

Fox Fire
Licks of black hair fallen over sun-kissed shoulders.
Eyes so red, a demon seemed to evoke its words from them.
Fangs as sharp as canines, like a dog that might have been raised by the wilds.
This is the nine-tails,
a delicate, rabid yet uniquely wild animal.
Seen in her element,
she is the epitome of beauty.
Coiled under pressure, under the expectations of society and she is regarded no more than a woman befitting a straight jacket.
These are things that must not be tainted,
must be left to the freedom of nature so they may coil and spin through thicket and tweed like the whispers of the wind.
Flames dance with them,
their bodies like fire.
And if you stare into their eyes long enough, you'll see the flames reflect back from them.
She is the yang, the yin - a brother much older and calmer - to his mild tempest.
She is the fury ignited,
the woman scorned as wrath.
Yet, all in the same, she desires to be loved.
Free, yet loved.
In the aching cold of the night,
when the Wolf Creek plays tricks on the ears.
You may hear her.
You may hear her cries in the night, fox fire dancing behind her as she swirls through the forest, leaving only a glimmer of her tails.
For the only thing to sooth her is Aoi.
The other yin to her.
The blue.
The calm.
Her rest to her storm.
And so, when the yin comes back to the yang,
there are no yips or cries within the forest tonight.
There are none on other nights.
She is whole.
At peace.
And one once more.
With Pain and Love
There is the minor inconveniences,
the turtling up and twisting faces.
I can see how she turns, cheek to shoulder, eyes cast down and then up with that glossy violet blaze. Shuddered shivers shake me to my waist, making my heart pound with the idea that my body is acting like dead weight.
There's something so pristine,
so ethereal to have her under me.
Tongues pressed, sweet kisses.
No hold. No reserve.
Breath stolen, and regretful words that linger in the back of my mind. Words that I'd never utter again, knowing I'd be putting barriers between us. Heartfelt 'sorries' and gut-wrenching 'I knows' will never account for the things I said or did, but she's here now. The pain is so serrated, like it's slivering off from me, shedding away with the old skin. The skin of my shriveled self, the part of me that no longer takes hold.
Insecurities can't take hold,
cannot form me into an uncomfortable mold.
Here, there are no secrets. Not from me,
when I try to unravel the depth of pain she will not let me see.
Short hair, fluffing against her shoulders. Lips pressed hot, molding over hidden skin. A modest girl, she once was only mine to take. Still, there is nothing to part us. No one to take her from me, she is mine. Mine and mine alone. She promised, she never would have left. I was the one that forced her to. Never again, never would in my worst nightmares would I ever utter such words to her again.
The Accountant: Nothing Personal
There's something about the reasoning, the money or someone might have said why. I've mostly discarded those thoughts as I stared down at the man whom I gave the chance to utter his last words to me.
"Messages? Goodbyes? Anything at all, or is it all just piss to you? Pissing your life away?" I ask, slowly as I cocked the hammer back and fixed my steeling gaze at him. I could see his eyes marble, the glossy black pupils fixated on the barrel and less on me with two hands held up as sweat started to break out over him.
"I- I..." he started to stammer.
"Spit it out, I don't have all day, I need to clear this mess you're about to make up before things get on any later." I could see the gears spinning in his mind, the guilty goodbyes he was trying to hurriedly think out, but I think I made his mind go blank. I turned the gun away for a moment, fixing it in my hands to shoot him down immediately if he tried anything funny. My sympathetic side getting the better of me. "Look. I'm not making you dig your grave or drag this out any longer, tell me anything you might want to say to anyone before I let you go off on your new venture and then I'll be quick."
"W-Why me?"
"I don't ask questions."
"W-What was the pay?"
"I stopped asking after a certain amount. Look, does it really matter when you waste your breath like this? I'm not doing the double spy thing so one of you can figure out how you're going to set me back on the other while you secretly conspire to get rid of me with another after. Last words. I'm getting impatient."
"T-Tell Bess, I love her."
"Your mistress?" I saw his eyes snap up to me, like some sort of realization hit him on who might have put the hit out on him. "Okay. I mean. I don't judge," I lied, smirking a little. "Well, much." And I cocked the gun back at his chest and fired. I know the sound of flesh squelching should have been the first noise I was looking for, but I was too dead set on finishing the job. I made sure to be quick, snatching him up by the collar of his sloppy yet wrinkled polo before staring down at him, watching him moan before I pressed the gun to the proper zone between his eyes, the place I knew it would kill him point blank and I fired not once, but twice. I knew the noise would be enough to echo into the pitch black of the desert, but with a cooling body under a shallow grave, far from any washes... I knew no one would be finding this man any time soon.
Was it personal? No. Not really. Would I tell his wife his last words weren't for her? No. I wasn't into it. I respected his wishes, found 'Bess' or whatever he called her and left her a real nice card in her car. Figured I didn't want to give her anything eerie to think about before the news of his disappearance hit the headlines. Figured, I'd leave it sort of mystical and wonderful, yet a little harrowing at the same time.
Me? Well, we don't talk about me much. I'm under the radar, though I'm not a psychopath or anything, but if anyone caught up to me on my deeds. I'd be sure to spill it all, not that I had anything to gain or loose. I'm just riding the wave, living in another plane of existence, waiting for it all to come to a crashing end. I'd hope it'd go out with a bang, but considering my line of work and how often I cross paths with others like me, it's ain't likely.
Heart in Motion
There's something about the brass,
the tingle of sass that makes me turn cheek without being crass.
Oh, I know the sweet brevity that I would whisper on my lips to you.
Like sweet nothings on a warm breeze, oh so sheer too.
I am not tempting you,
not singing you sweet nothings,
but won't you dance with me.
Once,
twice,
my boo.
I can tease you, saunter my hips from side to side.
Take a teasing finger under your chin,
to make you smile wide.
Oh, sweet child of your mother's.
Won't you-
Won't you be mine?
___________________________________________________________________
This was created and inspired while listening to West End Blues by Louis Armstrong
-Diana Forst on 5/20/2023 4:00pm
Free
I feel the sun today,
the laughter in the air.
The polyester doesn't breath,
but that's alright.
My hair is a bit greasy,
but the talks I had today were my reprieve.
The thing I guess I needed to say,
to hear.
Toes against concrete littered in apple blossoms,
cold shadows leaving pavement cool to the touch.
I'm sure I'll wash my legs off from this adventure,
but I'm feeling good under the light.
Things left undone,
bitter feelings lifted up.
And I don't mind.
I don't mind,
because my friends are with me and I'm ready to emerge from my hole.
It seems like today is coming together,
so much better than the days prior.
I think I can enjoy that.
There's something about that,
something so serene,
it's like the wind screaming in my ears
as I run down the road in my 4x4.
The thunder showers have lifted up,
coming and going.
Bringing heat,
but the lightening is like the reminder
to let me know the things are lightening up.
The everything I needed all at once.
The reprieve.
The alleviation from the negative feelings I once felt.
So refreshing,
so lively.
So living.
There is more than a thank you that I could ever feel to my friends,
being connected again.
Like I'm plugging back into reality and the drowning can finally stop.
Things left undone,
bitter feelings lifted up.
And I don't mind.
I don't mind,
because my friends are with me and I'm ready to emerge from my hole.
And I'm feeling enriched,
I'm feeling so much more alive.
I'm feeling the breath of life,
the way into a mindset that gets things done.
I'm not done.
I'm not done.
I'm coming back.
I'm ready to rejoin,
the party is never done,
but it was never about the party.
It was about who was there,
the feeling that the things we go through are together.
The rich refreshing voices to my ears,
the knowledge that I can let go of my anger and pain.
I'm going back to gaining again.
Gaining the joy in life.
Gaining the joy that I would strive for,
for the joy my friends bring.
For the things that make me sing,
for the eternity that my mind will forever sing for.
My history is eternal,
my footprint my own mark.
My feelings may not be remembered word for word,
but our words are here.
Here today.
Here forever.
Shirking Duties
I want to start off by saying, no, no one brought me to this idea but myself. No one pushed me to the limit, none of you should feel guilty. I'm just taking a- break, I guess you could call it that. I won't be gone forever, it could be a few months and I may start slowly reaching back out to people when things are said and done. I'm not doing it to play favorites or anything, but rather because I just needed to sort myself out.
I know you're all probably wanting to spend time with me. I know some of you might not be here when I get back - you better be there when I get back, or there will be a boot up some asses for reckless habits - and I'll be sure we'll go to lunch, hang out for twelve or fourteen hours at a time and whatnot.
Don't be a stranger...
You know I'm your main gal for danger.
Or at least for crazy. lol.
Peace Out!
-D
Limbs
There is to say,
there's nothing more than devil's play.
In the throws of Hell.
Mine; at least.
I cannot bring forth more of the dismay,
the Hellish landscape that I must pray
doesn't destroy me again today.
Living; it's quite real.
We might ask.
They might ask.
You might ask me.
Where is my belief in God?
Where is my afterlife?
And I tell you I'm living it here already, the before, the current and the after.
All in a tangle, in the throws of life and all she has to offer.
I have lived the moons where there are no tomorrows.
I have lived where dawns only brought me sorrows,
food tasted of ash
and words felt meaningless and gray.
Yet somehow I am here. Here today.
No seven layers sounds agonizing to me,
no, not when the witch of days pasted still haunts within the.
The movements of others,
the movements of I.
Her haunted, withered mindset that besets the gestures that shudder in my eye.
So here you could say, the worst that might beseech me is the tearing,
the rattled form of my tattered body torn asunder.
The echo of very distance purple thunder.
A porch of gray, lit up in dark swallows of tan and blue.
Her dentured teeth, sniveling lips curled anew.
A captured child,
more than two.
A helpless husband,
and my hope no longer renewed.
Her sinister mind games,
the constant hunt.
The disheveled me,
the devil's stunt.
Panicked running;
running far.
Never closer,
never spar.
For locked away within her tightened grasp,
the truth of life and all I have.
The barricades,
the barriers
of ignorant foes.
Ones who only do so at her own boisterous throws.
The words she's assaulted, all aimed at me.
I guess I'm faltering,
I'm falling to my knees.
And when she's got me,
right where she wants me.
I dawn the sinister person,
I ought to not be.
Knives.
Guns.
Morals cast astray.
My Hell is chaos,
I cannot stray.
Break
Fingers press into closed eyes,
Tired sighs.
I'm exhausted, my complete wits on end,
I can't seem to keep the darkness on the mend.
Did I mentioned how exhausted I am?
Must have, for my life feels like it's going on the upward trend.
Yet I feel so at my wits end.
I want to be social,
but my tired mind is exhausted.
I want to try to write to create some sort of new spin,
some new motivation to keep me from writing 'fin,' 'fin,' 'fin.'
On everything new I write.
I'm in a slump,
so here I sit on my rump,
prepared to be life's biggest grump.
Fuck.
Fucking hell.
I'm deprived.
My hormones must be on the rise.
I want to talk it out,
to keep myself from suffocating from the growing doubt.
I swear, I swear I used to have clout
and now it all feels like I'm drawing from a drought.
Please.
Please save me from this hell.
Why do I feel so unending?
So exhausted?
So incomplete.
So tired.
Surely it can't be all the hormones.
Surely it can't.
I know a lot of it is the bane,
the drain
my mental hell must be insane.
I'm screaming,
probably crying,
pouting,
dragging my feet
knowing my life is nearly incomplete.
One more problem.
One more fall through.
When I finally get things on the up and up,
it seems someone else is coming in for the dump.
Fuck me.
Fucking hell.
I'm so tired.
I'm so tired, it makes my mind swell.
Please.
Please.
Save me from this hell.
Winner for the Poetry April 22 Contest
Poetry with Symbolism - Metaphors of Dissociation: Write a poem [any type] about dissociation. Try to use abstract ideas, concepts and details to give a sense of depth on how it affects you or the person feeling it.
The winner Undermeyou with "when they say, “it’s the little things” " details of how absentminded dissociation can get. There's something about that feeling you get when dissociating from reality, but still kind of aloofly being tied there and I really enjoyed that. A lot of other people did. Seventeen total people in fact and it's quite impressive! Her imagery was quite strong and I was quite enamored with the bit where she says "the black sheets will pretend to be satin" and it reminds me of this sort of comfort that you're not really quite there, and it's not cold nor entirely warm but there's a soft chilling sensation that sort of comes over you, like you're being nagged to come back to reality.
This was a fun challenge. I appreciate everyone participating and I know... I know it took a long time for me to come back around on it to even announce the winner, but I hope you can all appreciate it nonetheless.
Cheers!
-Diana out
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Mentions:
@Undermeyou
Hate Me
Dark eyes hollow,
Sparked with orange and yellow.
Burn my body in the fire,
I swear I'll make your latest pyre.
Let it be.
Let it be.
Crisping flesh, singing hair.
Watch me fall into disrepair.
Baby...
My mind is a trundle,
sliding out from the darkest depths, so hidden from all others but if you'd like, we can fumble.
There's something to be said about my flesh,
the final visage of my decay,
the face and hair astray,
the colorless skin; hollow and gray.
You wouldn't have to stare.
I wouldn't make it so.
There's something to be said,
to my corpse that can't be said in my waking hour.
To the tune of the words behind my back,
that tickle my ears with your retrieved new power.
I'm dead, you know?
Dead.
So say it all, get it out.
What use is my body now, but a nest for your despair.
Deep decay,
oh I will relay...
I'll delay your final words onto my soulless corpse,
to revisit them if I so choose when we meet in the afterlife.
So kill each other once again,
to take care of business we could not do in life,
but still enjoy the things in which you might be rife.
Watch me decay.
Burn my body before the bay.
In the day.
It doesn't matter any which way.
We'll be here together, in my Great Decay.
While I slip off into the soulfull fray.