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Wings. by ~xRazor-Sharpx:iconxRazor-Sharpx:

Categories Literature > Poetry > General Poetry > Open


i.     his paper-dry lips parted slightly as he looked at me,
         with his dull eyes searching mine. he tapped a little spot
         on my chest. "...it's right here..."    he told me.
                  "what is?"   ::    "your heart."
            I shook my head and looked up at him. "No it's not...
                        I took that out and locked it up in a box
                                     so that you couldn't get it."
                                              
                                 he didn't like that very much.



ii.     sometimes I asked what his favorite part of me was.  
          every time, without fail, he told me "your ribs.
                    I would always ask why. always.
            he would tell me "because they're like guitar strings,
             or piano keys. you know, your heart makes the most beautiful
                    music. every beat is a thunderous sound,
                             and it reaches to the very end of the earth.
                I always laughed when he said that.   "no lie?" I asked.
                     he shook his head.
                                               "no lie."



iii.    he always said love was the biggest sin of all. he explained
               to me how it was always love that destroyed dreams and hopes.
             I asked about when people hoped and dreamed about love.
                             "no." he stated simply, venom dripping from his
                  arsenic voice."love will turn into hate. always.
                                    maybe I should write my own dictionary...
                              one where hate is the synonym.
                 I asked if he loved me. no. I would never associate you
                                        with something so ugly and tainted.

                I think I died a little when he said that to me.    



iv.        he called me one night. I was kind of shocked to hear him..
                      his toxic voice poisoned my brain and made my vision go blurry.
             I'll never forgive him for making me see things the way he does. ever.
                     he told me "I like sunset best. it's beautiful."
                   but he h a t e s beautiful things. I told him that. he laughed.
               his laugh kind of sent chills down my spine, but he didn't need
                         to know that. he told me "I like sunsets because
                                          it makes the world look like it's on
                                                   f  i  r  e ."   

                         I think that made me realize he loved death above anything
                                                 else in the whole wide world.


v.            his cobweb smiles always invaded my dreams. his piano-key ribcage
                     and painted on, cracked smile always made me laugh. he reminded
              me of clowns. even though I was scared of clowns, atleast you always knew
                                they were somebody else underneath the makeup.
                  he, however, was just an empty shell filled with stardust and dreams.
                               he was a bird trying to fly, a bullet waiting to be fired.
                     when he did try to fly, though, his wings would always snap,
                                     and he fell right back to the ground.

                                   I hope he finally realized that broken boys
                                    can't fly.
©2009-2010 ~xRazor-Sharpx
:iconxrazor-sharpx:

Author's Comments

:music:Free by VAST.

I hope you all enjoy. VAST seems to be good writing music.

Happy February vacation to all the students. :heart:

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February 15, 2009
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