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About Deviant Member sharonFemale/United States Recent Activity
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The highlighted coffee cup in the distance is
a sign that the cafe on Desire Street is still there;
vintage-looking, a New Orleans gem in a sea of
monochromatic sin, rusted gates and peeling paint.
The balconies are still draped with hanging moss,
vines and poisonous flowers at daybreak.
But darling, now I'm unimpressed..
Now I'm just sitting here on a staircase,
smoking a cigarette like some clueless degenerate.
“And what could make this night worthwhile,
oh angel of mercy?” I ask the figure standing
across the sidewalk in the cemetery.
His eyes are closed; marble, but he's still
guarding Madam Laveau's grave.
Still frightening; in his hand there's a sword,
a cross etched on his forehead;
this liquid-angel is the only companion I have.

Speaking of mercy, apologies, friend;
I guess I should call you, say I'm sorry
for lying, say I'm not okay..
But maybe you already know this,
maybe that's why you left.
But no, I want to kick myself for
thinking that because I know
you're not that cruel, not you,
boy; made of butterfly lashes, snow-trim flesh.
Dragonfly love, you look soft
in the sunlight reflecting off
the church windows; painted-over, luckless saints.
But in reality, underneath all
that pearl-white, blond hair;
marble jaw-line, you're too fierce to be real.
Too brave for your own good,
you were a riot in high school.

You gave your mama such a fright when
you joined the rebels in the alleys,
spoke up against inequality, freedom
to marry or to say no when someone
grabs you by the shirt and tries to
pry your satin heart out of your chest.
“Give consent or die young..”
They told us not to be so loud at Mass,
boy, but I remember you argued, fervently,
“If in the end, we're treated as slaves,
chained to kitchen sinks, bed-posts, jobs we hate;
then, what good is this chastity thing, anyway?”
Oh boy, you had a point but I wish you'd been more careful.
Not everyone was as classy, as open-minded yet tactic as you.
Not everyone had brains as well as good looks.
Jealousy was a cancer that spread all around our neighborhood,
those days when money was scarce; when our dads had to work
extra hours just so we'd have PB&J sandwiches to take to school.
Boy, is there anything sadder than a morning without hot cocoa?
When we're twelve, friend; happiness is
that simple, that sweet and innocent.

But you grew up too fast, faster than I did..
You started smoking to kill your nightmares;
stuff about your stepfather, the one you left in Shreveport.
I caught you one day after Chemistry,
puffing on a cigarette, blowing smoke-hearts into the wind.
I said, “Are you crazy?
Do you want to die young?”
You rolled your eyes, of course.
You were in a sour mood.
Everything changed after 5th Grade.
We were either too high
off each others' cinnamon-stick cologne,
groping in the halls, feeling each other up;
all shaky hands, hurried breaths, discovering
a new form of “friendship”, sexuality at its best.
Fun, warm; I have to admit I liked being in your arms.
It was exciting yet familiar; a right-and-wrong,
crash-and-burn ride down Discovery Boulevard.

Independence, neediness be damned;
when we weren't together like that,
seeking comfort in the unknown; friend,
we were fighting, shoving each other
against locker doors, arguing about
who's turn it was to be the hero,
the villain; the something-in-between
Mississippi summer, Louisiana fall..
It was confusing, it was real.
I didn't want to let you slip away
because sometimes we both got
lost in a trance of parties, friend.
Sinking in quicksand, sometimes
we were nothing but ageless kids again;
not acting tough, just scared,
wanting to fly but not knowing how.

Yeah, seven years ago
I was just a naïve trailer-park teen
with a dream in his back pocket and
a few dollars' worth of family values.
Friend, you listened to me back then,
didn't argue, didn't even judge.
What happened?
I think I know..

It started that night outside the jazz club.
By the streetlamps, you stood;
eternally handsome, conceited as ever..
Yeah, it's true..
You pissed me off
when you thought you were invincible.
You picked fights with people,
tried to drill your anger, your
own issues into their skin, into
their snow-capped bones.
Oh friend, why did you do that?
Making other people mad wouldn't fix you, damn it!
Why couldn't you have listened?
“You're not my dad!”

“Oh how childish..”
I said when you wouldn't let me
clean the bottle-cut above your left brow.
Another fight lost to your past;
your “better” half, an innocent drug-dealer.
Oh do you feel better now?
“I don't know,” you whispered
by the chain-link fence,the dying azaleas.
“Maybe I'll never be right in the head.”
“Stop feeling sorry for yourself,”
I said before I could stop my lips from moving;
impatient love, hard-core honesty.
And that was the end of our so-called friendship.
“He's like your brother,” my mother once said.
Well, you're out there now
somewhere I can't reach..

But it's true; you were my ideal in a Brooklyn jacket.
The black sleeves were dusted over with bright
studs from the Statue of Liberty,
and the hood was always pulled over your white-washed
blond hair, long wisps falling
over your lids; your eyes brown, the warmest shade of
Argentinian coffee.

Oh yes, you were a walking wet dream,
got me going; sweating, all hot and bothered
through History and gym.
But then it faded away; the fantasy
in dull shades of denim pearls, skinny jeans.
We were too busy; being wild,
being free, getting high off bonfire smells;
burning logs, marshmallows, Aztec chocolate.
And yet, I almost fell in the gin
bottle that ended up being your
Happily-Ever-After; a disaster,
car-chase, prison sentence.

Friend, you could've warned me..
I would've stopped waiting up, holding a candle
to your Jesus-of-Nazareth copycat portrait.
If you'd just said goodbye the right way,
boy; not with a kiss, a last I-love-you
starched on my tongue; an ashen sunset,
then it would've been easier to
forget that you were ever mine.
Skylar, do you want the sun to come out?
Do you want the mountains to glisten like
emeralds just because you're sad inside?
Believe me, I understand the urge to leave home;
this pueblo; this city named after the dirtiest sin.
Boy, I get it; I do, I just want you to wait for me.

Dear Skylar, slow down before you get to the interstate
because I can't bear to stay here; rotting
like a sunflower, without my best friend.
We could tear through the desert and never look back.
We could hold hands, boy, and nobody would see or care
as the wheels of your Camarro pounded the ground.
We'd race to the edge of a forgotten diamond cliff,
Skylar, and disappear in a sacred Shoshone valley.

You think I'm crazy, sure..
But tell me you've never considered it before.
Don't you get tired of this lie?
Killing your dreams, it's poison ivy at night.
And I don't want to find you dead one morning,
a beautiful corpse; blond hair,
brown eyes by the side of the road, no..
Skylar, all those Country stars fell here,
never made it to Hollywood or Nashville.
Now they're nothing but torn scraps of cowboy hats,
splintered souls on bloody arrowhead rocks.
“Where did they go? To heaven or down below?”
you ask quietly after I tell you this story;
a ghost tale in front of a sweet-grass fire.
I shake my head, stubbornly.
“I don't know,” I murmur. “But you don't want
to end up like that, do you?”
Skylar, I know I went too far..
You are a singer's son, after all.
But I can't let you go just yet.

Yeah, I'm selfish, so what?
We only live once..
You're my fire, forbidden yet strong.
I can honestly say
you've changed me since high school.
You're the reason
I studied so hard, became someone,
despite what everyone else thought;
that I'd end up just another rodeo clown-loser.
No, you gave me a telescope, pointed at the sky
and said, “Pick a future; anything you want;
it ain't that hard.”
But I remember shaking my head.
“Easy for you to say..
You can do anything.”
And that was almost true; Skylar,
you could solve equations and
play baseball, though you hated it.
You could speak in front of people
without getting stage-fright and sometimes
you even seemed to like yourself; whereas,
I was always searching for a way out,
escape so that I wouldn't have to
look at myself in the mirror.
It was sad but I wasn't comfortable,
staring at those doe eyes.
They embarrassed me, Skylar.
They made me feel scared, unworthy.

But if we left, I thought,
we could be anyone else..
That's the American dream, isn't it?
Skylar; you know my father used to say,
“I don't want any mariposas in my family”,
even though I was sitting right next to him,
watching the same pathetic
soccer game on television.
Friend, you know what I was risking; losing,
and yet, I hoped to God that
it wouldn't matter if he knew.
If he knew the truth about me,
I hoped; perhaps too innocently,
that at the end of the day,
he would still say “I love you, son.”
But that's a possibility,
a chance I might never get.
So don't you see, Skylar, we have to run?

I remember that afternoon right after
my dad said those words; so damaging, so real.
I made an excuse to leave,
ride my bike to the park because
I felt so trapped; claustrophobic
in that little house on San Jacinto Boulevard.
But it was a prison and I was
a jail-bird in my striped shirt;
choked-up sobs in my throat,
never-gonna-lie heart beating sore.
And there I found you, watching
those third-grade boys flipping over
their bikes, trying not to tumble
down on the raven concrete.

But we couldn't hold hands, Skylar;
just spoke quietly about hiding
in the desert; a spacious Impossible.
Friend, your Libra eyes found me
between sentences, telling me that
we'd be alright; that it happened
to you too after your parents got divorced,
after your gemstone secret rolled
out of your mouth and onto the dinner-table;
toxic amber between the glass soup bowls.

Eagle-boy, that didn't help me, though..
Skylar, I don't want to rip my family apart.
I just want to be myself..
“It ain't that simple,” you said,
unexpectedly draping an arm
around my award-winning jacket shoulders.
But friend, don't I know it?

Every move we make; every word we utter briefly
in this city of “macho” men could be “too gay”,
even in the air we breathe, packed with
bluebonnet, cactus flowers; too flamboyant.
I know it's stupid, boy; there is
no such thing as a normal heart
in this Lego-land world.

Cinnamon brown eyes, sandy-blond hair;
summer moon, do you want the sun to come out,
rescue you from this negative state you're in?
You're floating somewhere between
alien galaxies and planet Earth.
The Sunset Strip, silver dollars everywhere,
casinos brimming bright in the wolf-skin evening;
doesn't look so glamorous when you're an outcast.

Even though you said that my copper skin doesn't matter,
even though it sounded romantic; Skylar,
were you ready for the fall-out?
You forced me to confront the monster
in the mirror, my evil twin-image with glowing red eyes,
hair disheveled and a dirty grin.
Skylar, maybe one day back in high school, I was trying
to ruin you because I was honestly struggling.
But now all that is old news, I promise you.
Friend, even if I weren't being sincere,
it wouldn't matter because you didn't topple
back then and I know you won't crumble now.
You're my fading hope, boy, an emerald in my chest.
It takes a lot to knock you down.

I want to be the hand-print between
your invincible shoulder-blades,
just a shadow of a copper-penny
in the light of your silver-dollar warmth.
Yeah, I don't mind, boy; how bright
you shine in comparison to me.
And when my father kicks me out,
out onto the lily-dust street;
when he drives his fist into my jaw,
forgets that I'm his autumn-born son,
I look up and still find you near..
Crouching down beside me,
you wipe the blood cascading like
a ruby Rio Grande down my cheek.
You help me up, help me to stand,
even though I'm sick and wasted
on humiliation, Jack Daniel sin.
“We can make it through”;
you don't even have to say the words.
Boy, I can feel them oozing
off your South Dakota bones
when you hold me, your grip;
strong and warm, unflinching,
unlike my family's love.

In your arms, it's easier to believe
that it's possible to have a future somewhere new.
Skylar, your October eyes make it  
easier to coincide with this hope.
This feeling, I thought I'd lost it seven years ago.
The world started shifting and
I hit puberty, suddenly everything was so confusing;
Body-image became important,
my first crush on a boy; so starstruck, so lonely.

Yeah, I'm risking it, so what?
I could tell that Clark guy to go take a hike,
Superman has nothing on you.
Friend, do you want the sun
to come out of hiding behind
those pine trees in the distance?
If you do, then rev up the engine;
boy, and take my hand.
Ageless freedom; American dream,
you're wing-less but who cares?
Flightless sparrow, just count to three..
When the world breaks your heart,
forgets that your his child with
your lips so swollen from kissing me,
your sandstone eyes glittering; searching
for an escape path, friend, come find me.
I'll be in the desert
where it's nonjudgmental, original and free.
Heat and cactus blossoms stick to our skin,
making us look untouchable for the first
time in our lives; Phoenix heroes.
Tonight, there are acorn chips in your brown eyes, little Scorpio;
glittering like Halloween night and candy-corn.
It's enchanting; that color under your sea-foam lids, boy; however
I admit that I prefer the chocolate that was there
before on the morning that we made pancakes together.
Your smile was sweeter then, too; yet now it's strained
as though you don't know whether to trust me or not.

It hurts even worse than the needle-point thorns
still growing; stubborn little bastards, in my father's garden.
I do my best to clean up this mess that
his neighbors have allowed to blossom.
After he left, it all went to hell; all
his hard work, a masterpiece out of nothing at all.
Nobody understands what those tiny fairy homes,
elfin temples, meant to him, dear.
The yellow marigolds were my mother's favorite.
Yet, now brambles block out their light, their serendipity smiles.
But I keep carrying on here because
without me, boy, there is no one..
Even you have seen the damage and
offered to help rebuild my father's temple.
And I said, “No, thank you.”
I was headstrong but you called me stubborn.
You grabbed the shovel from my raw rose hands,
told me I'd cut myself when already there were
scratches along my forearms and
mosquito bites dotting my knees.

The sky was raw that first night
we were alone on the firefly hill by the sea  
that my father called his secret home.
Heaven was the color of bruised strawberries
against a palette of violet tears, nightmare liquid rain.
And yet, I wasn't afraid, no..
In fact, I'd never felt stronger.
Standing there, I could feel my father's spirit-hand
holding my own and your warm grip,
boy, was around the flower-head fingers of my left hand.
Your skin was different from his;
my father's, that is; but I knew he was there beside us.

Now nobody can leave me to die in the cold..
Boy, even if I lose all my friends,
my guardians walk away;
even if I lose my trust in everyone,
I swear I won't dry up like that June rose
turning black on a diary page.
Boy, that was a long time ago..
Back then, I pricked my own skin
with needles, beautiful tattoos bleeding self-hate.
I was thirteen and blind, angry,
out of my mind but now it's over..
I promise because now I finally have a wishing-star ally.

“Pick your battles,” Dad always said.
He used to be in the Navy; he knew how to choose
the right target in a sea of shining missile planets.
And I try to make him proud today..
I try not to waste my tears on unnecessary things.
These days I'm counting my blessings,
keeping my anger in check.
It's not easy; tempers flare up like fireflies
and you warn me, boy, but I forget to listen.

Cheeks burning; on the cobblestone
driveway between our two homes,
it's hard to stay away from you when
you're cracking holes in my armor.
The most frustrating thing is that;
boy, you're not even aware you're doing it..
How am I supposed to leave when
you crumble right in front of me?
Say you can handle a cane
beating across your spine;
you say, boy, that it isn't the first time.
But listen up, junkyard hero;
when you were little, you didn't have anyone
to stand up for you, wrap their arms around
your bird-like shoulders.
But now you do, so please don't make excuses.
Don't push me away just to insinuate that
I can't handle your mismatched childhood.
I am strong enough; friend, you'll see.
Bottle-cap lover, I'll show you a carousel of constellations.
Uncovering your eyes, I'll remind you that the North Star;
a sailor's guide, is still there in the peppercorn heavens.

You're just going to have to trust me, okay?
I trusted you, didn't I;
a leap in the pool, a suicide note washing
away, sinking my fears?
But my body stayed..
“Look I'm not drowning!” I cheered when
you held me up to the crystal blue surface.
Then you disappeared, pulled back.
But I was still floating,
even without your hand; a steady
feather-touch on my spine.

We laughed later as we sat on the rocks,
drying up with old t-shirts.
My toffee hair was stringy
and there were goose-bumps
on our arms from swimming,
diving head-first at 11 o'clock at night.
You were smiling lazily; lying back,
gazing at the dolphin clouds above.
I couldn't stop staring as memories
from a few minutes ago;
drops of chlorine, glistened on your chest.
Though you weren't feeling the same way;
boy, you said, “Girl, you don't think you are
but I know you're brave enough to be on your own.”

Somehow; after that, we became friends,
not just neighbors; forced to communicate,
smile politely between
watering on our separate gardens
of shame, mock-daisies.
Insincere pleasantries, it wasn't like that.
At least, not anymore..
Now you were something that I wanted
to latch onto, feel myself
molding into your spine;
the curve of your Britannica bones,
glimmering like an island
beneath your sandpaper shirt.
I wanted to be your secret weapon;
a blade in your pocket, something
that you pulled out on a whim
to fight off imaginary and fire,
real-as-hell monsters.
I wanted to fade into your raw-rainbow flesh,
boy, until no one could
tell the difference between us.
Oh Tennessee rain, how fierce you are;
soaking up everything, killing my nana's roses,
her wedding gift to my mom and dad.
Don't you care at all that this neighborhood
is going under, sinking beneath the damaged
weight of your impatient Monday tantrums?

It's not fair but it's just the way it is..
I was hoping to see her today, I was hoping
to get away from my usual crowd, drift over
the rugby field and find the girl with the bluebird notebook;
sitting on the bleachers, unaware that her
braids are unraveling as the sky pours Picture Day tears.
Oh isn't it unfair; girl, how you make me
shudder, freeze in a moment of awkward stardom?
Spotlights flashing; all eyes on me, all screams muted;
your approval, girl, is the only one I need.

These days, it's hard to think about brighter things;
Sunday afternoons at Westgate Park, kites
against a colorless sky; your own personal canvas,
Ferris Wheel ride.
When this gutless depression kicks in,
my anxiety is the enemy every time..
Classrooms stink of celebrity perfume;
self-image flaws,
failed weekends and homework, lost.
Maybe someday we'll be okay by ourselves,
but for now; can I say I need you to be
my anchor, raven-haired starlet?

It's a sheltered promise;
a makeshift tepee withstanding the strong
tug of an indigenous winter breeze.
It's a July bonfire on a satin beach,
your arms around my chest, keeping me in place
as I feel I'm drifting off; all the way
to San Francisco and these somersaulting waves.
You keep me here, feather-braids.
And I thought you were weakening my self-control.
But I was wrong, girl; it was just a prelude to the real thing..
You were secretly keeping me steady,
showing me that it's okay to waver;
but that doesn't make me some desperate loser, just human.
Yeah, you and I; girl, we're on a bridge,
crossing precariously over a cyanide flower-ditch.
But it's still standing, even with
the weight of our sneakered feet.
This bridge is still standing firm..
1984; it was built, girl, for people like us; teenagers,
crossing over, becoming adults;
less scared, more willing to jump.

Oh and you're here; gripping my hand,
rubbing the day's stress from my fingertips.
Under the desk, between the plastic seats;
you are my anchor again.
I can never say thank you,
though, can never incorporate all that I feel.
The bells ring; we get up
and leave and so much of life is reenactment, honey.
So much is left unsaid..
But hawk-eyes, can you find me here, even when
I'm hiding behind the thorns
in my bulletproof backyard?
Can you catch me even when
I don't want to be chased
through a midnight neighborhood;
filled with flickering gas-lamps,
remnants of 1930s Chicago?

Call me ridiculous; but hey,
we paint this scenery, write
this story any way we please.
Diamondback snake; Apollo archer,
fearless sunflower; now that
we're eighteen, nothing can stop us..

And you can be mine, even
when you think it's over;
even when you think there's nothing left to save.
But if I thought so; girl,
I wouldn't be on your rooftop,
giving it my best shot,
one more time for your violin-string heart.
Moss green eyes, I'm giving it my best shot
for just one more night of falling stars
on your spine; glitter-pink
tattoos and racer-back sin; tight t-shirts.
Pull me in again, just when
you think your parents don't know..
Give this town something to
talk about, girl; in school, in church.
Behind our backs, they gossip all day long
but I don't care who knows that
you're my Cheshire cat weakness.

Girl, last Saturday escape down the coast;
Tahoe flowers in your curls,
the Santa Monica breeze kissing your cheeks;
don't you miss it at all?
I do, honey; I miss that ride, that thrill;
another life, cruising past us,
another missed opportunity.
But Cherokee rose, you keep me hoping for more..
Navajo fire, you keep me
wishing we'd reach our destination; a log cabin
by a lake, before the caffeine
wore off in our systems, the adrenaline
in our bones withered away.
Like morning doves, the excitement cools;
we succumbed to sleep, lost
our velvet-blue energy.

Girl, graceful death in an April-lace dress,
you make me hope that this never ends..
But then, we pull into the cattail driveway
just as the sun's violet-rose smile melts
behind the sugar-pine leaves.
We get there and immediately barge
through the doors like over-excited
teenagers, like all the things
we sadly are; reckless and exposed,
dumbstruck, starry-eyed fools.

In your warmth, I breathe in the mountain town you came from.
I breathe in turquoise laundry; your mother's linen towels,
salamander poetry; your hands, jasmine-firewood lotion.
I inhale the fading sunset, the beginning of a lunar eclipse.
And when you let me brush your hair aside, come even closer,
my Virginia lips scale up and down your porcelain-doll throat.
Girl, it doesn't get any easier;
staying away, making due with just one weekend of bicycles
on a Navajo trail, skinny-dipping in the lake, your arms
around my neck and the sound of
night-birds; hawks, owls, as they watch us play
like tomorrow will never come,
like the morning has already died in our veins.

Blazing Star; California-born, I wish
I could make it easier to say goodbye
at the end of every night, every sentence
in blackberry ink and white coconut
sheets of raw paper, beauty-stained.
Sometimes I even wish it wasn't so intense;
freaking scary with your winter-trimmed fingers
pressing impatient dots along my spine;
every touch something else
I have to feel sorry about,
can't do without this crazy,
over-the-fence; strung-up-on-a-power line crash
course desire ripping me up inside.
Gorgeous smile, infectious laugh;
rolling over on your side, you're giggling
because I've just made a bad joke
and you think it's not something I have yet rehearsed.
Well, girl; because of these stupid,
innocent moments, I don't want to cut our time short.

Violet roses along your hipbones;
oh I just want to stay a little more,
feel you up and down, your prairie curves,
that see-through gown..
Girl, if I could just make you shiver
like the last time; then,
the impatient sun can melt in a pool
of his own hazel sweat,
salamander-rose blood.
I don't care if it never comes up;
the light of day, because
I don't need another chance at this
crossroads kind of life.
I just need your very real warmth;
smile pressed to my shoulder, a permanent tattoo,
your North Star necklace brushing against my flesh
because isn't that more than most fools ever get?

When your sky is dark
and the earth is shaking your bed
your hope is at its end
you just need one friend

i'll be here, giving it my best shot
baby your love's got all that i need
Here, crying from the rooftops
nothing can stop us
if we believe.

Read more: Birdy - Best Shot Lyrics | MetroLyrics 
Underground romance, I never
paid much attention to those stories, gossip about
runaway brides; empresses and
warriors, falling from grace, becoming slaves
to their tragic midnight hearts,
their disturbing ocean minds.
I never wanted to be on the other side
of the gate bordering a Buddhist temple,
looking into a garden of sin;
my little tulip buds, withering.
Oh what a shame, cast-off tree..
Can I ever retrieve my reputation, friend?
Since I met you, I lost my grip on reality, self-control.
I don't recognize my own shadow anymore;
a samurai, or a decapitated liar.

I can never recreate my image
with the same paintbrush, spots of coral.
Bright blue heaven, where are you this evening?
Fairy princess, why don't you come
down from that yew tree?
Tempt me just once more
with that glass menagerie
voice, that charm you keep tucked up the sleeve
of your Han Dynasty gown.
Get me thirsting for your raindrop
lips, precious pain again..
Last summer storm, your
touch is fleeting, yet addictive;
an angel-wing on my overripe skin.
Girl, without this sweet torture,
life is just so boring; empty,
dry like summer in the valley of Saturn tears.

March darling; upside-down cake, make me
crumble like old Christmas cookie crumbs.
This hunger is irritating;
clawing away at my stomach,
molding it into a graveyard for daisies,
summer ghosts, dead pigeons.
I want to be with you but
there's a secret I've been keeping,
locked away in a repressed memory
of a thunderstorm and a car ride; of
11-year old me and a picture of
a girl I've never met before.
I can't tell you how many times
I've wanted to slide my fingers
through your hair as you mumble
drunken things; your eyes half-shut,
your mind wandering between
acid dream-land and this indie-rock
life, dramatic scene in violet-red.
I've wanted to tell you during
those lazy saké moments; that, girl,
everything would be alright.
When you woke, I'd still be here;
a guard-dog by your side.

Temptation, thrill, a back-alley kiss;
I can never be redeemed by an equally
wasted, semi-holy Los Angeles deity..
And “You're insane,” you tell me in your
garden of broken swings, trampled daisies.
But girl, I have no proof to state the contrary..
Last night, my priceless heaven;
you infected my veins.
You took me by the hand
and led me up your rooftop like a deviant little
concubine; a sneaky house-wren.
We kissed outside you paper bedroom.
I pushed you up against
the apple-wood door and
told you; girl, that I couldn't keep
shielding you from harm
when I wasn't allowed to hold you..

It was selfish, my far-off star;
yeah, my desire for a moment of
truth-or-dare warmth, cream-vanilla torture.
And now I have to deal with the consequences,
how the saints will punish us.
But I hope they'll spare you,
if I tell them I was the one
who stole a princess from her tower,
defiled her in the berry woods.
And I wish I could make it sound
pure like baby doves,
like my mother's bracelet
around my wrist; her last
gift to me before she died of cancer.
I wish you could've met her..
My mother; she was funny and
your swing-lo-sweet-chariot humor
sometimes reminds me of her.
I bet she'd like your autumn-day smile.

Yet, now what am I, darling?
Not her son, not a brilliant child;
piano prodigy or genius, looking
for plants nobody's ever heard of.
Oh girl, I don't have a telescope
to impress you with, make you believe
I'm more superhero than human.
No, I'm not as brave, as strong
as my favorite action figure;
all plastic, all-over charm.
I'm sorry I let you down, girl,
with my shallow paper laughter.

I wish I'd done things differently;
more intelligently, romantically,
not like I did; making love to you
and then leaving like a thief
in the bottle-black night.
Truthfully, I was scared
I'd take more than you were willing to give.
Girl, I escaped your sun-starched embrace,
ran though the gnarled woods,
down a broken seashell path.
But someone saw me, girl..
“Now what?” you say, fear
a momentary spot in your mockingbird stare.
But “Well,” I confess. “Even though I'm not
your knight-in-shining-armor,
I'll face up to my mistakes,
girl; just to prove that I'm somewhat worthy."

I promise that that night of lace-trimmed tattoos,
broken angels on the floor,
whispers of “Don't stop”
making my cynical pulse
race with instant hope,
momentary warmth coming from the slender arms
of an earth-bound siren;
I promise that none of
that is worth losing..
Girl, none of that night of citrus breath;
fever-high lips, is
something I can take back.
Your eager hands on my spine;
I can never forget without
missing you and hoping for a rewrite.


United States
Current Residence: Texas
Favourite genre of music: rock


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Manulfacture Featured By Owner Apr 23, 2015  Hobbyist Digital Artist
Thank you for the fave! Thanks for the Fav 
lauraamen Featured By Owner Apr 21, 2015  Hobbyist General Artist
Thank you very much for the fav, much appreciated!
autumn-spirit Featured By Owner Apr 21, 2015
you're welcome
BlackBowfin Featured By Owner Apr 19, 2015  Hobbyist Writer
Hey there, Sharon.  Thank you much for the fave.  :)
autumn-spirit Featured By Owner Apr 19, 2015
you're welcome
oviedomedina Featured By Owner Apr 18, 2015
Thank you for the favorite!
Mutsumipat Featured By Owner Apr 16, 2015   Digital Artist
Thank you for faving ! :heart:
Mutsumipat Featured By Owner Apr 16, 2015   Digital Artist
Thank you so much for all favourites ! :heart:
VainPeach Featured By Owner Apr 13, 2015  Hobbyist General Artist
thank you for the fav @)
autumn-spirit Featured By Owner Apr 13, 2015
no problem
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