[x]

twelve hours green.he calls me and tells me
that his toothbrush
is an ocean green like
his fading bedroom
walls. and i call and
think that i dont have
a favourite number. but
i dont even know what
that means.

we should spend twelve
hours watching the
clouds fly past
and twelve staring at
the fragments of shining
rocks plastered across
the sky, until we leave
a dent in the grass
in the shape of
the different type of
world we live in.

i paint my hands in
speechless patterns because
colours always spoke better
than words.

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

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.

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

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

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

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

wishes on stars.i. sometimes, i wish i could forget you.

sometimes, i wish i could forget the smell of your skin and the shade of your eyes and the sound of your breathing and the sound of your voice, whispering in the dark.

sometimes, i wish the guy in my memories - counting the clouds with me, climbing out my window under the stars, trying to throw rocks past the horizon, holding me, saying iloveyou- was just a faceless black shadow.

because maybe then remembering wouldn't hurt so much.

ii. i watched a t.v. show today.

in it, this beautiful girl won the lead part in some ballet performance. the dance hall was full of mirrors. she was dancing and laugh

5 postcards from nowhere: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.

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

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

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

last night.last night the electricity went out in my neighborhood.

last night i lit some candles and burnt my fingers in the process. i watched the flames flicker in the dark and i stared at my reflection in the bathroom mirror and wondered why it looked different, somehow.

last night i remembered how sometimes, when i touch people, i shock them with static electricity. and i wondered if this has any significance.

last night i reread your letters and counted them. nine. there used to be ten, but i threw one away when we had that fight, remember? and i spent the next day looking unsuccessfully in the trash for it and wishing i could control my temper.

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

missing.i remember how you found me digging through boxes in my closet one day.

'what're you looking for?' you asked.

'i'm not sure,' i replied.

you looked at me, confused. 'you don't know what you're looking for?' you asked. i only shook my head.

because i never know what's missing or what i'm looking for; only that something is lost. misplaced.

but maybe the only thing misplaced is me.

-

'what do you think of yourself?' you asked me the next day.

'what do you mean?' i replied.

'i mean,' you paused for a moment. 'how do you see yourself?'

a telephone was ringing on the t.v. in the silence that dragged on. you turned away from me, and i cou

Browse More Like This

Download File
HTML, 1.9 KB more ▶

Featured in Groups:

Not currently featured in any groups.

Details

Submitted: November 14, 2008
File Size: 1.9 KB

Thumb

Statistics

Comments: 33
Favourites: 115 [who?]
Views: 3,188 (0 today)
Downloads: 36 (0 today)

[x]

i was thinking maybe..

by ~vampire-zombie, Nov 14, 2008, 12:52:53 AM
Literature / Poetry / Narrative / Free Verse

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 call at all. And I
wished he wouldn't

tell me to be more careful when
I scrape my knees on rocks, or fall
towards the sea. I start
to dream, at the beach.

September 3:
Her purple and greens clash and
she doesn't care. Her fingernails
are painted of different colours
and she doesn't care. She kisses
me, she laughs, she's care free.

I wanted to show her the patterns
that formed when she fell, and
how the grains of sand were parallel
to the grain of the wood, but she

listened to the silence. She listened
and then she came crashing down on me
like the ocean. Like the waves on
the horizon.

September 5:
For a moment, the sky was still, and
the sea was silent, and
our eyes might have met, and
we might have smiled.

Our thoughts may have caught and may
have tangled, but then again

January 2:
our smiles may
have faded.

i was thinking maybe..by ~vampire-zombie

Literature / Poetry / Narrative / Free Verse

_{they were close, but not close enough.}

a collab with ~Who-Is-LSDave

please give him some love on his submission as well [link]

~paintmyselfincolor May 2, 2010

Beautiful. It makes me want to paint my nails different colors.

!Who-Is-LSDave Dec 20, 2009

Just been reading this again. Really really love this. Still think it's probably the best poem I've ever been involved with.

We should do something again, maybe.

~areku-25 Jan 30, 2009 Writer

this is perfect. beautiful.

~chappyturtle Jan 14, 2009

For a moment, the sky was still, and
the sea was silent, and
our eyes might have met, and
we might have smiled.

This so reminded me of your other poems, but that's okay. Your poems leave me a sort of feeling. I love it.

~variabledx9 Dec 11, 2008

this is so beautiful... I'm so awe-struck I can think of anything more to add. Great job, I only wish I could write that well.

*sleepbabie Dec 9, 2008

you remind me of the beats. words meet up their sounds trickle off the tongue. they make more sense than the beats did, but they have a similar pattern of loss of love and the ideal of life passing in still moments and quiet memories... O'Hara is the main the beat I am reminded of.

!obriencorp Nov 26, 2008

Came over here from Dave's page. Excellent work. One of the best I've ever read.

~vampire-zombie Dec 7, 2008 Professional Photographer

oh wow thank you so much

!evelyninthelake Nov 22, 2008 Hobbyist Traditional Artist

This is so beautiful...

~xForgotten Nov 19, 2008

Your style of writing..
It's just amazing, really.

More from ~vampire-zombie

Featured in Groups:

Details

Statistics

i was thinking maybe..

i was thinking maybe..by ~vampire-zombie

The Journal Portal

Polls

What is your preferred drawing software?

deviantART [dee·vee·un'nt·ART]

Keep in Touch!

Deviousness

Add Media

Style