wishing perhaps
it was march.
before.
wondering.
am i suitable, am i suitable
for such a good man
a strong man.
so many...
i am just one, lonely
broken. wanting only
a home.
with him.
no one else would take me in.
the storm i bring- it's too great.
wishing i had it all under control.
wishing in this dark cold i was not
alone.
right now.
to remember
all the pain i caused.
remembering happiness instead.
that smile
laughter.
the two of us
the future, so frightening
that i rush and try to build
something perfect for you
and end up
ruining things again with half-thought words and
fear.
all i want is to be safe. please.
make this not hurt anymore.
but you can't.
not yet.
it's you i injured most.
and there's nothing i could go through
to equal that, not now, not yet.
walking through it, fixing...
afraid.
so afraid.
like a child.
remembering.
please make them stop, i wish i could
ask you,
wish i could say.
please tell them to leave me be, please
hold me close and tell me
i won't get hurt again.
kiss me good night.
and keep the monsters out.
of my skin
my own head.
no more scars.
i want to look you in the eyes
and make love to you slow.
but i'm afraid.
i'm afraid you can't look at me.
i'm afraid i am not
worthy.
to look at you.
all your love.
so beautiful it burns.
i wish i was more deserving.
and i
could not forget you, could not stop loving you
no matter how i tried.
wanting so badly to build a home with you
and so unsure, so frightened.
too much in the past.
i wish you could wipe the slate clean.
i wish... i could do the same.

Ethan.

sculpted, divine; in death there is perfection not achievable in life, moments frozen, flesh stretched and torn and left to dessicate in utter stillness, the memory of anguish forever sketched to the bone. the dead are innocent in ways the living could never achieve, the appeal of their loss of warmth indescribable and pure. greater than love for wasted breath. all the love in the world, every drop, wasted, except for this, found in so few, found in him, in the softness of his eyes as he gazes at his collection of polished bone, and some not there yet, some still unfinished, works in progress; bodies strung and drying, waiting, their secrets left in buckets, the scent of bleach just covering their decay, their journey to perfection.

if there is a god, surely his angels are as such, arms outstretched, ribs spread; these are all the wings a soul could need, long fingers of bone gleaming white and so smooth to the touch, cleaned of the impurity of hot flesh and pumping blood, free of their duty to protect, honed to simple aesthetics.

beautiful, beautiful. his touch as cool as the grace that enchants this place, unnatural in its organization and reverence.

this is a sacred place, moreso than any church. he kneels and gives thanks for these gifts, eyes cast not to the heavens, but straight ahead. his only god is death, and she lives in his dreams and memories, her voice the finest music, her touch bittersweet, the taste of her like sugar and ice. she looks down on no one, and expects her disciples to understand this, to appreciate her for all that she gives.

he does. he always has. he gives thanks in silence, and offers her his gifts once more.

Another piece of Simon...

watch me.

i know you want to. i don't have to see you. i can smell the desire on you. the fear. cold metal, the polished black bar beneath, the long line of spine bowing to music, the toss of hair, the gleam in eyes that hold such terrible secrets...

you can't resist.

i'm waiting.

i'm hungry.

any cat worth their salt understands this, the game... playing with their food.

step a little closer. this skin's not getting any warmer, boy.
not until i've got you spilled all over the floor.

missing pieces/i will tear you down (Simon's POV)

it always turns out this way, doesn't it? the world is slicked with blood and everything smells like fear. another broken body, another candle blown out and left to spill its life across the floor. missing pieces, like a puzzle. missing pieces.

i don't know where i've put them.


+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

i will tear you down with the twist i bring.

there aren't enough pills in the world to keep my head on straight. alcoholic voices- hazy as the thoughts they've interrupted, crawl into my mind like hungry insects, searching. weakness. they always find it. whispers. guiding voices in the grey storm. not enough, oh, never enough. it's gone too long, and there's a stranger wearing my skin, creeping through the darkness. blood fixes what good intentions never could, blood purifies the cloudy mind, and stops the trembling.

mine, theirs... watching, distant, the blackest feeling, waiting... my fingers are numb, my face a mask, my eyes hard and so far away. all to hide the howling abyss inside, the wail of forever unfed, the twist of immortality brought to a broken mind. forever, forever, forever, starving like a hunter's hounds, snapping, snarling, and no one hears this chaos but me.

one, two... three.

it's never enough, only a momentary pause in the seethe of anger, insanity, and desperation, but this... this slip of flesh, these fragile bones...

i can forget myself a while, lost inside the clinical dissection of all i can never have.

for you.

for you.

i love you, precious boy.
am i the only one who sees the gleam
beneath this tarnished barricade?
everything so jagged, scarring.
growls and snarls to keep people out.
i want to climb the wall, instead
brave soldier-girl.
they think i'm a fool.
here i am, here i am, alone...
piece by piece, until my hands are split.
and i will find you
behind it all.
i am not afraid
don't be, don't be, and don't hide,
don't hide- not from me.
i'm your heart, i'm your blood.
i offer it in wide open hands.
i offer everything i have,
behind these walls
where no one else can see.
it's safe.
take everything from me.
you have my heart,
stolen as swiftly as that first kiss.
all i ask is your love in return- to warm your heart
in my torn hands.
beat for me, beat for me alone,
and i will not betray you.
surely you know by now,
i am yours, forever.
and nothing could keep me
from the music of your voice,
the comfort resounding
under your ribs
you and i
alone, perhaps,
in a sea of broken glass,
behind jagged grey walls.
so long as you have my hand,
i don't mind the solitude.

and I wish I could be someone else. (Zero's POV)

he feels beautiful.

he twirls in the mirror, shoes too big; he is so small for his age, and delicate.

like his mother, those honey-brown eyes. like his mother, soft black curls fall long and thick around his small-boned face, his soft, pliant mouth, lined in smudged red lipstick. hers.

he smiles, and there are flecks of red on his small, pearl-like teeth. her hat is too big. he takes it off his head and smiles again, mimicking her twirl and twining his little hands in the too-big dress.

the cloth is soft and blue beneath his fingers. he sings along with the radio, pouts at the mirror again; the playful pouting kiss his mother gives him.

he feels big.

another step; he wobbles in the shoes, fingers brushing the mirror before he falls to the ground. it isn't the first time. he sits, startled, feet outspread, poking out of the shoes, and he hears a noise- looks up-

"michael."

looks up, up, up.

fear dissappears.

"momma." he holds his hands out, and she gives a soft laugh, kneeling to her son. so young. different.

she knows he's different. knows how much it disgusts his father- she says he's only a child, and children dress-up. children play make believe.

but no son of his would be tottering around in mother's high heels, no.

michael junior is four years old, and has already been to the hospital with a broken wrist.

his mother has faired worse.

she wants to leave with him, with his older brother. but she is afraid. he is a big man, a powerful man, and sometimes she believes him when he says he'll find her no matter what.

she holds her son, wrapped in her dress, smelling of a little too much... perfume? oh, goodness, almost half the bottle, she realizes with a surprised laugh. poor dear.

"oh, honey." she soothes his hair, and he wraps his fingers in hers. "oh, honey. it's not going to be easy for you."

"i'm pretty?" the little boy asks.

"my honey bear," she coos, pulling him into her lap, and placing the hat on his head, "my honey honey honey bear, you are beautiful, forever and ever."

she hugs him.

he'll be home soon, and they've got cleaning to do.

she has plans to make.

I Stand Alone. (Simon's POV)

in this darkly shining throng i feel alone. alone with the storm raging inside of my head. rain falls here, rain flooding, washing away emotion, feeling. no one sees the clouds, the flood.

sea-eyes, sea-eyes. with the strangest little smile.

their touch is shadow; he moves by and for once his eyes don't find mine. too many things on his mind. we've both seen so much, so many horrible things, so many beautiful things. the knowledge of this world is terrible...

but he exists here, he exists and i stand alone.

i stand alone, and bloody, and he turns his gaze.

wishing for something he can never have.

something not even a mouthful of pills can give me. peace of mind. i grow so tired of taking them. i will never be one of these laughing people, and my smile is fake, and this isn't me, and all i want to do is drown this ugliness in someone else's blood.

all around me they talk, they dance, they drink, and not all of them are weak- they are so often the world's wolves, and not sheep, not here. sheep don't last long among our kind, but every so often one finds their way into a wolf's heart and it's protected. worn out. cared for, before the eventual slaughter.

i can't take so long. i can't...

it's all darkness.

wolves.

what does that make me?

under the influence.

under the influence

and what great god is this?
black spiders crawl, seeking, whispering
spindly little bastards, legs inside
where no one should ever touch
wicked, tempting, closed eyes
head thrown back, listening
to precious lies.
hold them close
feel...
at home, special.
all lined up.
one, two, three.
you're a beautiful fucking
trainwreck, girl.
a waste of time, a waste of space.
it makes you s p e c i a l
scars, eyes haunted
'give me that
beautiful black hair...
handfuls of it.
i promise you
i'll never lie, and it's nothing, nothing, nothing.
i promise you.
you're S P E C I A L.'
(like all the rest)
stupid girl, foolish
listen to those spiders a while.
that poison, tell me, tell me,
how's it taste?
girls like you don't understand
cyanide
girls like me understand
hate
knowing the truth buried in the decaying carcass of illusion and
misspent evenings
too much, too much, too much
(how'd it taste?)
tell me.
how'd it taste?
this tango with the dogs of hell.
bitter, bitter.
foolish fucking girl, foolish fucking dreams
play your hand, play it well
those cards are s t o l e n.
he'll take them, burn them.
crawl away
before it's too late.
liars, liars.
everything
was on fire that night.