The Immortality of YouthYou still believe that boysThe Immortality of Youth by ~Psyghostis
with pretty faces get to be
the lovers of history;
but the men with the obvious
symptoms of manliness -
quashed nose, dark ridges
running between their eyes, and
a mouth full of teeth where
coal could shine brighter -
these, at least, are the ones
allowed to grow up.
They never rise from the bed
of a mentor, with mussed hair,
from messed sheets. These men
rise from the arms of women,
and take their place amongst duty.
But they do not last
the five-hundred years
that you do;
they do not last
the age of history.
Coercive DonationsWe spoke about donating our bodies to science once,Coercive Donations by ~Psyghostis
and in a rage about everything I hated
I said I’d love nothing more than to give myself up.
You said I can’t; ‘you have to be dead.’
“Doctors are doing a pretty good job
in going for what they want, then,” I replied.
DustIn a dazzling blaze they drifted,
like tiny diamonds
cloaking the room in their mist.
They covered the landscape that
now sparkled with life.
Creating a history for future generations
with the history of past ones.
As it would be told,
the great Epic of the old meteor shower.
That settled on the bridge of one observer’s nose
to the horizon of another.
Our ancestors pledged us this sight
from their flesh and dreams
crafting a sight so that we might take it for granted.
But as soon as it had begun, it ended;
spoiling the dreams.
Though they prayed, no answer was received.
Our fore-parents then chanted
to the spirits and the
Antagonistic Sanity.I swallow back layer after layer of corrosive fear that coats the back of my throat. Yet despite my best attempts to ride myself, it remains to remind me. The Goddess of paranoia took a shine to me at birth; she won’t stop tickling my brain in search of the dark thoughts. ‘X’ marks the spot to her feast. Gluttony is her problem; she never knows when to stop. Instead she hunts me ferociously to sate the hunger.
The bed sheets that once offered protection from the worst bogeymen now scatters in the wind, with a scent of whisky; the drink of those better than him. The suit, the ‘tosh talk and colon. You go go! – An
Seasonal SweetheartsOn soft scented grass we laid
upon a late sunset's alcove.
As we lay bloated with new born hope
taken from those sweet spring wishes.
In summers height
underneath your advances.
You kissed such fragile areas,
as I blushed relucent sparks.
On one knee I met you in autumn,
our faces flushed with euphoric spunk.
Leaf patterns fell at our feet,
fading blossom of summer.
The hearth bilged fire,
sweeping cold joints away.
And we could only keep looking,
to happier times.
nervosa, cute devil'thin thin thinnervosa, cute devil by ~diddlyhohum
it doesn't matter what i
am wrapped in as long as i look
apple? 55 calories. i will be
as small as my mother's salary
(she doesn't work, yeah ) 55 of 200
for the day if i even allow myself
i keep thinking of pat and the
way his bones stuck out like spider legs
when the cancer came. i keep thinking
of the swing and the way we swang
under trees with stars for limbs.
the way you held my small southern
wrist when you sunk down south to lick-
good kitty kitty. eat up. eat while
i am still enough. i keep thinking of
how mommy didn't say anything for months
when she walked in on me bare-assed
choking on stom