Little LeoCandy-cane smoke signals disintegrateLittle Leo by autumn-spirit
in the Spring Break air above our heads.
All around us, shrieks of glee and laughter
bounce off the hemlocks and eventually fade;
sizzle down like the embers of our rebel-teen bonfire,
becoming little more than memories we'll soon forget
when Graduation Day hits, when we're forced to go our separate ways and end this.
You lie beside me, friend, humming the last song you heard on the portable radio
that someone brought along and your bay-leaf eyes stare
up at the dizzying silver-pink sky above with a quiet peace; not exactly boredom,
just easy resignation like you're perfectly fine with
being stuck in this time-warp.
And I'm perfectly alright with watching you dream..
Boy, your calm rainbow-gloss energy
floats now towards me but when I first stumbled upon
this little spot at the edge of the lake,
this somewhat shy, vacant party-scene;
when I saw your sinewy track-star limbs
sprawled across the hazel-tipped grass, I just had
to disrupt the clear self
daisies-gone-wildDawn sticks to my tongue like dandelion fluff,daisies-gone-wild by autumn-spirit
leaves a sour taste like dry whiskey;
acidic party-fire, campfire rumors,
the s'mores-corpse remains, behind.
Oh and the lavender you braided into my hair
yesterday before we headed downstairs, are
now merely stems, girl; wilting pictures
of faded-purple adolescence.
“Senorita Luna, you have to wake up,”
I say, crashing into your bedroom.
“Tu mama y tu papa; your parents will be here soon.”
Sitting up, jasmine, you wipe remnants of
gold eyeshadow and late-night rain from your lids.
“Damn it!” you grumble,
feeling the mattress for your phone.
Yet, I have it, girl,
in the pocket of my ripped denim shorts.
I wish I could say,
“What will you give me for it?
Lean in; kiss me, please.”
But it's not that easy and I hand it over.
Querida, I have everything
you're secretly hoping for but do you notice?
No, you're too concerned with
the lump of sleeping-boy lying next to you
on your favorite zodiac pil
poor thingSan Francisco, lace on train tracks;poor thing by autumn-spirit
a steam-punk dream come true,
this was the city I used to call home.
Running through bronze streets,
I used to play with other girls here;
the daughters of hoteliers and oil dug-up millionaires,
skipping rope, riding trolleys;
oh honey, how we were free..
“Oh stop crying over spilled milk,” you say but this is
about more than just a city stolen and
defiled by a bunch of love-sick cowboys.
No, this isn't about anyone else but me..
And whoever says that's a selfish thought
doesn't know our history.
No, they don't know how
you've betrayed me, time and time again.
Almost a century ago,
you tossed my lover over the balcony,
down a staircase and into a crowd of
sneering bourgeoisie nymphs.
Oh dear brother, do you know
I still have nightmares?
Pearl-jam blood on my hands, all over
my palms and the bodice of my dress;
oh yes, unfortunately
my brain wouldn't block out that memory,
wouldn't grant me mercy from this guilt.
And it was in that hour
yaseino monoNight-hawk, you've always warned me about monsters,yaseino mono by autumn-spirit
ever since you found me; half-frozen near the Kamo River.
You've told me to watch my back, always be suspicious of
the silent-listeners; the ones so beautiful,
they split your heart in two;
so deadly, that one touch and
you've already fallen asleep
before your mind has time to catch up
with your dulling, chalk-white senses.
But I think a part of me never really took you seriously..
A part of me was even angry, seeing
how you considered me to be too delicate, so transitory.
Yet now, I wish I had listened..
“Give it up, give it up; this curiosity..
Girl, don't you feel alive
whenever you run free in the fields
outside your great-aunt's cottage?"
Honey-eyed boy, you were always encouraging me to stay
away from the fairy-tale ones who
could lead me down a dark alley; seem so charismatic,
kid-friendly one minute, scary and twisted the next.
Boy, you said, “Never trust the ones
who look the most innocent, in comparison to
There are Butterflies in my SkullThere are butterflies in my skull,There are Butterflies in my Skull by rainpeltkitty
A brewing storm of silken wings
As they emerge one by one from their cocoons –
The crepuscular hulls in which they spend most of their days,
Tenebrous prisons hanging from the emaciated branches
Of the forlorn, termite-infested neural tree.
I rejoice at the colors the butterflies bring –
The amethyst, cerulean, emerald, crimson, amber.
They illuminate the wasteland as they stretch their wings of prismatic splendor.
The inside of my skull is a frayed canvas –
Just ashen shades of desolate bone.
But the butterflies’ flight will paint the cadaverous murk;
They will compose a symphony of colors and words,
Each wing-beat its own orchestra.
This flurry of life and color they effortlessly bestow –
Ginger, lavender, saffron, magenta, pearl –
Is vivid, striking, eloquent like nothing that exists in the outside world.
Luminous wings, tipped in teal and tawny articulation, massage the river of thought
(Whose fingertips quiver
A Beautiful MindMy solutionA Beautiful Mind by Hades-Flower
But ultimately incorrect
To your problem
Would be lovely
But you miss the point
And just say
You don't believe in luck
Pick a shape
You pointed to the stars
In love with
What I can't be
I'm yours already
And I will leave you
War inside my mind
drowning in the tides
fighting for my life
Intoxicate my veins
make me misbehave
be my great escape
till we fade away
We're the wild ones
trapped in the flume."