deviant art

Deviant Login
Buy ArtBuy T-Shirts & Gear Buy adCast Buy Premium Membership
Shop		  Join deviantART for FREE Take the Tour
[x]
aqueous.she had never come within ninety-three million miles of anything like love, but she said if she ever did, she would name it "september" and keep it in a dirty glass bowl like a mindless goldfish. she'd watch it swim back and forth, waiting for its belly to meet the surface so she could cry for something worthwhile.

she considered the consequences of scribbling down every thought that crossed her mind, pushing it into a bottle, and sending it across the sea. she wondered how long it would take to crack and sink to the ocean floor, and if whatever dwelled below would understand her better than those here above.

she dreamed that life was an al
your truth.i've memorized the map of the world on your skin, the crevices and caverns and shallow valleys, the porcelain cracks and blackening alleys – and maybe i'm just scarred from the thousand times i've shattered, but i feel the need to tell you that you matter.

and i wish i could show you that you're so much more than light and darkness and spaces in between, all the times you've ached and all the pain you've seen.

and i wish i could show you that faith and love are what it means to be alive, but you just can't seem to open your eyes – and now i'm praying someday you'll fall in time with someone who can change your mind.

darling, plea
november.the day i was born was not a day of sparkling stars and soft-spoken lullabies, of rose-colored memories and warm autumn hearts. time did not stand still, but instead slipped between shrill cries and bitter words. but i would not know; i was not there. i cannot remember my first breath, and i cannot remember what i saw the first time i opened my eyes. but perhaps i never really learned to breathe – perhaps my eyes never opened after all.

when i turned five, i discovered the art of being alone.
i learned that there is no celebration song when you are twenty-three hundred miles from where you belong and your family has fluttered off into
so spread your wings, and fly.[one] you remember me walking around with my nose stuck in a book,
colliding into people and trees and parked cars. they were right when
they told me, "get your head out of the clouds and pay some attention"
because now, my head is up and my eyes are wide open and i can see
the world for the first time – from that man on the sidewalk with the sign
that reads "will work for food" to the lifeless body of your neighbor's cat
that is left on the street. i know what the world can do, now.
and it's not what i wanted it to be.

[two] i've lied to you. i made a promise that i never intended to keep
and now, it doesn't seem like i'm
the room we'll burn to ashes.there are static waves that
crawl from the radio, crackling
a 1950's love song that
no one has ever written.

there is a broken man on the
muted television, forming a
tight-lipped smile that will sell
houses and not homes.

there are lace curtains and
cotton sheets that sing the
discord of lonely fingers and
bone-snapping dreams.

there is a dimming lightbulb that
is flickering overhead and
slowly burning out.

there are dying branches and
plastic flowers that cover the
sharpening memories of a
color-coated love.

there are wires that tangle across
the floor and speak of the
one inside these pulsing
veins and electric rea
don't.tonight, i will peel back
the sky beneath my skin
and count the raindrops
that are slowly bleeding
through.

tonight, i will reach farther
through these rusted bones,
and craft the harshest words
that will rip apart my
soul.

tonight, i will waste away,
weaving a tender womb
that will never be given
life.

tonight, i am trapped
in a weak and foreign body
that i will never learn to
escape.

tonight, i will allow pain
to be conceived and
born.

tonight feels like the
end.

but tonight, i am the
dawn.
if we were the night.your silver-plated dreams
taste of strawberries and candle wax,
slowly dripping through the ceiling
and humming cicada songs to the night.

(i wish i could be that beautiful.)

but nightmares flicker in this lightning-struck sky,
a smiling circle of piranhas and parasites
that sink into my skin and swim through my veins.

and now there are two hours until sunrise
and i can feel a heartbeat screaming down my spine
and rocking your bones like a lullaby.

and all i have left of this insomniatic night
are the fantasies you've hidden beneath my pillow
of sunlight and stars, seaglass and scars.
circles.when the poet lulls to sleep
and only rainy nights
and starry eyes
are left behind
in a void
between these hands,
what do you expect
to find?

because now
as your eyelids fall,
these flickering numbers
set the paper walls
ablaze
and radio static
cracks like thunder,
an earthquake tremor
through the morning's
dull and aching
heart.

so take it all
into your hands
and breathe.
because you
are the only poet
you'll ever need.

and when words whisper away,
this is what will

remain.
a fabricated phantom.and if you haven't noticed,
my words are nothing more
than the shells of locusts,
my heart and mind only
the empty cavern
that lies between my teeth.

and should i sew my eyes shut,
i will no longer breathe.

and should i pull my soul apart,
i will cease to believe.

and should i become a ghost of my bones,
i will be just what i am.

and should i shatter into the sunlight,
i will not give a damn.

and if you haven't noticed,
i am nothing more
than the body that clothes me,
the flesh that covers
an ugly skeleton
and a fading spirit.

                
Star of My Daydreamslost in seas of blue-black summer skies
we spend these nights clinging desperately to each other.

we link our legs and fingers together,
forming unbreakable chains.

whispered truths flood gently from lips to ears
and we try to catch our breath
in between happy smiles.

you show me all your favourite places,
each one accompanied by the sweetest of kisses.

(we must have travelled the world
that night.)

i talk with my hands
as i try to tell you of my favourite things;
the sound of smiles, and the colours of music.

(they can all be summed up as
the endless blue of your eyes.)

our shy whispers grow louder,
bloom fully into i lo
december.she was the girl of skin-covered bones, sunken waterlily eyes, and papier-mâché words. but the thing i miss most about her was the sound of her eyelashes brushing over her cheeks. there wasn't much else to her than her gentle music; you couldn't really see her, you could only hear her presence: her shallow breathing, her feeble heartbeat.

but now her body is nothing but ash and ice, floating far beneath the surface.

and i really wonder if she was really alive to begin with, because it was winter when she died, both literally and figuratively. she had seasons: summer was burning, winter was frozen over. autumn was middle ground, an
addy and evelyni. autumn

in the autumn, she sings along with the wind as it whispers.
she picks blackberries under pale october sun, while her ribs shift and creak like the mechanism in an old grandfather clock as they start to freeze over, gradually replacing marrow with ice. her skeleton ticks and her fingertips are fruit-stained purple and red.
her world is colourful, in the autumn.

in the autumn, he begins to see images of slot machines and chips in his fathers eyes.
vegas skies descend into the burnt horizon. it takes with it neon lights, harlequin dreams and father figures. happiness disappears into the sink-hole which bubbles with breaths and sm
i am the trigger.i'm sick of being
a hardwired heartbeat
when you're already
healing your scars.

                                                (i just need
                                            
the artist.to set fire to
the sunflower-seed stars and
watch them burn anew;

to pull the bottled
genie from her shell and breathe
in her atmosphere;

to weave the gold-spun
tendrils of flame and sky and
divine watchful eyes;

to paint shadows on
the sun and sew together
gravity and love;

i am.
acidic.in this current
of copper fire,
i'll crack
and blister
and break.

when i gave you
the world, you
handed me a
grain of sand
and twenty-four
rusted words.

and if that is
the bitter taste
of love and hope,
and if you are
the one who seals
my empty faith
and desperate fate,

i will burn
until i cleanse you
from my ashes.

                                         (and maybe this time
                                         i will not rise.)
Browse More Like This
Download File
HTML, 759 bytes more ▶

More from *theresambraun

stay.tonight,
we are
more than chemicals and cognition,
higher than concrete constellations,
and we hold the fire of the stars
on the tips of our tongues.

tomorrow,
there may be hell to pay
for stealing the moon from the night
and the thoughts from our minds.

but tonight,
just stay with me
a little while.

stay and count our heartbeats
like the measures of a lullaby
between twilight and sunrise.

stay with me
just a whisper below the atmosphere,
and let us forget
how to die.

stay with me
for just a moment
of eternal life.
ophelia.i am here in the riverbed,
waiting for the rain
to rise and fall and
swallow my song;

beneath the willow,
beneath the water,
where suffocation
is more than in the
mind.

                                ( fair ophelia,
                                  'twas ne'er
        &
an ode...your body, seeming to be made of more
than electric veins and hollow bones, sings
to me of home and of the distant shore,
of tears, of grace, of winters and of springs.
in the darkness you shine, you glow, you blind
these thoughts of shadows and the voices of
this inconsistent, discontented mind.
you speak only a language that i love,
a language i can comprehend, unlike
these little paper people all around,
speaking the paper words too much alike -
these paper people bound to paper ground.
leaving this world to its decaying art,
i fall into the rhythm of your heart.
abstract art.in this mind
and in this dream,
i'm a fucking picasso
with words at my
right hand
and a beating,
breaking heart
for a canvas.

but in this world
and in this mirror,
i'm still the same
dull
grey
girl
with tired eyes
and tripping tongue.

so i beg you,
i dare you,
make these words
more than just
drops of rain
that fall
and fall
and fall
down my face -

                            make them an ocean.
             &

Featured in Groups:

:iconwrite-to-live: #write-to-live
Literature is Emotions

Details

July 24, 2010
759 bytes
Link
Thumb

Statistics

Comments: 9
Favourites: 18 [who?]


Views: 264 (0 today)
Downloads: 8 (0 today)
[x]

the life on mars.

:icontheresambraun:

she unraveled the universe on a smoky july night, while fireworks crackled through the atmosphere and suffocated the stars.
(she claimed they were like meteors, only sixty-two million times less ambitious.)

she was a girl with rainbows in her hair and oceans in her soul, but she swore she didn't belong here on earth. she'd found her faith in the heavens and promised that someday she'd dwell just beyond sight of the human eye.
(she dreamed of becoming a supernova, but she'd settle for a satellite.)

she said she'd be the one who found the life on mars, but until then, she'd just have to work on finding her own.
:icontheresambraun:
based on a stranger i met in a dream. except not quite. that girl had more to worry about than stargazing. but this is what my mind spilled out, so let's go with it.

anyway, i know this is lame, but it's 3am and i don't think i can do much more with it, so here it is.

it may be headed for scraps later. we'll see.

(c)
Add a Comment:
 
Preview   Add Comment
:iconquelythe:
~Quelythe Aug 6, 2010  Hobbyist Writer
I'd love to find anyone with "rainbows in her hair and oceans in her soul". :giggle:
Quirky and cute, I like. :heart:
Reply
:icontheresambraun:
*theresambraun Aug 7, 2010
Hehe, thank you! :]
Reply
:iconj-fern:
~j-fern Jul 26, 2010
I've read this several times in the last few days because I wanted to just let it sink in, and after various things that have happened in the last couple days, it feels like it's about me right now... :(

I still love it though.
Reply
:icontwilightpoetess:
=TwilightPoetess Jul 24, 2010
no scraps, this piece is gorgeous.

i meet all sorts of people in my nightmares...but never anyone so alluring as this. or, at least, anyone who i could WRITE to be alluring, despite the real person they were in my dreams. excellent work. the imagery in this==beautiful. :heart:
Reply
:icontheresambraun:
*theresambraun Jul 30, 2010
Aww, thanks! :]
And I've just been having some really intense, vivid dreams lately, haha. Bad dreaming material, good writing material. :P
Reply
:icontwilightpoetess:
=TwilightPoetess Jul 31, 2010
ah, I know how that goes lol. And indeed, you're right. It IS good writing material. ^.^
Reply
:iconmercy-waters:
~Mercy-Waters Jul 24, 2010
:heart:
love it.
Reply
:icontheresambraun:
*theresambraun Jul 24, 2010
Thanks :]
Reply
:iconmercy-waters:
~Mercy-Waters Jul 24, 2010
'Welcome :)
Reply
Add a Comment:
 
Preview   Add Comment
©2013 deviantART. All rights reserved
About Us | Contact Us | Developers | Careers | Site Tour | Help & FAQ Advertise | Premium Membership Etiquette | Privacy Policy | Terms of Service | Copyright Policy