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About Literature / Artist JonathanMale/United States Group :iconwriting-to-live: Writing-to-Live
because words are necessary....
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FallingAsleepTonight's Profile Picture
Artist | Literature
United States
21, Oregonian, college student studying nothing close to poetry.

Note me if you'd like to talk, because I like to talk.

None of my work may be used without my permission. I'm pretty lenient on what it can be used for however, so just be sure to contact me first.


why do I waste all afternoon
thinking of names for butterfly weeds

the delicacy of their patrons

their tentative tongues-

and wings of light like shoddy buddha tapestries
pinned to bathroom walls.

I want wings like that.

I want

I've missed a loop in my belt
can you help me fix it?

I'll do all the unbuckling if you can thread it back in

one after the other

can you feel that

surrounding me

after the other.

everyone wants to be told they are composed
of something delicate.

sinew and leather


and paper.

I believe if we pray to be quivering chitin like butterflies
that is more than enough.

pinned to your walls I am machined tie-dye
and paint dust.

is this all I could want

my belt is on the floor and my eyes are fireless

faceted stars.

in the chrysalized morning early light
I turn

to you

the ceiling

wipe sinew from my lips
and promise to be a better animal.
my friend lent me

a book she thought

was important

I don't

have it now

I told her I've finished,

but I just

have not yet

inside me

there is shadowed mysticism

and canopic jars

placated in a dry night

he placed in me

a small desert village

where a young girl

with green eyes

like pond scum

dies in her sleep

like he is dead

on this silent

still breathing earth

he would be

at least

one hundred and five

his bone dust drifting in the soil

the smooth green rot

waiting at my door

like her

a stranger's warm

ancient, upturned bed

I lay and consider

dark magic

folded underneath

the neck arches

my firm bundle of white cloth

unwrapped and draping

over one edge

I open up

and still

recoil at the smell
I'm only seeing the things
I've always seen.

one beautiful woman in high-waisted white shorts
reading a book

black darts of crows
divebombing my neighbor's house.

my old friend in the passenger seat

one drunk in front of us

this next part
I want to gloss over:

we are older, we are older.

the tiny houses of our bodies.

one woman is now a cottage on the shore.

my death is nowhere

the ocean has ceased we can float on the salt.

there is something strong enough to cast the necessary light
on this

and I feel as though I'm a part of it.

stunted lighthouses
no bigger than your thumb

the walls painted in crow.

nothing has died yet but I promise it will.

I see my yesterday as I have always seen it-
a spent candle.

my light

have you seen my light
gentle and naked is how I saw us
red skin
soft bellies.

angels plucked and left to sit on the grass.

I've never seen one of us in a t-shirt, have you?

not even in paintings.

we take them off

my feathers drift with your feathers as two kinds of snow.

I brush the crumbles of cloud from your shoulder.

my strip club nativity strings up your eyes as lights

blue and green

my white hands grasping your halo.
your hair.

if light does come from a place like this
then I want to be light


the pulses of your halo in the grass make me remember in moments.

your bare earth skin

the snow bed of our dead wings

shudder and close.
the only thing I've learned from my mistakes
is how to ask forgiveness.

the sun throwing itself over the hills


weak and drunk and discussing poetry in the sun.

I haven't decided yet if this whole damned place
is made with evil
or maybe it's just me

that sun and the hills

all around.

my old friend chain smokes and clears his throat

he recites his truth between the hills.

the crimson sun of his cigarette

the golden sun of my rum.

in the shade

a pair of small children come down the trail and he hides the pack
of cigarettes between his legs.


who are you trying to save?

somewhere I know my mistakes are crying and coming together.

putting on human clothes and coming
over the hills
down the trail

out of the earth.
their hands outstretched

like a child wanting

the sun in my throat.

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Add a Comment:
LucyDahliaRyder Featured By Owner Jun 28, 2015
Hey!:) I mentioned you in my latest journal! You should go check it out!:)
dearjuly Featured By Owner Feb 21, 2015
Happy belated birthday :hug:
FallingAsleepTonight Featured By Owner Mar 15, 2015   Writer
Belated thank you!
brokengod--veins Featured By Owner Feb 16, 2015  Hobbyist Writer
Happy Birthday! :huggle:
Vandal-Bleu Featured By Owner Feb 16, 2015  Hobbyist General Artist
:la::dummy:HapPy HaPpY BirThDaYY!!:cake::party::iconbummiesplz:
remanth Featured By Owner Feb 16, 2015  Hobbyist General Artist
Happy birthday! *throws confetti* :party::cake::dance:
StarlightComet Featured By Owner Dec 7, 2014  Hobbyist Writer
*aggressively tries to favorite everything in your gallery*
FallingAsleepTonight Featured By Owner Dec 13, 2014   Writer
Hahahahaha, wonderful
metamage Featured By Owner Oct 11, 2014  Hobbyist General Artist
Oh, dude, it's gonna take a while going through your stuff. Oh, DARN!
relativi-t Featured By Owner Aug 12, 2014  Student Writer
Your work is really just breathtaking. I wish I could pull off such potent minimalism.
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