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Xan Abyss Feb 2017
Ride the Serpent, baby
Into the Great Sea
Ride the Devil, Angel
Into the Deep Sleep
I came from outside
With a universal mind
And you and I can fly, my darling
We need only to die

Ride the Serpent, baby
Into the Great Sea
Ride the Devil, Angel
Into the Deep Sleep
My friends on the inside
Pour us fountains of red wine
"Alive!" She cried, and I was mystified
By the crimson in her eyes

Persian Night, babe - fly with me
See the light, babe? Cry with me
I wanna taste your fearful tears
Show me your eyes and open wide
When the ancient witch appears
We can howl like beasts of the wild

Come back, LA Woman
I'm sick of doin' time
Is this the end?
Can someone find me reason for a rhyme?

"We are but clowns in a cosmic circus, degrading ourselves for a silent, uncaring audience. Their Collective gaze dances across our fragile flesh like so many knives on fire. We bleed. We burn. Our healing begets new ailments. We continue to suffer. We continue to survive. We never stop smiling. The circus is all we have. To lose the horror is to lose the Majesty as well. We must not quit. The lights have not gone down, and we hope they never will. We cannot afford to lose our audience. The Show Must Go On."

Persian Night, little angel!
Fly with me!
See the light, little angel?
Die with me!
I want you here, obscene
For all eternity
For I long to hear the scream of the butterfly!

So turn off the light!
Turn off the light!
Turn off the light and see!
Turn off the lights!
Turn off the lights!
Turn off the lights for me!

...Ride the Serpent, baby
Into the Great Sea
Ride the Devil, Angel
Into the Deep Sleep
Turn off the light and climb inside my universal mind
And finally we can be free
An homage to Jim Morrison.
Taylor Marion Oct 2016
I woke up today in a house, a house I knew was my own but looked much different than I remember. The kind of house one sees in dreams, unfamiliar yet definable. In some way or another. I was tangled in a bed of sheets that had clearly been slept on for months without cleanse. Painted with ****** secretions, ranging from love-making to menstruating. Ash, from pipes to papers. Make-up, from nudes to noirs. You, a stranger, walk in with a giant bowl of cereal and two spoons. You knew it was my favorite, but I didn’t know you. But I knew you, you know? In some way or another. I wanted to call you a name, but it didn’t seem fitting. Maybe it belonged to a memory, what was that memory again? Oh, I don’t know. But you looked at me like we had shared so many memories that we became a new name. You spoon-fed me Wheaties and folded your feet between my legs. You kissed me and whispered a Van Morrison tune, “I never knew the art of making love ‘til my heart yearned with love for you.” And that’s when I knew.

I shoot up from the bed, leaving a concave within the foam mattress, and eye the carpet as if my feet were going to fall through.

“Hardwood. This is supposed to be hardwood.”
“What?” your eyes follow me in confusion.
“Be quiet.”

I grab a loose end of carpet near a corner and start tearing it up from its bonds. Low-and-behold, blonde hardwood sat quietly beneath it, as if it’s been waiting for me to unearth it. Unearth you.

You.
I buried You.
Everything started rushing back to me.

I get up unsteadily and tear down the wallpaper to find a screen playing back every memory. The faire. The zoo. The restaurant. The concert. The park. The bed. Our path. A doorway. A starry night under a deck. Loose cigarettes and empty bottles. A volume so loud I can’t hear myself assess. A voice echoing off every wall; “I love you’s” in infinite delay. “I hate you’s” in infinite succession.
I’m running through this half foreign house now trying to find You. Who, what, and where are You? You’re nowhere to be found. I’m searching behind every door, rustling through every nook and cranny, tearing down every trinket of décor. I’m falling to my knees and crying in my palms. Where are You?

I cry every last drop from the ocean of despair within me, open my eyes, and let the reality sink in:
This house is empty and You’re nowhere to be found.
Prim Sep 2016
The rooster crows.
It’s 10 a.m.
Slacker. Just like me. No.
Better than me.

Remember that too-true-for-tears passage
where our beloved Paul D
walks across his isthmus of shame
to the wild and holding foliage of another?
(he tells her)
It was the rooster named Mister.
The beat for survival had sheltered Paul D from himself,
had dimmed enough the iron bit’s hacking at his humanity.
Mister’s sovereign grin shone away the salve.
Relativity entered side by side with recognition—
lowest.

It’s 10 a.m.
and I’m still in bed.
Worse than Mister, I spit on Paul D’s reality—
I could remove these chains.
That tardy **** is better than me.
phalaenopsis Sep 2015
three years,

three years gone.

i'm zoned,
way out,
of this galaxy.

i'm not here,
i'm far away.
so don't come,
knocking on my door.

hey, happiness!
where are you?
sadness and death have already come,
knocking on my door.

i only let ****** come in,
and take control,
but it's you i need.

because you see,
for three years,
i haven't had you near me.

you died.

hey, happiness!
listen to me.

i need you,
come on over.

you left me,
with 'precious' money.
but for all the money,
all the estates,
you left me with,
it still hasn't,
brought you back to me.

if you aren't going to come,
i'm going to meet you.


*hi.
Okay so I wrote this poem based on Jim Morrison's longtime girlfriend: Pamela Courson. She went a bit insane after he died and eventually overdosed on ****** three years after. This was basically me trying to interpret what I think would've been her thoughts.
brandon nagley Jul 2015
When the music's over
When the music's over, yeah
When the music's over
Turn out the lights
Turn out the lights
Turn out the lights, yeah

When the music's over
When the music's over
When the music's over
Turn out the lights
Turn out the lights
Turn out the lights

For the music is your special friend
Dance on fire as it intends
Music is your only friend
Until the end
Until the end
Until the end

Cancel my subscription to the Resurrection
Send my credentials to the House of Detention
I got some friends inside

The face in the mirror won't stop
The girl in the window won't drop
A feast of friends
"Alive!" she cried
Waitin' for me
Outside!

Before I sink
Into the big sleep
I want to hear
I want to hear
The scream of the butterfly

Come back, baby
Back into my arm
We're gettin' tired of hangin' around
Waitin' around with our heads to the ground

I hear a very gentle sound
Very near yet very far
Very soft, yeah, very clear
Come today, come today

What have they done to the earth?
What have they done to our fair sister?
Ravaged and plundered and ripped her and bit her
Stuck her with knives in the side of the dawn
And tied her with fences and dragged her down

I hear a very gentle sound
With your ear down to the ground
We want the world and we want it...
We want the world and we want it...
Now
Now?
Now!

Persian night, babe
See the light, babe
Save us!
Jesus!
Save us!

So when the music's over
When the music's over, yeah
When the music's over
Turn out the lights
Turn out the lights
Turn out the lights

Well the music is your special friend
Dance on fire as it intends
Music is your only friend
Until the end
Until the end
Until the end!
brandon nagley Jul 2015
Wild child full of grace
Savior of the human race
Your cool face

Natural child, terrible child
Not your mother's or your father's child
Your our child, screamin' wild

An ancient lunatic reins
In the trees of the night
Ha, ha, ha, ha

With hunger at her heels
Freedom in her eyes
She dances on her knees
Pirate prince at her side
Stirrin' into a hollow idols eyes

Wild child full of grace
Savior of the human race
Your cool face
Your cool face
Your cool face

Do you remember when we were in Africa?
brandon nagley Jun 2015
Friends can help each other. A true friend is someone who lets you have total freedom to be yourself - and especially to feel. Or, not feel. Whatever you happen to be feeling at the moment is fine with them. That's what real love amounts to - letting a person be what he really is.
Andre Pinnock Feb 2015
She sleep without my arms
Laying beneath her head
The firm black pillow

I wonder what she dream about
When I'm not around
My sweet strong-will angel

I lose love, every  second apart_
Time is a thief, but I can't complain
Cause soon he favors us more...

® André Pinnock
27-Feb-2015
Kushtrim Thaqi Dec 2014
Seeing the lizard king move
and seeing him dance,
seeing his wicked laughter
followed, by another wicked laugh
it makes you feel sad;
The fact,
that in front of you stands
the avatar of sadness,
the king of the ******!
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