literature

With Hair Dyed Dead And Dusty Dreams

Deviation Actions

By

Emerald-Alexandria

Published: Jun 10, 2014

339 Views

Literature Text

My dress is sewn of debtor's scrawls
And my hair dyed dead and graying
My food has festered, and I lay sprawled

I am out of dimes

Wrinkles scratched into my skin
Like tallies of the rising suns
Regretting my unfulfilled sins

I am out of time

My pen has fallen in the war
My tongue has ceased and swollen
My paper stained with tears is torn

I am out of rhymes

My body fails me in my slumber
Shivering numb against myself
I collect dust clutching a phone number

I never made you mine

I Liked You Better When You Were SweatyThe last time I saw you,
Sweat poured from the Arizona sun
Burning down your hair
like my dad's whiskey.
And I couldn't help
But bare my missing tooth
And curl my lips to a shy giggle
When you said my name.
Maybe one day,
The blood that pounds
will run dry,
and my eyes won't widen in your stride.
But until then
I can't help but taste you
Like summertime love;
Here one moment, gone the next.
Too old to relish,
Like a firefly's wink
Too young to understand
Like why kisses burn
And the point of my dad's stash

Forever moreSkin sags and hangs
like sacks of meat,
off licked and chewed bones;
A smile flown away
but wings,
green and festering,
refuse to soar.
I suffer time’s slow crawl
Against the mud.
I wait from dusk to dust,
Until wine ages to a rot.
And still,
your kiss can't catch me
-Hana K

Otakus Do It BetterYou, my beloved Otaku,
Are a J-Pop loving, fedora-donning, neckbeard-growing,
box of "HOT DAMN" with a side of sizzles.
You're like a fine wine:
Hard to swallow, but worth the good time;
And let me tell you,
every spontaneous nervous giggle
and split second activation of a trap card
brings me to my knees.
I love the way you pound it hard--
the controller, that is;
And every single speeding red headshot
Makes me want to scream
(After all, you stole my kill)
And while your attention isn't always evenly split,
And my lingerie is still collecting dust
In the box that shipped your PS4,
You taste like HP potions
and smell like rough sex.
So wear your clan's headband proudly,
And I'll curl my aqua twin-tails;
because this is co-op mode, daddy-o,
And I need a player 2.

EclipsedThe moon shines her stolen light
through my upstairs window,
Shifting shapes and turned upside down
like the hollow grin of the Cheshire Cat
Pulling the tides towards her lunar curves,
bright and beautiful-
ever closer to drowning with each passing minute
and rough lick of the waves;
Sometimes I claim the moon's envy of stars,
Her pearly surface full of holes,
Chunks missing from spectators hurling stones
from millions of miles away.
Even with lightyears of black veils between us
and her scarred body,
We refuse her tender touch of silver light
and pale her embrace for the burning touch of a golden sun.
I stand here just as scarred
from men who refuse to see the light that I try to reflect
from the tan-lined supermodel in a magazine.
But why should I suffer and take another crater
by my own knife
Just to be explored by a sun-bleached American flag?
Am I no good but to be claimed?
I have no more sun to steal.
Do I have nothing of my own?
I wait to cast my gentle push
for a man who is wil

My Facebook Page: www.facebook.com/HanaKPoetry
^It usually has exclusive content from my dA

My Blog: hanakhal.wordpress.com/
^Video Game related blog. My reviews feature poetry based on the games I play

© 2014 - 2024 Emerald-Alexandria

Comments0

Join the community to add your comment. Already a deviant? Log In