Extraordinary Art VIII

Aug 2, 201113 min read

Deviation Actions

Published: Aug 2, 2011

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Literature

What Eating Disorder?Day One: I swear I walked by, nothing more.
I heard the shatter of glass and saw the blood under my feet, then the floor rushed up to meet me.
I woke up in the bathroom seconds later.
No glass, no blood, I'm not crazy.
The world seemed to be moving around my eyes; shifting each time I tried to catch it.
Bullshit.
I'm tired of it and I'm sure everyone else is too.
I grabbed the obnoxiously bright blue sticky notes off my desk, the black sharpie, and started to scribble in my rushed, messy writing.
"FAT ASS"
And on the mirror it went.
Day Two: Dots were floating around my eyes making sure I didn't see past them.
I won't pass out again, I swear.
There's no reason for my body to shut down, I'm getting pretty.
Not even close! ... Even I can't shut up the voice in my head.
Ouch.
Since when was that door there? Guess the dots are more coordinated than me.
Sticky notes, sharpie.
"I'M NOT ANOREXIC"
It accompanied "fat ass" on the all too truthful mirror.
Day three: I could feel it;
Scream its s
Ravaged Hearts, Wordless LiesThe thieves of youth are the robbers of past relationships,
Who plunder young hearts and ravage disquieted love.
All in the name of trial and error.
Forgetting that this is not a game.
No system reboot or restart button,
But a book, by any other name,
That matches the author.
It is written, not in pencil,
Which can be erased and re-scripted,
But in Blood, which stains the pages and the fingers that wrote them.
Classified not by specific genre;
Romance, Humor, Drama, Lore,
Adventure, Parody, Horror.
It encompasses all of this and more.
Etched in tombs of stone,
Love and Hate bed down together,
Propagating a Generational Curse,
To whence one remains all
But a verse;
A line;
A paradoxical phrase,
That takes you to
A verbal maze.
Then lines you up
Against a bullet-scarred, blood-stained wall
Where Love and Hate
Propagate
And words deny the Actions
That leave behind the Evidence
Of the TruthUntold.
So when you go to speak,
Or write a verbal que,
Remember,
Words are mere pictures
aspire, inspire.ii. so you'll find that there's magic
in your veins.
and you've always loved
magic. yearned for
magic.
so you'll rip
open your
vein.
and the magic will
pour out, oh yes.
scarlet ruby red crimson
spurting dribbling running
spilling thick flowing
magic.
you'll watch it, entranced.
it sure won't watch [over]
you.
you'll have to clean it
after.
the raw red throbbing magic on your
wrist is what you'll need
to look out for; it might
get infected.
iii. so you'll find someone who thinks
you're beautiful and tells you
so, too.
and you'll think she's
beautiful
too.
(more
so than
you.)
it will be wonderful like a
play. you are a literature
student so you know it's a
melodrama. she will want your
heart and you will want her
soul and neither
of you will be entirely
satisfied. she will lose her
patience and you will lose
your
kindness and you
will lose each
other. she will run away from her
anti-home to help out at her sister's
job.
you will both be
hurt. she will have already told you
she would hur

Light's Early Dawnshe's in a million different pieces
that never even fit together.
she's got purple bruises under her jigsaw eyes
from sleepless nights, waiting for him
to remember
her.
her lips are bitter and sweet and untouched,
and they've forgotten how to smile.
she's a shooting star,
drifting lonely across the light.
she doesn't want to remember,
but her heart's a broken record.
she can't forget that she's the one
who tore herself to pieces.
she knows that she's the one
who kept herself awake.
she's well aware that it's her own mind
that echoes her hurt back to her.
she's a shooting star,
drifting lovely across the night.
she's lost her voice,
lost the sweet words
that used to linger in her eyes.
she's like a book with too many empty pages,
both waiting for and afraid that
someone will want to write in it someday.
she wants to wave this town goodbye,
find her way away, free from gravity,
but there's always something
pulling her back down to earth.
she's a drifting star,
shooting lovely a
BleakMonochrome birds screech
about disdain and isolation,
posing as grave-faced idols
immersed in stagnation.
They lament their unwavering troubles
that trail their hollow wings;
Making them fall to the hard, cold ground
with no haunting song to sing.
Indifferent emotions elude their hearts
that beat for an emerald reason;
conjuring epithets of malice
that nurture their abhorrence for the seasons.
A streak of white bleaches their sight
and hews their corpse from soul…
slipping through the abstract veil
of judgmental halves and wholes.
The MorriganStalking Fury steps
cat-easy between faces fixed to
stage and the ceiling. They
now know,
just where they are, sinking
and rising from where they lie- tides that
glaze her skin, impervious. They beg her
trailing cloak to tip them[over]. Close
arthritic eyelids- anything to shift spectrum-
her children, her servants.
Mud becomes water at her feet. She
cleanses all. The earth bursts as she
spills across her plain. Ghost
fingers pick keenly, pinching
petrified flesh. She peers into mouths,
pockets. Impartial.
A raven takes
flight. Blotted against the
sky, following the congealing
trail. Bright eyed & heavier than the
bone that sinks to become
branches- purity, bridging the bodies.
Somehow, she leaves, eclipsing the moment. Shuttered
onto vellum, a negative as the mourning fill
the morning. Oh sister, the dew has left eyes bright.
Wet Bodies in the LakeFawn legs bend in young moss,
Shoulders flush for camouflage,
The Earth beats beneath us.
Disrupt black waters and swim
Until you're wrapped down in deep,
Find ropes to tether branches,
Our sisters sway slow near the water
Soaking in the heat.
We sleep, We breathe, We dance up trees.
Make grass whistles in the dark, we throw rocks, catch colds
Hot hands sliding. Wet bodies in the lake.

Previous editions
Extraordinary Art I
Extraordinary Art II
Extraordinary Art III
Extraordinary Art IV
Extraordinary Art V
Extraordinary Art VI
Extraordinary Art VII}