erica-a-arnold - Hello Poetry

I have an iron gate between my jaw lines. A lock and pull systems of levees. Thoughts burst forth, swallowing the space around my face. Painting an invisible mask of energy, Donning my molecules with sating sparks. Watch how it glimmers when my temples start to feel dense. I concentrate to feel the pressure, This eye sight that is blind to most. You can tell which ones see the strings... Our life is what you call "sans" puppeteer. The tethers you see don't lace the fingertips of any hand, The twine is threaded by the actors passed. The costumes of their experience clothe the drama soon to begin. I hover with expectation.... Knowing what will come, but also what will never be. This feeling is hard to explain. Believing so much in something, but your description falling on death ears. A tree is falling, Breaking away into its existence, or lack there of.... Has time stopped? or when we rot, does it still... tick. tock.

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Nov 16, 2014

Nov 16, 2014 at 8:32 AM UTC

7:32 a.m Saturday

I have an iron gate between my jaw lines. A lock and pull systems of levees. Thoughts burst forth, swallowing the space around my face. Painting an invisible mask of energy, Donning my molecules with sating sparks. Watch how it glimmers when my temples start to feel dense. I concentrate to feel the pressure, This eye sight that is blind to most. You can tell which ones see the strings... Our life is what you call "sans" puppeteer. The tethers you see don't lace the fingertips of any hand, The twine is threaded by the actors passed. The costumes of their experience clothe the drama soon to begin. I hover with expectation.... Knowing what will come, but also what will never be. This feeling is hard to explain. Believing so much in something, but your description falling on death ears. A tree is falling, Breaking away into its existence, or lack there of.... Has time stopped? or when we rot, does it still... tick. tock.

25

The pace isn't the same, I don't know how to do the dance. It doesn't feel right. The two of us connected, like Twizzlers... waiting to be pulled apart. Melded together if by accident, but ill fitting all the same. I don't like this hold... counting the seconds until it's over. I miss his imprint. I miss his acrobats. I miss the shape of our twisted bodies, a smattering of arms and legs like Krishna. I want to petrify it, keep it always how it was. For my records, of course.... just to compare. The science is behind it. My own personal form of chemistry.

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Jan 5, 2014

Jan 5, 2014 at 10:27 PM UTC

Chemistry

The pace isn't the same, I don't know how to do the dance. It doesn't feel right. The two of us connected, like Twizzlers... waiting to be pulled apart. Melded together if by accident, but ill fitting all the same. I don't like this hold... counting the seconds until it's over. I miss his imprint. I miss his acrobats. I miss the shape of our twisted bodies, a smattering of arms and legs like Krishna. I want to petrify it, keep it always how it was. For my records, of course.... just to compare. The science is behind it. My own personal form of chemistry.

20

I want to be under your skin, lying placidly, feeling the rush of your beats around me. I wish to fall asleep to the rhythm of your breath the pull of your muscles the shocks of your nerves. This relationship has been commandeered by desire, recklessly veering off the path of pleasantries. Caged and wild, it waits... Fighting the desire to claw and rip its way to the surface. To give in is to destroy this ethereal state of what may be. Only once chance do I have to sink into you, meld us together and adapt to this foreign occupation. I don't wish to slip I want to stick like resin to fingertips... I wish to stain you and leave you forever marked. Fear races wildly in my eyes, drives me out of mind but I must keep it cool... so very cool... As if just one skittish movement could leave me alone. could have you leave me alone I'll play this marionette game, responding to your movements and your impulses. Eventually i'll be a real person to you, not just another object to play with. I'll be your shadow my love Kiss the very ground you walk on Just see me always... Don't let the darkness dissipate what this light illuminates. I want to be under your skin, safe and sound. I'll stay here. Waiting... Patiently... For you to let me come around.

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Dec 31, 2013

Dec 31, 2013 at 6:33 PM UTC

Under Your Skin

I want to be under your skin, lying placidly, feeling the rush of your beats around me. I wish to fall asleep to the rhythm of your breath the pull of your muscles the shocks of your nerves. This relationship has been commandeered by desire, recklessly veering off the path of pleasantries. Caged and wild, it waits... Fighting the desire to claw and rip its way to the surface. To give in is to destroy this ethereal state of what may be. Only once chance do I have to sink into you, meld us together and adapt to this foreign occupation. I don't wish to slip I want to stick like resin to fingertips... I wish to stain you and leave you forever marked. Fear races wildly in my eyes, drives me out of mind but I must keep it cool... so very cool... As if just one skittish movement could leave me alone. could have you leave me alone I'll play this marionette game, responding to your movements and your impulses. Eventually i'll be a real person to you, not just another object to play with. I'll be your shadow my love Kiss the very ground you walk on Just see me always... Don't let the darkness dissipate what this light illuminates. I want to be under your skin, safe and sound. I'll stay here. Waiting... Patiently... For you to let me come around.

28

Little high, a little blow. Rail thin. Taxidermy. Image of a scarecrow. Give me one more dose. For my health, just a bit to get by, lips biting teeth, ****** in and strung out, wide dough-boy eyes. An infinite list behind her lips, reasons pour as if she's a teapot tipped out the half empty cup she sips. Pinky poised for picking pieces, these shards of a different kind. On her skin they gleam like glitter come to decorate her mind.

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Dec 29, 2013

Dec 29, 2013 at 9:22 PM UTC

Shades of Jaded

Little high, a little blow. Rail thin. Taxidermy. Image of a scarecrow. Give me one more dose. For my health, just a bit to get by, lips biting teeth, ****** in and strung out, wide dough-boy eyes. An infinite list behind her lips, reasons pour as if she's a teapot tipped out the half empty cup she sips. Pinky poised for picking pieces, these shards of a different kind. On her skin they gleam like glitter come to decorate her mind.

16

I hate that name. ***** word, ***** girl, **** me. Teach me a lesson... Your very own naughty girl, show me how easy it is to leave. How easy it is to cut the strings. Your pet. Your doll. Your puppet. So well versed in pillow talk, your lines never change. It's always the same, just a different mad-lib, where I'm the chosen name. Did you tell her the same stark white lies? Did she fall into those light blue eyes? Was she like me? Are you happy? I've done this before... with another name I've grown to hate. I did the disco, drank him in, and stayed up a bit too late.

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Dec 29, 2013

Dec 29, 2013 at 8:12 PM UTC

Love Drunk

I hate that name. ***** word, ***** girl, **** me. Teach me a lesson... Your very own naughty girl, show me how easy it is to leave. How easy it is to cut the strings. Your pet. Your doll. Your puppet. So well versed in pillow talk, your lines never change. It's always the same, just a different mad-lib, where I'm the chosen name. Did you tell her the same stark white lies? Did she fall into those light blue eyes? Was she like me? Are you happy? I've done this before... with another name I've grown to hate. I did the disco, drank him in, and stayed up a bit too late.

25

Penny-less. Lick it up off Picasso's postcards. Share this time... What little we have. The dance of the deprived, worshipping the derelict. Trash. Call us what you want. This trash to you is used, ***** and degraded. A has been. To us, you are nothing... Will be nothing. Until you've handled us, you'll never know. You stare with star-struck eyes. Why, yes we are those fallen few. We chose. No, life chose us. Us to be without. We're the entitled greats who go without. All you can do is sneer, with your veneered smiles smeared. Go ahead. You envy us. I see your as green as the notes in your pocket, as bitter as the coffee in your cup.

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Dec 29, 2013

Dec 29, 2013 at 8:04 PM UTC

Vagabond

Penny-less. Lick it up off Picasso's postcards. Share this time... What little we have. The dance of the deprived, worshipping the derelict. Trash. Call us what you want. This trash to you is used, ***** and degraded. A has been. To us, you are nothing... Will be nothing. Until you've handled us, you'll never know. You stare with star-struck eyes. Why, yes we are those fallen few. We chose. No, life chose us. Us to be without. We're the entitled greats who go without. All you can do is sneer, with your veneered smiles smeared. Go ahead. You envy us. I see your as green as the notes in your pocket, as bitter as the coffee in your cup.

29

Fill up these hollow eyes... These two dry sockets, sitting cold like marbles in a divot. Pour into them. Look past the shallow pool, and dive deep into the blackness. See what I see... Sink into my vision... Floating, if just for a moment. Dead weight, with arms wide open. Fill up these hollow eyes, with penny thoughts and nickel dimed emotions. Weave the string, and pull me closer. Entice me. Tease me. Tickle my fancy. Make me chockfull, to the brim. Then spill me over. Fill up these hollow eyes, they **** you in like bathroom drain pipes. Keeping up the appearances... watch how they move. Like the lolling head of a sleeping toddler, no focus. Their out of focus.

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Dec 29, 2013

Dec 29, 2013 at 7:40 PM UTC

Hollow Eyes

Fill up these hollow eyes... These two dry sockets, sitting cold like marbles in a divot. Pour into them. Look past the shallow pool, and dive deep into the blackness. See what I see... Sink into my vision... Floating, if just for a moment. Dead weight, with arms wide open. Fill up these hollow eyes, with penny thoughts and nickel dimed emotions. Weave the string, and pull me closer. Entice me. Tease me. Tickle my fancy. Make me chockfull, to the brim. Then spill me over. Fill up these hollow eyes, they **** you in like bathroom drain pipes. Keeping up the appearances... watch how they move. Like the lolling head of a sleeping toddler, no focus. Their out of focus.

25

I feel my brain turning to porridge. That thick,sticky concoction of experience: Too many late nights, whiskey mornings, and "just one small line" excuses. Always feeding my destruction with that juggling act of addiction. Reducing my pain to a single act, Reusing myself and others around me, Recycling what little hope I have left. My insides would be a sorry sight to see, so far from the person people know me as. They don't feel the weight of my brain, the cement blocks of my thoughts. I wish I could pop the hood, clean between the folds, and blow away the dust. I identify with the abandoned and derelict buildings of the city, Broken and abused, but still foreboding with their skeletons from another time. I admire them for their character, their strength to still have their beauty long after their makers have forgotten it. For what are we except the architecture of existence? Each one of us a landmark: To family, a lover, a friend. We are shadows in their skyline... Until one day, We fall.

0

Dec 27, 2013

Dec 27, 2013 at 3:37 PM UTC

Stumped

I feel my brain turning to porridge. That thick,sticky concoction of experience: Too many late nights, whiskey mornings, and "just one small line" excuses. Always feeding my destruction with that juggling act of addiction. Reducing my pain to a single act, Reusing myself and others around me, Recycling what little hope I have left. My insides would be a sorry sight to see, so far from the person people know me as. They don't feel the weight of my brain, the cement blocks of my thoughts. I wish I could pop the hood, clean between the folds, and blow away the dust. I identify with the abandoned and derelict buildings of the city, Broken and abused, but still foreboding with their skeletons from another time. I admire them for their character, their strength to still have their beauty long after their makers have forgotten it. For what are we except the architecture of existence? Each one of us a landmark: To family, a lover, a friend. We are shadows in their skyline... Until one day, We fall.

19