hannygeraldine - Hello Poetry

Bright eyed darling, where have you gone? Have you no sense in direction? You've lost yourself in my soul. I have ruined the only good in you, I've ruined your soul. Forgive me darling forgive me please. I am utterly ashamed for what has happened. Broken is what I am. Forever stolid is how I'll remain now that they have taken away my soul and took you with it.

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hannygeraldine

Jul 24, 2015

Jul 24, 2015 at 9:59 AM UTC

AlejandraErebia

Bright eyed

Bright eyed darling, where have you gone? Have you no sense in direction? You've lost yourself in my soul. I have ruined the only good in you, I've ruined your soul. Forgive me darling forgive me please. I am utterly ashamed for what has happened. Broken is what I am. Forever stolid is how I'll remain now that they have taken away my soul and took you with it.

3

I tell you "I love you" You tell me "I love you too And I want you" Then you hug me And your lips meet mine You take me to your place We spend a night together I lay my head on your chest And you me sleep, safe and sound Next day I wake up, and realize It is just another Lucid Dreaming

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Jul 23, 2015

Jul 23, 2015 at 12:32 PM UTC

hannygeraldine

"I love you too"

I tell you "I love you" You tell me "I love you too And I want you" Then you hug me And your lips meet mine You take me to your place We spend a night together I lay my head on your chest And you me sleep, safe and sound Next day I wake up, and realize It is just another Lucid Dreaming

13

I'm lost in my thoughts. I'm lost in my soul. I'm lost in this world. I'm lost in you. I'm lost in the unrealistic idea that it's you and I against the the universe. I'm lost.

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hannygeraldine

Jul 22, 2015

Jul 22, 2015 at 1:44 PM UTC

AlejandraErebia

Lost

I'm lost in my thoughts. I'm lost in my soul. I'm lost in this world. I'm lost in you. I'm lost in the unrealistic idea that it's you and I against the the universe. I'm lost.

2

I know a Riddle It is short, and simple But is also hard to solve I've sailed in the sea of thoughts for nights I've wandered to the land of minds so far Still, I didn't get the answer So I am now here Seeking help to find the answer I know a Riddle This thing has no strings attached, but has feelings within I know a Riddle What is it called when you are more than friends but less than a couple?

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Jul 22, 2015

Jul 22, 2015 at 1:40 PM UTC

hannygeraldine

Unsolved Riddle

I know a Riddle It is short, and simple But is also hard to solve I've sailed in the sea of thoughts for nights I've wandered to the land of minds so far Still, I didn't get the answer So I am now here Seeking help to find the answer I know a Riddle This thing has no strings attached, but has feelings within I know a Riddle What is it called when you are more than friends but less than a couple?

14

**** me quietly in the current of the Caspian That calloused-caviar undertow Petroleum-pierced fragmented bone You whispered things no child should know And I was no child then Trembling hands I emerge from the lion’s den Wearing memory like white lines on the insides of my wrists Until I forget they’re there Blue eyes, blonde hair Painted mouth and vacant stare Here is who I have become So kiss me quietly in the white-capped waves of the Caspian My lips a promise sealed in black oil and blood Hear the water tank trickle fill and flood See the volcanoes burst with sacred mud And feel my skeptical smile Spectacle-clad you read my file It’s been a while since I relived all of this And I’m deciding if it’s far too late or far too soon To begin to deconstruct our interactions The repulsion, the attraction The actions and reactions That defined that interim allotment of time I sit here now retracing your lines On the rickety map in the back of my mind Memory, so mute, so blind And ripping down the track so quickly Thrown back so sickly-bitterly Like salt-lime-tequila My memory has been mutilated Slaughtered, drained and skinned Treated, chopped and trimmed And now I place it on a table in the street Tell me, can you hear the pattern of its late heartbeat As you grip a fleshy dripping pound of it in your hand My memories are no-man’s land So caress me carefully in the cool-calm caves of the Caspian Recall the strange sounds of the early days Sacred grounds, hot-garbage haze Sandy winds, the bazaar maze That made me acutely aware of the incomplete Not even joyful summer heat Could keep me from floating feet-up in the Georgian river Memory smile, convulse and shiver I intended this to be a reconciliation Call me queen of counterproductive apology Let’s redefine astrology To gain some favour from the stars Russian salad and white box cars Deep *** holes in Badamdar Truthfully I’ve never known who you really are And I probably never will But cut me kindly in the clouds above the Caspian This is as close as we can get Ignorant prejudice my one regret But I have not forgotten all the good And I will try to love you like I should But tell me, is it better to have memories that lie Or have nothing at all? Shall I embrace the distortions or the abyss? **** me carefully or give me a kiss Tell me, what am I to do with this? Cut me open or caress me Call me child or undress me Your impassive smile does not impress me Tell me, how am I to process this? I’ve swam your sea, I’ve coughed your air I let you stroke and steal my sandy hair I left without once looking back No pillar of salt No pile of ash No blame or fault Or debt or cash But still the walls begin to crack I feel the stitches start to tear Murky-memory drags me eastward by my fresh-grown hair Forcing my eyes, so-cold and ever-blue ever deeper into you, the dark heart of the Caspian

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hannygeraldine

Jul 22, 2015

Jul 22, 2015 at 9:37 AM UTC

ariel-evangeline-baptista

Caspian Sea Memory

**** me quietly in the current of the Caspian That calloused-caviar undertow Petroleum-pierced fragmented bone You whispered things no child should know And I was no child then Trembling hands I emerge from the lion’s den Wearing memory like white lines on the insides of my wrists Until I forget they’re there Blue eyes, blonde hair Painted mouth and vacant stare Here is who I have become So kiss me quietly in the white-capped waves of the Caspian My lips a promise sealed in black oil and blood Hear the water tank trickle fill and flood See the volcanoes burst with sacred mud And feel my skeptical smile Spectacle-clad you read my file It’s been a while since I relived all of this And I’m deciding if it’s far too late or far too soon To begin to deconstruct our interactions The repulsion, the attraction The actions and reactions That defined that interim allotment of time I sit here now retracing your lines On the rickety map in the back of my mind Memory, so mute, so blind And ripping down the track so quickly Thrown back so sickly-bitterly Like salt-lime-tequila My memory has been mutilated Slaughtered, drained and skinned Treated, chopped and trimmed And now I place it on a table in the street Tell me, can you hear the pattern of its late heartbeat As you grip a fleshy dripping pound of it in your hand My memories are no-man’s land So caress me carefully in the cool-calm caves of the Caspian Recall the strange sounds of the early days Sacred grounds, hot-garbage haze Sandy winds, the bazaar maze That made me acutely aware of the incomplete Not even joyful summer heat Could keep me from floating feet-up in the Georgian river Memory smile, convulse and shiver I intended this to be a reconciliation Call me queen of counterproductive apology Let’s redefine astrology To gain some favour from the stars Russian salad and white box cars Deep *** holes in Badamdar Truthfully I’ve never known who you really are And I probably never will But cut me kindly in the clouds above the Caspian This is as close as we can get Ignorant prejudice my one regret But I have not forgotten all the good And I will try to love you like I should But tell me, is it better to have memories that lie Or have nothing at all? Shall I embrace the distortions or the abyss? **** me carefully or give me a kiss Tell me, what am I to do with this? Cut me open or caress me Call me child or undress me Your impassive smile does not impress me Tell me, how am I to process this? I’ve swam your sea, I’ve coughed your air I let you stroke and steal my sandy hair I left without once looking back No pillar of salt No pile of ash No blame or fault Or debt or cash But still the walls begin to crack I feel the stitches start to tear Murky-memory drags me eastward by my fresh-grown hair Forcing my eyes, so-cold and ever-blue ever deeper into you, the dark heart of the Caspian

78

Sanguine Choleric Melancholic Phlegmatic Phlegmatic Melancholic Choleric Sanguine Blood oranges And hibiscus tea White wine Carcrash memory Hypertensive He straps me down on the table This is for my own good. Too much blood they say, Too much red wine too much liquid Too much My hand is swollen My stomach distended The vein in my forehead is bulging Too much blood A needle A leech A pen Blood oranges White wine A needle is a leech is a pen Is what the doctor ordered He straps me to the desk This is for my own good A cure Too much blood Too much tea Too many memories Too many thoughts Hypertensive Sanguine They say They hand me the scalpel And show me the line Too much I’ve had too too much red wine To be doing this A pen a leech a needle A bucket of blood A novel Sanguine Melancholic Choleric Phlegmatic This is the cure This is for my own good Too much much blood They hand me the pen I’ve had too too many Blood oranges To be doing this A scalpel is a pen Is a leech is a needle A bucket of blood is a novel (Bleeding is the cure) I bleed.

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hannygeraldine

Jul 22, 2015

Jul 22, 2015 at 9:37 AM UTC

ariel-evangeline-baptista

Dear Rilke, I must

Sanguine Choleric Melancholic Phlegmatic Phlegmatic Melancholic Choleric Sanguine Blood oranges And hibiscus tea White wine Carcrash memory Hypertensive He straps me down on the table This is for my own good. Too much blood they say, Too much red wine too much liquid Too much My hand is swollen My stomach distended The vein in my forehead is bulging Too much blood A needle A leech A pen Blood oranges White wine A needle is a leech is a pen Is what the doctor ordered He straps me to the desk This is for my own good A cure Too much blood Too much tea Too many memories Too many thoughts Hypertensive Sanguine They say They hand me the scalpel And show me the line Too much I’ve had too too much red wine To be doing this A pen a leech a needle A bucket of blood A novel Sanguine Melancholic Choleric Phlegmatic This is the cure This is for my own good Too much much blood They hand me the pen I’ve had too too many Blood oranges To be doing this A scalpel is a pen Is a leech is a needle A bucket of blood is a novel (Bleeding is the cure) I bleed.

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