[x]

the scars on your shouldersthe scars on your shoulders
are braille to me, so that i
can read your skin, so that i
can know you better.

i like to listen to your heartbeat
and how it resounds differently
from mine, just so beautifully
like two songs played in tandem
to harmonise in rounds;

i like to hold your hands
and rub your back
so that maybe my love
can find its way through your pores
and seep into your blood
(never can i find the right words
to tell you just the way you feel to me)

and to think that and how i nearly missed you
makes me miss you more
every minute and mile we spend
elsewhere.
i can't sleep with another body
in my bed,
but sleeping without you
leav

He doesn't write poetry anymore.He doesn’t write poetry anymore,
even if he still collects it, reads it, saves it, treasures
faded verses from his wife the way connoisseurs
savor vinyl over metallic rainbows on disc.
I don’t mind not knowing, but I can’t stand not asking.

The record needle hits the groove wrong;
he stumbles over words that aren’t there,
rummaging for an answer he doesn’t really have.
He doesn’t write poetry anymore
and his confusion is strangely endearing.

But there’s a lyricism to his words that I love,
poetic lines inserted between the daily grind
of character names and who said what;
voiceless boys in white a

PocketLeftover religion in the pocket
Of my trenchcoat
A key that unlocks nothing
A penny, a scrap of paper
With half of your name
Written in black ink

A song that is usually in my head
In the shriveled carcass
Of a long-dead dream
In the pocket
Of my trenchcoat
With the lint

SurelyIt was raining
when we kissed for the first time,
for the last time.

Thin rivulets
sunk into the shrunken space
between our bodies
and divided us
like nothing could before,
like everything will
from now
until that never again
when we will
see each other once more,
no more.

Your eyes were
that bewitching shade
of dull brown blue
with all of the light darkness
whirling
in a placid pond
around a pupil
overflowing with vacancy,
and me
and my frowning smile.

The winter heat
fell like a rising tide
and,
for our every breath
was another death
so black and full of life --
embracing our boiled ice skin
as we drew apart,
came together and broke free

Onceyour beauty lies restless behind those
hills, where you fought valiantly. and
the man you once were was brave and kind,
but now you are possessed by a passenger
of darkness, whispering words of your
loneliness.

the man you once were is forgotten, and
the man you are today, is only a ghost, a
shadow, of what you were before.

Condemnedbeneath the beaten earth they lay,
their dreams condemned to ashes,
and our restless bodies stretch,
for forgiveness, for direction –

survivors of the abyss,
amidst wide-eye, silent soldiers –
so many dead, so many maimed,

how many graves are we standing on, today?

Life, Death And A Pork Chop SandwichAll tangled up, hard to breathe
This steel cloud day that swirls
With heat and pounding hammers
I shake in my boots and cough up
Blood, rust and damaged flesh
Waiting for the second coming
Maybe next time around there'll be
Some chance for more than this

A twisted barbed wire halo
Wrapped tight around my skull
Blinding white light aura
Swarming with flies I'm flying
To pieces, thousands of shards
Cannot be brought back together
But I will remember the summer
Of my first Chevrolet in each bit

Gleaming bits of glass in the desert
Each reflecting a different moment
Still, now, enduring until the waves
Of a new ocean sweep them away
No pain

SisterSister

A sister is like a soul mate;
Someone who is always there
to guide me through fate.

A sister is,
a part of childhood that I cannot erase;
A sister like you,
is one that I would never replace
because you always know how to
put a smile on my face.

I know I can depend on you
to always be there for me;
This is one hundred percent guaranteed!

I've had great memories with you
in the past;
and I hope there are many more
to come,
in the future.

we are not a fairytalewe are not a fairytale.

I am not the strong lead with a heart of fire,
bones of steel, and eyes of vapid curiosity;
motivation seeping through
my every last intended action because
I was written this way

(the heroine falls only to rise again:
proverbial phoenix, burning out
because it is the cycle of my
life) and you, you are not

the beautiful travesty, perfectly composed
to strike me where I’m weak and
[almost]human, delicately woven
like the tapestry of my dismantling—
a subtle irony where somewhere, a writer
chuckles softly, understanding

we are blinder than church mice, born
in a makeshift world of darkness where
I&rsquo

Puppet My tears fall,

like invisible

diamonds.

My heart beats,

like soundless

drums.

Unwanted,

because of the

strings attached.

Pretty little things called words and dustif you weren't a hypocrite,
you'd be wrapped in the sweetest
perfumes
(learning
how to engulf the ocean
with your lungs
and think of how to cup it
in your hands
despite
your broken prayers and
still be beautiful)

dance with the gypsies
'till noon
(a quake in
your hips like the thrust
of continents
and the faultlines
emanating from
your spine,
but still
so, so graceful)

sing with the nymphs
in tune
(your voice,
it's growing old,
raspy even.
your throat's burning dry
like a monsoon
faltering in a desert,

and tones
still octaves
powerful)

be nestled in a king's arms
soon
(oh, you precious
little thing.
how

HorsepowerHorsepower

There’s a knife turnin in my soft parts
And heat burnin my mind on hard starts
The motors runnin but I lost the wheel
Just want it to be numb don’t wanna feel
Take two steps back and put it in park
Before I leave scarred up black marks
I need a u-turn on this highway
But can’t go back on the by-way
So look ahead, the pavement goes on
Break the rear-view mirror it’s gone
Contemplate
Reiterate
Put it in drive
And say goodbye
Let’s see how fast this bitch can fly

-Cygam7

nightmarethe foxes are at your bedside and singing--
feversongs,
songs of boiling thoughts
and broken muscles.
their lullabyes.
they sneak so quiet, and
somehow,
you can't quite
dream
anymore.

Lost In ConfusionMy mind is spinning without a rest
emotions whirl and twirl around
A merry-go-round gaining speed
Until the world blurrs before my eyes
What's happening? What's going on?

The simplest thought slips away
Right from my mind, fading so fast
Trying to focus, I stare and stare
Until my eyes are heavy and unclear.
I don't understand, what is going on...

Emotions rise and fall again
Within the blink of an eye
I'm crying, laughing, and depressed
A rollercoaster ride that never ends
Am I losing my mind in this ?

I try to close my eyes and rest
But the world spins me around
I feel like I am failing this test
Voices and noisies echo in my min

Why meI wanted sleep very badly
I tried my hardest to rest
I closed my eyes and laid there
But sleep didn’t come easy
I would doze off
And wake back up
Again
Why me? When I know I have to be up at 3 AM.

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Open Mic BluesHouse lights go down
But no one cares
They're only here for happy hour beer
In the crowd selective hearing disreguads talent
Litsening, waiting, for the new comers to mess up
Its bound to happen
Cause they cant handle hecklers, or moms in the front row
Or there might be agents at the show
Or even better someone famous
One of the greats
Thats far better than me, he wont think Im funny
He'll think Im a hack
A kid that couldnt laugh his way out a paper bag
Mom will probably leave 3 minutes in
Cause of the language I use
These are what I call Open Mic Blues
But Ive got a stage, and I got jokes to tell
If I die tomorrow I will hav

Wrong Number FriendSeeing people constantly together
Makes me realize how truly alone I am
Ive fed this quarter on a string
Into the payphone so many times
That all Im left with is a bow on my knuckle
Thats supposed to remind me of something
But whats that fucking number?
Just start dailing
This is the last call
And I'm not drunk yet
So just start dailing
Maybe I can make a wrong number friend
Lay down with the reciever, just start talking
I dont even care what language you may speak
Or if you've fallen asleep
But I havent heard a click yet
Or that annoying robot bitch
Who tells me my calls been disconnected
One more round of rotary dail tones

Shellys Snowboard VacationI'm standing in front of a homemade snowboard park. It's about the size of an olympic swimming pool. A spine runs down the center creating a half pipe on the right. The yellow grind rail running down the center lip of the pipe gives the illusion that someone has urinated while walking a straight line the length of the park. On the left the run begins with a tabletop and is proceeded by a steep hill with a quarter-pipe just past the end of the adjacent half pipe. Two concrete benches parallel the lengths of the pool. The shaved ice machine that I am leaning on puts a stop to questions about how this mini X-Games venue is maintained in a place

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Mr. Left Behind

by ~Art-i-Fact, Apr 3, 2005, 6:41:45 PM
Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

Im the Artifact
Mr. Left Behind
In 1000 years scientists will find this
And try to read my mind
Try to analyize what its like living in my time
They'll over emphasize the importance of my rhymes
They'll never understand that Mr. Left Behind
Was there cause he's got nothing better to do
Theres nothing better than you

A day at the races
With unfamilliar faces sounds fine
But Ive bet on a dead horse
And beating a living jockey
Right in front of the finish line
So sadle up
The bride's wearing a bridal
And the groom's holding a broom
Sweaping secrets under the rug, saying "I do"
When all he really wants is the honeymoon hotel room

Its the last leg, the Kentucky Derby
The victory looks all set
For another year that rider will be the best
But wait, on the outside
Mr. Left Behind's coming up fast from the rear
Getting closer, they're neck and neck
Its gonna be a photo finish
So hold your reath and trophy
And wait for Paul Revere

They're coming! they're coming!
The redcoats, the British
Its time for revolution
Yes thats it
America is the solution
One if by force
Two if by seige
And three to avert your attention
With help from NBC

Im the last remaining Artifact
The voice of disent
The personification of doubt and regret
Im getting cynical, angery, violent
In the sand Ive drawn a line
And if you take one more step I swear Im gonna...
Nevermind, Im just Mr. Left Behind

Mr. Left Behindby ~Art-i-Fact

Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

Personally I think this is one of my best pieces, then again, I wrote it only yesterday so I cant be objective. Mr. Left Behind is the other me, my alter ego. The Xual Zan to my Sage, The Slim Shady to my Marshal Mathers. AUUUGH I just compared myself to Eminem, excuse me while I wash my head out with bleach.

~happybeingunhappy Apr 28, 2005

The last of this.

. you are just about to make your final statement, which, my guess would have been the most important line of the poem simply because you would have shut the door. But I love how you say 'fuck it' because really what does it matter. A "left behind" has nothing to say. . . at least nothing that would be considered important. . hmm. . . ironic, in a way.

~Art-i-Fact May 2, 2005 Writer

Yeah that was my primary motivation for ending it the way I did. But I also kinda hit a wall in the thought process cause everything I came up with to end it did not seem a worthy revenge. But it dawned on me that I wouldnt take any revenge, and its about me so... ya know. Sure Ill talk about fucking people's day up but i dont have the motivation to actually do it, so thats kinda where the end came from. Thanks again. Ill keep an eye on your work, keep it up. Cheers.

~BigAce Apr 7, 2005

dang that is nice. crappers .u did well cool

~VPDesigns Apr 3, 2005 Interface Designer

nice poem I like it alot =]

~chibiph3 Apr 3, 2005

very nicely written - i especially love how placid and level the ending seems.
good job =]

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Mr. Left Behind

Mr. Left Behindby ~Art-i-Fact

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