insomniaplague

'less than a ghost'

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you can't have it all by insomniaplague, literature

Literature

you can't have it all

But you can have eating wild grapes and their skin like beetle wings cocooned in bruises. You can have swings that go so high you kick a hole in the clouds. You can have chickens following you through the front door and the cat’s gift to say, Look, I am taking care of you. You can have happiness, but tempered as your first taste of wine when you hid your puckering face because you were eight years old and dangerous. You can have a touch you blush for, ferret hands dancing, small and terrifying and knowledgable. You can have an aspiration of “us” held on one stool leg, darting breaths but never admitting to dreams, to a s

two minutes at the bottom of the ocean by insomniaplague, literature

Literature

two minutes at the bottom of the ocean

i open my eyes and the room is underwater a refraction of light-- a trout tail flicked & then the sediment settles like dysentery, this narcoleptic soul to pulse, spin into a paralysis of the no-- this is the pressure that creaks in my bones: this is the space between my mouth and my mind & the few centimeters between my ears are pulsing with the things I cannot get to my hands but my head is not a fucking ocean: it's a flaw in chemistry

we can only hurt ourselves by insomniaplague, literature

kafka has been dead forever by insomniaplague, literature

Literature

kafka has been dead forever

i. I am going to cut the veins out of my neck: pull the stars from the legaments drown the cities in bruises ii. I am going to burn in hell: tear down the pyramids, the faces, the continents the weight of the universe iii. (if I live to be 20 I will know the landscape of my mind as well as the bottom of the ocean & people I've never met)

dead girls don't write poetry by insomniaplague, literature

poem for borderlines by insomniaplague, literature

Literature

poem for borderlines

if i could concentrate over seven hundred thousand eyes thumping at the roof to the numbers stepping from the nicities & rows to go back recoil to the shattered surface & the ripples beating over the hang halfway between shallow and shore biting lips. maybe-- no she couldn't have known that it takes a whole three minutes for the lungs to well, maybe she who, oh well oh wait the white; the haze-- the booming over the spume and spray stop changing disturbing me get out of my head just pull up the shutters step outside my tongue the weight to talk it out but that's all we'll ever be: a match burning itself out

you should be home by now by insomniaplague, literature

Literature

you should be home by now

last tuesday the house took my hand & said, it's more of a hurricane than a fire since he broke in & burned my curtains my floors my bridges my self but sometimes I see her with a lighter & she finishes what he didn't do (I think she's afraid of settling in, being quiet) but last tuesday I realized that she kept the lights on to frighten away the bridges & the people so no one will come inside & smash the teacups, steal the pipes because since he burnt her beds out no one lives there anymore

our walls are too thin by insomniaplague, literature

Literature

our walls are too thin

sitting together you can hear my heart hitting against my chest like a broom to the ceiling & the neighbor upstairs begins to scream the wind breaks a hole in my skull you can hear my thoughts: words whispered in paper rooms & you have a cup to my ear i am 16 now but sometimes we forget that we are not teapots or socks in the wastebasket & the holes in our heads are not signs of well-worn affection

every night my hair is falling out by insomniaplague, literature

all of your lives have been addicts by insomniaplague, literature

Literature

all of your lives have been addicts

my cat has turned my front porch into a graveyard as if to say: this is what we need but tonight she tried to lick my claws back to hands & I said to her: "I do not have 9 lives to spend on the bathroom floor with 13-hour insomnia can't we just kill the mockingbirds pull the concrete out of our throats & get this dying over with already" but she's got 8 lives down & doesn't answer questions twice

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you can't have it all by insomniaplague, literature

Literature

you can't have it all

two minutes at the bottom of the ocean by insomniaplague, literature

Literature

two minutes at the bottom of the ocean

we can only hurt ourselves by insomniaplague, literature

kafka has been dead forever by insomniaplague, literature

Literature

kafka has been dead forever

dead girls don't write poetry by insomniaplague, literature

poem for borderlines by insomniaplague, literature

Literature

poem for borderlines

you should be home by now by insomniaplague, literature

Literature

you should be home by now

our walls are too thin by insomniaplague, literature

Literature

our walls are too thin

every night my hair is falling out by insomniaplague, literature

all of your lives have been addicts by insomniaplague, literature

Literature

all of your lives have been addicts

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can you remember how it used to be by Khaimin, literature

Literature

can you remember how it used to be

i. when our world shattered, i wasn't old enough to know. i knew our mother cried at night and clutched the sheets until her knuckles turned white; that you shut yourself in your bedroom and turned your back on what was breaking; i only knew for sure the day he said it's only temporary, kiddo, that it was done, a permanent fracture in glass already strained. my world was ending, and i could only watch. ii. our father didn't count as home for the longest time. he wasn't a replacement for the mother we missed during the days, and he knew it, i think. i think it broke his heart. that first christmas was half a tree because there wasn't eno

the dead and the dying by lupus-astra, literature

I need no more acceptance than my words on a page by daybreaksmiles, literature

Literature

I need no more acceptance than my words on a page

I want my poetry to speak- turn on its headlights, shine stark and revealing through the windows of your soul. I have no desire for a following or a faithful group of admirers, lining up to tell me what a good job I've done, tell me how clever a mind I've got. I don't need you to speak- my poetry speaks for itself. I just want my poetry to breathe- drink in the swirl of your thoughts the hail storm of your emotions and exhale sweet relief for your own lungs to draw in. I don't need your admiration- my poetry sustains me.

About insomniaplague

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Artist // Hobbyist // Literature

Apr 5
United States
Deviant for 11 years
She / Her

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My Bio

I like poetry, long walks in the woods, and poking dead things with a stick.

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insomniaplague

Sep 11, 2014

I'm not going to be on here anymore.

0 min read

I'm going on a permanent hiatus. Just thought I'd let anyone who cares know (if you already haven't detected that.) I'll probably make a writing tumblr or something. I'll update if I ever move my poetry back to the internet. :p

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insomniaplague

Jun 7, 2014

The 'all your lives have been addicts' cat died...

0 min read

Yes, I actually wrote that poem for a literal cat. My old cat--she was nearly 18. It's an odd sense of mortality, actually. We're almost the same age. The passage of time is different for us, but it sure makes it feel evident. We buried her beneath a tree with a patch of pumpkins that popped up from one we smashed last October. Her name was Pumpkin, so it's appropriate. It was not exactly what I expected coming home for the SAT today. :/