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  Jan 2015 Shroombloomer
Ocean Blue
... My eyes,
To mirror your sighs,
I will give you my smile,
To dance with your smile,
I will give you my hands,
For you to paint the beauty
Of the fertile lands
In the hills of Tuscany.
I will give you my open arms
To surround your shoulders,
When you feel cold during the winters.
I will give you my soft kisses
To dry up your tears
On your pale cheeks
So I can chase your fears.
I will give you my memory,
For you to remember
Our forgotten kisses, if any.
I will tell you some of my secrets,
Even the ones from the Pool,
In case you show interest,
And there you would think I'm a fool.
And of course I will give you
My Ocean Blue,
For you to dive into.
But I will never give you
Anything that can hurt you.
Somehow,
You need to know
That I can only give all this
When you come back from the abyss
To which you've decided to depart,
Leaving me alone to dream of you,
With art.
Shroombloomer Nov 2013
hopelessly turning for lack of a shackle
hopelessly churning in need of a bridal

ride forth , they must
awake they lie,
studying the twinkling sky
forever returning-
what will happen if I cry out
into the dark blue slumber?

hopelessly yearning
for metamorphosis they pray
a maggot into a butterfly
miracles at bay

unfurling banners
birth horns of gold
moldy plums,
They bake in the sun

awaiting their fate
never again to see what’s scripted in slate
Shroombloomer Nov 2013
trembling in the dark
crazed and alone
shouldn’t I pick up the phone?

But I can’t, ‘cause I won’t
I don’t need a helping hand

I’ll just stay here
forever canned
out of sight, out of mind
with that Jar of Pickled Beats

how did they get here?
how long have they sat?
perched in the dark,

on the very top corner of the very top shelf
I will stay hidden
by myself
Shroombloomer Nov 2013
when tears stain the threads of
of your childhood blanket
when the promise dies
and withering hyde binds you

when  your lifeline  snaps
and you run away
when you can't hide the pain

when its flowing through your veins
like ice melting off an arctic cage
trapped for ages you lay
in the ditch by the road back
from the inferno

when you resolve to ashes
then the fates draw your matches
when the wind blows them through
and  nothing is left to cradle a flame-

when there isn't a scrap left to mend
and you are buried in your own skin
when all that's left is night

what's been lost  cries out of sight.
Shroombloomer Nov 2013
Increase The Pace (Side A)

Rhythmic pulsations invade comatose receptors
Lingering in the thick summer smog
The onset of tribulation commences-
Increase the pace.

Reverb ripples through
Hot wet lungs,
Love and Hate
The beats resonate...

Scared vinyl skips:
Repeating visions of angst,
Violent red chords
Rolling off shredded steel strings,
Acting as mania’s fingers…

Feet trapped in rebel rubber soles
Draw on littered concrete floors
Lonely like before
Noble souls abandoned this
Scene of raunchy rust,
gravity grabbing
as our wrists touch.

Increase The Pace (Side B)

Rush to Eden-
Greeted by harsh halogen
Bleach, eating out your sinuses,
water swirls as it slithers
round the basin
heavy door mutes the static,
holding back waves of thick smoke.
Blood shot eyes soothed
By branded potions,
Clarity cleanses
Dismembered demons

Crazed revelations infect the night no more
Forced silence seeps into aching eardrums
Breath forced from lungs
Adolescent epiphanies
Swirls down the drain,
Flying around chrome chains
Dust worn as protection
Drips into the sewers,
Flushed away
Forced silence reigns true
Voice of the bass-line
Forgotten anew.
Shroombloomer Nov 2013
always looking out
never looking in
availing me so,
I musn’t begin

broad smile,
not a tear to be shed
Your Mind
ever seemingly fed

what can I do?
to Force your eyes wide,
noticing the importance to see
not just for me

Jaw rusted shut
implications shading absolution
should tongue’s shackle break,

awaiting The Remark
to paint you a fool,
availing prophecy
those words drone true

heart strings ache
foreseeing
our cubbies tumble and quake

pitted muttering rings again
Consciousness lurks in The Fog
existence:
concerning not,
Purpose, a fleeting thought

a lighthouse I am,
through vessels never follow
their bellies shockingly hollow

To Fry
our alabaster shells:
Crippled,
by mankind’s burden
a miniature sun
nestled in a basin.

— The End —