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More from ~angel-in-pieces

The Ghost Factory i.
Sunrise, and I'm watching Time falling past my window like morning rain. Past my memory, past my outstretched fingers, past the anatomies of stars laced across the window pane is a street, deserted. The scene is grey and flickering, grained like an old movie, and there's a silence spread thick, coated on the roof of my mouth like peanut butter. I'm waiting, and the world holds its breath.

Gradually, the colour begins to drain away, and the sky washes to violet, sepia, ash; crinkled like elephant skin. Around me the silence starts to hum and blur, like a television, disconnected. I am a jumble of abstract words. I am oscillating, iridesce
Spun i.
Living is nice when you’re spun like a kite…

Somewhere beyond the dawn, where opaline skies bite down on the tops of autumn forests, we are flying. Strapped to diamond wings, we spiral round and around, cutting our twin silhouettes into the blue. Down below, amidst the kaleidoscope of burning branches, someone must be pulling the strings, but this does not concern us. Up here, temporarily, the air gushing into our lungs and hitting the base of our spines tastes of freedom. Arms outstretched, eyes wide, our bone crosses kiss the clouds.

Holding hands, our smiles are seamless: we are locked in harmony. Up here, for once, tears a
Tulips i.
The day after death, the flowers appeared.
A line of them; three crimson tulips standing proud and serene in the corner of my room, each surrounded by a little frayed halo of darkness where the carpet had been split. Fragile sapling tongues bejewelled with crowns dipped in blood.
Nobody watched me before: now I am watched. There is something conspiratorial about their existence, as if they have been sent to observe me, and whisper secrets behind my back. They stare like the blank eyed statues of angels you find in graveyards; immutable, wholly absorbed in their vigil. I don’t like to take my eyes off them for long in case they move
Go Away - Revisited Another day breaks and we are alone again.

Sidestepping abhorrence, I avoid your unfaltering gaze as you concentrate on burning holes through my thoughts. I am too afraid to warrant your dismissal, yet I cannot bear to let you stay.

You hold me up to the light to see right through the threads of my existence; fluvial seams of nothingness all linking up to-

To where? Another thing I shall never know. I am not a circle, but we are together, and how romantic that may seem when buried beneath cold sarcasm. Out of the corner of my eyes I see your lips curl cruel as you picture my demise; a slow crumbling through your fingertips. I may be cannib

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March 15, 2010
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Digging Deep

by ~angel-in-pieces

i.
Sunrise.
Though muffled by the clouds
of sound crackling
over my head, I feel it:
a sort of light, seeping
through the soil. Hazed
rays like roots,
roots of light b r e a k i n g
through, entwining
my toes with
earth.

My breath makes mists
                of momentary suspension,
caught in the net of air.


ii.
And every moment is like waking
to skies of fly-
specked grey and
eyes
opening – (breaking
from my dreams
that are badreams
of circles
closing
around my chest,
snapping sinews and
scattering ash –

I always
turn out to be
hollowhearted).

My bones permeate sight
unflinchingly. Matchstick limbs
akimbo, saluting my
(stifled)
free-
       fall.


iii.
I reach back
into darkness, endlessly -
my mind racing, trailing,
scouring
the star-eaten sky
for secrets, traces
of the truth that peel
                              away
as time transcends itself.

It rains,
but the water's rotten, full
of moth-eaten holes, hazy
with the sound of
/dis-connection.


iv.
There is a weight fixed
between my heartbones –
the wait is silence.
How is the air so thick,
so full,
of emptiness?
Time is incomplete,
I am un-
finished.

I'm digging deep,
but all words
and meaning
are slipping
away
and

only the light
is listening:
:iconangel-in-pieces:
Consider this a sister piece to Flipside - Beneath the Sky. Inspired by Toni Morrison's 'Beloved' and the song 'Digging Deep' by Jakalope.

I'm not sure what to think of this one. It doesn't seem to fit together somehow; there's something missing...
Any constructive criticism would be most welcome! :heart:
:icon:
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:iconartifice-child:
~artifice-child Mar 18, 2010
third and fourth sections(and the last half of the second, actually) were the strongest, in my opinion; the first one seemed to be hinging a little too strongly on overantiquated description.

love love love the ending.

--
ar·ti·fice (är'tə-fĭs) n.
1. an artful or crafty expedient; a stratagem.
2. subtle but base deception; trickery.
3. cleverness or skill; ingenuity.


i refuse to conform to nonconformity.
Reply
:iconangel-in-pieces:
~angel-in-pieces Mar 20, 2010  Student Writer
Thanks for the comment! ♥
I agree about the first section: it's a bit stilted and a little pointless - just doesn't fit that well at all. :hmm:

--
I am as tall as my shadow, tall as stories... ♥
Reply
:iconartifice-child:
~artifice-child Mar 20, 2010
sometimes that just happens. if I EVER learn how to make poetry do what I want, I'll let you know. xD

--
ar·ti·fice (är'tə-fĭs) n.
1. an artful or crafty expedient; a stratagem.
2. subtle but base deception; trickery.
3. cleverness or skill; ingenuity.


i refuse to conform to nonconformity.
Reply
:iconangel-in-pieces:
~angel-in-pieces Mar 20, 2010  Student Writer
Haha, please do! Because at the moment it just seems to be luck of the draw whether it works out or not. xD

--
I am as tall as my shadow, tall as stories... ♥
Reply
:iconsmicket:
~smicket Mar 17, 2010  Student Artist
Oooh. I like the idea of "clouds of sound". Haha "badreams"! I think iv. is my fav.

--
Gerard, Gerard, there's something in the tent Gerard...
Reply
:iconangel-in-pieces:
~angel-in-pieces Mar 17, 2010  Student Writer
Synesthesia! It's good stuff. :XD:
Badreams = also stolen from Jakalope. But you don't need to know that... >__>

Thank you dearie! I think iv. is my favourite bit too: the flow of the rest of it's a bit iffy.

--
I am as tall as my shadow, tall as stories... ♥
Reply
:iconsmicket:
~smicket Mar 20, 2010  Student Artist
No it isn't, it's fine! Wtf is synesthesia? Isn't that like when you see colours or something..?!

--
Gerard, Gerard, there's something in the tent Gerard...
Reply
:iconangel-in-pieces:
~angel-in-pieces Mar 20, 2010  Student Writer
Hmm, I'm just not too keen on it. :hmm:
Yeah, it's when you get your senses kind of 'mixed up'. So as 'clouds' are something you see (or feel, kinda) and sound is what you hear, it's synesthesia! xD

--
I am as tall as my shadow, tall as stories... ♥
Reply
:iconsmicket:
~smicket Mar 20, 2010  Student Artist
I see. I'm trying to submit the Hand poems, but dA has broken down on me! :'(

--
Gerard, Gerard, there's something in the tent Gerard...
Reply
:iconangel-in-pieces:
~angel-in-pieces Mar 20, 2010  Student Writer
WHAT!? But those poems were so amazing - damn you, dA! :noes:
If it stays dead, you can send them to me to upload for you, if you want. They must appear on dA somehow!!!

--
I am as tall as my shadow, tall as stories... ♥
Reply
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Dawn, February 29th I drive all night,
following the skyline
through the trees
until I reach your side, deer.

It's something about the way
you're lying, mid-leap,
as if sleep has taken you unawares
that stops me there.
And it's your eyes that hold me,
your unseeing gaze
that somehow holds me whole
in the haze of the moonlight,
on the rim of the world.
Like that moon,
you have run yourself blind,
unfurled
as if in a dream.

And it seems
your legs are broken, yet
in my headlights
you rise like heat
to the place where night
and day finally meet.Dawn, February 29th by ~angel-in-pieces
Case History We find you
where you had fallen:
face to the blue,
the wall between this world
and the next. You'd
slipped, perhaps, lost
your footing and now you flew –
webbed fingers outstretched,
your kelpie hair strewn
behind you. Your lips
are chapped and blue
as if bitten by frost or fishes,
the words choked back
in your throat as you open out
like an oracle, begin to bloat.
Your skin is starting to scale.
But you don't notice – in fact, you float
so serene, I wonder
if you've always been blind
and weightless, like an astronaut
tethered to the stars.

We find you
where you broke apart –
a balloon
loosed
from a chCase History by ~angel-in-pieces
By Heart Now that I have your face by heart
I look to piece the other parts
of you together – less your lips, your eyes,
like a knife-thrust, bright as dawn skies,
than the shadows gathering in your wake,
the bruises left by every heartache.
I long to drown in the depths of you,
to feel the waves breaking over me, the moon
inhaled, exhaled, cancelling out the sun.
I want to watch the lettercut light come undone
in awe of you, to see the stars run blind and tear
the very fabric of the sky. To hear
my heartbeat breaking on the same
shore as yours, time after time -

calling your name,
calling you mine.By Heart by ~angel-in-pieces
Girl, Fifteen, To A Lover She'll Never Meet Thursday nights are silver screened.
At nine, it's time once again to air
the prelude to a dream.
I wait, eyes square, for the immaculate
contours of your face to appear:
the features of a lover I'll never meet.

It seems strange to say
(a kind of admission of defeat),
but to be honest I'm OK
with the pause, rewind, replay
that makes up our relationship.
You have to admit,
knowing I'd never flip
channels or walk out when
you're in a scene
is a devotion, of sorts.
I expect nothing in return.
I know you know nothing of me.

But I can't help but love you;
your close-ups, your scripted smile,
the way you lean towards the screen
Girl, Fifteen, To A Lover She'll Never Meet by ~angel-in-pieces
Wintering It's a canvas of mouthings,
of open throats, that wave of grey.
Storm clouds pass like sails torn,
loosing their limbs to the wind
with each stroke of the brush.
There's a symphony in the rush
of them, howling their wolfcry, O -
breathings holes into the fabric,
Lethe leaving their lungs. And low,
tugging at the hymns that line the sky,
the moon, sister of a stone,
rises, rises with her hood of bone.Wintering by ~angel-in-pieces
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