[x]

short-term memory.and you'll never forget:

When you realized that everybody dies alone.

When you didn't take your eyeliner off one night, so in the morning
your eyes would look as hollow as you felt.

When you spent a year blacking out the sad endings in your books.
(When you wished that life could also work like that.)

When you learnt that "We need a break" means "I am going to break your heart."

When you fell in love with the stars, and the way he says "us."

When he told you, "More than just a long time."

The first time you hung up to the sound of your father laughing.

When you walked home from a party in January, and couldn't remember
if you were

queen of nothing.what I've learned:

I still remember singing in my room when I was six, and having my mother come down the hall and slam the door so hard that the windows shook.

Her nails hurt when she scraped the tears off my face. "It doesn't matter what you want," she'd always tell me.

Like, when that drunk driver swerved and hit her car – I didn't want her to leave me, and it didn't matter.

Once on vacation I bought a pair of fuzzy leather heels for two hundred dollars, and when I wore them to dinner, I found out that

1. "Suede" is a fancy word for "fuzzy leather."

And 2. Good things don't last: That night my cousin told me that she thought 135

red leaves and Robert Frost.When I was young, my virginity was sacred. Entire religions pray over it and my father bought a gun so long as it meant protecting it.

We throw away half of our refrigerator each week – meanwhile, 24,000 people die of starvation every day.

Hardest part is, sometimes wasting things can't be helped.

At the bus stop, before I could drive, boys would ask for my phone number while I tugged up the neck of my shirt. Asked me how old I was while I crossed my legs under my skirt.

I told them I had a boyfriend even when it wasn't true, because they'll always respect another man more than my disinterest.

Hearing "I love you" for the first time

eight things about growing upeight

I told my brother I was going to be a fairy when I grew up. Or a bird, or sprite – something with wings so I could touch the clouds.

I learned that fairies weren't real when I was six, after I tried to jump off a parking structure to see if I could fly.

That day I also broke my leg in three places and saw an angel's face in the clouds. (And don't tell anybody, but sometimes I spend all day looking for him.)

seven

My neighbors back in Denver had a son who was a schizophrenic. After he went off his meds for the third time, he painted the windows red and told his wife she had to abort their baby because it wasn't human.

A year l

Insert creative title here.sometimes I hate the idea
of talking

I rather eat the autumn
skies crushing cold air between my molars
and hiding shaky hands
between pages of dictionaries
and clickclickclicking sounds of typewriters

you asked me why I wrote poems
on the soles of my shoes
and I told you

it was because I wanted to
imprint myself on the earth
then I can create beauty
even if I am not

admittance is defeatthey called you beautiful

with porcelain eyes about to crack
and cigarette skin crumbling
away, a knotted spine and
jagged smile:

you were never gracious.

you're slipping underneath, this
virulent smog masks a paper sky that
never allowed a dream and

you're afraid because it's soaking in
your pores again, unattainable and unoriginal;
the meaning of life never meant enough-

you were never hopeful.

there's a getaway map on the underside
of your pillow, and a lifetime of secrets
on the underside of your bones

you're a walking travesty:
your chest ticks, dull
your wrist beats, dying
time is keeping you but

you were never pa

Mabonthere are dead leaves
sprouting from her amber spine,
reaching with child-fingers
to devour the sun.

her skin is freezing,
seeping winter through
november pores.

seeking warmth,
the whiskey tongues
of godless boys
wish to decipher
the atlas of her thighs.

counting the sleepy fireflies
alight in her lungs- there is
wanderlust churning & warming
her frostbitten heartstrings.

swinging pendulum hips,

"I am the tease of autumn flames.
I breathe in mint sunsets,
& gasoline dreams."

Collection of poetic nothings.We were opal Tuesdays,
mosaic butterflies
tattooed into the
rose garden curve
of my vertebrae,

gliding me through this wild youth.

But, like Icarus—
I was a sky conqueror
& these silk wings

touched the sun.

-

My inhalations are heavy,
like the earth he bruises
beneath his fingertips
as I chase silence.

"You've got a tongue
made for words." He says
against the arrogant thorns
of my briar spine.

"Learn to love yourself."

-

How do I say I love you
without saying I love you?

"I want to replace my heart with you."

-

You are spider silk woven
into my harvest moon
heartstrings, spider
limbs traveling this road map
of s

respiration.i am shipwrecked fever;
kerosene sleep,
& she is denied oxygen.

i taste sirens on the shore
of her collarbones,
& salt-licked sea limbs.

but, it's the natural disaster
wrapped around her coral spine
that really has my lungs
   s
p
i
  n
  n
i
n
g.

BloodI've got a filthy mouth,
& a house of stars
thriving in my throat.

21 years
silent

& I still have yet to tame
this grounded constellation
I call my temple. -Slithering
tongue hissing too many
"fuck you's" against my teeth.

I fear I will write myself hollow-
or until my bones are corroded away

& I am nothing-
an insignificant nebula
orbiting the wrong atmosphere.

But, my veins bleed sweet ichor,

& words are only words, Mother.

WaldeinsamkeitA murder of ravens
spits black
on a vermillion coloured day,
as a spine of leaves
crumbles under the pressure
of ghostly weight;
Its pieces of autumn,
borne by a whirling breath,
brush a lonely thought:
This winter will be cold.

april 18th, 2012.therapy:
"I'm not an artist. I'm just a kid with a keyboard."

“And, y'know, I’m probably not really sick.”

“I read a lot of books. I probably just act like this because I saw it somewhere on the Internet.”

“I just want to be more like my dad.”

“I’m really just a pathological crybaby who wants attention,” I tell you.

You say, “I think there are better ways to get attention than fake a mental disorder.”

“Maybe I’m doing it for fun.”

Charlie,
The problem isn’t that I need to see a therapist.
The problem is that I need to see a therapist because

It Came From The DarkIt Came From The Dark:

Amongst the ashes, swirling from the darkness of the pit,

Emerged a hand, dragging a battered body across the rocks.

Blood leaked from the wounds so callously self-inflicted,

And teeth ground with a focused determination and seething anger.

It cared not for the warm rubies - staining the jagged rocks,

It cared not for the sensation of pain...

All that it remembered was a dream, An obsession -

One that drove it ever higher; ignoring all else!

Eventually it emerged from this shadowy hole, this dreary depth,

And in that moment, it learned of the truth.

For this creature, denied sunlight and warmth -

was me...

A Book and TeaI'm used to not meaning much to anyone.
I'm used to being alone -
And really, I can't complain.
My solitary lifestyle suits my personality,
Observing, watching the world pass by,
Curled around my book and cup of tea -
Maybe a little judgmental,
Maybe a little sad.

But you know, it gets lonely.
I'm my own best friend, it's true-
But sometimes I want to call someone
And watch a movie, or just sit around
And do nothing in particular-
Just sharing air and experiences.

Then again, who am I kidding.

I'm not good at the friend thing.

So I shall continue with my book
And my cup of tea with tinges of judgement
And sadness,
Watching the rain drippi

hushi'm done wishing
on shooting stars, and
i want to be done with you:

i'll let dust settle
on my telescope,
let dust settle in
my throat, my lungs.
twist your fingers through
my vocal cords,
press your palm to
my lips and tell me, hush
don't wish on things
falling too fast
to hear you

--

maybe i'll wish
on seashells
instead:

they are quiet houses
for muted ghosts, though
more alive than you
have ever been.
i'll let you
pull me under,
paint my eyes
with salt, blind me
so you can murmur, shh
even dead things
can be beautiful

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Isolated Incident

Author's Note: For this piece - which, yes, is only a one-shot, albeit a very long one, at that - please bear in mind that there will be death, and several implied deaths, as well as suicide, sexual abuse, and generally disturbing content throughout.

The capitalized "They"s refers to the bullies that essentially "killed" Kyle. The crossing out is intentional (obviously) - these are the thoughts Kyle cannot allow himself to think. Kenny has clinical depression in this, which is a deeply personal subject for me, so forgive me if I linger on it. This entire piece takes place over the last two days of Kyle's life.

Enjoy.
-

Kyle's POV

The bel

Dolls

Kenny's POV

In life, whether you are truly alive or just decayed and dead inside, everyone has something that makes them special.

Take my friends, Stan and Kyle. Maybe they were really my friends, maybe not. That aside, they both had that special something, the esteemed quality I grasped at desperately but could never seem to claw free. Talent. It was a strange word, melting on my tongue like an egregious pill for my unconfirmed diseases. Kyle was talented. His books were thicker than my wrists and his quick tongue singed me with words longer than I was tall. Stan was talented, too. He could sprint faster than the girls went flying into his

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Submitted: November 4, 2012
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zero.

by ~colbalt-rain, Nov 4, 2012, 11:47:30 PM
Literature / Prose / Non-Fiction / Emotional

I'm always too afraid to let go.

zero.by ~colbalt-rain

Literature / Prose / Non-Fiction / Emotional

I'm sorry I keep writing stories about me.
Also I know zero is not a number.

love 7 7

joy 5 5

~~wow 0 0~~

~~mad 0 0~~

~~sad 0 0~~

fear 1 1

neutral 1 1

~autumn-spirit Mar 9, 2013

very emotional.

~colbalt-rain Mar 14, 2013 Student Writer

Thanks.

~autumn-spirit Mar 14, 2013

you're welcome

`MagicalJoey Feb 3, 2013 Writer

I will be critiquing this piece on behalf of

Firstly, I like how you titled the poem 'zero' because it really brings home the final point you make within your piece.

Now, the crit:

ST = Stanza

L = Line

5.
What's interesting here is that you say 'think' I'm afraid. As if you aren't really sure. All the other places you are definite (I am afraid).
Also, you make a very good point, but, I would counter argue, are they really fitting perfectly if they don't have that emotional fit?

4.
I'm afraid I don't really get this point, unless it's a direct follow-on from the previous point. If so, I would say 'the day I 'have to start' replacing myself.

3.
Thankfully I have never had to have lithium, though my doctor has been suggesting it subtly for the last four months. I know what taking medication can be like, and I empathise with you on this point.

2.
A genuine fear explained in a unique and expressive way. Do you feel the same way about flying, or is that ok because you can see the land below?

1.
You have a bit of a contradiction here. You say that the broke because you never held on because you were afraid of letting go. Now I understand this to mean that, taking a person for example, you were afraid to hold on in case you had to let them go their own way and that fear of having to let them go was what held you back from holding on. However, it could be read differently. I would consider playing around with some of the wording with this one.

0.
This is an exceptionally powerful line to end the piece with. It just packs a great punch and makes one open their eyes and go 'wow'.

Overall:
This seemed to be a very emotional piece, yet the emotion was not overdone. You also used great imagery to explain those emotions.
Your grammar, spelling and punctuation is very good.

~colbalt-rain Feb 11, 2013 Student Writer

I love critiques like this - especially yours and all of your lovely criticisms.

Thank you so much for taking the time to do this, I really appreciate it.

`MagicalJoey Feb 12, 2013 Writer

No problem

!When-Sunshine-Rains Jan 22, 2013

Gosh i love how simply and surely you put everything. And, my gosh I have these exact same fears. I love how you describe them...quite romantic for what they are

~colbalt-rain Jan 24, 2013 Student Writer

Thank you so much!

=Girasolia Jan 20, 2013 Student General Artist

Wow.
Someday I hope that I can become half as great of a writer as you are. That alone would make me happy, but I know that the most likely way for that to happen would be for me to go through some of what you have, with bipolar disorder and all. I think I might have a mild case of the less severe version of bi, but that is nothing compared to the true.
I have found a new person to watch on here. <3 Keep up the great work~

~colbalt-rain Jan 21, 2013 Student Writer

And honestly, I don't think you'd want this. I might make it sound romantic, but believe, it's not as pretty as I've written it to be.

Thank you!

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