Nothing more in these parties
then looking at short skirts
The movies made it seem so simple.
The books made the lust seem wild.
The experiences made the parties seem fun.
Nothing else but a doll,
no flaws and no depth.
Beauty is only skin deep, darling,
and it lasts for a night.
So does this feeling of explosion.
Exploring her body was only temporary
but it filled me with cement
and it covered the holes I left.
My body craved a flavor,
something new and exciting,
something more enticing than what I had last night.
Bras, camera, action.
Panties, weed, cigarettes.
Socks, lean, alcohol.
Nothing can be better than this
Nothing can be better than this fleeting feeling.
The rush of it all,
the hour of the day,
the moon in the sky stayed high.
The moon in the sky stayed high with us,
stayed drunk with us,
stayed nude with us.
I will close my eyes
Perspectives will tell
A perfect obscenity
Im perfectly numb
You think its simple
I bleed thoughts like rivers
And exhale fears
Turn me to understanding
That I accept why
That I put my fists down
And stop punching walls
Assure me you have not gone
Surround me in my uncertainty
Read me like a book
Then rewrite my pages
Tear our my ending
Finish the beginning
I pray you hear me
And cut the ties that fit my bind
I don't want to stop
I just want to rest awhile
I just want to rest..
... a diary of the falling dominoes chapter
invisibly dying from the inside out
no one is looking into unseen eyes
no one can hear a muted voice fading
no one is close enough to be near
the deafening thrums echo
anxieties’ racing heartbeat
within morphing flesh shell ,
gasping for new breath
in a hovering stale silence
from a distance
the broken mirror ricochets a subdued light ;
much closer the reflection reveals
someone I once knew by heart
now an unrecognizable mask
enshrouds a terminal emptiness
inconspicuous at a fleeting glance ,
impossible to discern what storms rage
from the inside out ,... unnoticed
an uncontained wildfire
smoldering within, lies in wait
for the imminent winds of change
to fan the flames into the final
eternal silent ashes
a poet reaches out demurely
offering a candid look
into the window
of the imperfect human soul
there is no poetry
met by indifference
just gathered unread words scribbled,
dripped slowly on an empty page ;
moments turn into days
days turned into years
invisibly dying from the inside out
an unfinished life trickles out
like seeping blood evanescing
from a bottomless puncture
wounding ... penetrating the heart,
leaching out the slow death of a poet
for poetry is only words unless they touch someone ...
befallen to indifference is poetic death
by salted paper cuts ...
a muting suffocation
that hiddenly erodes away,
silencing the passion
of a musing soul
one unread word at a time ...
© ... harlon rivers
like a self-fulfilled prophecy, some become transformational,
some become new beginnings or some become a finality
of a metamorphosis of peaceful endings
... all to be determined and allowed to let be
I hold my breath,
yield my yearning,
a sort of humanity test,
I am learning.
I have yet to pass
this perpetual burning.
A scent of sweet ecstasy
wafting in the wind,
tickling my nostrils,
my craving welcomes in.
My primal instinct
courses my veins.
In a blind fury,
an unstoppable craze,
I'm on the hunt,
a •beating•heart•. . .
. . . pUlSaTiNG. . .
in my brain...
driven by hunger pangs,
seduce my unexpecting prey
with mind control,
my fleshy trail,
to the red opiate,
under the surface
of your pearly neck.
I momentarily inhale
its sweet perfume
as my pointy incisors sink
your pulsating skin.
All the while,
you welcome me in
with your take me now smile.
Thanks for reading! K:)
stuck in a rut
Onions cry over being undone
carrots hang themselves over their lost ambitions
lettuce shreds itself only to reach
for a throw away conclusion
The compost pile churns,
chest crowded with dirt
Breathing difficulties ensue
proneness to getting hurt
Radish heart easy to grow
Work as work
Forbidden fruit tempts itself
on a fateful fork
Sun light abound
yet no where to be found
-if you don't want my presence then you can worship my absence
-cuz time is money and you don't see the recession
-so go chase pigeons for attention and forget about this essence
-cuz those that go with the wind seldom find destinations
=so I sit, I sip, i read as I flip
-taking breaks to watch ghosts run some laps in a fish bowl
-round and round they go. No body or form, just their egos
-I'm not trying to be bitter I'm not trying to be cold
-but know that the devil didn't make me, I'm wise cuz I'm old
-What do ghosts and black out have in common?
-It's a very odd mix with some very good timing.
-like the all is the one and the one is the none
-or like when the bell tolls deep in your soul as it echos
-like after all the bullshit you're finally going home
-"now before I ask you this please keep in mind
-I've been around way before man created time.
-I've led many souls and lost some along the way
-Speaking to many souls, they all had the same to say
9-"mr reaper please leave me alone, I cant believe my names on stone
-cuz i have to show Tommy right from wrong
-and Mary's learning how to keep the bloodline strong
-I'm a father of 2 and husband of twenty
-I know I can't go since my namesake's filthy
-it took a life time to break and another just to fix it"
-"so time is what you need, yet time is what you're out of.
-as we go with this flow think, what's your namesake made of
as i grow older
i see things way deeper
than its meaning
home isn't just a home
some are made
happiness isn't just a feeling
some are choices
and some are simply made with tiny voices
gifts aren't just things
some are spent with time
and some are made with words that rhymes
that's how we conclude on life
as we age, we get its value
may it be
literal or poetical.