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the men tally teashe is profusely
fingerpainting on the inside of her
against the tiles.
panic attack clouds
hit the roof
hitting switches and watching the
clocklike drip of her hair
a girl watches harmlessly from the mirror.
i guess there is a pill for that, she says. i guess there is a pill.
those meadows of minewhen i can't sleep:
i put on my best coat and rainboots, counting to twenty-two.
you aren't at my bedside anymore. particularly i am not there
counting all the sheep my mother told me to shepherd when i was little
all the sheep i musst try my hardest to take care of, because they are all i have.
monday, tuesday, wednesday, friday,
june, july, november
they all graze on the grass, collecting dew.
i sit with them and watch. thursday is sleeping beside me.
i know there is a god, because the sun will never come up
my best friend hates me1.
god put seeds in my hair to let the thorns grow
never hurting my padded fingers, only the ones of those
who touch it
i am blessed with the ignorance of the passage of time
burying secrets about how much i miss you in the garden
hoping none take root
i want them gone
you're a haunted portrait, love
and your painter is long dead
you have every reason to be an athiest
and i understand that now
i still fall asleep praying
and that says a lot about me
more than a glance
or a poem could
finally, in the bathroom, touching my hair and skin
i remember that we're all going to die one day
and make tea
iwichlahl.time is a jar of butterflies, and we are busy.
rain washed down like clean detergent
leaving rivulets on the clear pane
peek closely, my child, see the two specks in it
feels like just yesterday and ten years ago, you and i
we were floating down the river, holding hands, in june
late nights filled with elephant beetles, peter rabbit
borrowing pretty wine bottles to melt candles in
maybe if we smile enough and complain
we'll lure out all the ghosts this time around
why are you so sad, lady fingers?
you keep a dark cold in your heart
like the summer shadows in antarctica's back
let me be the cartographer for such a shoulder blade, a spinal cord
a knot and a weak kiss
you're dainty and dizzy
i was split open like the red seas; moses, don't touch me there.
giving and giving and never getting
good, said god, because nothing is perfect
i'll become nothing
let me die in my midnight nap, holding hands with my best friend in the car
the churning of rotted but
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scheinbar is a much-loved and well-known deviant. Just one look at her gallery, filled with enchanting photography, will have you mesmerized. A deviant for over 7 years, Christiane can always be found posting inspirational features as well as regularly commenting on other deviations and encouraging and empowering her fellow deviants. We are inspired and insist that you too stop by and congratulate ... Read More