Ultra Violet | Teen Ink

Ultra Violet

January 30, 2010
By PoetikChild BRONZE, Albuquerque, New Mexico
PoetikChild BRONZE, Albuquerque, New Mexico
1 article 0 photos 2 comments

A sparrow hawks cries on early briefed mornings. Lips wrapped tight too, fat cuffed hands. Bruises realize pain is part of the plan. A script burdens out, smiled teeth knocked out. Plague, such stories of water flowing silently. Pray fewer hands feel comforted while wrapped in thorns. Stories of families have gone and turned to despair. The measurement placed; a brief cold stare. Liars must not fret; higher punishment is waiting for you yet. Lonely tears ripple automatically. Used for company, electrified statically. Sudden crimson forests grow sprouts of pain. With hallucinogenic mushrooms with all the same name. Big obstacles stare through spectacles clear, rise flat line, and comfort the fear. Is one hug enough through separated feelings? Enter books of words; they stack to the ceilings. Chattering teeth open sewed lips. Extension of legs, rip through sewed hips. Shy to care, adds one to stare. Stories of lifetimes through one strand of hair, tell stories of men’s lies. Dead men do not care. A threaded bottle of weaved liquor hits, land shyly once again between your fingered grips. Dark light shines simply through the hole of pleaded hearts, crying. Denial denotation results in eventual spying. Peep my window sill, for ripping chest have failed. Hateful notes of regret have soon been mailed. Sharp, poked, stabbed hearts, leading to impalement.

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This article has 2 comments.

on Mar. 10 2010 at 10:36 pm
PoetikChild BRONZE, Albuquerque, New Mexico
1 article 0 photos 2 comments
Thank you for the comment. I was beginning to worry that i simply have failed to bring a top dollar idea to the page. im pleased to understand i did no such thing but confuse the reader. haha

on Mar. 1 2010 at 7:55 pm
VioletsandVoice, Spiritwood, North Dakota
0 articles 0 photos 170 comments
I think the reason no one has commented on this piece is because they didn't finish it, frankly it twists your brain into knots, but I love that sort of thing. I have now read it through three times and understand maybe 50% of what you are trying to say, but like I said I like things like that. I believe that the writer is the only one that deserves to know the whole story