Siren Poetry

"Passion's voice lies on the tongue, but the lips are Passion's siren."

Original poetry by Autumn Echo.

The immensity of your adorableness is a mysterious phenomenon still unexplainable by human science to date.

An 11:41AM truth

a.e.

I hope I look back on my life, and I have taken every chance that falls before me. I hope I’ve searched for answers to all my questions, found some, decided for myself the rest. I hope I make my own history, and the people I love…the people that remain remember the life I’ve lived. I don’t want to mean everything. I don’t want to have even meant a lot. Just something. Let me die having done something.

If I die young, tell them I loved words, bleed coffee, sang on the toilet, and struggled, but I left this Earth myself completely.

a.e.

Suspicion

Suspicion is a sliver.
Desperate to dig out and be rid of it,
but I can’t, of course,
because I’ve bit my nails to their very bed.
I’ve nothing to grab hold with.
Trust no one.
Not your lover.
Not your very best friend.
Apart or together,
a threat.
An excellent replacement
for the messy, unkempt version of you.
She.
And he, the perfect compliment for the everything you aren’t.
There is a her-shaped void,
and I never fit comfortably in small, perfect spaces.
Suspicion is the slither
of a snake.
Suspicion is the poison.
The sliver,
the lie and the truth.

The truth is I don’t trust you.

a.e.

Do you know why teachers use me? Because I speak in tongues. I write metaphors. Every one of my stories is a metaphor you can remember. The great religions are all metaphor. We appreciate things like Daniel and the lion’s den, and the Tower of Babel. People remember these metaphors because they are so vivid you can’t get free of them and that’s what kids like in school. They read about rocket ships and encounters in space, tales of dinosaurs. All my life I’ve been running through the fields and picking up bright objects. I turn one over and say, Yeah, there’s a story.

Friday would have been Ray Bradbury’s 94th birthday, which is why Dan Piepenbring, at The Paris Review Dailylooked back on one of Bradbury’s classic stories and picked out some choice quotes from his Art of Fiction interview. Piepenbring also pointed out that the story gets a mention in, among other places, The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao. You could supplement this by reading Tanjil Rashid on the author’s Middle East connection. (via millionsmillions)

I just want him to ache for me as I ache for him. I lie between my wrinkled sheets, fully aware that I do not wash them as often as I ought to; I can’t bear to wash away the stains, the sweet smell that says he’s loved me here. It will be like it never happened. It will seem as if these beautiful moments are just beautiful figments. As though my bed is only messed from restless nights alone, when all I crave are restless nights with him.

—Autumn Echo, when I can not say that loving him is not the same as having him