Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
A deadly combination
Of lust, of passion, of love.
Deadly, poisonous, treacherous.
Worst of all, stupidly contagious.
Compassion for another because of another can’t exist,
suffocated by gyrating passion.
Passion serves one, not both…
Selfish, passion encircles the one consumed, feeding the addiction.
Addicts chase the high because for a little while the world is as it should be
In the eyes of the beholder.

Love sighs as the well runs dry.
Throw down the bucket as you may,
the water will not appear.
Acceptance is the hardest thing.
Giving up? Not at all.
Only people with nothing to gain can
Give up.
Accepting, letting go, moving forward.
The steps of progress in self-realization.
Leave behind the fire of love that
consumes the heart and ravages the mind,
preoccupies the body.
Chase that fire which refines.
I await to wake from this comatose state.
Edward Coles Nov 2013
My desk is scattered with
notes, drafts, prototypes,
of my love letters to the world.

Ugly, thin spider-scrawls
of hieroglyphic ink,
pleading for my future self
to flesh the bone,

of the skeleton in my thoughts.

Beside them, the trusted red wine
to chase down the pressures
of the world, hold them in line.

Each sip, a godsend,
each bottle a promise
that love will never end.

The simple pleasure of a desk;
a confounding beauty,
the collage to your life
and all that preoccupies you.

Your personality is laid before you;
each picture, beer bottle, notebook,
a fragment of yourself.

My desk is scattered in
the loves, hates and frustrations
of my place within this world.

Ugly, thin spider-scrawls
of unintelligible ink,
pleading for some higher power
to flesh the bone,

of the skeleton that is myself.
Debanjana Saha Mar 2017
Why do I choose darkness over light?
Is it that my brain is wired like that?
Is there actually so called darkness as my mind serves.
why is that my thoughts preoccupies over my mind and heart.
I see, hear nothing but a cry.
I have forgotten what happiness is as the days passes by,
And I'm entangled with my thoughts deserted not to be seen or heard.
At the end I isolate myself so that no one finds me!
Its enough for now, me and my thoughts
please choose different pathways
Its hard for me to be like that
crying out for help but in silence!
mystery  of my brain which no one gets it!
thrcy Oct 2013
You say you like me
But I see you falling for her
You say I make you smile
For she can make you happy
I can make your day
She can make your life
You say I'm great
We both know she's way better
You say I can make you better
But she can change you
You say I'm the newest chapter in your life
Her, she's the **** whole book
You say I'm no nightmare to you
But she's your dream girl
You say you think about me sometimes
But I know she preoccupies your thoughts all the time
You keep saying I'm the one
But really she's your only one
Robert Kirwan Apr 2010
Grip tightens.
Loss of appetite,
For food, for fun, for mischief
All but for self loathing.

Something so simple ,
Made so awkward.
More than just trivial,
All so hard.

I could be so happy,
Elated,
Infectious in fact.

Instead questioning so much
Too much
Appointment? Yae of Nae?
Arranged or by chance?

If chance does arrive....
Take it?
Or be it gone like the wind;
Never seen but felt by all.

I know it
It preoccupies both our minds
I know it
But self doubt is unrelenting
Questioning, always questioning
All too noticeable.
All too late.

I know.
Mateuš Conrad Oct 2015
but i too found man not content with
the classical philosophical approach
of standing outside of all time and space,
inevitable was the final product,
both the monkey theory and the big bang theory,
so in turn man turned against this interpretation
of philosophy, of standing outside all space
and time, which also produced the centimetre
and the second and the hour,
so thus modern man decided to stand outside
his biological processes, to only have to
heave a heavy breath into the barricade of psychology,
psychology - that metaphysical biology -
and there he was cornered, having escaped the biological
budging and nagging to only hear of the notion
that his breath was below a dog’s bark or a cat’s meow,
apparently the silent superiority was due a critical itemisation,
and thus dissected by the sometimes unfathomable logic
made only to convince and dupe, there was stood
within all space and time and only outside the logic of both
body and soul. will no man arise to stand once more
outside of all space and time, brushing away the theories
of einstein’s space-time and once more engage with
the measured ****** and the measured psychic?
i could fathom an interpretation as already apparent, plainer,
with all the modern day excesses of the sensual,
but then force-feeding the chickens will not make the chickens
produce bigger eggs - then i endear myself and ask -
why is psychology still only quantifying? it’s exhausting me
by revealing so many facts that it has no reason to suggest
a quality to them as either harming or beneficial:
a neighbour that lives 2 miles down the country road
is better than a neighbour that lives 2 metres on the other side
of the claustrophobic suburbia?
i say the former - since there’s a road to travel rather than
merely a point to stare at and give conversation its dues.
thus by standing outside all time and space i can reveal
that modern man is struggling with the failed cartesian escapism
of splitting body and mind, failed because of the dualism,
that famous failed escapism - failure upon the split splinter or hair;
but modern man was not content with the ancient two π equations
π1 = hour minute second, π2 = up down left / right, diagonal,
instead man wanted to complicate the whole utility of time & space
with ≈ 0.306 601 parsecs and liposome / dendrimer / fullerene...
after all, all those kantian negation units preceding or tailing off
(i.e. 0 is a kantian symbol for negation) had to fill this vast chasm of
both yawn (space) and hum (time), which explains man’s comfort
but the greater discomfort to be standing outside the two logics already
mentioned; no matter - a revision of hölderlin preoccupies me more -
is not my heart sanctified, more beautiful my life,
now that i love?

(that i began to love the few, abandoning
my once formerly prized ***** beneath the ivory cage, a cavity,
that could have embraced almost anyone if not everyone,
by the insistence of all being the grazing and darting gazes
of the passerby?
is not my heart sanctified, more beautiful in life,
now that i love only the few?)
winter Feb 2014
That look in your eye preoccupies my mind
Do you even know how raw you are?

Staring at me behind that lightening
How has it come this far?

Your hips are glowing
My heart is moaning
Nothing about this is real.
Bob B Nov 2016
Trump continues his ongoing tirade
With baseless claims of voter fraud.
The more he rants and raves the more
We can all see through his façade.

He's what you call a "poor winner."
How easy it is to get his goat!
He just cannot stand the thought
That Clinton won the popular vote.

Demonizing the media therefore
Preoccupies Trump and his team.
Dumbing down the American public
Will be for them a constant theme.

The claims of voter fraud are only
An excuse to suppress voting rights--
An issue which must be added to
Our growing list of ongoing fights.

If we are not vigilant,
If instead we turn a blind eye
To what is really happening here,
Kiss democracy good-by.

- by Bob B (11-29-16)
smokeybone Feb 2014
It is within my bitter blood to love at a foolish capacity.
How do you tell your heart to stop, when it comes so naturally?
The passionate feeling of adoration that skips through my veins,
Preoccupies my mind and at times, makes me feel unsettlingly insane.

Its a scary realm when emotions are hastily displaced.
Its a clever hell that warps and compromises your steady grace.
Being swallowed up by your own mind is a common affair.
If your feet won't keep, passion will painfully lead to despair.

It takes looking though transparent glass to see what needs to be seen.
It takes a mind to be free to envision what needs to be freed.
An enchanting charm is always a attractive feature,
but will time hold fast when you finally meet her?

Shallowly embedded in me is a deep cry for understanding.
Drowning myself in a feeling that will surely sink me.
Buts its my own blood that is satisfying this internal confusion.
I can't escape it but to drain it, perhaps I need a blood transfusion.
AG Oct 2017
I wrote you letters,
Knowing you would never read them –
But at least it made me feel close to you,
If only for a little while.
A sliver of hope preoccupies me,
telling me that maybe someday you will read them…
Maybe someday you’ll find your way back to me.
Maybe you and I really were meant to be.

I don’t think about you as much anymore --
But I still think about you.
Maybe my heart is finally learning that it can’t break itself
Over and over
As it realizes that you weren’t meant to be mine.

I thought you were…

God seemed to send me so many signs.
Did I make them all up?
Did I want you so badly that I believed every little thing was a leading me to you?
It couldn't have been all in my head.
You felt it too, right?

We shared our darkest secrets,
All the little details,
You seemed to understand me
in the way I have craved to be understood.
Did I make that all up?

And we were always happy.
You made me smile like I never have –
Everyday.
Did I not make you feel that way?

Was this all in my head?

Did I break my own heart with the mere idea of you?
But, oh, I still love the idea of you --  
And me.
I can’t escape this.
No matter how hard I try, I always end up back here;
Clinging to you.

Maybe one day I’ll forget.
You’ll go from a daily thought,
To a monthly one.
I’ll lose the idea of you,
Until I only remember you when a certain song comes on,
Or I remember a joke you told me.

The idea of losing you seems impossible –
every little thing seems to point me back to you.

(a.g.)
Mateuš Conrad Dec 2017
'by all means, marry. if you get a good wife, you'll become happy; if you get a bad one, you'll become a philosopher.'

my, what a tender quote...
how about we bypass this morality -
and speak of the man who
took no wife and morphed her into
a life abiding,
   instead took a woman,
and morphed an hour of her "pleasure"
and bid life: unbounded?

            there is no good nor bad
is a woman who preoccupies herself
in the trade on body -
there's no good as there is no bad
with a woman:
           that comes to be made into
a wife!

                   i hardly think it be worth
a man's testimony if he should be asked
to be good, when what's being asked
of him is related to the fathom of being
husband, as trades go,
              
                   but when a woman cheats on
a man who gives his utmost consent to
later be robbed of giving consent...
             is such a woman above
the ******* levelling of consensus?
        
           there actually is no question being
asked...
                 only an attempt at making pardon...
a ***** might call a man good,
but then a free woman might call the same
man evil...
                 beyond to what beyond is
there differential to be cased?

               i judge you not before me
as i might judge my shadow to be deemed
the existent: clingy...
                        
     yet still a ***** will call me good,
while a ripe woman of standing will call
me ill...
                   and is the reason why i
  call a *****: woman -
                                  and the free woman: boy?

a ******* will call me good,
a free woman oppressor...
               why the surprise at my antonym...
the free woman, boy,
                    a *******:
a night spent among the cherubs
and the wine grapes!
                 sleeping the most sullent
sleep,
                    
                        forgetting,
immobile, polite...
                                 i can only champion
the plight of these women...
                  with my own disguise...
                   i die the fate of a good man
in the hands of a *******,
as i die in the hands of a free woman,
a convicted fiend....

                         i lose no labours in love,
as there were any lost loves
                 in the labours enthroned.
Mateuš Conrad May 2020
the motto: a healthy body, a healthy mind...
fair enough...
can the healthy body tell me
where its palette is?
  just asking... can this mind over mind mantra:
this... no one likes a pickled brain...
a healthy body equates to me:
a mind reared for learning - sponges and
syringes...
does this "healthy body" desire...
alternative tastes?
blue cheese? trout caviar?
              oysters?                          haggis?
out of curiosity:
or does... keeping around a play-thing...
third person addressee...
hard to miss it: an "analogue" i that keeps
refering to the "deus ex machina" like
it's not exactly "in it"...
    healthy jog: except on concrete...
sure thing boss... on a patch of grass...
who said that jogging was good on cement?
i swear tires and using it as sandpaper for
the rubber: weathered: withered: weathered:
he loves me... he loves me not...
russian roulette of plucking petals of
a sunflower...
the last time i had... a pornstar body...
i started ******* girls that had tattoos in "random"
places... ha ha... "random"...
signatures of the madame...
   i was... her... dragon... on the right...
shoulderblade...
because that's where my chernobyl scar is...
"random": oh so "random" tattoos!
the next time i go pornstar full body
b.d.s.m. latex... i will not **** the next mosquito
that lands on my body and i pretend to be
sleeping... i will not pancake it...
flies... earthworms... all these creeping bogus
investigations of the telescope for "alien"...
i can spare...
even spiders... even though i have a tease
of arachnophobia...
but mosquitos? i'd do the impossible...
don boxing gloves... and pinch it by the testicles...
with both...
healthy body = healthy mind...
   more like: a healthy body ≠ a mind that does
a whole lot of thinking...
you need the pickling juices for that...
    Jean des Esseintes eccentricities... "familiarities"...
last time i would hear a rhetorician
from a man that was also able to run a marathon...
i'd play muahmmad: and she should play:
the whispering angel gabriel...
a healthy body = a healthy mind...
i don't believe in the existence of a healthy mind...
a mind of either blank...
an ape-**** hollow mind, yes...
      what's my favorite echo-chamber?
i tend to should these words into...
the echo-chamber of solipsism...
          the mild-reflection on clinical altruism...
since: i wouldn't call the autistic flash-gordons
of this world to have a fulfilling
desire to: build on the concept of self...
         such that it already is... devoid of...
all the temptations...
crass words...
but would a healthy body please tell me...
the concerns for the palette?
blue cheese... oysters... caviar...
very piquant flavours...
  what of... yes... haggis again...
   what of... pancetta... what of...
                  mushrooms: honey fungus...
marinated in oil and white spirit vinegar?
what of fenugreek pickles of the raj?
what of all the plethora spices of the indian cuisine?

a healthy body = a healthy mind...
when... the body is subjected to healthy "exercise":
work... workhorse labour...
to hell with exercise! exercise "fow foon"?
that's cheating you of the healthy body = healthy mind
duality... hello... h'allo hamster on the wheel!

last time i had a pornogrpahic movie body
i had the "privilege" of ******* women:
who had tattoos in the "wrong" parts of the body...
bullet-point markers...
i was... memorable... a dragon on her right
shouldblade...
something much more diabolical concerned itself
with much of her arm above the elbow...
the gateway ****-boy who she alleged was...
an older man and she was kidnapped for money:
just your atypical russian harlequinn novel...

a healthy body...
  how about... an inquisitive palette and a pickled
brain... i don't expect much thinking is allowed
when the body retains a full geometry of
"battling" arthritis et al.,
       language as a process of decay...
awaiting new sprouts...
not from rock and bone and tensed muscles...
call 'em meatheads because
they "work-out" or call 'em meatheads
because: they mosh... and headbang?

i subscribe to the latter...
and my echo chamber is that of solipsism...
i ooze in a breath... into this chamber...
let's call it a flute... i'm hardly expecting
a reply on the basis of
a consonant-vowel construct like:
the prefix definite article of hebrew:
and that... roulade of laughter: ha ha ha...
with language... i decay...
but in my decay i also stab back
with "rumours" of exfoliation...

it's an erotica perplex... ingesting...
all the scent of a lazy autumnal wood...
it's not yet the zenith of summer,
spring is far from sending a postcard...
and i'm already thinking about
autumnal scent...

      piquat: an inquisitive palette requires
a partially pickled brain...
the body can play the masquerade...
healthy though: via physical labour exercise...
or... i know that riding a bike for
mere looks... can breed... a...
    adverse symptom of succumbing to
classical roman bulimia...
index and ******* down your throat...
wait about 3 minutes...
the foodstuff comes back up
like a furr-ball...

         so much for the mirror...
or at least... so much for... pretending to do
what will never come to pass...
when contemplating the river of Heraclitus
or the sea of Xerxes...

i see moonlight now... yes... a membrane
of mercury everywhere: notably on metal
and stone...
come the wintry season...
a walk down a red carpet...
the crystal **** of paparazzi flicker
paving the way...
shards of a body disobeying orders...
the head moving on a seasaw left
to right to catch the imaginary camera flashing...
in winter... when the frost exfoliates
on the concrete: as light does in the *****
of stars upon the sky...
when mercury drips its membrane
onto all things: visible... determined to remain
thus...

perhaps it's a masculine "thing"...
hardly a body willing to apply itself to the laziness
of an oyster... but...
i guess vogue... ***** vogue zenith...
of european 17th / 18th century...
***** of kings: plump cottage pies...
more cushion for the push'on...
*******... thighs... kim novak hypnosis...
anything that hitchhock would have
turned a tongue to octopus and slobbered over...
beside these size 0.... coathanger "*****"...
break 'em at the joints and be leftover
with... a mush...

     the "exoskeleton" of man: god, morality,
conscience and thought... not in that order...
the next time i come under the inquisitive
inquiry of the *****-actor body...
voyeurism... yes... that will be the day...

again... a healthy body: down and out of
a gym... or: in and out of a construction industry?
a healthy body = a healthy mind...
when... the body isn't being exercised for
the sake of the body: to "look"...
or to "appear"... to be "perceived"...
a healthy body can... actually = an unhealthy mind...
when the body preoccupies the mind
to not deviate / explore from...
that basic rubric of 2 x 2 = 4...
that is the basic rubric...
the rest is just wording either hubris or hiatus...

beside that: to reiterate...
a healthy body... so... the omnivore palette?
eats anything... ***** anything that: doesn't move?
a healthy body = a healthy mind = an inquisitive palette?
if we're going to talk healthy body / healthy mind...
and eat nothing but poached chicken *******...
recite the number of calories...
point being?
    recitals of... a bland chinese takeaway guide
to cannibalism...
exercised bodies... "fearless"! in their endeavours...
ate: to ****... in between exercised...

we would like to eat those hamsters
with both skin... and bone...
not enough meat...
you see... and we do like a bit of crunch
and the juice of marrow...
if... you don't mind...

       an exercise in... staging... pomp...
and... the circumstance is already given...
mediocre poetry: grand-standing...
love the ****** ideal...
best told to ******* and...
start hustling via latex gimp...

                     best to leave the matter to
the indu-aryans: or not...
                             य(अ)                  समओक.
Just a poetic (souper) side note courtesy chief
wordsmith brother unaware ye experienced grief
diagnosed as walking pneumonia please bull lief
yours me, he doth care and breathes sigh of relief.

Gratis the miracle of modern medicine wife
of Richard McGeehan, he offered succor
during serious bout when ye suffered strife
lovingly tendering lifelong counterpart
spelling finis regarding any galavanting nightlife
nurturing mother of their grown son (Brendan),
who immersed her whole self as housewife.

How aware ill luck of the draw
found thee inexplicably stricken
with serious malady against the law
nearly necessitating travois
(maneuvered by Kit Carson)
to transport thee to medical center.

The above stanza unbeknownst to you
analogous to current reading material
myopic eyes of mine view
historical fiction titled
"A Most Desperate Situation"
authored by Walter Cooper,
I just might maintain as keepsake
among various and sundry other books
lined up like soldiers upon shelved queue.

Courtesy perusing selective material
not so much to become boastful
self pedagogical ace,
but merely to expand knowledge base,
whereby latest erudition
preoccupies mindscape with displace
called realm of imagination
allowing, enabling, and providing me

to travel into hyperspace
only welcoming family members
like thee dear sister into myspace
a beloved sibling
thirteen plus months older
glad ye got begat December 1st, 1959
whereby ye got fifty two plus weeks headstart
to join (chance throw of genetic dice)
entrance into human race.

Though Amelie Beth Harris-McGeehan born
more than three score and three years ago
if series of unfortunate events would befall thee,
this sole brother would certainly mourn
and with futility emasculate and scorn
himself until... his own plaque
designating his buried cremains
in lieu of tombstone worn.
Michael Marchese Jan 2021
Friends come to conflict
More often than norm
Agitated with ease
Merely from
Being bored
Self-absorbed
In the day goes by
Nothing change brain
Draining out
As it preoccupies
Its inane
Inclination
To waste its own time
But what better use of it
Than live off the dime
Of the government’s
Money
Least partially mine
A leech parsing through slime
I’m just making my way in the world
Going buy
Felicia Koopman May 2023
I’m standing on the platform
of Warschauer Straße station
late on a cold February night.
The thought that preoccupies my mind
is that of you being so near to me.
You aren’t nearly as near
as we have been before,
but I miss our closeness so
that being 10 hours apart feels
as though a gap has been closed between us.
There's an absence of heat in the environment
and wind struggles to break through
my long black leather jacket
I feel the vibration of my phone in the breast pocket as it lights up with messages from you.

Oh, how I’ve missed sharing a time zone.
I tell you I love you easily
when I don’t have to see your face
as I say it.

The S-Bahn stops and people flood
the platform as others recede into the train car.
The wind picks up and a light rainfall
graces my cheeks in the now empty space.
I tell you how the city feels like home
and you reply home is where the heart is.
But my heart is with you in another city,
another country  
and you speak so sweetly through these screens.

I’m waiting for the U1
as I wonder what we’ve become.
I didn’t need this distance to grow fonder;
I was already fond enough.

The love I have runs deep and it’s not easy to erase.
I think of the history in these streets
and how the damage is gone.
There was once a time when the war was still raging
and it seems silly to compare and think of love
in a city where my feelings could easily become numb.
But here I stand on the metro platform
in a city once divided by hate
thinking about you, thinking about love,
waiting for the U1.
Michael Marchese Apr 2021
This much is true
I suppose
I conclude
I could live anywhere
I just want my own room
Little space
Private place
That I rest assured
Waits
Upon me getting home
And by night its embrace
Covers me in secured
And I wake to each day in bed
Feeling restored
When I’m bored
It preoccupies me,
Lets me hide
And in solitude
Into its shadows
Confide
Ryan O'Leary Jul 2023
.  Fear of suicide, or,

     accidental death,

     is never given a

    moments thought.


    Yet, conventional

   dying preoccupies

    conscious minds

     before sleeping,


    which is, in effect,

     a metaphorical

  rehearsal, that only

  insomniacs,                                                                                       escape.

— The End —