I'm sick to death
of gulping unspoken words and
sulking tears of frustration
bitter and burning all the way down
of drowning my anger under
the stagnant swamp of "nice",
choking alone in murky depths.
of pulling out my fangs
and curling my tail
and suffocating my soul
of gently nudging all the sheep
who wander, lost and stupid
back towards the green field.
Are all my smiles deceptions?
I want so badly to be good.
But despite it all I am a wolf,
a wild and howling thing
who trembles with pleasure at the taste of blood.
What sheep could understand this loneliness?
What wolf could forgive this betrayal?
Jul 9, 2017
Jul 9, 2017 at 11:49 PM UTC
You were an intellectual jewel
a glittering phenomenon in the sky, some disturbance of space-time
in which all things were knit together in a subjective pattern
and so tightly pulled together that light reflected from every facet
in turn, as you spun, like a windmill,
like a tyger
frightening in your perfect symmetry
in which every stripe was a symbolism
and every red a cleansing fire
which purified everything it touched,
or touched it.
The love I felt for you was first of pity,
for you did not know what it meant to feel,
and you had few friends.
But in time I grew to love you properly,
for your complex simplicity
and your ethereal strict beauty.
And I thought then,
that even if you could not return my love,
it was enough to look at you.
Jun 22, 2017
Jun 22, 2017 at 9:10 PM UTC
your dark eyes have haunted me
ever since I first saw your face.
insatiable, smoldering, unfocused
I think, like an ant beneath a glass,
I would have burst into flames if you had looked directly at me.
I kept that photograph
and now that you're gone,
I admire you endlessly,
and long to be burned.
Jun 22, 2017
Jun 22, 2017 at 9:02 PM UTC
I wish you would put your colonialism into me
Political correctness be ******
Flood my country with your spiced milk
and suffocate in sticky heat every sentiment
which is disagreeable to your southern sensibilities
So that our two societies might be of one mind
and enter into unbreakable alliance.
Jun 22, 2017
Jun 22, 2017 at 8:59 PM UTC
The scar, you said
was a physical reminder of "love"
I don't know who "loved" you,
or why they found it necessary
but I would have made it my life's work
to undo theirs.
Jun 22, 2017
Jun 22, 2017 at 8:48 PM UTC
"Enlightenment-Romanticist Complex", you called it,
my conflict of idealism and rationality
Like a doctor, you laid it out for me plainly
the nature of my illness, from which i was unlikely to recover
though somehow you, the eternal pessimist,
managed to harbor some hope that I would.
But tell me, love,
honestly
weren't you, yourself, still suffering from the same?
You looked forward to a full recovery,
but imagine how deliriously happy we could have been
in our little sick-bed.
Jun 22, 2017
Jun 22, 2017 at 8:43 PM UTC
"ama", you called me
word-play, of which you were so fond
meaning simultaneously
"maid" and "mistress", you said
if only we had not ripped each other to pieces,
i would have liked very much
to continue existing in that paradoxical state
and inspiring countless more.
Jun 22, 2017
Jun 22, 2017 at 8:32 PM UTC
my soul was not prepared
for your mind, so world-weary
and your heart, so innocent
your words, so blunt
your voice, so soft
the mild amusement in your tone
the twitching between my legs
the sadistic longing to break you into pieces
the masochistic yearning to be shattered into the same
and the blissful delusion that we could ever melt them together
Jun 22, 2017
Jun 22, 2017 at 8:30 PM UTC
you were a flame,
and i the moth, my love.
i found your darkness beautiful,
and longed to be destroyed by your hands.
though i hoped to become light, i loved your shadow
i wanted to light you up
to be annihilated together
in the sweet surrender of neutral territory.
my dear, imagine the things we could have done
when with mere words you reached so deep inside of me.
Jun 22, 2017
Jun 22, 2017 at 8:28 PM UTC
Too late, or too wild:
Which was I for you?
Though you amused yourself with me
it was she for whom you longed.
Though it is mid-summer,
the coldest winter wind is flowing
over my salt sea. It swells up,
spilling over the white sand.
Oh! Would that /I/ had been your lady,
and those same waves instead
lapped with cheer at your feet,
as they wandered along my shore
leaving your mark in your wake.
Jun 22, 2017
Jun 22, 2017 at 8:23 PM UTC