[x]

ForwordI have not become stronger
in the broken places.

Bones ache of age
of misuse
of disuse
and each cracking joint
is an audible reminder
of missteps
of misjudgments
of paths walked too long
and of steps
that should have been,
but were never taken.

Bent fingers jut
from palms of sandpaper,
calloused and crinkled,
they cannot grip
with that same eager desperation
of a child seeking comfort.

Black becomes gray
at the gates
of troubled temples and
dreams,
once saliently sweet,
decay on the tongue
like the sound
of necessary words produced,
but never employed.

I have not become stronger in the broken places

10.04i.
She sits all alone by the sea
before the empty stretch;
whispered winds wandering through,
without any hope
of a realisation.

ii.
The hush of skin on skin,
such submission in her posture
to shimmy past boulders and pebbles alike
into the vast emptiness --
what a wonderful death it is. To drown.

iii.
Wooden clunk of boats
rocking against the gentle, rippling tides;
brightly painted sides
and glowing edges
and well-ripened lichen and a lining of barnacles
which soothes the onrushing memories.

iv.
Gravel-like hiss of sand on the
sloping route up wooden stairs,
creaky, crumbling boathouse;
faded outlook under grey-blue c

and I still keep running into parked carsMama,
your baby girl's swimming
in dead of the night
hair, scarred knees,
overgrown weeds, and
countless pairs
of shoes-
with those
orange and yellow wheels
that hug my toes
and heels

I'm running into
parked cars
trying to get
my kite to fly
and hiding under
dashboards
listening to you
fight

I'm rummaging through
boxes of secrets
that Daddy tried
to hide-
solving puzzles with pieces
I'll never uncover
in these thoughts
of you

PersephoneI fed her
pomegranate kisses

and she cried
at every frozen sunrise
for 180 days.

With cracks in my heart
and souls
caught in my hair
I counted 180 more.

white noiseThe only thing that seems to keep the world out of my head these days
is white noise
it's a rush of excitedly flapping wings
it's nothing you could grasp but a sound and a colour that is none
I try to keep the world out
(she is playing her music too loud too much these days)
and I think of you, ears buzzing with white noises until they ache.
And I catch myself thinking
I wish you were my white noise -
the sound in between my heartbeats,
the same words whispered so close to my ear they sound like beautiful little secrets,
the rock I cling to when the waves crash violently all around me to keep from drowning, I wish you were
my home, my favourite pair of arms, my heart, my safe place, the one to soothe my mind.
I wish you were so many more things
than just far away and as impossible to touch
as white noise.

Unfold, Part IIHear me read it

My bones are creaking.
I hear them gossiping while I sleep,
and they talk of me.
They call me maddened.

They say that the blackness,
the ravenous cave, has devoured me.
They talk of me,
as if I am not here. Am I?

This was my safe space,
I, cacooned
In the warmth of my own breath
Now it cages me.

My fingernails grow so long
That they pierce through the paper
and my eyes go wide to see
fragmented light once more.

ScribblesAnd he hated the way her portrait was painted
on the walls of his mind

so the thoughts would come and go
like little men with suitcases,
rushing through in the flurry of ideas,
in the death and birth of a dream, but they

would always
pass by her picture.

Threnody of a Tortured Soul (Poem/Painting/Video)

I.

He loved her in what ever distant way he could.
In the way a prisoner loves the idea of flowers growing outside of concrete walls.
Something untouchable; only real inside the mind.
She existed to him as a glowing orb of light.
A powerful, yet elegant distraction from himself..
And he clung to her as a fearful child clings to its mother.
For protection.
For approval.
To at last feel those pivotal emotions he was never permitted to develop.

He was twenty-five when she first met him.
He was lost, shattered, and self-destructive..
Yet he possessed the most delicate skin she had ever seen on a man.
Thin and milky white, as he had gone

Dry BonesSometimes I replenish my whiskey bottles with water
And swirl it around. I drink up
To make sure I didn’t miss a single drop of that alcohol.
Diluted or not, I ache for it.

Grief.

But not as much as I ache for you.
I would rinse you out and sip all of your insides.
Then I would drag your skeleton out of your skin.
Help me. Worm your way free.

Grief,

My love.

I would jumble our bones together. Mix us up.
Not so we would be two with replaced bones.
No, I want us to have four arms, four legs. I want,
I want us to have two heads and a long twisted spine
Of vertebrate upon vertebrate.
I want us to clank out hollow sounds
When we come r

Serendipity and SnowfallI am la vie en rose,
a newborn with as many mini bones in my body as possibilities.
Lovelily,
I am potential waiting to be tapped into.
I am a spectrum of light,
serenity in the symmetry of a snowflake.

I come veiled in lace from everlasting love's womb with my budding,
fresh,
goose-flesh tucked tenderly underneath.
I spread my spirit wide,
outstretching my feather-tips &,
supplicated by twizzles,
I catch my ballerina's foot & fly.
In these fleeting,
finite moments of ubermensch suspension in multiple salchows comes clairvoyance,
a kindness beyond the absolution of mundane minds.

With the key to perfection being repetition,
I pray you

leavingleaving is a can that you
kick around in the street
because it's been a long day
& it makes you feel better.

some days you kick it
harder, longer than others,
& some days there just
aren't enough cans or streets.

but the thing about leaving
is that when the
street lights come on,
you always end up going home.

Honeythief.straw-stitched and hanging
off every word--

violated:

pressing my ears
against your brittle
hives

and smoking you out

-selfless-slipping from the sky
one lonely star
grants its last wish

winter room
you set blazes to the mountains

they were not good enough for you

i cradled the summer moon in the

mason jars of my winter room

i love forever when i love

forever i love

on & on because if nothing is ever lasting i

will make the best of it

i leave droplets of dew on my shoulders

to see the reflections of you- i am

perfection, & the Earth is a desert

i stumble through the surface on

purpose- i'm trying to try.

steadfast & soft as moths wings

you sing to the sky

you can be as big as you want to be

you can stand tall, & i'll believe

we're not specks

WordsmithsHow long did you think
we could pound our vocabulary with hammers
before it fell flat?

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Painted Within MeLoving you is unceasing torture, wrapped in immeasurable pleasure.
Like swimming in water so clear and blue the sharks below look as though they glide in nothing but air.
And at any moment, I could fall into their open jaws.

With you, the highs are dizzying.
Reaching up into space where time and gravity are distorted beyond belief.
Where there is nothing but the stillness of infinity.
The tremor of awe.
The feeling that you are all that exists.

In turn, the lows could descend into something far beyond grief.
A darkness with the capacity to tear the soul to nothing.
Reduce the body to ash.
Render the heart incapable of beating.
L

The Chameleon and the LeechDo you even remember which colors belong to you?
They shift, change, and undulate with unsettling constancy.
To the point where you've become a walking piece of meaningless, abstract art.
A regurgitation of everything you've ever seen..
Onto a canvas that isn't even your own.

You'll go so far as to lie.
To say you created a specific shade with your own hands.
When in reality it was stolen, without remorse, from someone else.
From someone who put years of heart, soul, and careful thought into blending it.
From someone who held it up to the light hundreds of times..
Smiling a little as it came closer and closer to the vision enca

Pale Winter SunEmbedded in the grass, dead leaves are fitted with icy suits of armor..
And only when the sun bathes them in the morning do they cast away the battle of the night.
I can see the transformation as the light crawls across the ground.
Ice prevails in shadow.. Shrinks in the sun.
Leaving a stark, dividing line where the heat has not yet traveled.

In this deepening November..
I find the cold can no longer reach into my bones the way it used to.
The frost now melts on the surface.
Leaving the marrow within warm and undisturbed..
Untouched. Finally allowed to mend the fissures of the past.

At dawn, I'm comforted by the hazy pink of the

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Hollow Memory of a Distant Shore

by *FaintSketches, Jan 3, 2013, 3:15:29 PM
Literature / Poetry / Emotional / Free Verse

_{You are like a long passed season.
As delicate as the footprints of sparrows in freshly fallen snow.
Intricate, yet so easily disturbed when care is not taken.
Somehow, you have managed to persist after all these years.
Residing in the same quiet place you carved into the woods so long ago..
Only a short ride from the sea.

When you cross my mind, you carry with you the scent of that shoreline.
Harsh and thick, yet somehow placating.
Though the weather was perpetually gray, misty, and cold.
Much like your heart had become..
Just before we painfully, and slowly, parted ways.

I recall with deep longing your fascination with foxes.
With the way they would trot up and down the beach in the early morning,
Their coats most often wet and muddy from crossing into the tide.
I could see the subtle enthrallment in your eyes as they dug for clams.
They would thrust their forepaws deep into the muck, throw it backward..
And at times, to my assuagement, you would smile.

Now, it feels more distant than anything else I harbor within.
The days in which I think of you grow farther and farther apart..
And each time you return, you come as a wave, crashing harshly against a seawall.
A seawall that is damaged; weakened by time.
When you crawl back, you take pieces of rock with you.
Pieces you have no intention of returning.

At times the trees, bare and cold against the slate sky of Winter,
Remind me of the veins in your arms.
Spiny and sprawling, both raw and elegant.
Neither blue nor green; trapped beneath pale, translucent skin.
Skin I felt could not have possibly lived through the things it had.
Could not have possibly traveled so many miles.
Weathered so many storms.
Endured so much agony..

Your eyes were endless and earnest.
Vivid despite the decay you embedded yourself within.
A work of art, hung carelessly in an abandoned building..
You were entirely alone, unappreciated, unseen.
Forever hidden inside yourself.
Forever trapped behind walls built from pain.}

Hollow Memory of a Distant Shoreby *FaintSketches

Literature / Poetry / Emotional / Free Verse

_{Hollow Memory of a Distant Shore - Taylor Saville, 2013.

Thank you for reading ..}

love 2 2

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~cULToFoNE Jan 29, 2013

been a while. would say i'm glad you're still writing so well, but would rather wish you well. heheh. best wishes.

*FaintSketches Jan 31, 2013

_{Thank you! I'm glad to see you back around DA. I'm glad you think I'm still writing well!}

*xlntwtch Jan 16, 2013 Writer

A marvelous piece, always using "seaworthy" words to make your point plain. Congrats on the DLD "Pick of the Day." Thank you.

*FaintSketches Jan 17, 2013

_{That is so kind of you.. Thank you so much for leaving this comment.}

*xlntwtch Jan 17, 2013 Writer

=DailyLitDeviations Jan 16, 2013

Your wonderful literary work has been chosen to be featured by =DailyLitDeviations and has been selected as our "Pick of the Day". It is featured in a news article here: [link] and on our main page.

Be sure to check out the other artists featured and show your support by

ing the News Article. Keep writing and keep creating.

*FaintSketches Jan 17, 2013

_{Thank you!!}

~starnoyume Jan 7, 2013

It's utterly beautiful! I love it.

*FaintSketches Jan 8, 2013

_{Thank you so, so much!}

~dinky-snyper Jan 7, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

Wow, it's amazing. It flows so well....

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