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reminders i carry in my hand:dear me,

you do not have a terrible heart. you do not
have sad eyes and love is not a war you need
to win. sometimes i feel like disappearing, but
remember:

we are never really alone.

dear me,

every now and then, you can close your eyes
and still find your way. remember to breathe
because you did not sink a paper boat and you
are not floating underwater. you already know
the answer to the question you are looking for.

dear me,

remember the small things, like the writing in
the borders of pages. see the things that
everyone else misses. listen to your thoughts
and then lose yourself.

dear me,

laugh until it makes you cry. see
make me stopsomething about nothing:

one.

you know, the real tree branches just
don't strectch as far as your arms.

two.

you know, one day i'll be able to get
that cow into my bedroom, up the stairs
with a trail of grass and cupcakes, and he'll
eat grass off my pink bedsheets and i'll
take some awesome photos.

three.

i like to write footones because nobody reads them:

i love you. i love you like nothing i've ever loved before.
i love you forever and i won't be able to tell
you that anytime soon.

four.

dear dan,

i love you i lvoe you i love you.

five.

my cats are sleepiong on thecouch. and i am
writing away words fro my heart. and no
cupboardand last night i felt like the weight of paper and
then i felt like i would sink into everything i touch.
and yesterday i thought that maybe a bottle of
red wine and 3am and then too many post it notes
and staring at the ceiling from the tiles in the

kitchen would make the tiger hiding in the cupboard
go away. and if you could line up miles of mountains,
that's how far away i felt from myself. even though,
i could see me in the mirror and i could hear me
saying stop it stop it stop it. you are not here any
more. you are not there any more, and suddenly

i was sitting cross-legged on the floor of the living
room. watching the telev
look at the clouds todaywhen i met you, i stopped writing. i also stopped waking up to a face full of post it notes saying things like its bad luck to see the woman before the driving test, or my house smells like apple cider and bluebottles have eyes, or i've got static in my arms. i stopped feeling sorry and i stopped falling down the stairs. i noticed the stars at night could have a story and you could have taken the ocean and put it in your eyes. i also stopped writing.

when i met you, i stopped trying to be a nice person and just was. when i met you, i discovered post it notes and then i couldn't use them. i realised my house was not just a picture of a house
closer1.
she kept the christmas tree
up well past march and its a
strange thing,

your voice
broken and sad
and

the words, no one understood.
but the silence.

oh, the

silence.

2.
and i hum in this
empty house and

your call

echoes and
echoes. the phone
keeps ringing and i
say. i say:

sorry.

and you say:

don't. just --

don't.

3.
but here i am and
there. there you are.

your face as delicate
as your tears today. and
i touch you as if

you're a paper boat,
about to float away. and i

tiptoe

around your thoughts,
afraid i'll wake

you up.

4.
my clothes smell like
you. my skin

smells like you. and
there is a dead tiger
Lovely knees, scraped elbowsshe wishes she has lovely knees, instead she has a lovely
way to see the world. she doesn't believe in umbrellas, only
the stars in the midnight sky and the raindrops running down
her neck, arms, legs, spine.

she knows things that most will find useless: there are more
stars in outer space than there are grains of sand on earth. dogs
have over three hundred facial expressions, mostly made with
their ears. the average person will spend two weeks waiting
for the traffic lights to change in their lifetime.

she wonders: what if stars are just dead pixels in the sky? what
if they are specks with worlds living in them? that would mean
t
the places we gohe wrote to me:

that he sits in the gutter and he
looks up at my window and he is
there and he is not and we're
okay and we are

not.

he wrote to me:

your silence is not enough. and i
think your feet caught the dust as
you walked away. and i think my
mouth was filled with dust
as you walked away. and i couldn't
say wait and i

let you down again and. you just
walked away.

he wrote to me:

learn the meaning of wait. and tell
it to me. sometimes the flies belong
in the kitchen and sometimes i forget to feed
the cats and sometimes i

forget to lock the
front door and close the windows

when it starts to rain.

he wrote to me:

w
lemon cakethis house isn't made out of
a mess. this house is
made out of:

a sinking bathroom floor
because she sighs and i

lose count. shower curtains
you need to water and rust
that doesn't wash out

of the tiles.

it is made out of:

a telephone made for hanging
up because she doesn't
want to talk to her sister.

and mirrors to remind you
that

you are a beautiful

broken

thing.

it is made out of:

sorry notes and scribbles and
a windy day. it sits next to
the other houses made of

secrets and sorrow and stories
and rooftops and bathroom
tiles.

it is made out of:

kitchen tiles, too. they are
black and white and white and
black.

secrets1.
dear mum,

you secretly want her faults so
you can have something to say
you were like her, you have

something of hers. only
you don't.

2.
dear mum,

i think her faults skipped you
and went straight to me. i
like to collect things i'll

never touch again, collect thoughts
and collect pasts only to
stash them in the cupboard

so i dont open the doors.

3.
dear mum,

its the silences in between
that makes me think of her. and
i think of her everyday

i do i do. i even started
wearing her pocket watch
again because it makes me

feel like im doing something
good.

4.
dear mum,

i know you deserved
the better

half of me

lon
not what you wantedi wanted to tell you about
yesterday. and how i saw
a shooting star and a face
on the moon that reminds
me of my grandfather.

i wanted to tell you how
i fell on the grass at
sunset and it was poetically
beautiful. but you'd
only tell me that i was
beautiful and then let the wind
blow away what my eyes see.

i wish you loved looking
up at the fragments of
rocks scattered across
the sky. or loved to watch the
clouds go past for twelve hours
straight, but you'd get
bored after two.

i wish i had asked you
what your favourite number
is and what colour your
toothbrush was. my number
is 52. and now you can think
of me every ti
i was thinking maybe..October 10:
I tried calling her today, but
the phone was left for seven
rings too long. She
doesn't like, she is afraid of

dialing numbers and jewellery and
the sound of bugs flying too
close to her ear.

She probably would have laughed
at the thought of dreaming the
day away. Because she can't stop.

She can't stop to meet me at
the rooftops. To meet me and
hold my hand. To meet me and
watch the sky move sideways.

October 16:
Today I called him, to say, to
say that I wanted to drown,
not in sorrows or swimming pools, but in
the ocean, because it's so peaceful

down there. Only I didn't. I
didn't breathe. Or speak. I
didn't
how to:being scared isn't at all like being nervous. it is opening the refrigerator door at three am, closing it. falling asleep and not realising you have woken up. wanting to disappear completely, and realise you could probably do it if you tried hard enough; making yourself stuck in your own mind. it is realising you could tell all your secrets to every soul in the world, and in the end it is still only you, sitting in that room and waiting. alone.

everything becomes insignificant. any feelings you may have felt before. you don't even remember anymore why you were sprawled on the kitchen floor that night, drunk and crying. mumbling something abo
photographs of us.one.

the first thing i noticed about you was your smile. it pulled me in, and i was a fool for not resisting.

i guess you could say i loved your smile more than i loved you.

two.

we watched a thunderstorm from your porch, leaves and rain falling down, wind howling, thunder roaring.

you said the flashes of lightning were beautiful, and you watched them with your eyes closed.

but i couldn't bring myself to close my eyes, not even for a second.

i was too busy staring at you.

three.

we were standing on a bridge, watching the water run run run beneath us. fireflies danced in the air, playing a game of tag that i could only watch; never jo
things worth remembering.we could sing soft lullabies under the stars,
songs about happiness and dreams
and a perfection that's flawed, a perfection
that's reachable.

a perfection that's you.

.

we'd go to the park, maybe,
just to watch the wind kiss the flowers,
and you'd name all of them.

'just because they're lonely',
you'd say. 'just because

they need love too.'

you need love, too.

.

if your heart was a color,
it'd be bright, beautiful, and

crayola would be jealous.

.

you deserve dreams and hope,
a happy ending and a fairytale
worth believing in. you deserve
happy days, smiles. you deserve
a penguin named stuart and chocolate,
a comet and an
no reply.6:33pm:

i deleted you from my
phone. so goodbye.
[i wont miss you]

7:00pm:

no reply. because my
silence speaks more than
words ever could.
[even though you never
thought so]

1:02am:

remember that time we
were tangled and drowning
so far in our own
thoughts and love?
[i cried]

2:15am:

no reply. because i
know you remember.
[but you're not smiling
anymore]

4:20am:

i left something outside
your door.
[its your heart in
the shape of a book]

4:22am:

no reply. i ran outside
in shorts and socks
to grab it before
it froze.
[at least you took care of it]

5:30am:

no reply. you always thought
i looked beautiful.
[but i
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More from ~vampire-zombie

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5 postcards from nowhere:

:iconvampire-zombie:

postcard 1:

somewhere between here and
there i realised: good things don't
happen because of 52. they happen
because we let them.



postcard 2:

and baby i'm afraid of a lot of things.

like the way your fingers read my skin like
braille in the dark. and i may not have any more
secrets left that way.



postcard 3:

but you still like to explore every corner of
my spine.



postcard 4:

i have a drawer full of foxgloves and a
sandpit of forget-me-nots. i

love your stretching tree-branch arms.



postcard 5:

you are magic, you are magic, i say. and i am
lost in the ocean of your eyes.

4,699

214 38 67
:iconvampire-zombie:

5 postcards from nowhere:by ~vampire-zombie

DescriptionDetailsShare
Download HTML download, 905 bytes
or rather, five postcards from somewhere quite special.
©2009-2013 ~vampire-zombie
Category: Literature / Poetry / Human Nature / Free Verse

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January 20, 2009
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:iconsaydahlia:
!sayDahlia Apr 21, 2009
This is amazing. I love it. :heart:
Reply
:icontheafterwhys:
~TheAfterWhys Feb 28, 2009
Makes me want to write my own postcards, or better yet, recieve some, that contain the same feeling of daydream wanderings.
Reply
:iconkneelingglory:
!KneelingGlory Feb 19, 2009
This is so pretty :) I like 4 the best, as I often try to find similarities between the human form and that of other parts of nature.
Reply
:iconrussiantea87:
~russiantea87 Jan 26, 2009   Writer
That was exceedingly refreshing: I love poetry, but I cherish good poetry so much better.

i don't want to bother you for details, but is this inspired by first hand accounts?
And I'm asking that with the most well-meant delicacy I can: I don't want to be rude or wonder about things that aren't my business.
Reply
:iconvampire-zombie:
~vampire-zombie Jan 26, 2009  Professional Photographer
its okay, you're not being rude. but yes, this is all real. i think i find it easier to write things that have happened to me rather than to make things up.

and im so glad you liked it, so thank you :hug:
Reply
:iconrussiantea87:
~russiantea87 Jan 26, 2009   Writer
I usually take songs or personal feeling and then distort them into epic concepts: like, when a miserably child slept demons pulled at the skin of his chest, until a hole was made: the child poured everything into the hole, trying to quench. He robbed whole sores, whole markets, whole cities to staunch the hole's hunger: He even sacrificed live people. When this proved insufficient, the boy even began to satisfy the hole's abysmal lusts with the dreams of men, offering their fathomless delicacy up for its satiation.
Reply
:iconrain-of-stars:
~Rain-of-Stars Jan 23, 2009
Beautiful.
Reply
:iconthebloodwriter:
~TheBloodWriter Jan 22, 2009
I found postcard 4 to be my favorite.
Reply
:iconbriannamal:
~briannamal Jan 22, 2009
I like postcard 4 best. :3
Reply
:iconmistyvision:
~mistyvision Jan 22, 2009
wonderful. just incredible.
Reply
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