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Angie Sea Feb 2012
Saint Valentine's Day
A day of romance
just one day ?
what's that all about
Valentinus oh he who fought for love
and died for love
but who cares about that
it's not even February yet
and already people are a little crazier than usual
there’s the ones going on and on
about not having a date
true
it does seem criminal to be single on this day
But let's keep things gay

oh and then there's the boyfriends or crushes who bring flowers
chocolates
and maybe even one of those stuffed animals
holding a big red stuffed heart
that has I heart the letter U on it
then they'll lean in for the kiss
and that's how it'll all start
In her head she'll be going
"My mind's telling me no , but my body , my body's telling me yes"
and just like that you'll be set
because she'll be getting a little _ _ _
down there
and you'll get your Valentine's day ***
ew rated x
hopefully it's *** with love
hold up
What is up ?
Oh besides that of course (look down)
Get yourself a ****** and enough about that

Can't we love everyday
even if it isn't easy to say I love you
throw in a sweetheart here and an oh honey there
And the simple things
your matching rings
and what they mean
the catching of the other's eyes across the table
the accidental brushing of bodies
and you'll be blushing oh lordy
looking up only to see them smiling

What a perfect picture
isn't that what we all want
Even for those who have date after date with loneliness
There may be love
There must be love
three hundred and sixty-four other days
So much for Valentine's Day
Originally performed ; line from R.Kelly's Bump N' Grind sung
Gabriel burnS Apr 2017
double long, triple-strong caffeine pinch
hopping round
cardiovascular road strips;
its hues are bloodshot contrasts
blending well in peripheries
alienating sources
of scarlet origin;
eyelips swallow eyeballs;
impossible to bite on,
for their teeth are on the outside
pulling punches,
stopping short of eye-lashing out

*

the ellipse of Your eyelips
swallows my irises
siamese twin suns
sky-connected
at the luminous breeze
falling asleep on my chest
vivid abreast
the pyre of lungs
Mimmi Dec 2022
Then out of nowhere and at once, the voice stopped.
No lingering feeling of self hate
The questions
The pondering
It all came to a halt
A thing that’s been with me all these years
Came to an abrupt end
Not bitter
Not sweet
Just end
An ending i’ve been hoping, but not waiting on
I didn’t know that there was such a thing
As an end to it

A blabbering, mumbling sorrow of self pity
Or just a mere convenience of a lexicon with words to degrade myself
A daily reminder of how worthless I was
So I would’ve never forgotten my reason
A reason never explained
Never cared for
With a reach of a sovereign hand I touch the notes
Floundering through the air
Playing a floating piano
“A river flows in you”
Caring for unprotected skin

I was waiting for a different ending
An abrupt ending, not like this one
Fingernails not bitten off bleeding
A curious feeling of relentlessness
Not used to the feeling of not being alone

It all came to a halt
A voice that’s been with me for years
A sadness of emptiness is nowhere to be found
A clue to a healthy mind
Maybe a fear of what could’ve been if not the voice left
A sort of trembling worry of who to now complain when I do wrong
An understatement of falling leaves from my tree

I know my family will be glad
Even though I haven’t ever told them bout the pain I contain
Who to be worthy shall never pass
Through my gates of hell
No one is worthy of that pain
Maybe not even me?

I think this was and end worth waiting for
Inner demons are worth fighting
They don't have the right to win over your life!
So a Good ending, Is worth fighting for.
A pearl of the rarest kind
Given with pure earnest trust
To be locked away in the securest safe; your heart that's caged
Lest the lock, your blabbering tongue, is opened
With the alluring key of gossip and envy.
Gossip and envy the root of all evils
Arcassin B May 2015
By Arcassin Burnham

"~Snuggling~"

Marsha Ambrosius smell,
Wait!! How I do I know how she smells?
Well nevermind,
So mixed with wasting our time,
Of blabbering on how beautiful you look,
When we should be snuggling under the stars,
They took,
A lot away from you and me,
Sacrifice so much for you and me,
Please leave without bad memories,
If I die would you cry,
Would you plead,
I'm just waiting for a little bliss,
Waiting for a sincere beautiful atmosphere,
Waiting for affection,
Waiting for a kiss,
I plead........

"K.O.C.A"

.... To be your rock,
When you need someone to lean on,
My heart is made of stone,
Aside from feelings that can't be shown,
But I won't say leave me alone,
Truthfully a life without you,
Is a crisis,
So please don't leave me gone,
We play childishly,
But when we make the sweetest love,
I'm indebted to your open casualties,
As tender as a prime cooked rib,
Show it out of me,
The feelings that I give,
I would die without you,
Baby I wanna live,
I'm too young to die,
You are too,
So why don't we die together,
Let the flowers bloom.
Marsha oh , marsha!
Sharina Saad Jun 2013
Juliet looks at her watch
feeling bored,  Mrs Saad please stop blabbering
Juliet glances at her friends
ah cmon, stop pretending writing notes
Juliet stares at the whiteboard
The alphabets are dancing
The sentences jumbled up
Juliet looks again at her watch
convinced Mrs Saad would never stop
Juliet peeps between Steve and Chris
there is Romeo looking so serious
concentrating in Literature class
Romeo is the most outstanding
His art is most envied
Now Juliet feels ashamed
To win Romeo, she should at least
try to write a stanza of poem
role play a scene from Shakespeare
and write a script for a play...
who would notice her enchanting beauty
In Mrs Saad's  literature class
unless she proves the beauty of her brain
in a form of literary texts that convince
and win....
so to all Juliets in my class, stop building castle in the air...
Ahmed Herrou Sep 2019
Listening to the tonefully honeyed sound of her voice beside this adorably blabbering river and those flirtatious birds, I can't let a single second pass without looking at her continuously as she talks to keep her captured in the depth of my eyes, oh can't this starry lilac sky blink instead of me?
The river was flowing fast as we were talking, it sounded as if it was talking too, more than us and more continuously than the way we talked, which made me say it was blabbering, it was a lovely sound though. But wait how could the sky blink? Lovers can wish impossible things to happen. ❤️
Jon Shierling Nov 2013
In the silence before the creation of existence,
what God there may be spoke of all that may come to pass.
And this is what I now come to realize:

The rhythm of the universe cries out in one ALMIGHTY voice “remember";
   Here, now, listening to Tool whilst William Blake weeps in the corner beside me,
weeps at the folly of the search for truth and meaning in such a dark
   and lonely place as this godforsaken desert of a planet……

Though what Blake knows not in his head,
  his poet’s heart has known from the beginning:
WE CREATE OUR OWN MEANING.

Just because we are lied to from birth,
  just because we are made to believe that if only we follow the rules
and vote republican, that everything’ll be all pizza
  and ******* (to quote Don Cheadle)...

Just because we realize this lie does not mean that we must submit
  to the tyranny of lost souls and pens of insignificant blabbering about god,
and morality and some such nonsense about politics.

There is NOTHING…….
  save the world we create for ourselves,
within ourselves…..like that Talmudic script of wisdom:
”We don’t see the world as it is, we see it as we are”.

For what dark god must we sacrifice ourselves,
to somehow save ourselves or some such ******* that doesn’t make any sense
except to say that the death of the self somehow equals salvation.

I am the Hanged Man, questing irrevocably onward in search
  of my own metaphor of a Dark Tower…..
If only you knew what kind of an impact you would have on me…..
   you who tempted me to remove my Iron Mask
because no matter how burned and deformed my soul may be,
   you prefer it to a lie…

And that’s what I have done, unto others as was done to me…..
I LIED…..I lied to protect myself from all that I thought could destroy me.

But once upon a time, in the darkest pit of despair I had ever thrown myself into,
  when I had not God nor Love nor Belief to turn to for aid or succor,
I chose to continue existing simply out of spite;
   the knowledge of life within death sprung from some unknown source within myself,
or perhaps Jung’s collective unconscious,
   or maybe even the Soul of the Universe…

I once thought that the Truth didn’t matter,
   because if one has enough power the truth becomes irrelevant
and only what people think is true matters….

BUT YOU, YOU WHO BOW TO NO MAN SHOWED ME A DIFFERENT PATH,
  A PATH OF TRUTH WITHIN THYSELF.

I couldn’t muster the epic courage necessary to tell you
   what I feel I must tell you….much more than a simple drunken I Love You of a text message…..anyone can say that…..

But ONLY I can say that I have know my first untroubled sleep
   in many years while in the same bed with you.
You asked me if you could touch me and you said I was soft….
   you said I would be soft...

I am just as soft within my heart for you as my skin used to be.
   We did nothing but look at each other and I was content within,
for just the short time we were there…..

And then came the fire, and the emptiness, and waking life
   where I walk like a wraith in *****'s rags,
thus why I hate fascism and communism and totalitarianism
   and theocracy and all that would seek to destroy the world
that I have come to love with such a fiery passion
   because it has liberated me from the chains of resistance within conformity…..

because of you…..I AM FREE.
Another revision, from when I had political beliefs of some kind.
Beatrice Prior Nov 2014
Enough is enough!
A person will quote,
I can't take the pain anymore!
Nobody understands!
But isn't that the beauty?
I say,

A simple life,
Is all that I wanted,
Without having complications like love and sadness,
No fear, no madness,
But that's impossible isn't it?
I would reply,

Because that is life and you can't run away from it,
The sooner you learn that lesson, the better,
But let me tell you something,
Something which I know very well,

Friends can't choose you,
Because you choose yourself,
Other can do nothing but obey,

You can choose be a crazy person, can't you?
Or a kind one or even bad?
But being different doesn't make you look silly,
It makes you stand out and special, ever thought about that?

So enough with this constant blabbering,
And be who you really are,
Because I know and you know,
That with this life you can only get so far,

So keep quiet they would in the end,
At the end of this exhausting speech,
Because they can't choose me and I know that,
So I would sit alone under my tree.
Canaan Massie Nov 2012
Your pessimistic view on beauty is amusing,
Isn’t it the beautiful that should preach upon beauty?

You have it all wrong.
Beauty is not only skin deep.
“Pretty” is skin deep.
Beauty is more than long hair and smooth skin.
More than any physical feature.

You are beauty.

Yes, beauty starts with the physical,
But it does not end there.
You are beauty.
You are graceful, eloquent.
Your smile is unmatched even by Aphrodite,.
Your personality is perpetually perfect.
You bring lightness to the shadow-stricken.
You are beauty.

MY beauty.

Beauty is not only skin deep.
Beauty is earned.

Pardon my blabbering,
it’s late as ****.
Mateuš Conrad Jun 2016
oh hell, every time i write some embarrassing a day prior, i turn into honour killing from Pakistan enveloped by shame... 'what the hell did i write last night? i can't remember, but i know for sure that i didn't roll down the stairs or **** in a phonebox'. well, i could sit here romanticising like Marcel Schwob, or just dig into like Marquis the Sade... honestly and oddly enough the latter did give me an *******, and he was half-the-pervert that everyone deemed him to be, flashing his buttocks from the Bastille... his uncle abbé de Sadé (i love to put that accent in on purpose - sounds better to me, less boorish) - and yes, Creedence Clearwater Revival does more justice to the harmonica on graveyard train than Bob Dylan and **** Jagger put together... it's just there, and it ain't it's because it's there that makes it... ha ha... groovy - maybe that's why they spared him from the guillotine, in that he wrote more of his exploits as wished to be done, and of the actual exploits too many were hidden in his blabbering prose undone; ****** is by far his greatest work.

i told you the black and red Oranjeboom is a trip, they used to sell it at 8.5%, now they dropped it to 7.5... that beer can get you crazy in nanoseconds, quicker than a formula 1 crown jewel of a Mercedes-Benz, i'm serious, the ****'s lethal - you drink with me you'll be talking l.s.d., you'll end up a Mongol somewhere in Siberia, stark naked in minus forty saying the words: 'where's my umbrella? where's my umbrella?', indeed on repeat... 'and that yak? i was riding a yak... where's the yak?' we have European bisons to await you colonel... 'about time, i was waiting for a bison... isn't that the place where storks migrate to to make butter over the summer? and the Jews hid when the Black Plague was sweeping across Europe leaving them immune in the vicinity of Cracow?' yes it was, Herr Mascherschtic-Messerschmitt -
'who's on the oboe? and the soloist violinist?' we don't know, working it out, 'you better, because i don't really long for a drum-beat of knocking two stones together to spark anything but fire, rather, a conversation; 40 days in the desert with Jesus trying to relocate the Jews to Goa worked out so splendid that they moved North, started speaking riddle Hebrew that's Yiddish and followed suit with ****** being gassed, but instead of trenches, death chambers - people tend to forget he was himself gassed and dated Eva a Jewess... no far right assimilation, i spoke with a grandpa that asked for sweets from an SS-man and a great-grandmother who fed her daughter opiates to hush her on the eastern front so she wouldn't cry - sometimes stating a self-consciousness detached from thinking (the inhibitor of existence) is as random as a lottery - because it's just that, thought is an inhibitor of existence, being is an exhibitor of the (sic) stated - oh please don't read me if you're into ******, i'm with the bookworms and freaks, premature ejaculators and whatnot, go eat a ******* macaroon in Morocco or something - of all the admirable circumstances worthy a stage thinking isn't really allowed, it's not exactly glorified, in two sentences:
- *i thought about it
             (how two pronouns
                                               interact without Freud,
                                               or meet, or are the proton i
                                               neutrons thought about
                                               and the electrons it)...
it's a permanent duality of expressing something and anything,
we need the first person, the eyes give it away,
but in the end we're either touching an axe to chop
down a tree or attaching ourselves to a detachment of
chopping the tree down for the Freudian third it -
it's no longer a game of 'you're it!' tagging of
the kindergarten game but a work of fiction, transitions
like that must be painful - third person narratives are
generally conceived from being lazy in the first person,
how many people do you actually need to **** the poet off?
film credits: and it's a long list, mind you.
oh yeah, that word: dzwiękać - it's about making 0.1% of
a Mozart symphony with two stones smacked against
each other for what the feet used to do, a drumbeat,
it's not exactly an act of Prometheus' Odyssey into
the first glimpses of chemistry -
alternatively?
- i am it / or some alternative to something even more alternative,
  in the French school of thought dubbed deconstructionism
  that's also a blah blah reduction,
  Bruce Springsteen and Frank Sinclair, a slum-dunk
  by the Lakers - it's still supposed to mean that i intended
  the phonetic encryption, i visualised nothing for
  you to follow-up on, sounds, poetry isn't cartoon,
  the harsh reality of having to read the Mandala of
  mouth expressions without, eye, eyebrows or cheeks
  or chin - ends up being dentistry when you want to
  say a but end up adding a            h     while
  the dentist inserts a blunt object into your mouth for
  an ah (be my guest, macron or umlaut depending
  on the volume of your lungs added to the a for reasons
  of reality's prolonging the seance of rotten teeth).
what i meant was the notion that thought is a different
type of being, or expression of out of every instance -
thinking too much won't grant you access to
people who say: 'are bored with their *** life. especially
gay men, who 'see *** as something you have to do
while on drugs'. so once **** no reassurance with
forever ****? **** it! could have given it a one-over
back when i didn't have a monkish demur.
well i can admit i'm jealous, but i just remember *******
before puberty and feeling the muscle sensation and
seeing no *****, aged 8 - the ******* help, and incubator
for all that raging monotheistic operatic harem wanton -
it's still a balancing act writing a sentence,
you are basically juggling two words, both are pronouns -
you throw a boomerang, you throw it as yourself
and expect it to come back as yourself,
pristine, juvenile, ******, intact with a pride of being
a person not influenced by others... the origin of
Columbus... it doesn't work like that,
the boomerang ends up like a windscreen with
several bugs attacked to it, bugs like Kant, like Heidegger,
whoever... whatever, free-love **** *** is overrated for me,
the ******* build-up and the flashing lights and whatnot,
i approach *** like a lumberjack a tree,
axe, tree, chop chop, tree falls... i'm out after an
hour having paid £110 for the pleasure... so you can take
your little feminism into the annals for these free-love
festivals (burning man in Nevada, killing kittens
in the hamptons etc.), preach there, leave me and my loser
****** high libido crew in the shadow of the crucifix -
judgemental ******* - i never expected so much stigma for
giving an ****** that i paid for to give, it's like an
Albert Camus novel, or worse, his life,
paid for a train ticket but decided to travel to the desired
destination by car, dead in a car-wreck - Irony with an ism.
Wee Angus on his wae frae work
would hit tha pub fa a perk
O' Tennents lager frae tha keg
whiles chatting up tha barmaid Meg
A pint or twa there wae friens
a' bleathering awa like scholars an Deans
Debators O Parlimentary views
Ministers preaching o'er tha pews
Wae drink in hand they'd laugh their fill
tha glory Mead upon their bill
Yelping like some bairney pups
catching breeths atween their sups.

(nae wiser a man than yin filled wae ale
Nae greater a time than while drinking frae tha Grail.)

In football games they A' would linger
or singing songs for all's a singer
Nae matter how bad tha voice
a' would request their favorite choice
Happy all wae drink in hand
while holding up the bar they stand
In rattled curses tae tha bumping airms
while viewing o'er some lassies chairms
Whispering oot all dreams an desires
that drink within them all inspires
An' Angus kens that soon or late
he tae hame must tak tha gate.

Kenning tae deep doun inside
his drunken breath he'd better hide
Saying fareweel tae friens and foes
leaing ahind tha pub's warm burning coals
Doun he stummels tae tha chippy
tha air ootside tis crisp an nippy
Making him drunker than afore
he side steps frae door tae door
Eating his fish supper, enjoying each bite
thinking aboot all that's happened tha night.
Till there he rouns tha corner street
His hame sae warmly it does greet,
Falling o'er tha step ootside his hame
Tha door it opens, Behold his sullen Dame
Trying tae act sober wae all his might
afore his wifie here tha night
But she's nae fool nor blind tae see
his daft antics, his blabbering plea.

In comes Angus wae words O' love
tae face tha thumping slap an shove
Her roaring voice would put fear intae tha Deil
Hear wee Angus weep an squeal.

(What type O' life drink it brings
that great at first yet later stings
What worth has man tae waste his life
wae drinks illusions an its strife.
Sooner or later as true as Hell
Yin cannie live save by its spell
getting worse an worse day by day
while friens an family turn away
An Angus wheither he kens or no
has drifted where tha drunkards go
An time shall tell what fate bestows
for tha Curse O Ale, nae man knows.)

Alisdaire O'Caoimph
Timothy Brown May 2013
She came to my door, tears streaming down her face.
In her blabbering, she only spoke six words clearly,
"I don't belong in this place"

As I led her inside
I noticed the blood streaming down her wrist
I cut my sentence short and replied

Silence and ice cream
Same thing I got when I tried to hang out.
At the bottom of the bowl I saw her face gleam.

We hadn't spoke since she spat "******"
As our connection  leaked into the air,
I whispered "murderer"

As she lay leaking through band-aids and bandages
The red made me think of love
and how the feeling of hate has it's balances
© May 31st, 2013 by Timothy Brown. All rights reserved
crybaby911 Sep 2015
"Wah. Wah. Wah," the crybaby said.
Her insecurities are always, constantly being fed.
Then they shove a pacifier into her mouth.
To ignore their blabbering self-doubts.

mama. <3
Jon Shierling Nov 2010
In the silence before the creation of existence……what God there may be spoke of all that may come to pass……..and this is what I now come to realize…….this great and terrible abyss opens up before me, beckons me to take the plunge into ethereal life yet death at once different and the same…….free association writing that I haven’t been able to stop flowing through my fractured skull since that one day when you and I composed some kind of insanity at 3 o’clock in the morning high as hell and drunk as ****…..I can’t stop to take stock of what I have written here today, right now……lest the demons of forgetfulness come to steal the words away…..the rhythm of the universe cries out in one ALMIGHTY voice “remember”…….what am I to say to the memories we share……shall I embrace the crazy ambivalent yet gruesome life you offer me…..here, now, listening to Tool whilst William Blake weeps in the corner beside me, weeps at the folly of the search for truth and meaning in such a dark and lonely place as this godforsaken desert of a planet……though what Blake knows not in his head, his poet’s heart has known from the beginning……WE CREATE OUR OWN ******* MEANING…….just because we are lied to from birth, just because we are made to believe that if only we follow the rules and vote republican, that everything’ll be all pizza and ******* (to quote Don Cheadle), just because we realize this lie does not mean that we must submit to the tyranny of lost souls and pens of insignificant blabbering about god and morality and some such nonsense about politics…….there is NOTHING…….save the world we create for ourselves….within ourselves…..like that Talmudic script of wisdom……”we don’t see the world as it is, we see it as we are”……for what dark god must we sacrifice ourselves to somehow save ourselves or some such ******* that doesn’t make any sense except to say that the death of the self somehow equals salvation……I’ve lost the stream now…..wait it returns, the Fates return with the Muses to give me the strength to say what must be said in these times of trial and tribulation…..I am the Hanged Man, questing irrevocably onward in search of my own metaphor of a Dark Tower…..If only Stephen King would know what kind of an impact he would have on me……if only you knew what kind of an impact you would have on me…..you who tempted me to remove my Iron Mask because no matter how burned and deformed my soul may be, you prefer it to a lie………and that’s what I have done, unto others as was done to me…..I LIED…..I lied to protect myself from all that I thought could destroy me……but once upon a time, in the darkest pit of despair I had ever thrown myself into, when I had not God nor Love nor Belief to turn to for aid or succor I chose to continue existing simply out of spite……the knowledge of life within death sprung from some unknown source within myself, or perhaps Jung’s collective unconscious, or maybe even the Soul of the Universe…….I once thought that the Truth didn’t matter because if one has enough power the truth becomes irrelevant and only what people think is true matters….BUT YOU, YOU WHO BOW TO NO MAN SHOWED ME A DIFFERENT PATH, A PATH OF TRUTH WITHIN THYSELF……….William Blake lifts his head and stares at me after this glorious revelation…..he has come back from his own plunge and brings his own knowledge, his own take on truth…….I am tired now, but I must not stop, I cannot stop, because I have more to say, so much more to say, as do we all……I couldn’t muster the epic courage necessary to tell you what I feel I must tell you….much more than a simple drunken I Love You of a text message…..anyone can say that…..but ONLY I can say that I have know my first untroubled sleep in many years while in the same bed with you….you asked me if you could touch me and you said I was soft….you said I would be soft….I am soft of skin, though not of protection…..I am just as soft within my heart for you as my skin is without……we did nothing but look at each other and I was content within myself…..for just the short time we were there…..AND THEN CAME THE INHUMAN ANGER AT THE THOUGHT OF ANYTHING CAUSING SOMETHING SO BEAUTIFUL OF SOUL AND BODY HARM……….thus why I hate fascism and communism and totalitarianism and theocracy and all that would seek to destroy the world of drugs and punk and freedom that I have come to love with such a fiery passion because it has liberated me from the chains of resistance within conformity…..because of you…..I AM FREE.
Jane Doe Dec 2013
I like you, like I think you’re cute, like I wanna kiss you, like I wanna go down on you… Wait, sorry.
Hey, I like you like, I think you’re pretty, like I want us to get along, hey! I really like this song wanna dance? I like your tight pants, I don’t mean to stare it’s just kind of there like Wow, sorry that came out wrong, Hey I’m Esther, nice to meet you, cute shoes. Who knew converse would create this kind of tension. Do you watch Dr Who? You hate Moffat? Me too.
I’m sorry this is supposed to be a love poem and I’m blabbering,
Hey! I like you, like I think  your finger tips are spider webs the way you pull me in, Andrew Garfield, spider man, have you seen that one? I’m a huge fan.
Hey, I like you, like I think you’re cute, like I wanna  take you out on dates and hold your hand in parking lots and line ups, like your laugh is contagious and your eyes are outrageously beautiful.

You’re pretty, smiling eyes and nervous laughter, not quite caught up in the moment.
I’d sing you a love song; I’d walk ten thousand miles. I catch my breath when your lips part to smile.
Your eyes sparkle when you see something you love; I wonder what it feels like to be the subject of your stares? The object of your affection.
So, I think you’re adorable; it’s deplorable how much I wanna kiss you.
Hey Tight jeans! Was that rude? Because I can be crude, and kind of mean, in the sense that I say what I think and a lot of people say I’m forward…
Take me out tonight; the stars are just bright enough for me to see your features, I’d paint pictures of your hands if mine would just stop shaking. I’m afraid,
because you’re just a little bit older and more bold than I’d have expected you to be, but you see it’s not written in the stars that we should be together, here I see in your eyes that you’re excited because you don’t realize this poem is about you, you idiot.
See what I mean, I’m not cautious. Torturous really I couldn’t stand to see you saddened, because  you’re beautiful which is trivial, I mean a man who looks like you must know this right?
Do you like romantic? I could say your eyes are waterfalls and your temples are the gaps in the sidewalks where puddles huddle.
I want to get to know you, I want to hold you while it’s raining, straining to keep my eyes on the movie we’re watching but your face in the half light is ignited
Your nose is the bookmark in the middle of my favourite story, marking the points before the hero has to leave and after he’s realized he can’t stay.
I can feel your heart beating from where we’re dancing, every inch of your body, I’d memorize, your curves and lines like you were my times tables and I wasn’t ever able to get those down so I might have to go over them a few more times before you’re committed to memory.
But now, in the blissful morning after sunrise, you lie.
sleepily kiss my forehead and mumble “I have class”
and I spend the last few seconds before you leave my room admiring your a-
… eyes.
I've always
Had a strange attitude toward libraries
Some
Self-proclaimed peculiar insanity
Engraved and not really reasonable
Imperative
upon me
was
Spellbounded
And occasionally emerging
As
My
Elephantic memory skills


This rather charming ability

Acknowledged once and for Goooood

that:
I cannot breathe, live and develop creative
Thought processes
Flying as they are  ~ Ethereal
Divinational
Sparks of Fanaticism
Along my  

True ingeniosity at any lessser plie

Of books dancing with my diagonal glances all 9 at once

& reading 6

Three of them were  
A
Total
crap
quickly put aside

as a pun melts away when one
hears of thy neighbours death

This
Undefined sophisticated fatality Adoring
flying letters

within the prism of our lust
A narcissistic self proclaimed libido

Called love

( will you call )



YouI The Knowledge Seeker


( You can easily replace I with You whilst thorough reading )

This unfulfilled hunger
For Truth
Piled over Our dreams


Not obeying the law of Sintropy
Which was undiscovered as a scientific paradigm

Do my frangrance linger
Within you

Do you
love
me

To do it
At times you stood there frozen, as an oponnent


To all the women's
Race

At the end. . .

Staring at me Silently

Widespread floor to ceiling windows
Said nothing

Only your two pals
Were blabbering about this Biblical
Not pointing directly
At - The
Highest
Babel Wrong Priestess Fish

Who diss
missed
diss
possesed

Liked me
Ipso facto like A
Fantasy


And
Dismantled his own declination
Of
Giggling
Witches like me

Mad about cherry tea and three hearts
**** bubbles
at the
sea
humming it's beautyful melody

For each
For Us
For U
A différence
For each one with love waves

Chesee is healthy
You have a Tastful Tongue

And you knew that behind my sharp intelligence
Books and photos were draged chaotically
Mostly on the most impossible

Places
Scattered

And piled as flowering colours
As plants lacking a
solid
structure
and
Thorough Thoughts

Thorough Thoughts
( Usually Unite US )
Were We Are Found
At least my-not-importance
Usualy riding on a slick blue silvery back of the nearest
Dolphin
Diving For
Pearl Ear Shells

Or this furry crazy smiling cat
Grinnin' at my newest
Fairy Tale naïveté
Novel

We can all can communicate well
Even when we are statues


Oh ~ you'll love me !
Of that I'm sure!

As a friend or a person worth of a sirious dialog

Eventually: : :

I know
That I'm not
Special
But Spatial

The Menu at your place is not for my veggy nerves ( or have you changed your habitual ethics )

Within my genotype hides an obnoxious little nerdish
Analitical psychotherapist

The nearest person would nod as an affirmation:
A fascinatingly developed natural psychologist
That's for sure!


But I don't mind
To be in love
I love life and laugter and songs

And
I hate your
Non existing
Guardianship
Beacons
Hats

And your
Non existing
Kind sparks
Beaming at me
Loving your beating
Protecting
Whales

Pinacle of your being

Alas ! Old Chap
Thou tribute to deceased master was one of the most

. . . herein lies the enchanted ink of invisibility. . .

Through your perception

The world is seen as a Round Sphere
Substantial to your glasses and the dispersed angles the light hits you
Directemont inbetween
Daily diaries with black frames
For Architects, Thinkers and Designers

I once said that you have a broken unappealing dark face without
beauty spots
central
symetries

Healthy self-esteem
To my friend

She's no longer
Closefriend

I've altered my mind and Beauty categories
Dyonis  & Artemis :
Eros was never destroyed within books
Consumed

Intimacy

Quietness

From my heart to
A Small college library

At least ~ for me :

Here dwell forest dwarfs
Elves and near by Nasa Cute Freaks


Every once in a while I saw three handsome friends
shaking paws
HE has two
persons
or just
One

requested
Water
Fire and Ice
And Theborders of Illlusion
That was A wisdom to my deep golden WIT
y
Heart
Stiched On a T  Shirt


Ignited isynaptic crystals

Are those unforgettable *****
Burning eraticaly on wings of lust and 'creatio ex nihilo'
pressing enter
under the soft-silk soothing shade
of your
Healing un-experienced friends
Under

Rustling treetops contempt, swaying with wind
And the Grass
Swaying
Shaping
Shifting

Ignoring ***
And
Gender


Sorry Ich Bin Langsam und Gothic Mefistofeles
Who has fallen for you
Slender man creature
Masculin
Energy

Feminine and full of abundant Joy
I was
I will
)vegot
The intention is craving
Knowledge

I knowledge is null and void


As a symbolic inflated red balloon

I have it
As long as I do not have
It
Any more

...you can peacefuly replace I with You whilst thorough reading...
and tear
the love
letters
dr.op

All the absurdity

Thank you!

All the arrogance
Vanished within a Dream. . .

Until we give up The True Love
I'm hanging upon Poetry
Tree of life
Spinning

Paper life. . .span
Hanged for a fible moment,
Arrow's Swift Air Cut
Release
Please
Hear
MY
Heart
Palpitations
Die
With
Me only metaphorically

&
Listen to The Universal
Divine Ancient
Scripts
Adam Disser Jun 2012
There I was, drunk behind the wheel
Seeing where I was and wishing I was further
Blabbering thoughts and ideas I steal
That whisper in the ear of some forgotten parents daughter

Well, I'm the devil in disguise.
Say, "We all are at times" and
As long as it rhymes
Then it all sounds good.

I can see the worlds demise
In that same daughters eyes who
Watches TV and cries
I can't be like I should.

Like life etched down in screenwriters heads
Who think perfect perfection and leave naught lost.
Who lead all of Verona to houses and beds
And untangle ley lines of lovers star-crossed

Instead there's no order
No place to fall in
It's just drunken, splendid squalor
Without and within
Hit me with some feedback
Dora Joe Dec 2014
The two boys.
Of course, they know.
But all they do is laugh.
At the players.
At the tackles.
At the appeals.
And everything else.

Mother.
Always the one who sympathizes.
If the Reds are up by two.
"Oh, I pity the opposition. May they score one."
She says.
"Awh, MUM?!"

Same goes with the eldest.
It would make it more intense.
She thinks.
Me thinks, I should pray for a cleansheet.

Hah!
The two blabbering baboons.
Knows nothing.
Gives running commentaries.
Predicts that the others win the match.
Such support I get.

The next one is a Kop in the making.
I-am-****-proud.

The lil one thinks Ozil is good looking. -_-

-Doey
AB Mar 2016
Poor little Donny.
Long ago all he had
Was his overlarge, pumpkin-shaped head,
His tiny baby hands,
And a small loan of a million dollars.

He struck out for himself,
With only that million dollars to his name.
And he became a success...
And then went bankrupt,
And then found success again,
And then bankruptcy,
And finally more success.

He bought himself a wife,
Made himself a daughter he wants to date,
And put in a run for president.

Now he stands atop a pedestal,
Spewing forth hate-filled words,
Xenophobic and mono-syllabic.
His white washed fans, bowing before their Fuhrer.

Our best and brightest spend their days decrying his actions,
Our true leaders point out his massive ineptitudes,
Our comedians creating thoroughly researched,
20 minute rants about this tiny-handed, pumpkin man.
The other leaders of the world stand baffled by Donny's popularity.

But still his stands behind his podium,
With his red hat,
Waving his baby hands and blubbering about his
"Great brain. The best brain."
And the
"Fantastic wall. The great wall. A Trump wall."

And so the question becomes,
What will this tyrannical child do
When his presidential aspirations are destroyed?
For he lacks the support of any minority group,
Any women's group,
And any level-headed person.

The answer is simple:
He will sue, or at least threaten to do so.
He will rant and rave like the lunatic that he is.
His racist followers will do the same.
But their blabbering will be lost in the words of the intelligent.

Or at least we hope that will be the outcome.
Why, oh why, little handed Donny,
Must you spew such hatred and xenophobia?
Why can you not return to your tower of gold,
With your expensed wife, and bobble sized pumpkin head?

Please leave us be.
Just my take on this whole Trumpscapade
Jessica Rojan Sep 2011
Studdering, stammering, but still softly laughing,
My mouth cannot formulate the correct feelings
Or even the right idea
Of the things I want to tell you,
and the things I want to hear.

I'm sorry my voice lacks such confidence,
I just never really felt like this,
What a blabbering fool I must seem to be.

Not only because of you and me,
but you see--
My heart governs my mind
and at the right times,
I can't seem to produce any sort of sentence,
I can't seem to shake that sickness.

I'm sorry if I seemed so brash,
When I came to you the night after last...
It wasn't my intentions and now you play your defenses,

All I really want is a smile,
and to feel like it's worth my while.
I hope that isn't too much to ask,
but given the past...

I understand that your wings feel clipped,
I understand that you're probably scared shitless.

I've seen your wall, and I've stood at the gate,
wondering when it will finally break.
For now, I'll just sit here patiently;
Holding my breath almost effortlessly
Because I have no idea what I want right now, honestly.
(I'm just not into playing games)

But if you lean in close enough, I'm sure you will see
I still get nervous when your name flashes on my screen,
Sometimes I still get butterflies, and you leave me weak at the knees.
And I know that's a lot to muster,
but I also know I've got a lot to break,
and I am keeping that part of me hidden and sealed,
while giving you blind faith.

But I know that I am not ready,
to put my guard down at your feet,
I still draw my daggers,
at the first sign of defeat.

There's still a vice-gripped cage,
in between my ribs,
and pardon me for seeming indecisive,
But I, myself, still can't allow anyone in.

I need some affirmation, that you aren't going anywhere.
I really need to feel like you do, honestly, care.
Just remember that I'm just as nervous, and just as scared.
When it comes down to it-- I'm completely unprepared.

If the right words would just bounce,
Off the tip of my tongue,
I wouldn't be sitting here struggling,
Making an effort to avoid the wrong ones.

All I really want to say here,
is that you've made an impact on my life,
and hopefully someday we'll see each other,
In the perfect light.
Marshall Gass Jun 2014
Even as the blabbering ivory fingers
releases the rhythmic pulses of passion
stressing soulful melodies
of bygone one night stands
my pulse still reaches for that one song
that scatters my imagination into the void
of waiting for your electric touch.

I too will wait for you in Rockland.

Author Notes
Optional
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, a month ago
Mystifying Chaos Jan 2018
"Do you remember the time when we first met? I was wearing a guns and roses t-shirt and you were playing basketball with your friends? Remember how I was walking past the court and got hit by the ball, and you came running towards me, asking me if I was okay? Do you remember how shy you were when our hands touched for the first time? Your cheeks turned into the color of beetroot.
Do you remember how we became friends? I was new to the society in which you were the head? How scared I was when I had to sing for the audition round and you decided to sing along to my favorite song?
Remember how you asked me out? Took me by my hand and intensely gazed into my eyes, as Eric Clapton sang 'wonderful tonight' in the background? Remember how I started laughing and asked you to stop joking around. And then you just kissed me, to stop me from blabbering. I was stunned and shell shocked.
Remember when we got drunk after our first big fight? We said mean words and slept in separate rooms that night. Remember how I later knocked on your door to apologise? We drank the entire bottle of Jim Beam and got sloshed as we listened to Bob Dylan till the wee hours of the morning light.
Remember how it all began?"
I see no recognition in your eyes. I guess the amnesia didn't just take away your memories but it also took away everything that was mine.
Sam Lincoln May 2014
:)


Charles ate a Rocky Mountain
oyster shell from the spleuchen
of a bee resting on a bed plate,
but then fell asleep.


Glandular curvulas search for
the meaning of life;
to **** and be ****** by the nerve centre.


Clooties of the Yellowstone national park
make regretful decisions, that lead to excessive
crying, and dry/wet heaving for
MTV'S SPRING BREAK BLAST:
The ending is on pp.22 featuring beam rays
telltale sign of stirless beaches and nights irritating
my irritatory sun causing me
to
fumble




from the letter shape of my family tree.
Quintessentially, but not really, reptilians smiled
to eat sour investment of  telltale
signs of testicular cancer,
while sending SMS messages to
acquaintances blabbering
"Come over and watch a movie ;)"
and gloating of recently acquired masseuse skills.
I had to write something that meant nothing for school
Meldon D'Souza Feb 2017
As I see her walking from a distance
That silhouette made of pure grace
Her vibe that sent waves of good constance
Her steps toward me making my heart race

She's standing right before me
This queen of my deepest fascination
From this planet my mind begins to flee
All the way to heavens very constellation

Her mouth is moving in slow-motion
Her voice takes my breath away
She's blabbering out a mortal commotion
But on my face only a smile does stay

In this world of exquisite entity
She's perhaps the centrepiece, the highest bid
Every inch of her perfect entirety
All this comes from someone who hugs me and calls me stupid
Get yourself someone who can be your clown and your queen at the same time and you will know what happiness is.
Rishabh Shah Jul 2010
Stop running through the recesses of mind. Erase them, erase that line between madness and sanity. Amidst the chaos of blabbering thoughts lives a silent melody, a genial song, a poetic essence, where this and that sound the same and kiss and bliss go out of rhyme. Beauty they say is in the eye of beholder, so behold every futile image and splash it on a canvas. Watch it, caress it, embrace it till the last colour of it fades, and then behold another image. Stop running through the recesses of mind..Crack them from the inside and revel in the sight of a thousand butterflies fleeing from their cocoons..
Copyright © 2010 Rishabh Shah. All rights reserved.
midnight prague Dec 2010
speak about a girl who faced decease
after walking blistered in the woods of tall alabaster skeletons
moving they're boney jaws up and down very slowly speaking to my smallest phys- co
they stand like brute columns
taller and wiser than the willow
skinny torture chambers of sick delight
slithering words leak like snakes who hold
a richer venom in this life
they bite and leave open sores
those sores are were the orchids leak out
fluttering down her skin so softly
you can hear the pedals opening in the still calm
she closes her eyes and smiles
while giving birth to the entities
that plague the very ******* dirt under her short nails
those flowers created a whole new beauty in me
the images grasped so tightly in my mind
but never again for my compassionate eyes to see
her body a inferno
where she places gargoyles on her boney shoulders
my loved ones, beckoning to me on my white altars
they say, hush hush
we shall not speak aloud of the murders
the dispensful ones she sweats out on hot summer days
she moves on
always
but then theres days that settle like tight tunnels
almost impossible to get through
so I starve myself so that I dont suffocate within them
so that I may get to the end
the light, and the start of a new day
but I come out weak,starving,and heavy with dismay
time and time again she faces the rather
mortal creature of her responsive
yet mute sanity
figured with the parents of all her young ones
childrens memories
ebbing like purified water
cleansing everything but that ***** mind
young ***** girl
with a white heart
stuffed into this suffocated box
that she burried underneath that one tree
in front of her house when she was only 7 years old
shes heard it time and time again faintly
somewhere in the wind, blabbering the brittle words
please come find me
but she goes on with her life
not finding the time or courage
and ignores that sorrowful plea
Ravi Hemnani Jun 2013
In this miniature world,
There reside billions of souls,
Each one with a story to be told,
Good, bad, all kind of memories they behold.

Passing through the streets,
It was indeed a beautiful night,
There i saw her under the street lamp,
Wondered what were her story and her purpose at this point of time.

I came close, stood beside her,
With no hint of shyness she arrives,
Called for some money,
Pleasures like never before, she claimed.

Now i could see her hideous display,
Dressed to showcase her body,
She smiled at me, pulling me towards her,
That was the time, I met the queen of the nights.

Puffed a cloud of smoke on my face,
I saw her eyes had a shining blaze,
What i wanted with her was still unclear,
I was there for a purpose but now I cant seem to steer.

From top to bottom, she was different,
Nothing was matching and there was no fear,
I was sure to spend my time with her,
All I could say, "Are you game for the night my dear?"

We made a contract to stay together,
It was for hours and not forever,
Lead me through an alley to the magical door,
We entered a world to which I was unknown before.

There were rooms, rooms and some more i could see,
With the same signs at the door knobs as i could perceive,
"Whatever’s happening behind, we are having a good time"
I was following her to conceal myself from the outer world.

777, I read on the door,
We entered the room and everything was neatly kept,
A perfect decor,
She handed me a bottle of scotch promising me a roller coaster ride through all.

I wondered what number was I for her,
She seemed experienced with the looks, i thought,
She sat besides me till i gulped down the whiskey shot,
And there was the question, "What do you want to do? How do you want to start?"

Blabbering in my head, I was speechless at first,
I wanted to know her rather than starting over,
A fool, a *****, a waste **** has to come to brothel, they might think,
That was me i guess but people said I stink.

Her previous clients had specific demands she said,
Some wanted her to pretend dead till they are done with her,
Some acted as heinous souls and wanted to abuse her,
They all had their needs and she satisfied them for real.

She screamed as per their wish i learnt,
She was willing ***** as it was the part of her curriculum,
Each night, strange men,
All this she did, just to pay the rent.

I told her it was her wish tonight,
She came close and whispered, "You wouldn’t be disappointed Mister!!",
My clothes were off leaving me to be naked for real,
All the jobs were done with great deal of satisfaction.

Her body was a wonderland and I was lost,
Perfect bosoms, perfect shape, everything was perfect i thought,
The clock was ticking and the end was near,
Suddenly inside me was a tangible fear.

Time was up, it was the moment to leave,
She lay there naked, it wasnt a dream,
She asked for a price, I paid, I left,
There were all kind of voices I heard on my way back.

The ****** was high, so were the noises,
Some cried and some happily dealt with it,
So many souls were pushed into becoming the toys for others,
Was there any identity they carried, will they ever be respected?

What some people did it for pleasure, they did it for money,
At the tender age of nuturing, they were loosing,
Why such a disturbing thought after such a great night,
"Will i ever be respected?" were the words inscribed on the wall besides.

I left the door opened as i walked outside,
Under every lamp, the pavement was flooded with them,
They lived there, ate and fought for survival with their might,
They were queen of the nights.

Walking down the lane,
The thought was bubbling like about to burst,
Will i ever come back to satisfy my thirst,
To the place where people come to unleash their monsters.
Kenshō Jul 2015
I care not for the currents of the world.
Many a time have I seen them pass like a drifting sound.
Save yourself the blabbering and plant yourself remote.
Demons cannot scream when no one's around.
-
soul Jul 2018
You gave me peace
or it was just in my dream
you went away in few
left my broken heart to sew
your words echoed in the closed room
With black dots blinding my vision
Promises to together forever
Were these only me who swore?
Or you were just blabbering  Like a broken tape
Repeating in my ears again and again
Love i felt
Was it all a lie??
Those sweet messages
Were they all fake??
Walls are mocking at me
that we painted grey
Road we travelled are asking
" where is the other one?"
Benches are felling lonely
Without our chirping
Being with you was like a rollar coster ride,
Sometimes high and sometimes low
Too short to last forever
Past Memories are bluring
As the heart is fixing
Hurts so much when they chose someone over u
and remembering all this **** makes  you fell lonely again
Nikita Apr 2016
Somewhere in me
there exists a being
made up of all the reasons
that insist me
to stop loving you.

At times when I ignore it
and instead look away
towards you
It stares me hard,
starts blabbering abuse
as I keep looking at you.

But at the end of the day
when I am home,
heart-broken
by your indifference,
it reaches me back
wipes my tears
and puts me to sleep
in a blanket of lessons.

That being,
made of reasons.
Emma Feb 2015
I'm always one
for running out of words to say
or forgetting how to speak
I want to be noticed
or listened to
someone to hear me out
with the blabbering that escapes my lips.
I'm always one
for being invisible
or fading into the back drop
because I never speak up
but I don't think anyone would care
anyway.
I'm always one
for craving attention
not the "center of the attention" attention
just the
"I'd care if you were gone" attention
but yet

I'm always one
to be forgotten.

-e.w.
lloyd britton Feb 2015
Hearing music,
And songs.
Centimetres cubic,
And prongs.

Feeling deep bass lines,
Drinking the blues,
Echoing shines
Eloquent muse.

Blabbering brooks,
And useless tongues,
Deceiving looks,
And exploding lungs.

Seeing colours saturated,
With patterns that prickle,
Sensing hues evaporated,
With a silly tickle.
Erika Soerensen Jan 2015
The weather was unusually bright and intoxicating for a late March day in Seattle.  A beautifully lit sun was shining majestically upon the city, revealing shadowed sidewalks and snow capped mountains - a reminder of what season we had most recently endured. The Space Needle stood as brilliant and bold as a postcard photo, while tourists shuffled with dogged determination in hopes of capturing that most perfect moment of their soon-to-be memory.  Despite the sun's brilliance, there was still a windy chill in the Emerald City which required more than a mere sweater.

As I waited patiently for my bus, I noticed a woman occupying the covered bus stop across the street.  At first glance she seemed like every other "normal" woman in wait - she was bundled up in an early spring overcoat, her thickly braided hair was piled atop her head and embellished with an exotic scarf, and she had the most gorgeous red colored lipstick covering her full lips.  She wore black slacks and a long ankle length black sweater. At closer glance,  I saw she was accompanied by a child's stroller full of bulky items.  The entire thing was wrapped tightly with black plastic garbage bags to keep it covered and dry.  I then noticed the bottom hem of her slacks were filthy and terribly frayed, and her sock filled sandals were near mutilated and worn thin.  She began speaking loudly and aggressively, flailing her arms about.  She seemed to be having an emphatic conversation on what appeared to be a broken cell phone - the back of which was completely exposed - showing a missing battery.

I wondered how she got to where she was in life?  What had happened to make her lose her mind, herself?  I was engulfed with both empathy and fear, knowing that I could be just a few bad life choices or circumstances away from where she stood.  My thoughts then pictured her as a tiny, newborn baby - innocent, pure, and full of new life and possibilities.  She was once someone's pride and joy, or perhaps someone's honest mistake.  As my mind flirted with such images she suddenly became more restless, walking back and forth while expressively talking to "someone" on that non-working cellphone.  I then wondered what her dreams were as a child, her strengths and her creative gifts?  I grew angry pondering who or what made her go from an angelic child of the universe to a blabbering idiot whose only belongings were a broken cell phone, a baby carriage, and a pretty ******-off alternate reality.

At that very moment a heard a noise that sounded a lot like a skateboard.  As I turned to my left, I saw an incredibly handsome and well-dressed young man pushing himself in a wheelchair.  As we both caught each other's eyes, there was an innocent moment of mutual attraction. 

He was gorgeous, like John F. Kennedy Jr. gorgeous.  

We smiled at one another, but his smile had an air of apology and shame coloring its edges - as if he was newly destined to his life in that chair, but was trying his best to boldly accept it.  I wondered if my smile was also colored, unconsciously, with ignorant sympathy and sorrow for his lot in life.  

However, it saddened me to think of how harsh life can be for someone in his predicament.  How his good looks, skills, and charms could possibly be overshadowed by his disability  - and society's quick judgements to those who are surviving them. 

As he wheeled past me with the strength and determination of an Ivy League rowing champ, my heart opened wider while my eyes welled up with tears.  Here were two true survivors thriving as best they could in their current circumstances. Such interactions seem like enormous lessons in universal acceptance. Each of these individuals has the option, as we all do, to put a gun in their mouths or lay upon the train tracks and end the ****** card life has dealt them.  Instead, they are choosing to shamelessly BE at this moment in time, regardless of the unfair advantage life has given them in it's little game. 

Who knew you could learn so much about gratitude, humility, and acceptance from a chance encounter at a bus stop with a handsome, well-dressed man in a wheelchair, and a proud homeless woman with the loveliest shade of crimson upon her lips....
Do this and do that
You can't go and stop
Just to chit and chat

You think you are allowed
Then let me remind you dear
You are not, as long as I'm around

No matter how hard you cry
How much you've helped
It's never enough, don't even try

You were always alone
You never got friends
And they will never stay

Those monsters that you tied
Tears that you tried to hide
They won't care, no matter how hard you try

You are not enough nor will ever be
Just do what you have to
Coz if you'll resist and insist, it'll just drive you crazy

Let's walk home today
Dark is coming tonight
Let's call it a day

You're too loud, too proud, such a *****
You don't deserve everything you got
Deserved to be ditched

They only stay because of pity
Pity that you are witty
But you are lonely

They don't like you in their lives
You ****** them with your presence
Why are you still even alive?

Oh, so people such as you exist
People who don't belong
And unwanted but still insists

Do you really wanna know what you are?
You are nothing but a trash, a lonely person
Proud? Loud? Hates crowd? We don't care

Who are you for us to even care?
You keep blabbering nonsense
Such as "don't you dare!" then you'll give us an angry glare?

Those were just a few
They're the voices in my head
And only a few have a clue
Alexsandra Danae Oct 2011
Words, phrases, exclamations...
great efforts to birth well-articulated strings
sentences, paragraphs going nowhere
just evaporating into the air
- after their pleading, violent spewing forth!
mad workings of mouths and lips, of tongues
raging torrents of language
worthless, pointless, meaningless...
one could say anything -
say everything!
enunciate; flowing, eloquent
or ranted, rambled
lightning-speed creation: disastrous!
no matter to be coherent -
to be nonsensical
speech is of absolutely no value;
devoid of all worth
perfectly useless, audible abyss...

So I'm finished and ******* surrender
it's been a journey traveled far too long
hope has long been departed and gone
painfully overdue, it's undeniably time
-So I'll shut my ******* blabbering, jibbering jaws
and I'll do it RIGHT NOW!
Sushant Bhujel Apr 2017
A new born to some years old
Cute, happy and smiling soul
Words weren't a need at all
No complaints or demands I recall

I don't know what and how I thought
I don't know if I cared or not
But as I learned understanding what people said
I started confusing myself in my head

Listening and talking the talks, I learnt
Thinking weird things, do's and don'ts
Restless my mind
Never ending my thoughts
Shame on this mind
For not understanding
The understanding disease I'd caught

All began unraveling with what people said
And the talks in this mind that stayed
Sowed the very first of them in the mind
To reap every word and it's kinds

It did reap
I enjoyed listening a lot
I enjoyed blabbering words
I enjoyed thinking the thoughts

But what it reaped
Ripped my peace of mind
And
Now
When I try to keep it quiet
Inside
I feel
The peace....
Peacefully died!

— The End —