When I look at you,
I don't see beautiful legs,
or a gorgeous face,
I don't see perfect *******
or eyes worth drowning in.
When I look at you,
I see through the material
captivating as it is,
and into a mystery
beckoning to the immaterial.
When I speak with you,
the rest of the world doesn't stop spinning,
but it slows down,
and the doubts and history,
fall away into the nothing
from whence they came.
When you touched me,
there was no ecstasy,
nor a beautiful pain;
just a simple warmth
which I never thought
I'd be able to feel again.
Nov 25, 2014
Nov 25, 2014 at 3:44 AM UTC
I fell in love with the way my name rolls off of your drunken tongue and you slur your way through the consonants. I fell in love with the way your touch wounds me with something like a bullet hole and you leave nothing but a band aid. I fell in love with the way I hear your voice scream "stop" through the smoke in my charring lungs. I fell in love with the way I can see your face at the bottom of my bottle, because we all know you mix best with whiskey. I fell in love with the way you watch me drive through red lights with a wicked grin across your lucid face. I fell in love with the way you leave a toxic haze everywhere you go, you make it impossible to not get drunk on you.
Nov 25, 2014
Nov 25, 2014 at 3:44 AM UTC
if we were alone, I would have
held you close,
turned you around, and kissed you,
rested you against me,
put up that armrest in between us
and sat in warm comfort together
but we were not alone
and I am absolutely parched for you
Nov 25, 2014
Nov 25, 2014 at 3:44 AM UTC
822
This Consciousness that is aware
Of Neighbors and the Sun
Will be the one aware of Death
And that itself alone
Is traversing the interval
Experience between
And most profound experiment
Appointed unto Men—
How adequate unto itself
Its properties shall be
Itself unto itself and none
Shall make discovery.
Adventure most unto itself
The Soul condemned to be—
Attended by a single Hound
Its own identity.
Nov 25, 2014
Nov 25, 2014 at 3:12 AM UTC
The curvature of my fleeting thoughts
Have reached an unexpected capacity
To further torture my already tortured soul.
The distance between time and space is
A vague line unconcerned with
The confusing corrosion laying it's
Framework down in my mind.
The agonizing moments when one
Drifts away into a hollow truth of
Knowing that you will never be able to escape.
...sm (11.23.14)
Nov 25, 2014
Nov 25, 2014 at 3:12 AM UTC
*The cold and the rain.
The beauty of you
shivering through your
jeans as you stand and
freeze while the breeze
makes its way across
your fleshy cheeks. Making
you cold to the knees leaving
me wanting to take a
picture and keep it in a
golden frame with your
name. A fork a knife and
a cinnobon roll shared
with your wife. How much
exciting can this life turn
out to be. You treat me like
a queen bumble bee. The
honey drops from your
voice while you tell me words
of love and how that you
gave your all to me. I laugh i
smile and stare into your
eyes for a while. This is not
a dream this is reality.
Feeling light and free as a
pretty coloured feather you
manage to make me. Thanks
for existing and making me
so **** happy as i write
down this love in the form
of poetry* ~
Nov 25, 2014
Nov 25, 2014 at 3:12 AM UTC
I believed.
I was deceived.
I cared.
It was not shared.
I fell.
You could tell.
To you, I was drawn.
You led me on.
I said I love you.
You lied and said you did too.
Then I said Don't leave me
You said We'll see
I should have walked away.
Made you ask me to stay.
But now I'm left alone.
Parts of me, left in your soul.
My heart aches beneath these bones.
But without me,
You feel whole.
Nov 25, 2014
Nov 25, 2014 at 3:11 AM UTC
Fire in one hand
liquid in the other
clutching these crutches
with feelings to smother
the pill
the powder
the *****
these people
my heart on my sleeve
soiled by the deceitful
Nov 25, 2014
Nov 25, 2014 at 3:11 AM UTC
What she said to me sitting at that bar
sipping God's own overpriced whiskey
was the truest thing any one has ever
managed to tell me about myself.
And the drive up to town after
the ribbon of freeway stretching
on into forever and the radio full
of Bukowski's guts blaring with
her feet on my dashboard.
That room with wine colored
walls and a taste reminiscent
of some novel I know I've
read somewhere, somewhen.
Tiny bed I'm constantly trying
to not fall out of sweetly
forcing me closer to her
in the early morning grey.
Something unspoken and
something unseen but somehow
un-needing to be clarified
for once living on feeling
only what there is now.
Nov 25, 2014
Nov 25, 2014 at 3:11 AM UTC