ella-kommissarrex

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dear diary, today i died

she's a ghost of a girl in the mirror. dark hair tangles like weeds below her shoulders and cuts at grey eyes. harsh shadows don't leave her with a skeleton like she sometimes hopes, but she feels it in her mind. feels the sharp edges and the trembled fragility, the silent cry for another's flesh and that outward plea of don't break me. cold fingers make love to cold glass while the sky cries over and over for sun. this afternoon death made to kiss her lips but missed. he'd come so close she now knows what nothing doesn't feel like and she cannot fear it. it's a blankness so removed from consciousness she cannot reach it with thought- but sh

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dear diary, today i died

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dear diary, today i died by Pretty-As-A-Picture, literature

Literature

dear diary, today i died

i'm/mortal. by XSwan-SongX, literature

for ez. by pansydiv, literature

Literature

for ez.

for some reason writing you a poem feels like a revelation it’s 3 AM over here and i can hear jetlagged birds and howling cats complain about the weather, i feel like i should’ve said hello to you much earlier but that’s me. my priorities have priorities of their own i regret not opening my windows and pulling you up this tower into this secret chamber where my astral dragon lives- his skin feels like the sky, you know, all soft and velvet and alive- and then taking you to the highest terrace. since we’re both poets we’d weave words out of the constellations that we could reach- stars tingle at your fingertips

graveyard hopscotch by skullhips, literature

Literature

graveyard hopscotch

the sky opened up to me and it said that everyone's a monster, deep down, underneath mounds of flesh and bone marrow; i found shortly after that everyone was recording me and that i was arguing with a cloud. staring up at the ceiling, i silently wished that it would slip off of the walls and walk away from here so i could look up at the stars. (this sounds too peaceful for my tastes; turn the knob to eleven) i laid in my coffin and i'd replayed every little detail of my life before i would be sent to the cemetery; that's when i realized that i was still breathing. your ghost haunts me and i don't know what to do about it; you're still

For I'm a graveyard lurker. by DearPoetry, literature

Graveyard Lilacs by Foxfires, literature

Literature

Graveyard Lilacs

I miss the graveyard lilacs perfumed by memory and watered by a stream too close to unmarked headstones. I miss the soft grass between the Maple trees and the Winstons, mother, father, and baby girl all asleep in tangled roots. I miss the sound of Sunday's best shoes on polished, engraved granite, Where tap dancing never disturbed anyone at all... And picnics after Memorial Day were filled with fresh flowers and balloons floating above perfectly mowed grass, and hide-n-seek tombs.

Graveyard by TabbyxthexCat, literature

graveyard by toxic-nebulae, literature

you are poetry. by Drastic-Afterthought, literature

Literature

you are poetry.

there is poetry in your bones; written on the underside of your femurs, and all up and down your frail little carpals. limericks live on your humerus, barely visible through your see-through skin. there is poetry in the graceful curve of your eyelashes against those rosy cheeks; mermaids would kill to have lips as enticing as yours. sonnets should be written about the seduction of your smile. there is poetry in way you breathe- how you talk and how you eat, how you move and softly sleep. there is poetry in the beat of your heart, the blush in your eyes, the quiver in your lip. you are poetry.

everyone dies by airkisses, literature

Literature

everyone dies

"breathe," he tells her, because her lips are bluer than her eyes that is all he can think to say- their hands stem into each other like cross-stitches, lily-white and puckered with veins and "breathe, you have to breathe." {she can't hear him over her own singing} "mm," she hums and it comes out like broken song, melodies stripped of their warmth, thin and hopeless- like a piano of bones. "okay." he says, tracing her skin. time is running on weeping heels, and its like he's looking at her from behind a wall of glass all he can do is watch as she d i s a p p e a r s "there's rain in yo

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