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Literature
sky pirates
i often dream that we're sky pirates -
flying through the clouds on impossible dreams,
high on unbridled smiles.
we would keep going higher until we transcended the world,
and left it all behind -
breaking out on our own -
two astronauts who have never been in space before.
:iconarchaii:archaii
:iconarchaii:archaii 1 2
Literature
the river.
we're up to our knees in rushing water,
you turn back to smile at me and it reaches your eyes.
the current threatens mutiny,
but you're there and smiling as if nothing is wrong.
fearfully frozen; a vision of being pulled under,
free to let go, a ransom to be paid.
i mumble something; no doubt searching for
childhood pets and long buried parents.
we would have been holding hands once, but not today,
you are so far ahead -
dancing carelessly through the deluge.
there are some things we'll never do together -
ice skating, bedtime stories, throwing plates
maybe some words we'll never get to say.
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:iconarchaii:archaii 2 2
Literature
bite the hand that feeds.
kiss me, only me,
wrap your arms around me like a noose,
catch my breath for me,
and take it away.
your lips glisten,
dripping with pity,
they strike glass words,
shattered into shards,
dishonest affairs.
dismantle my perfections,
like clockwork,
take me apart,
leave me in pieces,
inadequate.
throw out your electric nets,
asphyxiate every part of me,
just to acquire a lustful piece.
cauterise my gushing wounds,
my empty veins,
with your blazing touch,
ignited from small dancing sparks.
leave your mask on,
your eyes could write love letters,
but your lips could break the illusion,
let me have this.
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:iconarchaii:archaii 2 0
Literature
have mercy.
when i lean against you,
the thick, warm rush of it echoes inside me,
dancing around the edges of my rib-cage -
aching for a path to freedom.
shivering teeth,
skeleton white cheek-bones,
eyes wide,
knuckles gripped -
burning the mask until it slips,
it seeps inside breathless lips,
desperate for redemption.
it tastes sweet,
but it screams bitter.
it's you, but it's not you.
those crushed rose petals,
when you asked for devil-may-care daisies.
i promise to listen,
just whisper violently,
shake the foundations of my reality,
climb inside the darkness,
and stretch it out until it fits,
around you - effortlessly.
unleash those blood-thirsty butterflies,
i don't want to be distracted,
with the murderous clouds thundering overhead,
when i lie awake,
i listen,
i listen to the shadows speak,
they speak of chaos and cigarette burns -
they speak with every line crossed out -
they speak in vicious verbs and alluring adjectives -
crush, grind, snap.
remember, you're talking to a skeleton.
he's kno
:iconarchaii:archaii
:iconarchaii:archaii 4 4
Literature
all the best cowboys.
his touch works against her like mutinous sandpaper;
rough; unyielding-
skin on shark leather, a cage of violent flesh and dishonest bones.
the air between them is static and chilled,
like his eyes, and she remembers,
his magnetic presence pulsing behind her, next to her, inside her, against her-
when she looks in the unrepentant mirror,
it frosts over,
to escape,
like she wishes she could,
and it shatters,
like she wishes she could,
falls away, and breaks apart,
like she wishes she could,
the little shards dancing and spinning through the stagnant air,
looking up, and reflecting his eyes back at her.
let's say that he has a way with words,
taming them like lions, charming them like snakes,
but let's say that the way he looks at her,
with those eyes,
those bleeding heart eyes,
unravels all the tightly spun webs she's carefully constructed around herself.
self-doubt cascades around him, like raindrops,
obscuring his vision; and water-logging his inspiration;
the endless drumming bends a
:iconarchaii:archaii
:iconarchaii:archaii 12 4
Literature
the shade.
we're centre stage, and ghost-lit,
as we recite our well-rehearsed sentences.
our lines perfected by casualties of the heart.
violent words drip down your devil-may-care tongue;
like acidic bullets down the barrel of a gun;
hollow, pointless, self-mutilating,
an itinerary of critical shrapnel just waiting to be fired.
smoky, warm and confused verbs,
mystify envious nerves lying in wait,
beneath captivated skin.
the hollow words echo within me,
reverberating against the walls i've buried myself beneath,
they ricochet with endless, piercing quiet.
your stare, hauntingly commanding,
binds and sears flesh to bone,
with blazing wires,
carved from concentrated sorrow and paralysing fear.
the sounds of your impassioned distaste,
are betrayed by empty reflections,
that shimmer on the surfaces of shallow waters.
the lengths of your compassion and empathy,
stand as nothing next to originality,
incandescent shadows of cheerfully blind negativity.
my fantasies and dreams betrayed in neon lights,
'
:iconarchaii:archaii
:iconarchaii:archaii 7 5
Literature
acts of bravery.
bleed me dry and saturate my veins instead in awkward intimacy;
and liken my cowardly escapes to calculated retreats-
so you never have to write me off your list of guardian angels.
your breath liberates itself with distorted celerity.
you're made of barbed wire, but i just can't let go,
embracing you inside, it's slicing my organs into ribbons,
and diluting my gazes with irregular fantasies.
you're just a shimmering ghost of freudian aesthetics.
there's a thin line between low self-esteem and the apocalypse.
this stake you've driven through my heart is as much a part of me,
as the skeletons in my closet and your devil-may-care lips.
break me like a stallion,
and make me into your flattering mirror.
we're nothing if not defective, deceptive, defensive, definitive paragons of faith united against the destructive force of gravity,
with our path to hell illuminated and paved with unnecessary reflections.
we've learned to fight against the current,
eternally punished for being perfect nega
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:iconarchaii:archaii 7 12
Literature
the road not taken.
rewrite my scars to break the tortured archetype you never wanted,
i'll forget how dishonesty can break spirits,
i'll forget how it felt to be abandoned,
i'll forget what it means to commit suicide.
there are two sides to every story,
heads or tails, as if you could actually make a decision,
where you had to rely on faith or luck.
we're on a narrow path, sheltered by our blind spots, each other,
all for the sake of going in a direction,
but still too co-dependent to have a destination.
you're never meant to achieve your wildest dreams,
because your darkest fear is having nothing to care about,
but no-one tells you what to do when your wildest dream is apathy.
desire and suffering,
the cause and effect of empathy,
self-sacrifice for the sake of ritual.
i could swim in the depth of your soulful eyes,
drowning in sorrows can be a very literal phrase sometimes.
i feel echoes of my faith shattering around you,
like i knew the world would never be good enough to you,
like i thought i was the
:iconarchaii:archaii
:iconarchaii:archaii 12 11
Literature
the paralytic waters.
sink into the stubborn floorboards with me,
the only thing that we can drown in is each other,
with our flooding pity and sympathy,
consuming free will and fantasies.
i feel like i'm so far below the surface,
the pressure is crushing me in every direction,
like heaven and hell are standing united against me,
like my entire world is in perpetual immobilising gravity,
but it's only you.
the only way to understand beauty is to destroy it,
take it apart, make it incomplete, to marvel at its insides,
dismantle it in ways ensuring it can never be reborn,
it's why we fall to pieces when our fingertips touch.
asphyxiation is the path to enlightenment,
when breathing in your scent is an original sin.
aren't risky and risque just indistinguishable?
i love the way you fill the room with your deepest secrets,
so when i walk in, i'm assaulted by their brutal honesty,
my senses destroyed in the authentic euphoria of your existence,
a wild case of post romantic stress disorder.
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:iconarchaii:archaii 10 18
Literature
starve yourself.
watch me watching you,
locked gazes, like locked cellar doors,
"this is for my own good",
if i say it enough, you'll believe it,
like you believe in fate and insecurities.
i'm hearing the scars you wear so proudly,
carried harshly through your vocal cords,
lashing out with whips of contradictions,
"i just want you to be happy",
but i'm glad you're viciously stubborn.
lead me down the primrose path,
between unfaithful mirrors,
and that feeling of disaster lurking just out of eyesight.
it's hard to swallow your empty words,
on an empty stomach.
let me seep inside the chinks in your armour,
and infect you, behind enemy lines,
with the vampiric nature of my intimacy,
the curse of empathy.
destroy yourself with me inside,
then rise from the ashes.
you can't promise inspiration or invention,
but that doesn't stop you trying.
collect the aspirations of everyone you've ever cared about,
and play russian roulette with them,
kiss kiss, bang bang.
restrained chaos.
:iconarchaii:archaii
:iconarchaii:archaii 9 13
Literature
the butterfly effect.
your eyes glitter in violent hues,
spilling forth chaos and bleeding compulsions,
the "i want to know what you did last summer" of accusing indigos,
and the "pins and needles" of crippled amber.
dismantle everything we strive to create to save us from having to destroy it later.
the wings of your dissent beat furiously against me,
fighting back the urge to forgive and forget,
they flutter weakly- giving in to a moment of temptation,
you wear your heart on your exoskeleton, darling.
hunt me like you suffocate amity, with pinpoint precision.
the earth breaks and bends, reinventing itself to impress you,
stars align themselves in desperate attempts to light your way,
reality gives itself over to your darkest inspiration.
it's time to decide if you're a sheep or a wolf.
if we were together, the magnetic pull would crush us to death in metal coffins.
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:iconarchaii:archaii 12 16
Literature
reincarnation.
if i had to create you, i'd put your bones on the outside
so i could see the words your lovers have carved into them:
"this is us, lost somewhere between original sin and depravity."
"this is me learning from my mistakes."
"this is my wonderland."
you turn affection into whispers,
like it could be lost on the breeze,
like no-one else is allowed to hear,
the words tumbling softly one after the other;
they're just a breath away from silence,
just a heartbreak away from death,
and yet, they are a screeching train wreck to my ears,
a symphony of crushed corpses and jutting metal edges-
a catastrophe worthy of a moment of silence,
a cry, in desperation, "love is a spectator sport".
those words still me,
they bind my feet to the earth like relentless gravity,
and they stand as a firing squad ready to shoot me for trying too hard.
if you kept a diary, i'd let it turn to dust in my hands,
so you can't keep track of the lies you tell yourself:
"self-destruction leads to self-creation."
"the que
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:iconarchaii:archaii 13 14
Literature
don't you want to be happy?
we're lost between manipulation and inspiration,
between imperfect presents and dystopian futures,
between the way we need to live, and the way we want to love,
between destined truths and enslaving expectations.
dreams are our addictive suspension of reality.
they are the crux of our symbiotic insomnia.
what if they surpass your every aspiration?
how will you ever bring yourself back?
your breath reminds me of my own mortality,
comfortably torturous, intensely evanescent.
the way you construct sentences is hauntingly commanding:
"you don't have to want me",
"you might want to grow the fuck up now",
"can you imagine how it would feel to be together?",
"don't give up on me too quickly".
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:iconarchaii:archaii 7 3
Literature
you're the closest thing.
me and you,
that's pure masochism.
we don't mind the pain,
we have nothing better to do.
she said, "some people are just naturally better."
little miss logic.
a symphony of ennui plays,
the soundtrack to our lifeless touching-
lifting us up and crashing us down,
down into the abyss of our misdevotion.
she said, "maturity cannot possibly be inevitable."
my own personal neverland.
little miss adventure.
red means go. but only when i'm with you.
although now i forget when i'm not.
little miss 'take me'; for someone with empathy.
she said, "hit me; i want to feel my bones break."
as if i could ever hurt her.
she said, "love is nothing without misery."
as if i'm nothing with her.
little miss understood.
i can't wait for you to break me down,
tear my hopes apart, shatter them to pieces,
so i can put myself together again,
ten times the man you ever needed me to be.
it's the waiting that's going to be the death of me.
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:iconarchaii:archaii 11 8
Literature
when we don't know.
with you there, i feel flawless-
not perfect, just invisible,
like no-one will notice the narcissism,
the bloodlust, the inhumanity, the loneliness.
stand there, on the train tracks of my self-hatred,
silhuoetted by the sunlight streaming past,
from the backbone of my distaste,
a glaring reminder of "what i could have been".
there's something about you screaming "saviour",
like you're the all-consuming salvation of the human race,
like you're the immaculate abstraction of my existence.
with you there, there is only sanctuary-
not safety, just a place to hide,
to escape from the compassion,
the good samaritans, the endless need to save.
you are the moment before a train cascades into your line of sight-
the way time no longer exists while you imagine the impact,
the pulverised bones, the explosion of flesh,
the frantic search for someone to be there,
to share your final moments,
to acknowledge your pain, your sorrow, your death,
you want to ask them- "will it hurt? will i even feel at a
:iconarchaii:archaii
:iconarchaii:archaii 4 6
Literature
my cadaver.
you'll find me dreaming in the cemetary,
placid, sleeping in my own grave,
sending you a serenade of shivers,
in defiance of your dare-
"until death do us part",
as if it's a challenge,
as if i would cease to exist,
as if you wouldn't want me when i'm cold.
climb into my coffin, princess,
and i'll show you what it means to be alive-
how it feels to be immortal and severe and intimate,
like nothing you've ever felt,
like something that's buried beneath your skin,
that's running through your bloodstream,
but never reaching your heart.
:iconarchaii:archaii
:iconarchaii:archaii 19 16

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Eskoplja Featured By Owner Jan 8, 2014  Student General Artist
Used your stock here, thanks :rose:
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Hello, I used your brush here. 

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Used your stock here, thanks :rose:

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Used your stock here, thanks :rose:

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