eidolonz - Hello Poetry

I am bruising over and over, my hands underneath the sapphire fire they turn scarlet not livid like my skin, deep blue upon touch. I dream of ghosts on lustrous seas, spirits that see the endless ends of this and how vapour fades to return to the ruins. Light, she dances on crystals only because inside it is cold, colder than bitter winters I have not seen. Teach me how to lie awake in sleepless quiet, glittering with answers. Teach me how to burn like a comet before their great fall.

0

Sep 11, 2014

Sep 11, 2014 at 1:36 PM UTC

eidolonz

Comet(ose)

I am bruising over and over, my hands underneath the sapphire fire they turn scarlet not livid like my skin, deep blue upon touch. I dream of ghosts on lustrous seas, spirits that see the endless ends of this and how vapour fades to return to the ruins. Light, she dances on crystals only because inside it is cold, colder than bitter winters I have not seen. Teach me how to lie awake in sleepless quiet, glittering with answers. Teach me how to burn like a comet before their great fall.

17

It is not a mirage. This; it is vital they share the same blue veins under their pale veil. But they breathe different airs. To live, is to learn how to rejoice with paresthesia causing liquor down your throat and be in the stupor without feeling stupid. Stupors feel better lucid and this, this all feels better in sleep.

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Sep 7, 2014

Sep 7, 2014 at 2:17 PM UTC

eidolonz

parasthesia

It is not a mirage. This; it is vital they share the same blue veins under their pale veil. But they breathe different airs. To live, is to learn how to rejoice with paresthesia causing liquor down your throat and be in the stupor without feeling stupid. Stupors feel better lucid and this, this all feels better in sleep.

11

I like to mimic the dead when you hold my hands. Cold and listless. I do it to know how fast we can hold onto the drifting before they slip away.

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Sep 2, 2014

Sep 2, 2014 at 1:46 AM UTC

eidolonz

interlude

I like to mimic the dead when you hold my hands. Cold and listless. I do it to know how fast we can hold onto the drifting before they slip away.

7

All I desire was there before my eyes were ever opened.

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Sep 2, 2014

Sep 2, 2014 at 12:59 AM UTC

eidolonz

trans-cendence

All I desire was there before my eyes were ever opened.

3

How can nothingness cause the death of something and death pave way to more life ?

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Aug 18, 2014

Aug 18, 2014 at 2:13 PM UTC

eidolonz

.

How can nothingness cause the death of something and death pave way to more life ?

6

I love the word frailty because it sounds like a fractured version of fragility, like someone twisted its torso and filled its void with an ‘I’. Which is funny because ‘I’ is weak and ‘I’ always barely manages the extra breath.

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Aug 15, 2014

Aug 15, 2014 at 12:51 PM UTC

eidolonz

While reading

I love the word frailty because it sounds like a fractured version of fragility, like someone twisted its torso and filled its void with an ‘I’. Which is funny because ‘I’ is weak and ‘I’ always barely manages the extra breath.

9

I no longer burn in places that scathed so easily. My body has erased every trace of me laying waste to space. I am trying not to write meaningless things, the way I have in the past but I have become a stain on shirts, a spot of discolouration on skins. You see me as a Rorschach test but I am only spilled ink that means something out of sheer coincidence. I no longer trust the little pulses sitting in my brittle wrists. I no longer believe it is tangled to something greater

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Aug 12, 2014

Aug 12, 2014 at 11:18 AM UTC

eidolonz

I no longer burn

I no longer burn in places that scathed so easily. My body has erased every trace of me laying waste to space. I am trying not to write meaningless things, the way I have in the past but I have become a stain on shirts, a spot of discolouration on skins. You see me as a Rorschach test but I am only spilled ink that means something out of sheer coincidence. I no longer trust the little pulses sitting in my brittle wrists. I no longer believe it is tangled to something greater

22

I want perennial infinites in finished sentences. An understanding of some certainty. But promises promise only the opposite. The ends of thoughts tell me to only trust the unuttered letters and not what it lends to voice because human touch only destroys and dissolves, like snow on your skin. The one thing I am perennially missing.

0

Aug 6, 2014

Aug 6, 2014 at 11:49 AM UTC

eidolonz

Untitled

I want perennial infinites in finished sentences. An understanding of some certainty. But promises promise only the opposite. The ends of thoughts tell me to only trust the unuttered letters and not what it lends to voice because human touch only destroys and dissolves, like snow on your skin. The one thing I am perennially missing.

12

I cannot escape death. I mean that in the most literal sense, but also in the most metaphorical. I keep thinking about writing. I keep thinking about what has been written. I keep thinking and sieving and choosing, nitpicking and weighing. What are the thoughts I want to see the ends of? What are the words I want to be accountable for when I am gone? How do I want to be remembered? In writing I always seek death. and that is precisely why sometimes nothing.comes.

0

Aug 6, 2014

Aug 6, 2014 at 11:19 AM UTC

eidolonz

Untitled

I cannot escape death. I mean that in the most literal sense, but also in the most metaphorical. I keep thinking about writing. I keep thinking about what has been written. I keep thinking and sieving and choosing, nitpicking and weighing. What are the thoughts I want to see the ends of? What are the words I want to be accountable for when I am gone? How do I want to be remembered? In writing I always seek death. and that is precisely why sometimes nothing.comes.

4