Being gullible is my only regret.
Worrying about you so much.
Constantly thinking about our last encounter.
I thought we were so happy.
Especially because you gazed at me with such kindness.
But then ignoring replaced love.
My sunny days were drenched by saddening storms,
And my smiling slowly slipped away.
Tears stain my favorite dress.
The flowery one you always loved.
Darkness brings me tissues
As the last remaining sunlight
Starts to fade away.
Death once spoke to me through a streetlight that solely flickered rushing red.
Along with the drops of acid dancing within the outlines of a thread.
One pedal to accelerate an already accelerated mind,
One pedal to reverse a raucous reaction,
Mirrors plugged to my beating flesh, pulsating time,
Wheels swirling off it's axis, succumbing to the lost traction.
Closing eyelid after eyelid, fate selected a pedal,
Roaring of both synapses and electricity,
Swerving across the bumps of light that model,
Leaving stones to break like my bones, collapsing entirely, goes my entity.
Water crept into my lungs.
Water replaced my tears.
Water sucked my blood.
He said to me, "You'll smell a smell you've never smelled before,
and sense a sensation worth dying for."
So with one last cell, and with one last breath,
I smelled and sensed the defiled Death.
The zone, is another world, another state
Not zoned-out, zoned-in
It's deep -- the words flow from a source like a never-ending waterfall
It's etheral -- the topics come from everywhere at once
It's outlandish -- some of the things you write may seem... odd... but that's fine, they are odd, you are odd, you're zoned.
It's death-defyingly wild.
It's right -- because when the words flow, when the topics abound, when your writing is freeky – it means you’re expressing
Being in the zone is pure expression
Like a factory line - the poems just churn out.
Not processed pieces, works of art.
The zone is a private Italian workshop located in your mind where suits and sport scars are replaced by words and stanzas.
She sat alone in a café reading Marx and Engels.
In between the pages, she would search
for nourishment in the sandstorm eyes of
the boy sitting at the table diagonal of her,
while skeptically seeking to annex a trace of the
19th century confidence in ultimate perfectibility,
while faithlessly willing that from the dialectics of
her person would follow a truth worthwhile.
She felt the presence
of the sandstorm-eyed-boy fade and noticed
the steam had stopped rising from her coffee.
Another boy replaced the last.
She took a sip of her drink.
I met her in the parking lot of a liquor store one Friday night with my naked body hidden beneath a dressing gown.
I’d put it on whilst I finished the gin from my 20th birthday within my boyfriends closet as he drank his dick down in beer and asked why I was in the closet.
Impotent, it was a quick exit as I thanked the drink for making me able to ride my bike back minus the safety of a sanitary towel, without my cunt left to think of his grunts and groans and his hands which branded my thighs as he fed me lies that it was just in the moment; his finger prints left signatures citing his latest triumph of lasting one hundred point thirteen seconds.
The magnetism between the Alchemist and me was instant.
She held out her palm and asked for mine as the lines in my hands rewrote themselves in twisted, hopeful anticipation; reaching out, what I felt from the tips of my fingers was magic as I traced her navel to the logo of DKNY on the front of her black, cotton panties.
I taught her how to blow out smoke rings like the clowns at a circus who sit within purple tents and repeat sums of the class of 1969, the date they got their cocks kicked in, indigo, violet, for being performers.
I taught tobacco. She taught me sex.
There was sexual deviation towards devilry as I delved into the darkness between her legs as her erotic enchantment captured my hand and leaned me back;
Black blindfold, sight slaughtered.
Burning desire rolled over my bare breasts and left a trail of rouge; yet her warmth was not tender nor loving, but raw, earthly.
A sensual split as she clawed my back and licked the drips of blood that seeped into the bed, which was our place.
I felt myself become an astrologer as I left my body and rose in starry bliss; I became an adventurer as I breathed out ships, which sailed us to Stonewall as I stuck two fingers up, not her sadly, but the blue meanies, the pigs which ate out of the trough of shit Tim Loughton fed us from our backyard.
I said we are making love. She said we are making a revolution.
Our energies combined, our spirits sang as it is in all and all is in us.
Time was alive as my fingers curled, my teeth bit into my open lips,
My back arched and my arms reached out in holy restoration.
Her incantation was irresistible.
Cosmic forces worked effortlessly as we evaded time and entered a transcendent state. Magical longing; primal consciousness;
Fate brought us together, past the phallic stage of our sexual evolution
As what we felt replaced what Freud saw.
A climax of witchcraft.
An orgasm of obsession.
The day I stepped out of the closet and away from my boyfriend I drank the elixir of life from your lips and knew our love would never die.
Love is a question you stopped answering
Love is a time and not a place
Love is a longing that won't go away
Love cannot be erased
Love is something that I can't feel
Love is what made me feel alive
Love has lost it's meaning, it can't be replaced
So all that's left to say is goodbye
Each rooms a little dimmer now,
each sky a bit more grey.
The sun shines not as brightly,
there's less laughter in each day.
The hours seem somehow longer
with each minute comes the pain
If I could have just one more day with you
to see your face again…
Into this world you brought me
taught me right from wrong
Your laughter was my music
your love, that musics song
I assumed you'd always be there
to share my joy and ease my pain
its hard to know I'll never
see you or hear your voice again
The sunshine of my every day
has now been replaced by cloud
but I know that you're still up there Mum
I'll do my best to do you proud
First one. Written at 11 years old...
The moon cast a shadow
on Mother Earth from afar.
I spoke with the kings
on top castles under stars.
My trip through this astral plane
has left me victorious.
Sleipnir could lead me on through to Valhalla,
for old legends weren't superstitious.
Long labored walks in this castle
have led my head astray.
A pondered pause on ideas of leaving...
the quest is not done;
I shall stay.
I sensed the old warriors
in the damp hidden dungeons.
Victory was great,
then in bludgeon.
It is when my last remaining days are near,
that the air is now stagnant.
A god-like uneasiness
puts tampered emotions on slant.
I cringe knowing I'll disappear
leaving magic and plumage forests behind.
I awaken in a world far away
where gods torture their kill,
and leave corpses of children to find!
I am but one lonely soul
wandering my Hell they've called Earth,
killing those who provoke me;
...Awaiting Satan's Rebirth!!
Use me and I'll show you
the magnificent power of our True Father.
Set yourself, within himself
leaving heart and soul to be martyred.
I reign as an entity
empowering worlds full of vision.
I'm determined to protect
those who possess the ambition.
Anton has replaced
your crucified "savior" in Heaven,
introducing a venom
plastered on swords with aggression.
Six feet under,
sucking dirt in my grave,
I await the lashings and praise from Hell,
spending eternity amongst the damned,
for my soul I did sell.
No more colors or worlds
No more seeking my doom
No more trips on the astral plane
No more smile in this vacuum
No more testing my patience
No more evil born from her womb
No more fires to snuff them
Now Hell is my home…..
I'm so happy with where my life is right now
I can actually say I like the
Person I'm becoming
And I'm not that sweet innocent little girl anymore
And gotten rid of the people in my life who brought me down
And replaced them with people who
make me happy
And i haven't hurt myself
And I'm so proud of that
And I can say
I'm happy I didn't end my life
Your speech succeeds your lies that stumble on
The site your feet rent shade in bloom of Spring,
Where plenty swads of berries fill a fawn,
And air so sweet, that fear itself will sing!
Saliva paints my purchased stone that sits
Amongst the worms and devils breathing dust,
Amusing hands of mimes that might admit
To sharing yellow waste that time will rust.
But is this life, what proved too tough a test
Between the lines to draw the saddest face,
The reason blood from wounds had said it best
To drain my soul and have me then replaced?
The One who reached me shall remember me
As friend to none, but to her heart, received.