Banshee-X

My blood is back.

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Stone Angels by Banshee-X, literature

Literature

Stone Angels

He had tigers blood. Poetic fingertips that called to me like a siren's song, while his demonic tongue hissed 'S h i p w r e c k e d'. We covered ourselves in ink, danced along jailhouse walls under street lights, the edges of skylines, darkened alleyways and the parking lots of churches. No fear, We spoke in riddles— gestures; the quiet sweep of eyelashes; cigarette smoke that lingered long enough to shape heavens within our irises while crows rested on our shoulders—perched pecking, waiting for one to move. As we were nothing more than long-limb statues atop gravestones.

Poets make the best liars. by Banshee-X, literature

Literature

Poets make the best liars.

His black eyes were stars, and the c o n s t e l l a t i o n s in their depths told me sad poetic stories of- past lovers, grey mornings and myths— the kind only the brave dares to believe. He brought the dreamer out in me the huntress that lay in wait w

Scorpions and Love Letters by Banshee-X, literature

Literature

Scorpions and Love Letters

I never longed to hear him call me 'Dear Heart' as if he wrote love letters to his own, bloody mass of an organ that beat up a rhythm between my bruised yet sturdy, castle ribs. Anonymous scribbles, itching between the stitching of a patchwork Frankenstein. As I will never give it up to the poet with the sloppy tongue- ugly verses dripping from his lips like a love sick plague leaving me hollow; a soulless shell seeking escape. I'll never love him. This Scorpio heart is mine. Covered in barbed wire, It stings and it cries— but it rips and it tears and it bites— Unleashing an angry venom only the antidote can

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Stone Angels by Banshee-X, literature

Literature

Stone Angels

Poets make the best liars. by Banshee-X, literature

Literature

Poets make the best liars.

Scorpions and Love Letters by Banshee-X, literature

Literature

Scorpions and Love Letters

Tragedy by Banshee-X, literature

Cemetery Cats by Banshee-X, literature

Literature

Cemetery Cats

The wolves were out that night— and all of the hook laden quips that we concocted fell upon lips like a hummingbird's whisper. Then, they ignited into flames like burning stars. That should have been us: beautiful ash, supernova romance with tongue and fingers soaked in ink. We always did find the taste of Heaven stale, like coffee three days old. And with that taste still lingering, you were a walking oxymoron. A sinner come to save these easily swayed, glass bones from smashing into oblivion. I longed to taste that wild, untamed energy beneath your skin. Devour that dragons heart, and tattoo love along the brui

She writes the unknown. by Banshee-X, literature

Shopping by Banshee-X, literature

Literature

Shopping

I'm not looking hard enough— but I'm seeing underneath, the underneath. Tell that to my knees, the very ones that throb, and ache. Bruised from car doors and you. They hurt a lot worse than it looks. But, boys don't like girls with broken knees, bloody fingers, or eyes for someone else. I don't bother anymore— looking, that is. I write and write and write and write and write and write— Of loves that never happened, flaws and imperfections— [ as I forgot how to shape my lips to form words in my defense. ]

Rats and Roses by Banshee-X, literature

Literature

Rats and Roses

I don't like rag doll dreams. The kind where I literally start falling apart at the seams. Euthanize me, won't you please? I'm comparing rats to roses. Because, and this hurts me to admit- years and years before my bones are washed clean of your fingerprints- Sooner or later, you're going to forget my name. It will no longer slip through your teeth to rest at the tip on my tongue. But, in the eyes you found your 'other', We will always be the lovers who mixed their ashes with gun powder.

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Cliche little love notes by Banshee-X, literature

The frills on that dress by Banshee-X, literature

Spider and the Fly by Banshee-X, literature

Missing Bones by Banshee-X, literature

Fuck You by Banshee-X, literature

Literature

Fuck You

And this brown paper bag filled with warm secrets, that make me melt from the inside out. You say I'm masochistic, that I crave the ache And the burn of the knife You slice through my spine every night. You bend me backwards- contorting my limbs just to spread my thighs. For I was never made to mold under your hands. This liquid fire is merely a reminder, Of all the nasty little things you have made me do. You whispered, bit and tore— That [hollow] blood pumping organ from out my chest. Then, hid my heart away under the floorboards of your darkest dreams. For this, you swore.

Confessions of a Poet by Banshee-X, literature

She never wanted children. by Banshee-X, literature

It's always been cold here, by Banshee-X, literature

Literature

It's always been cold here,

You covered me in sweet nothings, and I didn't have the heart to tell you I didn't have a heart that beat. How could I, when you didn't even believe me when I told you poetry lay naked underneath my skin, carved into my very bones- That anyone with eyes could see? That your sweet nothings might flush my flesh, But have never once touched my insides? And with a scalpel, you swore you would prove me wrong.

I dream of Hitchcock. by Banshee-X, literature

Literature

I dream of Hitchcock.

A young boy, not much older than I- Stared transfixed on me as if maybe He could see things that weren't really there. "Crows are pecking out your eyes, right now." By then I was terrified, I never spoke to him again. I can't help but remember his words to this day As I feel those black birds pecking and clawing At the base of my neck, My vulnerable collar bone, Making my insides prickle all at once. And they snarl like dancing demons along my back. Cawing angrily Their talons control me like a marionette.

Skeleton Key by Banshee-X, literature

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Pretty by DearPoetry, literature

Literature

Pretty

to you i am only me beneath sun shadows & "pretty" little stereotypes. you hang my insecurities from my neck like a sex thief - stealing me from myself. were you that hungry - starved out from the frostbitten world between your own thighs? aroused & f r u s t r a t e d - you are a bruise - purple & ugly - there is nothing "pretty" about you. no inch of the cosmos rests like a fever beneath your skin. You: a dead wasteland of - cold. i am uncategorized space, a body of seared rose petals & thorns. like a burning kiln - phoenix feathers, i am the eye of Jupiter's hurricane, raging for centuries. -DP

The anatomy of my survival. by DearPoetry, literature

Literature

The anatomy of my survival.

I am machine, cold, though I want to be devoured like sweet blood oranges. Scarred, crimson fruit in autumns alleyways. & for those unaware, this is a freudian slip. I have never known the meaning of silence. I am too loud, not loud enough. My knees are their own bruised universe as I ask for wisdom spread along my soil. My branches - they shake with insecurity. This cemetery cat: I want him to hurt me. Claw his way through my anatomy - into the darkest parts of me. This is not love. This is back-alley romance, untamed wanderlust & he begs for the chance to find it. - He is pieces, emotionally cursed. A black cat, & I am not sup

Cataracts by TheLunaLily, literature

Intimacy: Prologue by seximonki, literature

more than what it seems. pt.1 by x0xVampirex0x, literature

Literature

more than what it seems. pt.1

Gabriella's POV I looked over at her. She was sitting beside one of her friends as usual. I looked away as she turned around. I didn't want her thinking I was watching her. I had a crush on her since seventh grade. I always looked over at her, seeing that smile, her laughing, made me want her more even though I couldn't. I looked over at her again. I couldn't get her out of my head. The way she's so beautiful, I could just go up to her and say what I wanted too, even though I wouldn't. She smiled when she saw i was looking over so she walked up to me. "Gabriella" I said "Elena" she replied. I had butterflies in my stomach j

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Poets make the best liars. by Banshee-X, literature

Literature

Poets make the best liars.

Banshee-X

Deviation Spotlight

Cemetery Cats by Banshee-X, literature

Literature

Cemetery Cats

Banshee-X

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Rats and Roses by Banshee-X, literature

Literature

Rats and Roses

Banshee-X

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About Banshee-X

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Artist // Student // Literature

Nov 9, 1991
United States
Deviant for 14 years
banshee-x.tumblr.com
She / Her

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Banshee-X

Mar 30, 2012

NEW ACCOUNT--ATTENTION ALL WATCHERS!!

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I've grown since the very first poem I ever posted here.  My writing and view on life has changed drastically since making this account 2 years ago.  I look at my username and think, 'wow--that's not me anymore.'  I made this other account over a year ago because I didn't want someone to snag the name from me.  I figured I'd move when I felt I was ready, and it looks like today is the day.  So, if you enjoy my work and would like to keep in touch, please move with me. In the coming weeks I will be moving my poems over and cleaning this one out. SO, PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE--Watch me here: ~DearPoetry (https://www.deviantart.com/dearpoetry)

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Banshee-X

Mar 25, 2012

NaPoWriMo

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National Poetry Writing Month is coming up in just a few days. I completed it last year, but this year I want to set a new goal for myself. 2 poems a day instead of 1. April is my practice month, where I just write for the fun of it. Not to sound good, just get my thoughts out on paper. What do you guys think? If you are interested in participating, here is a link to the site:  http://www.napowrimo.net/