it's dark where you are
it's cold and the ghosts are unwelcoming and every part of you is tense and screaming and reaching out
but it's hard to reach out when you lose everything beyond your visceral reactions
and i'm sorry and i'm sorry and i'm sorry
the distinction between everything you believe to be true blurs with the allegories your mind creates
and you're swallowed by an all-encompassing darkness that picks and pokes at you until your scabbed and bruised without even the energy to swat it away
you lose the hope that somewhere, something is calling out to you
but to your ears, it's all distorted and the foundation is cracking and the floor boards are creaking and the windows are letting all the cold air in but you still can't breathe
the slight pressure of a hand in yours is nothing compared to the pressure that lies just behind your eyes
eyes that used to blaze with passion are dwindling and dying
the cold draft that whispers through your mind has blown out the candles and you didn't even get to make a wish
you'd wish for the flickering streetlights to taunt you into the path of oncoming headlights, or maybe just the energy to grab a bottle of something to drown out this feeling you just don't understand
and you're slipping and you're falling and you're stuck in a well and there's no way out and the rain is pouring down and the water's rising and rising and rising and i'm sorry and i'm sorry and the water, oh god, it's rising and it's cold and you're shivering and it's crippling and it hurts and it's suffocating and this is your life and these are your thoughts and There's No Way Out
He was for long on the river sailing since sunrise
When under afternoon clouds the hamlet caught his eyes
Wearied by the sojourn to that land a faraway call
The green beckoned to rest his oars for a leisurely stroll.
He sat under a banyan to heal his limbs of pain
Darker grew the clouds the winds hinted rain
His heart too was aching the heart of a lonely man
For he had left behind his sweetheart his beloved woman.
It’s not known if clouds swelled in his dreamy eyes
His mind was too obsessed for the Empire’s rise
There he stood on the riverbank an alien on another’s soil
That he must till to build a kingdom paying with sweat of toil.
He remembered his three children their skin’s blended tan
Their rustic eyes reflecting their mother the one his woman
He reminisced under banyan shade how he fell in love with her
Only if he were a little late she would’ve been burned at the pyre.
The man loved that sleepy hamlet built there a factory
The trade post became a city earned place in history
The river still meanders laden with the tears of pity
That swelled in his eyes for the woman he saved from suttee.
He saved an Indian woman from Suttee, married her and had three children with her.
My obsession lays only with Calvin Klein.
A proper noun with capitals.
A drifting strong aroma.
Another obsession in my world.
Is sometimes somewhat lighter.
I am an obsessed pusher.
Obsessed only with my pen.
If I can create an image well.
Then hell so be it.
Real people I don't like much.
It's only words I wish to touch.
Desire fires obsession.
It's just a bunch of words.
Sweet strawberries so succulent bring words of summertime.
Clouds weigh down around my head
Dark winter days of misery.
Moments when I wish I was dead.
I put my pen to work.
Writing darkness scarily black.
About bursting eyes.
Where no-one dies,
Except emotion cruelly slaughtered.
By the one known only in kindness.
As the smiling devil's devil's daughter
Definitely no relation.
Just the mother of eccentricity.
Kindness in persona.
To be so dark.
That's very rare.
In a heart that's ribbon bound.
I write my words with tender care.
Sometimes, just to remind the world that I am still there.
Moreover, like a hornet.
I cheese you off and get stuck in your hair!
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
I am shylock,
In the attic barely used,
Barren exuberant floorboards creak in exhalation,
Of your footsteps.
There you find me,
In the dust;
A wooden trunk with brass fixings,
Didn't I tell you I held a million treasures?
You breathe in the sunlight,
From the round attic window,
Preening itself in your vision basked in gold.
I am shylock,
You moved a gilded hand,
Guided by a unknown force of union with the lock,
The air is silent around you,
The room is intrepid in its wanton stranger,
Who dares to enter this chamber of dust.
I am shylock,
You take my fingertips from the cup of a hand I had placed gently on your cheek,
The night before I had told you,
Of this room,
You gently take my fingers and place it on the lock.
I am shylock,
There is a gentle click,
That soon awashes the abated room,
That sways into a tsunami of grandeur,
Of history, emotion, silence and tears,
And it consumes the dust,
The acrid air and essence of my fears settle on your eyes and the homely mouth.
I am shylock,
You know how I came about,
You know how this room became accustomed to the dust,
And the floorboards, the dust,
And the window, the dark,
You are breathing me,
The trunk is open and waiting,
And at the bottom,
A ragdoll awaits your palm,
Your strength, your gentleness and patience,
This is my shy,
This is my lock,
And you entered the room and consumed me.
Burst through the door, cut down the labyrinth,
and found me.
Picking me up,
Became me, attended me, held me,
with grace sensitive to my touch,
with the intention of a protector to my defence,
And the brazen warrior to my battle.
Now I am entered and countered.
Protected and put together,
Unbound and in your arms;
Now I am open and free.
My ragdoll, your love, and me.
together I and you become, we.
" Breathing Heavily,
Shivering in the darkness
No presence of light"
"Hands are all shaky
Crawling in the dark"
Her eyes dilated with fear
May God bless me...with Nobility
Futility reminds me of her ability
The Devil"s dress she wears with no contest
I must confess under her stares I'm a mess
Virility blinds thee so very viciously
Temporarily binds me with insanity
Confined is my mind, bewitched by her dance
God hath designed, but the devil"s in her glance
Many men have fell, they never stood a chance
Angels now in hell, still mesmerized in a trance
For you toll thy bell, and try and cry romance
Now forever dwell, forbidden to ever advance
If chivalry has died, then she choked its very last breath
Her Vanity and pride combined, provoked suicidal death
Perfection lies soundly in the sand
Tranquilly next to me on the shore
But if it's you that holds her hand
You too, shall be cursed forevermore
The Sorceress, Jacob's Most Beloved
she had eyes for me
I knew it
she knew it
man among boys
stare beguiling no accident
of course, her eyes hid,
but knew it anyway, for
her warmth dripped into my body,
resting happily within my centre.
her sorcery, profound,
when she cast the words,
she cast them instantly
without human fore thought,
thus pleasing and being pleasing,
when her branded magi magic
home in other people's minds
did come to rest.
the spells cast
in and on me
own me as much
as I now am possessed,
and in possession of them,
though which is more powerful
for I am stained
in a quiet hamlet,
in an ancient thorp,
the lambs, white and happy
prance on the commons,
the El god's angel disguised,
fresh and unbroken,
I observe the only one,
spotted, stained, like me,
open hid on this earth.
I am my beloved's,
and my beloved is mine,
mine very own sorceress.
you say i am not the same person
i say one day i woke up honest
and i do not know how to undo experience
my own eyes and ears and nose and mouth
cannot be undone at the moment
how do you do it?
push that pressure to the back of your mind
how do you all manage to laugh with a straight face
at things that you know aren't really funny
i can't fathom it. where you go
when you are stomping and ripping
and bloody and jeering
and laughing and running
i apologize if it doesn't make sense
that i can't play along
but playing along
just doesn't make sense
i could never win a grammy
with this tight lipped smile
laughing at the expense of others
makes me feel more like a paparazzi
placating insecurities for currency
leeching off the vulnerability
you may not think i'm smart but
i am smart enough to know this is not 'normal'
and there is nothing wrong with staring at you in the rearview
and saying "i wish that was really sarcasm"
i'll tell you the truth
and you don't have to like it
and you don't have to like me
and i don't have to like you
because if there's one thing i know about myself
it's that i don't dislike anyone
until they show off their callousness
hoping it's the right party trick
to gain respect
we watch comedy tv, and you are worried
by the way my spine cracks
when i let out a uncontrollable laugh
dragging on, beginning to spill, and as i try to quell it
my whole body shakes with the pressure
of it bubbling inside of me
you feel all of this beside me
a small volcano with a bent back
quaking absorbed by pillows and flowers and cushions
not quite right for you
wondering why i couldn't laugh like this earlier
when we were not alone
everyone is looking for something more porous
more willing to let in effortlessly
and absorb tirelessly
that can simply laugh like a stream bubbles
and let go of the undercurrent
yet we are sharp and uneven and course like logs
and the weight of our actions carries much further
being shunted downstream by tides of gravity
every intention runs it's course
every intention speaks volumes
if you feel that in your core
every day you will uncontrollably think of how
every intention defines the quality of the laughter
stuck in someone else's head
and you will save it for things that are funny
You said I miss you.
You hang in my head.
Missed me beside you in your empty bed
In front of my eyes like a carrot.
With love he teased.
She teased too.
Now he's deceased.
But he is not.
Truly sadly madly dead.
Can't make his spirit leave my head.
Hits me between my eyes.
He lies and dies.
In my hell.
You are not dead.
In my heaven.
You'd still be there.
You scratched my surface with your wit.
You my love.
The drunken twit.
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Nothing So Sensuous
Last night, I went back in time and met Alice Liddell in 1862.
Alice Pleasance Liddell, known for most of her adult life by her married name, Alice Hargreaves, inspired the children's classic Alice's Adventures in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll, whose protagonist Alice is said to be named after her. See her, greet her, in my banner photo, and all will clear.
nothing so sensuous
as to watch a woman,
nay, a woman child,
brush her hair in the mirror.
more than sensual,
all my senses
luxuriating in a gift that cannot be
her head titled, then thrown
from her chest as far back
and your eyes see waves
of chestnut in
and the smile on her face
for the knowing that she has
in capturing all of you.
mesmerizer, she languidly strokes
her hair, though it needs it not.
no, she brushes you to your
your eyes, see her eyes,
in the mirror,
the woman's sensuality
every sense alerted,
you body fired, beyond
she has you,
and then she asks...
would you brush my hair?
have you ever been in love?
have you ever had to tell someone
you no longer loved them
though you still did?
Oh yes, Oh may I?
yes, with you totally, at this very instant.
yes, for I must leave you and return to
my time, my age,
150 years from now
the only way I can do that
is to lie to myself,
no I do not love you
not that way,
for the agony of this
is such ecstasy,
that I can only dare
write of it in my time
lest I fulfill it in ours.
Also, must make reservation well in advance. Small time travel machine accommodates only 15 people....and currently the only "destination" is Victorian England.