// pretty little deaths //

FullSizeRender (25)

There are secrets within me, secrets I keep alive but quiet like moth wings fluttering around my heart for protection as they eat away at my insides. The things I would die for, lay down my inhibitions for, the desires I beg for relief from even as I fiend for the struggle to fulfill them. When I grow brave – then again maybe I’m not even brave, maybe I’m just worn down by a world that abuses itself – I look at them.

Most people won’t become writers, not because they can’t find the words. There will always be words. But because they won’t look. They won’t look within themselves for fear of descending into a place where words dissolve the breath and feelings tear the curtains down from the ceiling of their heaviest sins, jet black bedroom eyes cringing in the daylight; where emotions run like hunted nymphs, naked through a thick forest of forbidden needs.

I look at other writers, too – the true artists, the ones who slide like elegant snakes beneath your chemical skin right before their poisonous spikes dig into your bones, the ones who wet you down with lust and inject you mad with a rage you never knew you carried all this time but find suddenly scorching up your limbs. I watch the words they use until I find the ones they didn’t, those are the words that matter most. The ones they hide from you to keep for themselves.

I’ve always wanted more. So often I can sense when people are holding their most useful, gutting stuff back. It’s the way watching a heavy storm rolling in makes me want to undress. It’s in my nature, something primordial lives in me and reaches out to find itself in others but there’s nothing there to clutch. People are gone. There’s a pressure rising in the air between their two faces and I just want to be there when the heavens finally break.

Feeling the mounting crush of the hoards of people who have nothing to say, a comforting sadness walks alongside me like a shadow, rising in the snow on the moon orbiting my cosmic thoughts. Wherever it is we come from, whatever it is we think we’re made of, part of us will always be lost.

Even after all this time I still think of you and the way we never understood each other. I didn’t want to tell you that I didn’t want to understand you. I wanted to maul you to pieces and take only your most infuriating bits with me. We fall in love like savages and paint our nails like a strip tease. We fall on our knees for the beautiful pain and the thrill of a few fingers in a gaping mouth, blood pulsing against blood. I could reach inside your chest even now, lace my fingers and pull my own heart out from your body.

I’ve done it before and you’d always thank me with those kisses at the end of your most punishing, adoring letters. I can do it again just as sure as I’m doing it now. Everything we’ve ever done, dust to cradle to grave to resurrection, is written down and hanging in the gaps between every moment you occupy with the things you know don’t matter as much as love once did.

I wish I didn’t still crave your cigarettes. But I guess in places beyond the years we spend hiding, we all still crave what we’re told we shouldn’t. Smoke and mirrors, flesh of my flesh, bone of thy bone, reflections of the same side of silence.

On the street, every person is a distant galaxy hurling itself backwards and dead bird feathers continue dripping in the rain. In daydreams, I touch you with everything I have as broken wings fall around us everywhere.

And no one writes anything anymore.

.

.

.

.

~ Allison Marie Conway ~

My book of poetry, Vein, is now available on Amazon here.

Signed copies are available in my Etsy shop AllisonMariePoetry here.

All my deepest love and mad affection. x

15 thoughts on “// pretty little deaths //

  1. Kris White

    Wow. You’ve knocked me off my feet with this. I feel like your words put me in a whirlpool of emotion. You are right that most folk are scared of writing. I am. But it is the fear of not having written that scares me more.
    You have a poet’s soul. Keep exploring. All the very best. Kris.

    Reply
    1. Allison Marie Post author

      Dear Kris,

      I am without the words to thank you enough for your beautiful comment. I’m not in the habit of writing such lengthy prose and I’m so touched you would take the time. I am so grateful to know this piece fell into you in an intimate way.

      I send you much love and gratitude,

      Allison

      Reply
  2. Brad

    Wowza Allison! What the heck have you been eating/ drinking? I want some! Love how gritty and raw you write. Maybe someday I’ll join you in tearing those bones apart.

    PS. I must admit to a reluctance to comment. I hate having to fill in forms just to leave a comment. #~_~#!

    Reply
    1. Allison Marie Post author

      Thank you so kindly, Brad. It means very much to me to know this resonates so deeply with you. I have been doing some deep soul work as of late and my writings are simply a reflection. Please never feel any pressure at all to comment, there is no need. My work is here for enjoyment, certainly not to cause anyone any strife.

      Reply
  3. Tena

    Ahhh my love! This is so raw and real and that’s what I love about you so much. I love the way it flows so beautifully. Every single word is powerful. There are no empty spaces. Amazing!

    Reply
    1. Allison Marie Post author

      Thank you endless, endless, my dear friend. It means the moon and stars to know this one touches you so. “There are no empty spaces” – what a gorgeous thing to say. So much love and gratitude for you always, sister soul. <3

      Reply
  4. Julian Brasington

    That was like looking in a mirror, Allison. You’ve expressed what I couldn’t ever express. “I could reach inside your chest even now, lace my fingers and pull my own heart out from your body.” Beautifully captured. But then when you have your heart back, wouldn’t you just want to relace your fingers and give it once more – to the same person?

    Reply
    1. Allison Marie Post author

      Thank you so deeply and much, Julian, your words mean very much to me. I’m grateful to know this spoke so clearly to you. As for your beautiful question, I’m not sure. I find when I write a thing, the questions and answers seem to seal themselves within the piece itself.

      Sending all warm & inspired things your way, always.

      Reply
  5. Jessica DayRodriguez

    I posted this once again on my FB page because it touches my heart and makes me want to come undone again with my writing though feeling froze atm. Maybe one day… Until then Best wishes always.

    Reply

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.