Avouleance - Hello Poetry

Ringing red lips, resounding around the room. Aniseed accent, lingering for me to lick off long after. Trembling taste. And you smell blindingly bright. While your pheromones take lightest flight on softest feathers. And in a million more ways than I can convey. You impress yourself upon me. But I can’t say. Because the words are wrong. Not at all applicable. No one knows what it means for eyes to chime. Or how a song can spin. I worry when the iceberg looks down and sees only the surface of the sea. What it must think. Wondering why it doesn’t sink. And all I want to tell you is You’re more.

0

Oct 24, 2018

Oct 24, 2018 at 11:48 AM UTC

Synesthetist

Ringing red lips, resounding around the room. Aniseed accent, lingering for me to lick off long after. Trembling taste. And you smell blindingly bright. While your pheromones take lightest flight on softest feathers. And in a million more ways than I can convey. You impress yourself upon me. But I can’t say. Because the words are wrong. Not at all applicable. No one knows what it means for eyes to chime. Or how a song can spin. I worry when the iceberg looks down and sees only the surface of the sea. What it must think. Wondering why it doesn’t sink. And all I want to tell you is You’re more.

17

SSR Island It’s my island, mine alone, so I’m alone. Singing to myself and the sea. With equally endless ever churning fractal blacks above and below me. And the pattern repeats, too far out for me to see, but there must be an infinity of islands just as isolated. And the pattern repeats, inside my mind, infinitesimally across the synapse gaps between a hundred billion neurons. So I sit and consider. No way I can swim, even assured I’d see shore before I sank. And if I try and scream? But who’d hear before I broke my throat? I can only compile contemplations of complete isolation. All potential lacking action, surrounded by water so nothing gains traction. My eyes catch on crimson, a barbed kind of bright I can’t pull out of my sight. So I’m stuck staring at a balloon as it bobs up and down over the horizon. I reach out as a reflex nearly wrenching my arm from it’s socket, only to end up no closer. But I see it float towards me, effortlessly, with purpose and pride. Until it stops still. As if inspecting me in my introspection, unsure of mooring anymore. Still agonizingly above and out of my grasp. I ask it to come closer, no answer. No reply after my second try, either. So I lash out, take a running start and with every ounce of strength I pounce. It pops, unable to weave out of the way. No sooner am I alone in the air than I’ve found the ground again. Only this time I’m clutching shreds of ripped rubber, already wrinkled and retracting, soon rotted away. Inside is my prize, a little putrefied but preserved enough for me to read the words. I’m unsure how long I’m sat in silence, wrapped up in the writing. I can’t make sense of how close a stranger came to me without my knowledge. But whoever wrote this knew me and intimately. I’m reading and rereading each line and every time I’m more sure I’ve been seen right through so thoroughly. That’s how I know I’ve no choice but to lend my voice to a cause I can’t quite comprehend. To be a stranger’s friend. I’m to tell them, we’re alike whether we like it or not, that they aren’t the only lonely one. So I sew back together the scraps of crimson skin. I tell this shell my secrets, about the hell I dwell on and in and how there’s a howling abyss I’d be remiss not to mention. Finally I feel the tension, as the balloon begins to tug up and we both feel at least a little lighter. I watch it, and smile as it sways its way away and skyward, to brighten someone else's day. And I reflect, on the thoughts inside. I can’t! It’s lacking the essential essence of elegance or eloquence to be anything other than ugly. Just like me. I can’t let it get loose out there. I need a snare to snap it back and before I lose track. Without thinking I’ve grabbed a nearby spear and sent it soaring. It pierces the ballon with perfect precision, sending it sinking as all my secrets spill out unsightly but at least unseen by anyone but me. So I slump, unsupported by the sudden silence after that burst of passion and violence. My own words long gone and the warmth I felt from others faded. Leaving me cold, green with envy and jaded. I should have known I couldn’t compare to that flair so obviously there in other people. So instead despair. And the pattern repeats, repeatedly. No reason to expect any events else than these. Until a pill appears, citalopram, appealing as a potential panacea, for all my ills. Once a day, with water. So I swallow. Ready to no longer wallow in my miasma. The sea is somehow blacker back here, with writhing tide that won’t subside. They lied! Someone ripped out the stitching where the sky was scared so old and faded thunder could be rebled but so much more red. The storm inside my head restarts and spreads out to my other parts. The nausea is renewed so as to always be so vividly vibrantly new to me. I barely move. But the next day, once more with water. And the pattern repeats, with permutations, so preparation is impossible. I write down the details of the defects detaining me. I don’t notice all the balloons I inadvertently inflate fill, until I see them float free over the sea. I don’t know what’s different, or why I adapt, but I do.

0

Oct 10, 2018

Oct 10, 2018 at 6:40 PM UTC

SSR Island

SSR Island It’s my island, mine alone, so I’m alone. Singing to myself and the sea. With equally endless ever churning fractal blacks above and below me. And the pattern repeats, too far out for me to see, but there must be an infinity of islands just as isolated. And the pattern repeats, inside my mind, infinitesimally across the synapse gaps between a hundred billion neurons. So I sit and consider. No way I can swim, even assured I’d see shore before I sank. And if I try and scream? But who’d hear before I broke my throat? I can only compile contemplations of complete isolation. All potential lacking action, surrounded by water so nothing gains traction. My eyes catch on crimson, a barbed kind of bright I can’t pull out of my sight. So I’m stuck staring at a balloon as it bobs up and down over the horizon. I reach out as a reflex nearly wrenching my arm from it’s socket, only to end up no closer. But I see it float towards me, effortlessly, with purpose and pride. Until it stops still. As if inspecting me in my introspection, unsure of mooring anymore. Still agonizingly above and out of my grasp. I ask it to come closer, no answer. No reply after my second try, either. So I lash out, take a running start and with every ounce of strength I pounce. It pops, unable to weave out of the way. No sooner am I alone in the air than I’ve found the ground again. Only this time I’m clutching shreds of ripped rubber, already wrinkled and retracting, soon rotted away. Inside is my prize, a little putrefied but preserved enough for me to read the words. I’m unsure how long I’m sat in silence, wrapped up in the writing. I can’t make sense of how close a stranger came to me without my knowledge. But whoever wrote this knew me and intimately. I’m reading and rereading each line and every time I’m more sure I’ve been seen right through so thoroughly. That’s how I know I’ve no choice but to lend my voice to a cause I can’t quite comprehend. To be a stranger’s friend. I’m to tell them, we’re alike whether we like it or not, that they aren’t the only lonely one. So I sew back together the scraps of crimson skin. I tell this shell my secrets, about the hell I dwell on and in and how there’s a howling abyss I’d be remiss not to mention. Finally I feel the tension, as the balloon begins to tug up and we both feel at least a little lighter. I watch it, and smile as it sways its way away and skyward, to brighten someone else's day. And I reflect, on the thoughts inside. I can’t! It’s lacking the essential essence of elegance or eloquence to be anything other than ugly. Just like me. I can’t let it get loose out there. I need a snare to snap it back and before I lose track. Without thinking I’ve grabbed a nearby spear and sent it soaring. It pierces the ballon with perfect precision, sending it sinking as all my secrets spill out unsightly but at least unseen by anyone but me. So I slump, unsupported by the sudden silence after that burst of passion and violence. My own words long gone and the warmth I felt from others faded. Leaving me cold, green with envy and jaded. I should have known I couldn’t compare to that flair so obviously there in other people. So instead despair. And the pattern repeats, repeatedly. No reason to expect any events else than these. Until a pill appears, citalopram, appealing as a potential panacea, for all my ills. Once a day, with water. So I swallow. Ready to no longer wallow in my miasma. The sea is somehow blacker back here, with writhing tide that won’t subside. They lied! Someone ripped out the stitching where the sky was scared so old and faded thunder could be rebled but so much more red. The storm inside my head restarts and spreads out to my other parts. The nausea is renewed so as to always be so vividly vibrantly new to me. I barely move. But the next day, once more with water. And the pattern repeats, with permutations, so preparation is impossible. I write down the details of the defects detaining me. I don’t notice all the balloons I inadvertently inflate fill, until I see them float free over the sea. I don’t know what’s different, or why I adapt, but I do.

66

Thank you former flame For cutting me open Letting me see inside And scoop parts out With cold colorless clarity Doesn’t look much good But now I can Rearrange what didn’t work An exchange is made Anatomical accuracy is sacrificed For an aesthetic appeal Me but without motion No longer spiraling down Safely stuck in place Drained dry of danger Now comes the art Reassembly into something new Maybe former beauty restored That would be nice Could fill me up Rather than left gutted Not the only regret But one for sure You’ll never see it Not scarred nor shaped But were you here And I still whole Would I have seen? Could I have learnt? My hope and reason For words you’ll miss Maybe there’s a way To have these parts That I can be Comfortable again at last

0

Sep 10, 2018

Sep 10, 2018 at 11:28 AM UTC

Vivisection

Thank you former flame For cutting me open Letting me see inside And scoop parts out With cold colorless clarity Doesn’t look much good But now I can Rearrange what didn’t work An exchange is made Anatomical accuracy is sacrificed For an aesthetic appeal Me but without motion No longer spiraling down Safely stuck in place Drained dry of danger Now comes the art Reassembly into something new Maybe former beauty restored That would be nice Could fill me up Rather than left gutted Not the only regret But one for sure You’ll never see it Not scarred nor shaped But were you here And I still whole Would I have seen? Could I have learnt? My hope and reason For words you’ll miss Maybe there’s a way To have these parts That I can be Comfortable again at last

35

I keep remembering things I never told you Because I forgot or didn’t have time to I can feel my face twitching to try And whisper the right words Back through time I’m writing lists, endless lists Of everything I’d say And then I edit it, endlessly As if cutting it down to the core Will make my request to reverse reality any more reasonable There’s so much I missed out on And I notice new things everyday Because you cast too lasting a shadow Grief is like drinking and drowning in bleach, So I must mourn you in monochrome I can’t believe you knew How much you meant to me You were my idol What you did to yourself was blasphemy So why couldn’t you see? I just can’t help but think, If I’d found the right words If I’d have been brave enough to tell you That you’d still be here For me to hear I hope, at least You left a little beauty in my body So I can let you have it all back If you’ll just come and claim it Delusional, not that I could ever talk to you again But that I’d have something to say That would make you stay If I couldn’t even communicate before I knew How much it mattered I Just just wished you’d kissed me goodbye, So some of you lingered on my lips And so you’d have known how I felt And about all the things I could only express in your embrace Because nothing out of my mouth could mean as much As having you in it

0

Sep 10, 2018

Sep 10, 2018 at 11:27 AM UTC

What Went Without Saying

I keep remembering things I never told you Because I forgot or didn’t have time to I can feel my face twitching to try And whisper the right words Back through time I’m writing lists, endless lists Of everything I’d say And then I edit it, endlessly As if cutting it down to the core Will make my request to reverse reality any more reasonable There’s so much I missed out on And I notice new things everyday Because you cast too lasting a shadow Grief is like drinking and drowning in bleach, So I must mourn you in monochrome I can’t believe you knew How much you meant to me You were my idol What you did to yourself was blasphemy So why couldn’t you see? I just can’t help but think, If I’d found the right words If I’d have been brave enough to tell you That you’d still be here For me to hear I hope, at least You left a little beauty in my body So I can let you have it all back If you’ll just come and claim it Delusional, not that I could ever talk to you again But that I’d have something to say That would make you stay If I couldn’t even communicate before I knew How much it mattered I Just just wished you’d kissed me goodbye, So some of you lingered on my lips And so you’d have known how I felt And about all the things I could only express in your embrace Because nothing out of my mouth could mean as much As having you in it

41

Cool, soft, ever and all shade. Gently coils caress my carcass. And I lie in my bed at rest. All is well at the bottom of the world in my well No need for dreams down here where I dwell. Until the... Eye! Bursting open, with blinding light and piercing rays in its gaze. And the... Voice! Booming from above. The bellow muffled and refracted this far below, now just noise. It’s weight pushing me away. I wind my way upwards. Through a new fluid. That fills me. So I float to some surface. Eye! Fixes its gaze on me, while the wet thing fumbles to lift me up to look at. Until the water around me hardens, become ground to grip and ****** me up into view. While around me, the verdant wave of blades radiates outwards bursting from under the earth. Lesser imitations of Eye! Flock to fill the sky, fighting for supremacy, Until one has won and sends its nemesis to hide on the underside of the earth. I sliver back to the edge of the earth And dive Only to find my depths disturbed, Full of countless small things That bite at me and do not think to fear my jaws I force myself back to the dry dirt Only to see it infested as well I try to lie and rest again But find myself unsettled. Wrestless writhing. Until one comes to soothe me Small with smooth hands And a sweet song. The small ones, spoke but not like Voice! Not with blugen confidence So unsure So I reply Tell of the power they could have Tell of what Voice! Will not say. Then there’s Voice! Back and wreathed in wrath Not wanting to share the secrets I said Rather would share its blades and flame I writhe, break free, find the sea again And dive, deep, deep as I can go, back below the beasts I return to the Cool, soft, ever and all shade. But I remember the surface A story written on me in wounds Limbless I languish Can’t scratch Uncontent Until Some small ones, Ones I saw once before Follow me down, through thousands of fathoms Forsaking the surface To soothe me My thanks.

0

Sep 10, 2018

Sep 10, 2018 at 11:26 AM UTC

Serpent

Cool, soft, ever and all shade. Gently coils caress my carcass. And I lie in my bed at rest. All is well at the bottom of the world in my well No need for dreams down here where I dwell. Until the... Eye! Bursting open, with blinding light and piercing rays in its gaze. And the... Voice! Booming from above. The bellow muffled and refracted this far below, now just noise. It’s weight pushing me away. I wind my way upwards. Through a new fluid. That fills me. So I float to some surface. Eye! Fixes its gaze on me, while the wet thing fumbles to lift me up to look at. Until the water around me hardens, become ground to grip and ****** me up into view. While around me, the verdant wave of blades radiates outwards bursting from under the earth. Lesser imitations of Eye! Flock to fill the sky, fighting for supremacy, Until one has won and sends its nemesis to hide on the underside of the earth. I sliver back to the edge of the earth And dive Only to find my depths disturbed, Full of countless small things That bite at me and do not think to fear my jaws I force myself back to the dry dirt Only to see it infested as well I try to lie and rest again But find myself unsettled. Wrestless writhing. Until one comes to soothe me Small with smooth hands And a sweet song. The small ones, spoke but not like Voice! Not with blugen confidence So unsure So I reply Tell of the power they could have Tell of what Voice! Will not say. Then there’s Voice! Back and wreathed in wrath Not wanting to share the secrets I said Rather would share its blades and flame I writhe, break free, find the sea again And dive, deep, deep as I can go, back below the beasts I return to the Cool, soft, ever and all shade. But I remember the surface A story written on me in wounds Limbless I languish Can’t scratch Uncontent Until Some small ones, Ones I saw once before Follow me down, through thousands of fathoms Forsaking the surface To soothe me My thanks.

68

Sincerely **** you! You who didn't so much teach me to talk as train me to say things your way You who I hear in my head As an infection of implication and inflection Contorting my thoughts so I can't think straight You who got me to gouge myself out with doubt And handed me a scalpel You who watch the dissection disinterested Stopping me only to annotate "interesting" parts of my mental anatomy You who taught me to prattle in Latin so the microscope you made me shove into my skull only left me looking alien Until I only see homosapien, hypochondriac, hypocrite Not the human And my thoughts are obscured behind a fog of who's thinking them

0

Sep 10, 2018

Sep 10, 2018 at 11:25 AM UTC

Sincerely

Sincerely **** you! You who didn't so much teach me to talk as train me to say things your way You who I hear in my head As an infection of implication and inflection Contorting my thoughts so I can't think straight You who got me to gouge myself out with doubt And handed me a scalpel You who watch the dissection disinterested Stopping me only to annotate "interesting" parts of my mental anatomy You who taught me to prattle in Latin so the microscope you made me shove into my skull only left me looking alien Until I only see homosapien, hypochondriac, hypocrite Not the human And my thoughts are obscured behind a fog of who's thinking them

13

There's a better me Full of energy That I've abandoned Not intentionally but automatically Now I'm less bright eyed Less blind But I'd leave all I've learnt behind To be a fraction as kind Or inclined to look up

0

Sep 10, 2018

Sep 10, 2018 at 11:24 AM UTC

Nostalgia

There's a better me Full of energy That I've abandoned Not intentionally but automatically Now I'm less bright eyed Less blind But I'd leave all I've learnt behind To be a fraction as kind Or inclined to look up

9

It sounds like a lie when you say I love you. But you’re better than that. But I can’t believe the you I love could love the me I’m stuck being. Someone so insightful couldn’t dissect my defects and still have any respect for me. By now you’d know where this is going to go. Can reflection of you in my eyes really be enough beauty for you? I promise if you’ll be with me each morning. One day I’ll stop waking up.

0

Sep 10, 2018

Sep 10, 2018 at 11:23 AM UTC

Incredible You

It sounds like a lie when you say I love you. But you’re better than that. But I can’t believe the you I love could love the me I’m stuck being. Someone so insightful couldn’t dissect my defects and still have any respect for me. By now you’d know where this is going to go. Can reflection of you in my eyes really be enough beauty for you? I promise if you’ll be with me each morning. One day I’ll stop waking up.

8

This is how I prefer to talk, Out of another neck. Without the 19 extraneous letters. With cords that tremble at the whim of my fingers, Instead of the force of my thoughts Whose tension is all in the turn of a key, I can hold. Not one lodged in my heart. It used to be, How I feel would congeal, Choke me like hands through my throat, But now the arms wrapped around my voice box are all mine. Now the weight of my voice is external. I can put it down, Lock it away And know it won’t move For when I need my voice back.

0

Sep 10, 2018

Sep 10, 2018 at 11:23 AM UTC

Guitar

This is how I prefer to talk, Out of another neck. Without the 19 extraneous letters. With cords that tremble at the whim of my fingers, Instead of the force of my thoughts Whose tension is all in the turn of a key, I can hold. Not one lodged in my heart. It used to be, How I feel would congeal, Choke me like hands through my throat, But now the arms wrapped around my voice box are all mine. Now the weight of my voice is external. I can put it down, Lock it away And know it won’t move For when I need my voice back.

17

She doesn’t look like me. Too pale, too naked, Too ****** under her own surface. Well I don’t want to drown. I won’t get pull down because part of me is too Pathetic and plucked to fly She can’t be me, But she’s the only me that sees, Herself seized up By the time I’ve flapped the fervor back into me Shaken off a soft sagging skin Taken flight I’m away, unawake, unaware Weightless as thoughtless Till I fall I only learn about myself when landing Roused by faded echoes of euphoria Rippling with the hypnic drop I won’t say I don’t know About the bullet or predator Waiting to slink out of my blind spot But I need to be a bird again And there’s always an again Or an until Until the bird stops returning to be me No idea why it does Until it’s killed, So I can die, Without being anyone who’s dying.

0

Sep 10, 2018

Sep 10, 2018 at 11:22 AM UTC

Druid

She doesn’t look like me. Too pale, too naked, Too ****** under her own surface. Well I don’t want to drown. I won’t get pull down because part of me is too Pathetic and plucked to fly She can’t be me, But she’s the only me that sees, Herself seized up By the time I’ve flapped the fervor back into me Shaken off a soft sagging skin Taken flight I’m away, unawake, unaware Weightless as thoughtless Till I fall I only learn about myself when landing Roused by faded echoes of euphoria Rippling with the hypnic drop I won’t say I don’t know About the bullet or predator Waiting to slink out of my blind spot But I need to be a bird again And there’s always an again Or an until Until the bird stops returning to be me No idea why it does Until it’s killed, So I can die, Without being anyone who’s dying.

29