Oppa put in the new radiator
Now we have reason not to sleep alone.
Wooden floors, empty beds and corridors
The kids huddle near the walls
And that god of heat hung onto the walls
I can keep you warm sleep well sleep well
So share all your blankets
And scoot closer to the hearth.
I will warm your bodies
And grandpa will warm you heart.
There hasn’t been anyone in the house in thirty years
Paint peeling, floors collapsing
Dust particles motionless in the light
The people abandoned the house long ago
no trace, no shadow
The only thing that remained inside was a mirror
It hung on a nail
The nail came loose and the mirror fell
No one was around to hear the destruction that occurred
The last beautiful thing had been destroyed but no one cared as it laid there in pieces
It was no more for no one would ever pick up the fragments
Each morning when you awake.
Radiate your smile.
I personally guarantee you that you make someone day.
A person that's down.
Within minutes will turn their mood around.
Radiate, with pleasantries.
And watch others begins to model themselves too.
Believe in the comment it only takes one.
To attract two.
All because of a happy mood.
Hadn't a bad experience always ticked you off?
That you wanted to respond too.
And it's because of the bad mood.
If you feel happy inside.
Let no others dictates the thingss you do.
Happiness is a reaction.
To an event within your soul.
There are days in these persistent weeks of the year...
When the sky is a block of grey outside the window,
It takes its place with such certainty that even the raindrops will not take their time
to appear on the glass in an attempt to divide it,
Sprawled across the floor with music in my ears I come to the conclusion that
Tom Odell is the only person in this world who understands me.
I hold my legs and cry into my knees
but they never hold me back,
After a while I crawl to the corner of my room,
And sit with my back against the radiator;
Any warmth will do,
And despite my enjoyment of this warmth
I can feel the radiator making dents in my back,
It reminds me of the way each day dents the week with its appearance,
The way it reaches Sunday, battered, bruised and tortured,
But it never stops,
It just carries on
and carries on.
And so maybe the persistence of each week is something to be admired...
But it still hurts
I walk on fire, my spirit is the beam.
This confidence that’s on my skin, I can’t take off.
It’s glowing and giving off shimmer, even in the dark.
I didn’t ask to be seen. Only needed to be heard.
My voice is dry, no flicker, no flare.
Domineering my way through the flood of still flesh, just to be the tongue of volume.
Refusing to subscribe to the code of this noxious world.
I am not the cure to worriment,
I AM THE THE RESTORATIVE FOR MY OWN ANIMA.
© 2014 Rhea Nadia
Breathe deep, your airways expand
There is no shortage of clear air
Your thoughts are down...
Unpin your collar.
The heat is increasing
But there is a cool cloth over your whole body.
I know I must stay...
You know you mustn't leave.
Those thoughts revealed...
Everything feels right.
Discovered by you,
Even cloaked, in the night.
You are melting into my peace,...
Your aura of reluctant need glows bright.
I can carry you out of the dark,
Merge with you in the light .
I will heal you where you lie, in despair,
we shall weather, together,
we will find a way.
Cold shiver tantamount to
eyeballs shaking in my head,
face dreaming black snowflakes/radioactive dust/ was
there ever a merry christmas story to come out of Auschwitz?
(I don't think so.)
My mind must be a source, of course,
while the walls close in
and the roads get thinner
and the rivers and blood freeze
in my veins.
I live in a prison etched out of clock-ticks,
a signed contract
a very slow death sentence.
The possible worlds executed by
A sunken ship- 'diamonds are forever'
Voltaire mindfuck with 64 cups of coffee a day.
Summer is over
but summer awaits?
In pursuit of elasticity,
I sometimes sit in bars alone
and slowly tune out everything around me
until I am nothing
but drunk eyeballs floating a foot or two
above the bar and also, invisible.
Then I drive a few blocks home,
and ramble half-thought poetry
into the CIA wiretaps
in my radiator.