OverRated-Elegance

you're a bluejay. with black-tipped wings and a painted face. with a soft belly and hollow bones. but, mama. i don't want to be a bluejay. you're a bluejay, little one. with wise, dark eyes and a shadow shaped like a miniature airplane. with an umistakable call and small, little feet. but, mama. i don't want to be a bluejay. you'll always be a bluejay, child. with a black tongue and spindly legs. with mockingjay cousins and nightmares trailing your tail like shooting stars. you'll always be my bluejay, love.

An angel has fallen in Brooklyn. Making this the third this week. We don't know who has fallen this time; the body hasn't been made visible to the public, yet. The Millers think it'll be one of theirs; they lost their oldest son, Tom, earlier this year. He was an alright kid, the family moved here to Michigan three years ago and the kids had a hard time fitting in. I remember their youngest, Hannah, was still in diapers. The city of Brooklyn even saw her grow up and walk down the aisle. That was before the bodies started falling.    It's all over the newspapers, an endless stream of lost names. And memories. Their names never come without t

"i wanted to write a story", she whispers. she was slight in her frame with  brittle shoulders and blonde ringlets framing her face. the blood stained her crepe dress, sending spiders fingers crawling up the lace. "i wanted to write a story people would love," she murmurs and slides emilys hair behind her ear. "you didnt like my story, little emily." she scratches her nails down the other girls cheek, watching the white lines springing up like lillies. "it would have been a good little story," she breathes. her small feet pad around the kitchen linolium and the cold stings them where they havent been stained. the blood warms her feet and sh

grasp Inspiration by her ribs and kiss her fiercly.take her breath away with one steady kiss. she's always been a romantic like that.follow her breastbone with your rasping tongue.split her open. peel back her milky skin, show the world her ribs.part the cartilage with your fingers.pull, listen to her creak and snap like an old wooden door. scribble her favorite things on the underside: rain, impossibility, and open arms.fold her back up like a cardboard box.seal her with kisses. she's always been a romantic like that.

thirteen minutes of every one of my dawns are devoted to you. the slope of your cheekbone. slight indentation at your waist. delicate angle of your jawbone. the padding noise your feet make across the oak. the wafting sigh when sleep envelops you. and you dont know it yet, little one. how dreadfully important you are to me.   i am helplessly in love with you, after all.

ship me to chicago, where the world never sleepsvegas, where the lights never dim michigan, where the water's never warm houston, where the music never ceases california, where the sun never sets tennessee, where the streets never end anywhere, anywhere, anywhere but my own two feet.

the most simplistic things run across your cheeks; embarassment confusion passionate wonder understanding that this little thing we have is.. underestimated wonderous dangerous a spontanious moment that could so easily become short-lived.

im wanting to decorate you in ballpoint pen. swirls and sharp angles. swells, hills and valleys.

i want to paint you of zebra stripes, cover you in them. let them run over your cheekbone, down your ribs, to swell over your hips. like the moon's rays, flitting through the drawn shades, and over your slumbering sillhouette like restless butterflies. i'll paint them  with the softest brushes. to accentuate every curve, and every bend of you. they will be gentle, with the lightest of touches. and curve themselves to the arches of your feet and the angle of your shoulders, i promise. i wont miss an inch.

ive been standing in the river for hours whispering to the apple trees; trying to encourage them to sing your name because its sounds sweet on my lips, cinnamon and autumn leaves and i wonder how the tangling limbs can create a beautiful instrumentation thats any compare to how your name sounds on my lips