The Heartstring LineThe Heartstring Line
Aka Taylor Michele
I walk the heartstring line,
Always string thin and fine.
Balancing my way along tear-soaked sorrowful blues,
Dancing through shimmering yellows and satisfying pink hues.
Gasping my way through bitter tears along greens,
Terrible visions of loss and heartbreak clouding my dreams.
The drop down is a long one, silent and still.
Blackness at bottom from which there is no thrill.
I cling to my line, a tightrope to my red heart.
Which goes fast, stops, and stutters with his every part.
Like a play, we go through these different scenes.
My line like an anchor keeping me grounded to the very seams.
A red cloak like a fan blowing on the flames,
I call out achingly his beautiful name.
A slip in my step as the air turns green, and I start to take a plunge,
As deep, dark blues flare up, soaking up my panic like a sponge.
Sometimes I must stop and recover my spirits,
Tears pouring down m
Cold CrashCold Crash
My pulse quickens as I stare into the desolate silence of salty water.
Mind speeding along at one hundred miles past the latest hour.
Avoiding potholes, speeding over bumps and crashing through stop signs.
The clock dongs at midnight, but no confetti is left falling at my feet.
Crashing mind swerves to avoid the cracks in the road.
Lengthening and widening with every earthquake heartbeat.
The pool of salty water grows the more I stare at it.
Willing it to become a well in which I can throw a penny to pay off the debts of my sins.
Eyelashes quivering, lips tightening, hands clenching over the steering wheel.
Glass shattering everywhere, pinpoints of pain that burst through my fears.
Light crashing through, sucking me out into the reality of this world.
Ejected, I fly through the air towards the brightening light.
Instant PhotoInstant Photo
By Taylor Michele H.
You and I are an instant photo.
Black and white as the day and night,
Passionate companions who may sometimes fight.
Captured in essence with a single click,
The camera frame can't contain our tick.
Tick tock, tick tock,
Clock rolls over to the twelve and just stops.
Endless and boundless like our love combined,
A depiction of our everything defined.
Yet the geometric bruises patterning my skin,
Map the spoils you placed upon my heart within.
No bruise left by your desperate desire could be considered harmful,
Any pain brought upon me is naught but a blessed bite.
Like a Ying and Yang, our traits grow twofold in differences,
And yet we attract closer than magnetic inferences.
Lips cutting through breath, like a horn in the fog,
Both our desires rise up to battle like two vicious dogs.
Yet, my timidness and your sweetness are unparalled in art,
A kaleidoscope of colors dancing even when left in the dark.
Spirals of pleasure wrap ar
TheInkheart on DeviantArt
Tranquil waters flowed down the crevasse of her spine.
Slithering over her delicate, petal perfumed skin.
Beading up and rolling off the edges of her faired-haired strands.
Dropping onto moss surrounding abandoned lagoons.
The only onlookers are the birds and the sweet honeybees drunk off nectar.
All alone, a voice like the promise of liquid honey and rolling thunderclouds, of smooth velvet and dark hues.
Breathing in the rolling fog, eyes lifting to see the veil of clouds part before the sun.
Streams of laced light weave between the mist, drying the tears off her rosy cheeks.
Waterfalls resume as she releases the pent up breath of a thousand gales of wind,
Plucking up lilies as she rises once again from the underside of the water world.
She is Siren.
The Water Maiden has Returned.
Cherry CigarsCherry Cigars
You're gone, but I'm still going on.
My caramel toffee eyes are snuffed out by visions of your leftover coffee grounds.
Tears roll like glittering diamonds off my cheeks, tarnished at the edges by dust.
I sit here, a table for two obtained by one at the dilapidated cafe you used to love.
Deep thoughts filtered through by the cigar smoke that fills my complex lungs.
That creaky old 'Open' sign flaps against the spiderweb-fractured windows.
The sound raws my nerves until they are open cysts spilling down my silken shirtsleeves.
Every other drag off the cherry sweet cigar, I repeat the same sentence.
Whispers of quotes that you used to reminisce into my open eardrums, which quaked and burst at every musical note in your tone.
The frayed, grey newspapers that sit piled on that corner booth crackle at me.
Like demented laughter arriving in a box wallpapered with the old poems that you used to keep beneath your bed
Mapping Out The FutureShe waits in the center of a busy train station
Dried rose petals tucked between the pages of her book
Suitcases that whisper of the many promises of traveling temptation
New sounds, new smells, new places to learn and new places to look
Smoothing back the fair strands of her hair, her ring glints in the light
Beautiful rubies on either side of a diamond, two roses beside a thorn
It looks like one that a man would have given her and erases suitors from sight
She fingers it delicately as she reads a book in one hand, a fluttering page torn
It rotates in the wind as she races after it, baggage holding her back
Ending up in the center of it all between a clock-tower and a bridge, she loses sight
Trapped in a crowd, she drifts along with them until she frees herself from the pack
Losing all hope, she is about to turn back around when a voice startles her into fright
A man's silky voice, sparkling brown eyes grinning at her, his guitar case in hand
She sees his fingers extend towards her, l
And in this dark harvest of season
My life has completely lost reason,
For which or against to decide.
All lost in a savage and endless, bleak tide
In sadness and in kindness
In light and in darkness.
In a boat made of hope
I shall sail to tomorrow,
In a winding hurricane
Made of treachery and sorrow.
There's a spear, endless, and colossal spear...
Piercing, slashing though my head.
Starting somewhere in heaven,
Ending somewhere in hell.
Fighting, burning, crying, crashing.
Are the armies within.
In my head they are all thrashing.
On the heaven's and hell's whim.
To be light or to be darkness.
A perpetual array.
It's not merely my choice,
But the choice of the way.
It's an option of the voice,
It's a thin line of gray.
Is it a choice forced by fate,
Is it a pre-set time and date?
Or a choice to which I myself sway?
But here's our story anyway .
"Nothing that I do will matter.
As all things will merely shatter!"
All my hopes thus darkness scatter,
As it shoves me a decree.
As it si
Coffee Shop MemoirsPhilosophers think
We may dream our reality.
With earphones attached liked IVs
I dream my own melodic universe.
Until someone laughs behind me
And strikes up conversation with a friend.
And in that moment they become my anchor
Are they spinning through my dream
Or am I spinning through theirs?
Sometimes life fits in a coffee cup,
Sometimes inspiration pours out slowly like a packet of honey,
And sometimes it all mixes together
Like liquid incandescence that I drink right after brewing.
When no one speaks to me for hours
I begin to wonder
Is everyone dreaming a reality that includes
The whole café but me?
The street outside the window
With passing strangers, dogs and cars
Is a whole new Milky Way
Waiting to be discovered.
But I am no space explorer
Aliens are beyond my reach.
Whispers of the people around
Reach my ears distinctly
Like waves lapping on the shore.
Words on paper go no way
Towards proving that I was ever here
My identity is slowly condensed
Not into the people who kno
I re-create my world
from what the moon has left hidden,
soft motes and shafts of twilight,
tucked away in the shadows of night.
They spin like tendrils,
silver wisps that trace outlines
of city streets and skylines,
and spatter their traces over the paths
that greet my feet in the morning
and wake the world anew.
They grow warm and feral
starting in golden buds,
threading their way through fields
and blooming in a riot of horizon
that yields up its bounty
and gifts the waiting world.
They make songs from scattered words
and music that clatters from clouds,
caught humming on the wings of starlings.
They paint pictures with faces
and colors that bloom from landscapes -
all captured in the days lazy palette,
swelling the world in bee sung glory
where the sun crests its orbit
and carves out the new day
pyromania.I tasted your lips sideways,
and they were lit like
but in reality,
your breath simply hovered
above the bowl,
and you smiled at me
as you lost control.
Sex Object Between her legs, lies something that
every man seems to want.
A place where she should be able
to call her own, between her legs.
She feels that men only want her,
a true want, to have sex with her, and
The breasts she has, they gain
stares from men passing by, tripping
over themselves to find a chance to touch.
When will she stop being looked at,
as an object of sex? when will a man
see her as someone he may spend his
Her hips curve, and she doesnt
want your hands on them, if your
just going to touch her skin.
She wants a man to touch her soul,
not just touch her skin, and run his fingers
where they do not belong.
What made these men think, she
is just a sex object, a toy that could be
put on display, and taken whenever they
Between her legs, lies something that
every man seems to want.
Proud she is though, that she hasnt
given in, hasnt
tutorialtake an evening -
reclassify emotions as chemical compounds.
remove one atom,
see what changes.
take your field notes, transcribe them
back to front.
add line breaks.
be scientific. be too scientific.
replace the word 'entropy'
with the word 'god'.
be so full of want that you can feel it
scraping its numb jaws against your insides.
write about flowers instead.
make your first line provocative.
follow it, let it unfurl -
inauthentic, try again.
who the fuck
read, find inspiration.
find new ways to plagiarize old ideas.
hash and rehash,
slash and burn.
look at the mess you've made.
spend an hour flicking back and forth -
write about family. if it hurts too little,
write about flowers instead.
use a word bank.
write in the dark.
write from within your own skull.
write your litanies.
write your lines.