callmemelancholy - Hello Poetry

Moonlight. Summer heat. Washed hair. Clean sheets. Cool hands. Warm skin. All the time in the world. Patience worn thin. A thrill like fire. An ache like ice. A terrible hunger. This feast won't suffice. Overflowing heart. Short-circuiting brain. The stabbing of longing Nearly drives me insane. Freckled and bright eyed. Skin thin over bones. In some world I'm with you. In this one I'm alone. Frustrated and frazzled. Eager and resigned. Thoughts of you call to me Dreams not far behind. Escape fading away. Reality bleeding through. I lie in a spacious bed. I wish I was lying with you.

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Sep 7, 2020

Sep 7, 2020 at 2:05 PM UTC

sweetest ache

Moonlight. Summer heat. Washed hair. Clean sheets. Cool hands. Warm skin. All the time in the world. Patience worn thin. A thrill like fire. An ache like ice. A terrible hunger. This feast won't suffice. Overflowing heart. Short-circuiting brain. The stabbing of longing Nearly drives me insane. Freckled and bright eyed. Skin thin over bones. In some world I'm with you. In this one I'm alone. Frustrated and frazzled. Eager and resigned. Thoughts of you call to me Dreams not far behind. Escape fading away. Reality bleeding through. I lie in a spacious bed. I wish I was lying with you.

30

Sun in the sky Sleep in my eyes I rise slowly Thinking of you Thinking of me. Passing of days Nails bitten away Waiting on you Wondering if you ever Wait for me. Curiosity bites Some spark ignites Finding mystery in you Hoping you find intrigue Within me. Obsession resumes Compulsion consumes Fingers crossed That your intentions are pure And that I don't dash the expectations You must have for me. Attempts of calm fail Familiar loathing prevails How could I trust enough To throw myself into the things That are invisible to me? Life carries on But the thought's not quite gone A star that always remains Dim, but bright enough to see. Because, my dear I never consider what is Only what has been And what could be.

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Sep 7, 2020

Sep 7, 2020 at 2:03 PM UTC

infatuated

Sun in the sky Sleep in my eyes I rise slowly Thinking of you Thinking of me. Passing of days Nails bitten away Waiting on you Wondering if you ever Wait for me. Curiosity bites Some spark ignites Finding mystery in you Hoping you find intrigue Within me. Obsession resumes Compulsion consumes Fingers crossed That your intentions are pure And that I don't dash the expectations You must have for me. Attempts of calm fail Familiar loathing prevails How could I trust enough To throw myself into the things That are invisible to me? Life carries on But the thought's not quite gone A star that always remains Dim, but bright enough to see. Because, my dear I never consider what is Only what has been And what could be.

34

I think I want to bleed again. My insides feel hollow Empty, but like there's something there That needs to spill out. I've made myself numb Denial pressed onto my old wounds Like bandages. I haven't let myself hit rock bottom in months Convincing myself, time and again That, not only would it be okay But none of it was ever real In the first place. I've worn my struggles on my sleeve Like an attention ***** badge Become the poster girl For overcoming. I've tried shedding my old skin Spreading bits of my new self All over everything All in an attempt to show everyone That I'm not who I was anymore. I've convinced myself of tomorrow Where all those hideous things Are reflections in my rearview mirror. I've fallen in love With the idea of life going on Because surely The truly awful things Won't keep happening to me. Now I remember That I'm a fake. Today's my day To fall back down. I think I need to bleed again.

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Sep 7, 2020

Sep 7, 2020 at 2:01 PM UTC

i think i want to bleed again

I think I want to bleed again. My insides feel hollow Empty, but like there's something there That needs to spill out. I've made myself numb Denial pressed onto my old wounds Like bandages. I haven't let myself hit rock bottom in months Convincing myself, time and again That, not only would it be okay But none of it was ever real In the first place. I've worn my struggles on my sleeve Like an attention ***** badge Become the poster girl For overcoming. I've tried shedding my old skin Spreading bits of my new self All over everything All in an attempt to show everyone That I'm not who I was anymore. I've convinced myself of tomorrow Where all those hideous things Are reflections in my rearview mirror. I've fallen in love With the idea of life going on Because surely The truly awful things Won't keep happening to me. Now I remember That I'm a fake. Today's my day To fall back down. I think I need to bleed again.

34

The day is going to come When I'll wake before the sun When I'll try hard to look my best When I'll spend hours behind a desk. The day is going to come When I'll start to settle down With some man I'll keep around Then we'll figure out the rest. The day is going to come When the clock will start to tick And I'll decide whether to live free Or spend my mornings, sick And peeing on some test. The day is going to come When my life won't be my own, — I'll be filling up a home With books, boys, girls Or pets. The day is going to come When my hair will start to fade, — Blonde, brown, red Then grayed, — A reflection much older Than the one I last met. The day is going to come When I'll have to figure out What my whole life is about, — Though it scares me to death I don't think I'm close yet. The day is going to come When I'll shed the skin Of being young. With wrinkled, squinting eyes I'll watch the sun set. Thinking about it now Lifts me up and brings me down, But, God, — I just hope I have plenty of time left.

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Aug 10, 2020

Aug 10, 2020 at 11:33 PM UTC

the day is going to come

The day is going to come When I'll wake before the sun When I'll try hard to look my best When I'll spend hours behind a desk. The day is going to come When I'll start to settle down With some man I'll keep around Then we'll figure out the rest. The day is going to come When the clock will start to tick And I'll decide whether to live free Or spend my mornings, sick And peeing on some test. The day is going to come When my life won't be my own, — I'll be filling up a home With books, boys, girls Or pets. The day is going to come When my hair will start to fade, — Blonde, brown, red Then grayed, — A reflection much older Than the one I last met. The day is going to come When I'll have to figure out What my whole life is about, — Though it scares me to death I don't think I'm close yet. The day is going to come When I'll shed the skin Of being young. With wrinkled, squinting eyes I'll watch the sun set. Thinking about it now Lifts me up and brings me down, But, God, — I just hope I have plenty of time left.

38

His hands are an artist's, — There's power in them To sculpt To create To demolish, — And she's letting him Make her his subject. She looks up at his face As he molds her like clay Whispers to him: "I don't like you But I love you." His eyes are like a hurricane, — Wild and vicious Ravaging everything That he **** well pleases. He tries knocking her down, — Tearing her apart Stripping her bare So she'll have to rebuild, — But she stands still. Back straight against the wall She tells him, "I don't need you But I want you." His mouth is like a hot knife, — His tongue gleams like silver Beneath the light of a pretty lie His words, serrated Cutting deep enough To make even the most obscure parts bleed. She looks on as he takes a stab Utterly unmoved, — The wounds he leaves Are never more than superficial. She grins at him And states: "You are dangerous, But you aren't frightening." His heart is a rabbithole, — It's a long way down that dark tunnel But, if you're brave enough to take the tumble, Once you finally land You'll come face-to-face With a mere little boy, — Frail and trembling Trapped for years. Gracious and graceful, She takes the boy's trembling hands In her steadfast grip And offers the truth, — "You're a vampire, you see, — A predator as old as time, But once I stake you You're done for." His skin is like ice, — Cold and thin Melting away Beneath her fingertips. She looks at what she's done And shakes her head Before bursting into brilliant flame. "You kept trying to **** me, — And one day, you might have, — But, love, I am a phoenix. I've burned and burned A million times over But you know I'll always rise again."

0

Aug 10, 2020

Aug 10, 2020 at 11:32 PM UTC

to ashes

His hands are an artist's, — There's power in them To sculpt To create To demolish, — And she's letting him Make her his subject. She looks up at his face As he molds her like clay Whispers to him: "I don't like you But I love you." His eyes are like a hurricane, — Wild and vicious Ravaging everything That he **** well pleases. He tries knocking her down, — Tearing her apart Stripping her bare So she'll have to rebuild, — But she stands still. Back straight against the wall She tells him, "I don't need you But I want you." His mouth is like a hot knife, — His tongue gleams like silver Beneath the light of a pretty lie His words, serrated Cutting deep enough To make even the most obscure parts bleed. She looks on as he takes a stab Utterly unmoved, — The wounds he leaves Are never more than superficial. She grins at him And states: "You are dangerous, But you aren't frightening." His heart is a rabbithole, — It's a long way down that dark tunnel But, if you're brave enough to take the tumble, Once you finally land You'll come face-to-face With a mere little boy, — Frail and trembling Trapped for years. Gracious and graceful, She takes the boy's trembling hands In her steadfast grip And offers the truth, — "You're a vampire, you see, — A predator as old as time, But once I stake you You're done for." His skin is like ice, — Cold and thin Melting away Beneath her fingertips. She looks at what she's done And shakes her head Before bursting into brilliant flame. "You kept trying to **** me, — And one day, you might have, — But, love, I am a phoenix. I've burned and burned A million times over But you know I'll always rise again."

70

It's not the mirror Making me wonder If I am, or ever will be Good enough. It's the angel on my shoulder Arguing with the devil Who lives in my mouth. It's my self-control Tarnished as metal Beneath a heavy layer of rust. It's the unfinished books Collecting dust on the nightstand As I crack open another. It's all the projects That I will never Bring to a close. It's the time that I spend In a room by myself Listening to my family's laughter, — An open invitation. It's the things I don't do That I once did. It's the things that I want But may never get. It's the things that I am That I'm trying not to be. It's yesterday Tinted a rosy hue. It's tomorrow Threatening rain. It's today Slipping between my fingers As I sit here Trying to untangle myself.

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Aug 10, 2020

Aug 10, 2020 at 11:29 PM UTC

doubt: a portrait

It's not the mirror Making me wonder If I am, or ever will be Good enough. It's the angel on my shoulder Arguing with the devil Who lives in my mouth. It's my self-control Tarnished as metal Beneath a heavy layer of rust. It's the unfinished books Collecting dust on the nightstand As I crack open another. It's all the projects That I will never Bring to a close. It's the time that I spend In a room by myself Listening to my family's laughter, — An open invitation. It's the things I don't do That I once did. It's the things that I want But may never get. It's the things that I am That I'm trying not to be. It's yesterday Tinted a rosy hue. It's tomorrow Threatening rain. It's today Slipping between my fingers As I sit here Trying to untangle myself.

34

Hopelessness is an addiction. I take that little daydream pill Washed down with a tall glass of desire Every single night Just to make me sleep. Lust is a drug. There's something about wanting That can lift me right off the ground But when I come back down I always feel like I'll need more next time. Envy is my lifeblood. Imagining her limbs, all tangled in his Makes my eyes light up green Igniting a spark in me That keeps my head forever spinning. Wishing is a disease. There are things I want to know That live beneath another's skin. Those are places that I'll never see Lines on a map that I only trace in my dreams. Indulgence is a vice In all its many forms, — A sweet-tasting concoction of poison And I will surely keep drinking it Until the day my insides give out. Bitterness is an artform. What else can drive a poet To bleed out her most ridiculous fantasies Filling her canvas up with graceful shame? Not another substance in this world.

0

Aug 10, 2020

Aug 10, 2020 at 11:27 PM UTC

green-eyed

Hopelessness is an addiction. I take that little daydream pill Washed down with a tall glass of desire Every single night Just to make me sleep. Lust is a drug. There's something about wanting That can lift me right off the ground But when I come back down I always feel like I'll need more next time. Envy is my lifeblood. Imagining her limbs, all tangled in his Makes my eyes light up green Igniting a spark in me That keeps my head forever spinning. Wishing is a disease. There are things I want to know That live beneath another's skin. Those are places that I'll never see Lines on a map that I only trace in my dreams. Indulgence is a vice In all its many forms, — A sweet-tasting concoction of poison And I will surely keep drinking it Until the day my insides give out. Bitterness is an artform. What else can drive a poet To bleed out her most ridiculous fantasies Filling her canvas up with graceful shame? Not another substance in this world.

30

You grab ahold I push I claw. Words fly from my lips Like poisoned darts. They'll cut you open They'll rub you raw. You spit my venom Right back at me. You squeeze my hand Crush me with your grip. All of a sudden Something invisible Stabs me. A steely cold Settles in my chest Rather than blood Hot tears drip.

0

Aug 10, 2020

Aug 10, 2020 at 11:26 PM UTC

gripped.

You grab ahold I push I claw. Words fly from my lips Like poisoned darts. They'll cut you open They'll rub you raw. You spit my venom Right back at me. You squeeze my hand Crush me with your grip. All of a sudden Something invisible Stabs me. A steely cold Settles in my chest Rather than blood Hot tears drip.

18

Which came first: The chicken or the egg? Well, the **** of the walk Of course! You ought to know, silly kid, That he has always ruled the roost, — Kicking up dirt Crowing all the live-long day Fighting anything that he sees All to prove his strength. That's how he has always been, — One day, he just wanted to take his dominance That little step further And so, the world gave him a hen. So quiet and gentle Sweet and demure She balances him out quite nicely. She spends most of her days Resigned to her coop Laying egg after egg In her warm, dark room. She attends to the **** Whenever he wants her Then becomes a living factory once again, — Producing babies and food Food and babies. She does this for most of her life, — Until she gets too old, that is. She dries up, gets fat And, by Sunday, She'll be on our table for dinner. Laughing and chewing Clucking and squalling We'll sink our teeth in, Never once thinking About how her entire lifetime Was defined by giving And the **** — Well, it won't take him long To pick out a younger, prettier chick To take her place. Which came first, — The chicken or the egg? Obviously, it was the **** of the walk, — The one who screams his triumph at every sunrise The one whose meat is too tough for us to devour The one who will never, ever die. Everything else is just a page in his never-ending story, — Everything else Is merely consequential.

0

May 12, 2020

May 12, 2020 at 1:21 PM UTC

ballad of the rooster

Which came first: The chicken or the egg? Well, the **** of the walk Of course! You ought to know, silly kid, That he has always ruled the roost, — Kicking up dirt Crowing all the live-long day Fighting anything that he sees All to prove his strength. That's how he has always been, — One day, he just wanted to take his dominance That little step further And so, the world gave him a hen. So quiet and gentle Sweet and demure She balances him out quite nicely. She spends most of her days Resigned to her coop Laying egg after egg In her warm, dark room. She attends to the **** Whenever he wants her Then becomes a living factory once again, — Producing babies and food Food and babies. She does this for most of her life, — Until she gets too old, that is. She dries up, gets fat And, by Sunday, She'll be on our table for dinner. Laughing and chewing Clucking and squalling We'll sink our teeth in, Never once thinking About how her entire lifetime Was defined by giving And the **** — Well, it won't take him long To pick out a younger, prettier chick To take her place. Which came first, — The chicken or the egg? Obviously, it was the **** of the walk, — The one who screams his triumph at every sunrise The one whose meat is too tough for us to devour The one who will never, ever die. Everything else is just a page in his never-ending story, — Everything else Is merely consequential.

50

Your broken parts are jagged, — I cut myself when I was trying to gather them And match them to mine. Over and over, I bled bright scarlet onto your shattered China, Until I created something halfway decent And stopped to admire what I'd done. I found a way to make it all fit As if the Almighty had put us together like puzzles, — I could have lied Proudly stated how nicely My sorrows played with yours. But, my dearest, That isn't the way The man pulling the strings Wanted this to work. Our hearts never make the same clean breaks as our bones, — We were built to spill our vulnerability for all to see Hearts made ultra-sensitive So that we'd always be sure to feel the pain. Love's a bleeding thing, you see, — We're all too likely to bite the hand that caresses us Take a blade to the back we promised to stay behind Highlight the worst words to come from the same mouths that we've kissed As long as we get to see that same result. Passion is not a selfless creature, — It's an untamed beast Taking delight in the heady lust of treachery Finding romance in the primal notion: If I bleed You will, too. Love is not for those without will Or those who can not part With certain parts of themselves That will certainly be drained By the vampire of devotion. Love is for the well-meaning naïve Much like myself But, be warned, Even those who wait on the suffering hand and foot Are not selfless Nor innocent. Affection can be just as carnal a need As a lust for blood. It is a hunger That might someday destroy me. Until then Here I will stay Jagged bits of porcelain heart in my hands Until I lick my own lifeblood from my skin Blindly hoping that, this time, The thirst might be sated.

0

May 8, 2020

May 8, 2020 at 12:02 PM UTC

that which bleeds

Your broken parts are jagged, — I cut myself when I was trying to gather them And match them to mine. Over and over, I bled bright scarlet onto your shattered China, Until I created something halfway decent And stopped to admire what I'd done. I found a way to make it all fit As if the Almighty had put us together like puzzles, — I could have lied Proudly stated how nicely My sorrows played with yours. But, my dearest, That isn't the way The man pulling the strings Wanted this to work. Our hearts never make the same clean breaks as our bones, — We were built to spill our vulnerability for all to see Hearts made ultra-sensitive So that we'd always be sure to feel the pain. Love's a bleeding thing, you see, — We're all too likely to bite the hand that caresses us Take a blade to the back we promised to stay behind Highlight the worst words to come from the same mouths that we've kissed As long as we get to see that same result. Passion is not a selfless creature, — It's an untamed beast Taking delight in the heady lust of treachery Finding romance in the primal notion: If I bleed You will, too. Love is not for those without will Or those who can not part With certain parts of themselves That will certainly be drained By the vampire of devotion. Love is for the well-meaning naïve Much like myself But, be warned, Even those who wait on the suffering hand and foot Are not selfless Nor innocent. Affection can be just as carnal a need As a lust for blood. It is a hunger That might someday destroy me. Until then Here I will stay Jagged bits of porcelain heart in my hands Until I lick my own lifeblood from my skin Blindly hoping that, this time, The thirst might be sated.

51