[x]

note to self [narcissist].please dear
don't find yourself so fascinating
you're tripping up on your own inadequacies
as if the world's
never seen them before

please dear
you've really got to stop
this dog-and-pony show
this "welcome-to-my-personal-tragedy"
exhibition

really dear
you've done nothing but make
a damned fool
of yourself.

outgrowing gillssea-cradled urchin
child has a salty heart yearnin'
for a glimpse of mother moon
tiny spiked wunderkind
punk, studded belt
you know life's answers well
shuffling through the seaweed-less halls
missing the ocean swell
tidal waves foaming at the mouth
everyone is laughing now
at the boy born on a boat one sunny afternoon
cause mama loved the sea like lovers love the sheets
landlocked kid is homesick and
sea sure, he's searching for the sea shore
life's a blur for Davy Jones at his locker
capsized by sea-legs on solid ground, he finds his seizures
and he hates his earth mother
he hates her
for falling for the ocean and
how he's rocked by the moon
how he's mesmerized by her glow
her pull on his sea-conceived cells
no
he hates her too
for the puking in the stalls
for the ridicule

Moonbeam MayhemMidnight on bare skin--
a subtle kiss of stardust
on a lonesome heart.

fishing for hearts with lace and not nettingtake one - in which burned bread is beautiful

They're crumbs in the road, toast-speckles that spin and skirt and we
     drive past, like we always do, the radio          singing
white noise against my black humor and you say
   you say I'm getting better, and I think no, I am better
I am better, I say and you say        no
and I say
yes,
I'm fucking exemplary
and you ask who Exemplary is and I tell you it's me and I think
    somewhere                we got lost in the words
And I'm not all that keen on admitting to you that sure thing, dad,
    I'm fucking myself
over
and over
            but mostly I'm just fucking myself o

Dandelion's Lamentthe warm spring wind
gives me life
no one desires to defend;

they call me Weed,
stomping me down
to the level of Crabgrass
and Poison Oak,

although I harm none
with my meager
existence.

I can grant your wishes
as your cold breath
sends shivers down my
stem; I can

thrive on the dream-fields
of children, who still
call me Flower.

To LondonGypsy hopefuls once told me,
there are flights leaving for
any destination
at any given instant

Upon sizing up our town with
a fingernail
did you realise how little
our frustrations were?

I spoke about this ineffable feeling
of stepping out of one tub
and into new water.

The hotel was done up nicely,
chandeliers and polished English accents.
Labels aside they still mixed
milk into their coffee
and had toast with jam and butter.

I was living under the impression
that most of the Internet
came from my same slice of city pie,
conveniently forgetting about
the undersea cables.

I loathed the lack of vernacular
sentence s

waitinghe spends his days chasing seagulls and singing to the songs in his headphones. he dances when he should be working and works when he should be laughing, but his eyes are the same shade as his hair in the morning and he knows who he is. he knows that rain is cliched but he doesn't want it for love or dancing or sorrow, he wants it for the way it flattens the clothes to his skin and the way it makes the leaves vibrant against withered clouds. he thinks in poetry and dreams in black and white, but he speaks of hope even though he knows how messed up the world is. he is still waiting for his second chance; he is still waiting for a reason; he is

i'm a fan of scribbling.sometimes
i'd like to get
drunk; to be at that
point where you're completely
wasted yet
still able to form sentences,
and maybe see if
i can write better.

after all,
all the good writers
are alcoholics anyway.
and i want to be like that.
sometimes.

-

sometimes
i want to
get high just to see
if it's really
everything
everyone's
told me it was; if
you feel like
you're flying through
clouds of pleasant
glittering
nothingness.

i guess that's what we
called love in the
beginning.
and i still live by
those rules.
sometimes.
-

sometimes
i like to pretend
i'm completely
out of my
mind just to
see people rea

Little IngenueBorn with wanderlust
imprinted on her
beautiful star chart,
like the freckles that
dot her sun-soaked skin;
her heart's wild as the
red tangles, snarled
like brambles, coiled
like crowns, twisting through
her autumnal hair.

No one can convince
her, she will always
willfully believe
that Wonderland lies
beyond the next bend,
no matter what road
her capricious and
come-what-may nature
should choose to travel.

They say she is fey,
and she believes them.
She dreams of faeries
that take her away,
(it's the second star
to the right and straight
on till morning) to
fly on wings that Fate
forgot to give her.

Of BlissKissing daffodils sway,
serenaded by the waver of
gossamer wings;

faces blushing bright
as the sunlight
slips away.

and I still keep running into parked carsMama,
your baby girl's swimming
in dead of the night
hair, scarred knees,
overgrown weeds, and
countless pairs
of shoes-
with those
orange and yellow wheels
that hug my toes
and heels

I'm running into
parked cars
trying to get
my kite to fly
and hiding under
dashboards
listening to you
fight

I'm rummaging through
boxes of secrets
that Daddy tried
to hide-
solving puzzles with pieces
I'll never uncover
in these thoughts
of you

Pretending to be Grown UpShe's sitting on the dirty bed,
dragging from unlit cigarettes.
Her fingers are curled into the
pillow.Her eyes rimmed with
smudged black eyeliner
and her lips a red smear
shes puffing imaginary smoke
rings into the the reflection in
the mirror.

She maybe thought she loved him,
yes those words might have passed
her parted lips. But they can't be
held against her, she was under the
influence of lust.With his dark
smouldering eyes and mischevious
smirk. And his crisp white button down
shirts that are now patterned
with her lip print kisses.

She glances with hooded eyes at
the steamy glass door of the showe

Primevaland I don't smoke, but all my poems talk
of cigarettes and ashes because my father smoked
for forty years and now he can't breathe

and I can't breathe.

the chill from the rain seeps through the glass panes
and feels swollen in the loneliness of a crowded train;
the air is pregnant with an umbilical thread
connecting us to something intangible,
something necessary to our being

yet we don't exist at all.

smoke and vapor crawling out our mouths;
we talk because the silence is sometimes frightening,
and because we're searching the dust visible only
in the places where light bends for words that won't disappear

the strawberry tartOne afternoon I bought a tart for thirty dollars.

Didn't seem like much at the time, just a couple of bills out of my back pocket, for a tart about three-quarters the size of my fist, laden with whipped cream and fresh strawberries.

I popped a strawberry in my mouth and I liked it, so I took another bite. Didn't like the whipped cream so much. Ate the strawberries, the edges of the chocolate pastry, and threw the rest of the tart away.

When I turned around and strolled back home, I felt the sunshine on my face and I thought that this world could do with a little more happiness, this bliss of a bright afternoon, more often.

Then I rounded

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More from ~WillSchenck

Dear YouDear you,

I wanted to write this
So that you would know
There's a reason that, when you're around
My heart always goes,
"Boom...
Boom...
Boom..."

I wanted you to finally see
The words that are on the tip of tongue
When all my mouth will do
Is freeze.
Please.
I get that you hate me,
But please,
Just read
To line forty-two on this soaked paper
That's when you're gonna see

You're gonna see what I thought
When you took my heart
When your eyes invaded my mind
What I've thought, from the very start
When you filled my lungs with all these feelings
Feelings about you
That's how you took my brea

Drop"Drop."
I could smell the rain
I smelt the rain, before
A whole mile before, your clouded eyes
Came running
To my locked door
My stupid locked door

"Drop."
I've played this game.
Yeah, I've played it before
A few months ago I lost
I'm here to game over
Just once more
Only. Once. More.

"Drop."
Come Autumn, I have nothing but disdain
But as we explore
Explore our past
On the precipice of another year
I've unlocked my door
My stupid unlocked door

"STOP."
I've felt this pain
Shit
I've dealt this pain
Dealt it to a girl
With really cloudy eyes
Under really cloudy skies

- Will Schenck

Eight YearsMy daughter was born
Eight years ago, today
Man, she's got some crazy blonde hair
Well, dirty blonde anyways

I got a guitar in my lap
My baby girl by my side
I strum her favorite song
"100 Years"
By Five
For Fighting, and damn
I got to the part in the song
"In the blink of an eye,
Sixty-seven is gone,
The sun is getting high,
We're movin' on"

And I crashed
I burned hard
I muted my voice
And put down my guitar
I laid down one rose
And, shakily humming the tune
I left a pink guitar propped up
Against the tomb-
stone of my girl

She always wanted to play
My daughter died
Two years ago today

She didn't get
100 Years to

UnderUpward are the stars of metal springs
Put in place to hold up our tempur-pedic heaven
Supernovas of incandescent bulbs illuminating a universe
Beyond that of our bed skirt boundaries

The sewer of your dreams
A boombox blasting pre-recorded whines of broken toys and muffled screams
The rotting cores of pre-elementary fruit replaced
By the rotting souls of post-elementary whores via aging and exploitation

Reach under, under this bed
Extend your arms into the past
Gingerly grip upon us, we are your boogeymen
We atrophy constantly
As do you

- Will Schenck

TupperwareShe's washing the lid of her Tupperware
At the sink
Under her black hair
A frighteningly blank stare
But she washes away
At her Tupperware
One size fits all, when it comes to her plastic wares
But movement of a doll, under her black hair

Beside her dishwasher
Inside her trash compactor
Un-spooled cassettes
Of her pre-partum laughter

She's had her Tupperware
Since she was a girl
Bloody wristbands, she had
In the days when her hair would curl
Up at the ends
In the days she called me her friend

I tried to save her from her Tupperware
To pitch it away, but under her flowing, black hair
Her face formed tears, she screamed out,

The Gates of InfinityI will reach my Nirvana
One month at a time
I will dive into the black and yellow rivers
Of the parasitic bees
In passing
And climb the tallest of the scalable trees
That grow with blood red pulp
Hundreds of feet in the air
Ascending, as angels, into the forest canopies

And I breath
Heavily
As I count
"One, two, three,"
Slow as the snails
Under rocks
Under my feet

Perhaps they can see
What I cannot
For as the wind across the wheat breaths
I stand in the field where I believed I would see
The corpses of my unborn daughters
And the lifeless weight of my twice lived family

This is where
He said that they would be
The m

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Windmill

by ~WillSchenck, Mar 29, 2010, 10:57:13 PM
Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

_{i am raw;
waiting for the skillet
kiss

me though the windmill
be careful not to
miss

me through the windmill
paint on me, a target:
erase
paint on me,
a smiling face

i am burnt;
waiting for the sunset
kiss

me through the windmill
be very careful not to
miss

me through the windmill
lips like morphine
words flow like ipecac
until you come back

lips like morphine
wordless chatter
against your scattered
anatomy

love is a windmill
for this reason, i slow our blades
let us
cultivate}

Windmillby ~WillSchenck

Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

one day:
absent of sails.

decided not to go with an all too creative title on this one.

i want to start publishing pieces on here again.
will you all read?

=Sammur-amat Dec 28, 2012 General Artist

My heart skipped a beat a ever repetition

Congratulations on the DLD, darling soul.

*xlntwtch Dec 22, 2012 Writer

I'd certainly read any work you put here. Mind a

? ...

This is a piece that leaves me near speechless with admiration, and of course "Congratulations" on your DLD.

=DailyLitDeviations Dec 22, 2012

Your wonderful literary work has been chosen to be featured by DailyLitDeviations in a news article that can be found here [link]
Be sure to check out the other artists featured and show your support by

ing the News Article.

*queenofrelax Aug 12, 2010

i love the flow on this ...
the way each stanza melts into the other and though it's romantic
it's so very eerie and it all just corresponds and this comment is very
run-on and pointless but just thought i should say that i like this (: