You are leading me
down all the wrong paths,
I am holding all the wrong
moments but still,

I follow because with you
there is not a single thing I regret.

disrhythmic:

Nicotine, by trembling-knees. <3

http://inlieuofeffie.tumblr.com/

http://trembling-knees.deviantart.com/

Ahhh thank you so much this is lovely!

I bent to retrieve the pieces of the
glass I dropped on the floor and thought

I wonder if this is how you see me.

Today I received an excellent audio reading of ‘Nicotine’, read by the lovely Dizzy. I’ll be waiting for her to post it so I can reblog both to here and to my personal blog, but you should all know that I’ve listened to it several times already because it really is fantastically spoken. Her tumblr there is dedicated to the reading out of beautiful words from wonderful artists on deviantART, so if you’re interested in that kind of thing then please go and give her a follow! <3

Well,
my soul is aching;
it is simpering in the corner,
its piano-key fingers are clenched
and if souls could bleed, I think
its palms would gush.

I think it is writing a
concerto on the ceiling,
a eulogy of notes.
I think it is trying to say,
‘this is my hand, and I raise
it against God.’

I think of summer,
of raised arms and freckled
skin and I think my soul
has forgotten that
such good things have
existed for us, that good
things still exist.

The streets of my mind are unravelling
like memories and sanity;
like yarn;
like you.

City light fear and weary buildings
hunched over in silhouetted shame
lead the way.

I dream of sharing this world with you,
of taking you through each of my colours,
of filling your palms with my despair.

‘Hold it,’ I’ll say, ‘cherish it.’

And your fingers
will know the shape of my sadness,
will come to care as I care,
will come to cry for the child never born
of these crumpled city streets.

Life filters in through the blinds
and I dream of sharing this world with you.

If anyone else wants to read them for me I’d be happy for that to happen. As it is, I’m just blaaaaaargh no. I will try again in a few days when this sore throat goes away, I’m very sorry to anyone who was anticipating their arrival!

I step through the door and suddenly,
I am not my own.

My limbs are misshapen, my skin is too loose
here and too tight there and my hair belongs to
someone I saw in the supermarket once.

(They were buying orange juice and a cucumber,
and I thought, ‘how odd’ before picking up a cucumber of my own.)

My hair is theirs, it’s itchy on my head and
when I raise a hand to pull it back I realise my
left hand does not match my right. This
frightens me more than the hair that isn’t mine.

I am just sitting down on the floor to pick apart
the pieces of me that aren’t mine when I
blink and everything is fine again, but
now it’s happened once,

I think I’ll find the pieces of someone else quite often,
like finding orange juice and cucumbers in the fridge.

Okay! Taking into account the original anons requests (keeping in my inbox as a reminder), I’ll probably audio post the following:

• Nicotine
• Sorrow

And maybe:

• Lost Ends
• Dear Daddy

Good! Thank you :3

“what can’t kill you, baby doll, isn’t worth it.”

Could you please either reblog the poem in full, or not at all? If you want to make a comment on it then that’s okay, I’m fine with personal speculation.

Just please respect the fact that I wrote this, and don’t delete chunks of it.