Every day I think of you,
But it’s just a matter of time,
I can’t keep going through life like this,
You will never be mine.
I will forever love you,
Though you don’t feel the same,
You can’t help who you fall in love with,
It's not a pick and choose game,
If I could tell you one final thing,
I wouldn't know what to say...
I have so many things to talk about,
But my life has just decayed.
I would tell you that I loved you,
Not that you would care,
So I would kiss your cheek and walk away,
And that would be my dare.
I can't keep going on like this,
My pain is just too much,
I would curl up in the corner,
Unmoving. Losing my sense of touch.
I'd let depression pull me under,
Like the sea with tidal waves,
Or hurt myself dramatically,
And join some other slaves.
I will do anything you ask of me,
Even apply a shining blade,
Let the crimson blood ooze down my neck,
My life isn't worth the save.
I would die for you my lover,
But only when you know,
I’ve never stopped loving you,
Since all those years ago...
I didn't know it was possible...
To want to literally rip out all of the hairs from my head.
To want to run down the hallways and scream until my lungs ooze blood.
To want to greet death as an old friend.
I just want this day to be over.
I just want this lifetime to be over.
I want to start out fresh.
If only I could make a new start.
Why can't I?
Because life is just too hard right now.
It would be irresponsible for me to walk away
And never come back.
It would be unfair to those whom I have connected with so well.
It would not be too wise to drop it all on the group and make new promises.
I have duties to fulfill.
But how can I even fulfill them if I don't have the drive to do so?
Don't even try to help me,
Because it will do no good.
I'm the only one who can complete my tasks...
Good luck to me,
Until I can wash my hands of the blood I have drawn.
My mind swims with thoughts of you.
Bright light chase behind to magnify a vision of loveliness.
Bless with a coke bottle figure, dimple and a voice that angels envy, she’s irresistibly hot
Caught in the madness I scream, “Outstanding she’s the one.”
Corny lines drip from loose lips.
How many times will I look and ponder as she leisurely walks by?
I paint the sky blue not because it my favorite color but it represent my pain, as useless words continue to ooze.
Lead pencil break, I do too.
I sharpen to be near her.
Liking her style I move in closer and smile.
Her eyes twinkle.
I’ve figure it out, caterpillars, cocoons then butterflies.
In a field of flowers we’re meant to entwine.
-McArthur Hunt Jr.
I want to be a writer.
I want to be a filmmaker.
I want to be invincible.
I want to see it all.
I want to look into your eyes and see something completely unexpected.
I want to dig my fingers through the dirt and discover some ancient secret.
I want to be famous.
I want to be completely unknown.
I want to be seen by you. Really seen.
I want to run my fingers across every inch of your naked body.
I want to run through every hill and valley.
I want to learn to live with the pain and in turn live with unfathomable grace.
I want to forgive.
I want to be forgiven.
I want to move forward with confidence and faith in all the uncertainty.
I want to look into the mirror and be at peace with what I see looking back at me.
I want to learn to live in the present.
I want to...
I want to take all these wants and forget them. I want to grab them and crush them with my hands. I want to watch them ooze between my fingers and drip into a puddle on the cracked sidewalk. I want to watch these wants evaporate in the blazingly bright morning sun. Watch the frail ribbons of steam rise until they become undefined and indistinguishable from the puffs of white moving across the everything.
I like a whole lip-smacking smorgasbord of words,
such as preposterous and scrumptious,
sumptuous and curious,
priapic, satyric and seraphic,
satyriasis and mimesis. Now this mimesis is the imitative
representation of nature and behavior in art and literature,
which is a pretentious way of trying to say what us writers do.
But hey, we don't just mimic things, we can be sagacious and salacious, too.
Accordingly, I also like cunnilingus, which has a liquid sound,
and I'm not being facetious to suggest that
cunnilingus has a close connection to callipygous.
Then I like curmudgeonly and bodacious,
loquacious, precocious and pulchritudinous,
lubricious and fugacious,
scripturient, radiance, iridescence and magnificence,
lissome, lithe and languid,
shimmering and diaphanous, effulgent and evanescent,
flamboyant, fandango and flibbertigibbet,
(but this is difficult to say when you’re drunk),
voluptuous and vertiginous,
sumptuous, slithery, sexy and glistening.
And when I include crepuscular, strumpet and strawberry,
I may as well add whipped cream
as well, because this can be laid on in dollops,
and dollops is really an excellent word.
This is why I also like dreamy and creamy.
Then, slurping and finger-licking are wonderfully juicy
words, and there should be nothing wrong
with a boisterous burp and a belly laugh, because
we don't want Crepitus,
the Roman god of flatulence, to speak up on our behalf.
Those Romans. A god for flatulence? You've gotta laugh.
I'd much prefer a more rambunctious god
like Bacchus to appear in my epitaph.
I also like anthimeria to mix up grammar
and make things all the merrier.
Drooling is highly evocative, too,
and it's not being provocative to observe
that even weapons drool
when they're in the wrong hands.
Then, the ululations that follow are most haunting
when they're whipped by the wind.
However, I'm really very flexible about words,
because in my lexicon, low moaning noises are OK, too.
These sounds come from the chord of creation
which is a sort of reverberation from the time of
primordial ooze, which I would like to squish between my toes.
Then there's protozoa, spermatozoa and also
wriggling flagella everywhere. So there.
But words don't even need to make sense,
because sweet nothings can say everything.
Just panting together is a powerful way of communicating
and heavy breathing can be erotic, maybe even esoteric.
I've also decided that fecund is my second favorite word after love.
Fecund sounds abrupt, but it buds magnificently
in breasts and bellies to burgeon in absolute abundance,
everywhere. This brings me to ejaculation, which I like, too.
I'm also partial to proud words, including bold, bulging and
brazen. I like some big words, too, like brobdingnagian,
although I don't believe I'm sesquipedalian.
Then we should celebrate salivate,
along with onomatopoeia that helps choose some words here.
Orgasm is also good. Orgasm is a sort of rippling word
that rhymes with spasm. Both sound deceptively simple,
but by golly, they can be intensely gripping.
And really, it's alright to writhe to this occasion
because all of us writers should endeavor
to have some good writhing in our oeuvre.
Or even some bad writhing can be worth trying, too.
We just need to start somewhere.
Now. The words I don’t like include no, can’t, never,
stop and mustn’t. Also, irascible, indescribable,
unmentionable and ineffable, incoherent, intractable,
immutable and impotent, leaking body parts,
not to mention importune and misfortune,
as well as unthinkable, which is an oxymoron.
Gawping, gaping, cavernous and cretinous, obsequious,
grovelling, pursed lips, circuitous,
obfuscation and isolation, unpalatable,
violence, cruelty, and incontinence,
should also get the heave-ho.
And I definitely don't like parsimonious and mendicant,
which are miserable words.
Quitting is no good, too,
and shut the fuck up and piss off should also be taboo.
Also, hopeless is, really, well, it's a dead end
because it denies hope, and hope is buoyant and boundless.
Sometimes, hope is all we have.
But the word I dislike most is cunt,
because this is an insulting word, and
to be taxonomical,
the negative score of this word is astronomical.
Hate is also right up there on this list. Hate is abominable
because it tries to destroy love, and love is indomitable.
of them all.
Mike T Minehan
I hate to admit such a thing a loud.
Do I dare say it..?
Dare say such words that will crumble me again.
Destroy the very being I have worked so hard to rebuild?
You don't deserve these fucking words.
But, no matter how hard I try to remove and destroy the memories of you,
these words just ooze from my very lips.
A cut so deep that no wrap, tape, clothe of any kind could stop the gush.
Starting with my heart, it continues up through my throat,
to my mouth,
through my lips,
to the ground where your very feet stand.
I look up to you, looking in your eyes as you stare down to the cesspool I just delivered.
My heart jumps the giant leap.
Waiting for your answer..
Post-it notes are a breath of fresh air
The remind me that I should care
Of things little and big
Like my dreams of buying a wig
They seem to be the epitome of innocence
But at times, they ooze wicked essence
Intentions are what post-its are about
The truth it is, without a doubt
They look fancy even when stuck to a tree
Or when thrown on top of a pile of debris
When pen touches paper, on its journey does the post-it embark
Like pollen, may it cross the seven seas, stuck to a majestic lark
Post-its in and of themselves are quite sad
'Cause most of them are but reminders of resolutions gone bad
It's existence is nothing short of poetic
Except when used for cheesy love notes; then it's just pathetic
Her hand fell in the cool waters
she felt free and alive
her red hair cascaded in the sunlight
and for that moment I was in heaven.
She smiled at me with so much love
and I wanted to cry
she is that magic you never want to loose
with all the love she does ooze
She is a fairy princess
in a pink frilly dress
I adore her
and wish she was mine
My path is not hers
and to cross hers was a gift
that brief moment
that brief moment in heaven
I will never forget
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
"Isn't that so?", he said, drinking at the bar.
"I'm not proud of it, but I must admit,
Should another wail about his wound or scar,
Or become steeped in it,
I would perhaps offer him smooth advice,
Or regard it as something approaching vice,
Or as something worth the turning away.
But should something similar befall me,
Difference is a tree with leaves that glisten,
Difference has a bird that sings for me;
Others are supposed to stop and listen.
Or if unpleasant words ooze from my lips
And worm their way into another's ears,
I'm not deserving of reproach or sneers.
(For doesn't he know I said it in jest?
Poor boy, it's so hard for him to forgive.)
But should another's words ooze likewise,
It is not a joke or sharp wittiness,
But a form of poison, aggressiveness,
And others, by the tree with leaves that glisten,
Are supposed to stop and listen.
A homeless person's waved away in thought;
The starving, destitute are far away,
At worst, an unpleasant cliche.
But a quarrel with my wife, or my business
In financial decay, can stir the tree
Where others should stop and listen to me."
it refuses to leave
a lashing soaring tide
the frozen etch of past
on ripples of my mind
the shattered reverie
forged into scripted moves
fading out as weeks
yet vivid i assume
which mirrors as a rift
between the sea of love
with turgid smiles of
a pair of sunken hearts
dissected by the world
be lost unto our fate
as oceans conceal pearls
across the breadth of life
by breed of hailing wise
who pompously reject
shackle our maiden flight
constrain the gayle till dawn
repress the blooms of time
yet shadowed by romance
still dream along shall i
behope a spring of sun
which fills this yawning void
behold the scents of spring
beneath your cursive smile
to wait upon a day
yearning for misty greens
dressed up in coils of love
to ooze a sight of heaven
to bleed a laugh again
even as stale horizons
a day which breathes upon
brilliance of tranquil nights
surround a whirl of stars
and kiss our florid sky
as bristling autumns flow
from her dreamy eyes
my maestro shall compose
the adagio of life