annachip

if arteries and veins are rivers, the heart must be a great ocean.

the sky whispers, ribbons of crystalline quiet, same shade as the angel dust you shivered every time we were alone. in the darkness, we were sorry birds searching for open dawns. you, the swan, me, the raven, black as night and just as hopeful. and there were poems written in your skin, universes blooming in your hands; your eyes were a December sunrise saving me from any sleep. I’ve decided that people are a composition of all their greatest memories—and you, you were always the most beautiful piece of me.

Again, my heart, you find yourself ensnared, Bound tightly to another by red string. Pulled and dragged, at mercy to her every whim. Sweet innocent monster, completely unawares How she could kill me, break my bleeding heart adoring, If she turns those pretty eyes to gaze at him.

Let me rename your majestic visage: you are To Die For. Your smile blinds me like a one-eyed simile, a grammarian cyclops. Let us conjoin; we're conjunctive adverbs: Now and Then.  Let's connect our clauses & become a life sentence- become a couple of copulative verbs- become less tense & build a future Let us make love like comma splices, let's become each other's antecedent. (independent pronouns & hearts in transit.  You are the object of my affection, the subject of this phrase, the other end of my lonely syntax) You are To Die For & I never split an infinit ive

You're anorexic if you're thin You're not? Then you're obese. If you're different, you're insane You're not? Then you're a fake. If you're happy, you're hiding something. You're not? You must be emo. If you're dating, you're a slut. You're not? You must have no friends. If you're popular, you're a jerk. You're not? You're a nobody. If you're quiet, you must be disabled. You're not? You obnoxious freak. If you're you, you're wrong. You're not? Then you must be perfect.

I hear your Reality voice for the first time in Eros-Only-Knows-how-long.  Dressed to kill, but you've already killed me more times than a cat.  Reincarnated by your    smile not directed at me.  I'd have said hello, but I'm better compiling my nonsense into a grocery list of imperatives: Take off your skin, your suit, your sex. Poison the weatherman.  Death by acid rain.  Let the windchill bash your skull. Pretend it's a tornado whisking you off to Oz.  Steal the Tinman's heart.  Crush the Wicked Witch of Aphrodite.  Regret the pun on crush.  Become haunted by the Ghost of Valentine's Day Past.  She wants her ruby slippers back.  Click my b

i swore i would never number the poems i wrote about myself because that would be like ticking off the days until my breakdown; i was a moth, unapologetically throwing myself at any gleam of hope; wasting my wings on industrial promises colors always felt much more appropriate for the purple boiling beneath my heart and the pallid purposelessness of my head, but i was born into a colorless world-- no one sees me behind the metallic scars of my skin and iron grating of my voice against the grain; no one sees me as more than gray regret or monochrome mistakes, no one sees me but all i ever wanted was for a fallen god with feathered he

Sometimes I feel as I fight for my zeal and it only can slip from these hands These hands how they shake and I feel the earth cave while integrity lies in the grave