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it's a quick drive to where we live.I know you don't believe in beautiful things. In fact, I know you don't believe in much of anything. I swear that's okay, because what I'm asking of you isn't meant to be built on blind faith – it isn't meant to be a split second decision. I'll give you the time you need.

Everything is brighter from the passenger seat of your old four door sedan with the black paint chipping off the front bumper, rust eating through the edges and corners of the doors. I've never seen so many shades and tints of green as I have curving around the sides of these country roads with you – too fast, too slow, too here then gone. When you drive fast enou

to be a floristcut me.
press your metal into my spine.
thread it gracefully
along my insides and out
the nape of my neck.
twirl it gently (don't
hurt yourself) around my skin.

boast proudly, how you shaped me,
how you spun me in your arms,
how you affixed my gaze upright...
how you made me look so perfect
while i slowly turned and died.

Iron Henry UnzipsIt was the early hours of the morning when they arrived at the castle Ferris called home. He was glad to see it--Henry could tell from his face.

Henry was gladder still to have Ferris home. His heart was still like a sledgehammer in his chest, still painful with every beat, and he knew that as soon as he had some downtime he would have to open up and adjust his settings. Not that he expected downtime anytime soon, what with a wedding and all scheduled for the upcoming day.

Henry extended his hand to the princess first, and she shyly took it as she descended from the carriage. He made her nervous--he was used to that. He did his best to smil

PaperPaper
fascinates me
Sometimes.
Especially in the way
it contains
all the possibilities
in the world,
both two-dimensional
and three.

And in the way
that you can cut it
And it can cut you
Back.

rate of firethe sight
of the black and white
parked in the loading zone

gives me a moment of panic.

The average human
can cover 12 feet per second

and it's at least
300 to your classroom.

Smokeless ScalesThe morning is turned red by the haze of pollution. I smell fumigation smoke and blazing forests as I collect the fallen strands of my hair from my bedclothes, wrap them around my fingers and tie them into a careless knot before throwing them into the dustbin. They'll be turned to ash eventually, when the trash collector's finished with them. Everything is.

The air prickles against my skin as I clean myself and dress in an attempt at making myself presentable. It works, mostly, though I get the sense that today will not be a good day for correct gendering. I look like a boy who's pretending to be a girl - a pretty boy, maybe, but a boy nonet

halfwayshe lives in an old cottage by the shore, and the waves break against the shallow cliffs and spray foam all over her drying dolls. She makes charms and love-spells and potions, and crafts dolls from ceramic mold to quaint little mannequins; and they come alive under the touch of her blue-stained fingers (blue because she paints their eyes always blue, like the waves and the eyes she should have had)

he keeps a lighthouse in an island off the coast, and he comes and goes to town in a chipped grey boat (the color of her house) and he's happy living alone, savoring the silence and the power he has, over life and death, and light and darkness, a

He's a Magic Man.To say that he's a well-dressed man would usually be a lie. A white lie. Alright. A gray lie.
He walks around with his head held high nonetheless--how can he not? It contradicts the lines of his body, from the broad shoulders to the slim waist and long legs. It brings out the light in his face and that ever-ready smile--getting ahead of himself with utter enthusiasm, as always.
Back to his clothes. An emperor defined by the way he dresses down; while royalty is in his stride, it is denounced by the open shirt of blue or white plaid patterns, riding across the front of a white wife beater or thinner t-shirt. Always open at the throat, or

The Midnight PainterThe Midnight Painter

The room in which I sit is large, colorful, and bright.  It is like that of an abstract work of art, a painting perhaps. But not one of mine; I only do portraits.

The floor is made of polished wooden board and it gleams of sunlight that pours in from the four large windows that encompass the area.  The region is completely unfurnished, save my equipment and meager arrangements, and the walls are paved of slate like stones of various shades which give the room an aged feel to it.

I'm seated with the window to my back, and a canvas in front of me.  The light shines over me o

arent said - WhenThere will not be any words when the time comes. Emotions will circle back on themselves like the snake eating its own tail: an endless cycle. Existing, not existing, consuming itself into oblivion, only to expel, excrete, create itself again. Constantly extinguishing, constantly setting alight.

I let the ink melt away the words I write on my naked flesh. Lick my finger again, rub out my emotions. I wrote them; childishly hoping they would find you. Like the words I say quietly in empty rooms, in empty expanses on other continents, hoping the wind will carry my thoughts to you.

I wanted to tell you, but being the coward I am, I don't know w

I Remember"Dan, you're an alien."

Not something you want to hear, right? And yet, there it was, coming from my doctors lips; and you know you gotta trust the doctors, they're the only ones who speak the truth these days. That was the truth: Daniel Gray is an alien. I'm an alien, and not just the illegal immigrant kind, either. Well, actually, I might be illegal, I never asked my parents.

My parents; that's a good subject. The fact that they never told me I was 100% non-human might show a bit about their character, and I'll let you decide for yourself if you think they were good folks. Rewind back to when I was five years old; little Daniel Gray, play

Cookerymy blender does not understand
smoothies
"Accept My Gift of Pineapple
Thou Foul Beast!"
this is a blood sacrifice
and she is sadly unreceptive

I begin the main course
I have cupboards full of words
See-Jane-Runs
quick brown foxes
I have half a mind (no, three-fourths of a mind)
to sauté them
into
the golden eggs
more difficult to crack
than I had thought they would be
(forge? My stove doesn't get
hot enough,
I think)

I will spice the adjectives with
madness
I will verb these nouns
throw in a voodoo doll or
tulips! Two! Lips!
Crack open a maraca
and sell you some rhythm

Oh you will love this
you will devour th

The Eyes of the Painted HeiressOnce upon a time, in a country that was prosperous, and settled many miles away from the sea, an heiress to the throne was born. She was blessed in having soft hair of a deep brown colouring; tiny beauty marks that rarified her skin at intervals; and eyes the exact blue of the night sky, which had been bequeathed to her from her dear father, the King. She was both impressive and endearing, in the ways she moved and spoke as she grew older, so that the Queen esteemed her the prettiest rose of all the ages, no matter that she was still a long while away from blooming.

Years passed since her birth and the rejoicing that it caused, each followin

Death's ReprieveHe is a god in Armani, stepping under the clinking bell at the coffee shop door. Features crisp and dark as a hawk, he sweeps eyes set with death over the room. The shop buzzes with life and the scent of java.
No one looks his way.
He skims the wooden counters, the motley assortment of chairs and people. Beside him, a businessman resumes clacking on his laptop keyboard, the momentary pause slipping his mind. Baristas return to the swirl and whir of their machines, brushing at coffee stains on black aprons as if suddenly aware of every imperfection. Customers falter in idle conversation, words they held a moment ago lost to their tongues.

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AnythingWhich face will I be today
Gotta find something to hide the pain
I'll smile and wave as you all walk by
You will not notice that inside I cry
I will be your shoulder
I will be the love you need to take
And you will not notice
While bleeding, my heart breaks
I can be a million things
I can be everything you need
Just give me something
For the fear to feed from
In this world of lies
I will shut my eyes
And be anything but myself

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(Contains: sexual themes)

Good Dolls Gone Madby *Hfeather53

Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

©2012-2013 *Hfeather53

Mature Content

So, I was thinking about stuff and this is what I got! Yay feels!

Feedback is always welcome.

*enigmaticsmile May 4, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

Wow, again, you are a brilliant and powerful (as I have always known).

For all the self-confidence you tell me you don't have, your writing voice says quite the opposite. It is strong, clear and so talented.

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*Hfeather53 May 5, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

you give me too much credit for my mind's strange musings about my childhood.

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*enigmaticsmile May 6, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

It is strage musings that have advanced us as a society...

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*Hfeather53 May 6, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

quite possibly... but mine are all looking back and I am glued to them like the moth that kept chasing the light on the wall and ceiling... bouncing off to hit the ground and being completely inept at ever finding warmth in inanimate objects...

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*enigmaticsmile May 6, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

Now, read what you wrote me aloud and tell me your not a poet... and a thinker...

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*Hfeather53 May 6, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

you... (yeah I ran off with that thought train... been thinking about moths)

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*enigmaticsmile May 6, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

me?

I'd like you to finish the "you" part..

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*Hfeather53 May 6, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

just being ornery

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*TouchedBy-AnAngel Jan 1, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

Oooh, wow... Creepy... In a sexy, good way! Great work!

+ fave

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*Hfeather53 Jan 1, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

Thank you (=

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