Once, what feels like a millennium ago, I met you.
You were the stars in my eyes,
you were the new "New".
A while ago I thought I knew
you,
but as it turns out, I simply hadn't a clue
about you.
I thought that what we had was something true,
but today I know that you
are not the person who I knew.
Maybe I thought it was logical to want to pursue
you;
but I threw
that stale, old reasoning in the waste-paper basket.
I know my feelings will still be true,
even if you
are not who I thought I knew.
I wish you were a part of my life,
but thinking of you
just makes me even more blue.
All that I can say today,
is that "birthdays don't mean much anymore."
What about you?
Dec 3, 2014
Dec 3, 2014 at 2:02 PM UTC
how can I be drunk
round and a round and a round i go
the looking glass reflects
I have waited all my life
You say you are bonafide
lay your law down on me love.
if you don’t treat me better,
baby i’ll just run away.
i don’t know what drives you
to play these silly games.
I have done what I’ve done,
and it has the ultimate consequence.
in my temple boy, be warned, violence doesn’t have a home.
Then a voice calls me back, “this is not business,
no, it’s more like spiritual.”
I am possessed.
You strike with dry poison.
When will you wake up?
I want you more than the stars and the sun
we could buy an airplane
build a home in the sand
you could tell your secrets
i could understand.
seems we got a cheaper feel now.
Smacked upside of the head,
he lit you up,
fixed you up real good
til I don’t know you anymore.
there’s not a lot of me left anymore— just leave it alone.
you gave it up.
Do you think just like that
you can divide this:
you as yours, me as mine
to before we were us.
No need to push me again.
I know it’s your day in the sun.
What is left?
What is right?
I left the right man.
i let him wake me but decided not to stay.
By the time you’re twenty-five, they will say
“you’ve gone and blown it.”
By the time you’re thirty-five, I must confide,
you will have blown them all.
Nov 14, 2014
Nov 14, 2014 at 3:15 PM UTC
I shall never forget these experiences.
Today is lovely and charming.
the crisp autumn air
is indeed magical;
however, no
enchantment or elixir or trance
can rival the true
bliss of how I
felt in those
gay summer days.
I know that
those days of yore
are gone forever,
but I can't help
to relive those days:
those ones I refer to
as my 'awakening',
those ones in which
I grew up,
those ones in which
I knew no fear or prejudice,
save only love and courage.
Oct 8, 2014
Oct 8, 2014 at 3:13 PM UTC
What. what is this tide that turns within me?
my emotional barometer has gone haywire:
I can't tell triumph from grief
any longer.
Once I might have said I was strong,
I was blinded by your shining armour,
the smooth glitz of your scales.
Your eyes stung me,
you shot your crippling poison into my heart.
Your fangs are still embedded in my skin,
your venom everstill circulates amongst
my bloodstream.
I seduced you—or did you ****** me?
Those days are no longer memories:
rather, they are something more akin to a
strange, fantastical dream I once had.
When will I wake up and be shown what life really has in store for me?
Sep 21, 2014
Sep 21, 2014 at 11:01 PM UTC
in and out
in and out
out and in
my little breaths
are of a different sort.
the pitterpatter of my heartdrum beats against my eardrum:
i sit in silence and do not know what to think.
salt water flows out from my eyes
oh when did i get this ocean inside of me?
Aug 24, 2014
Aug 24, 2014 at 10:19 AM UTC
i am surrounded by,
drowning in
things.
the people are absent,
there is no warmth,
no love.
the frigid and dank skeleton of a house
is what i call my home.
these words, the texts and scrawlings may give me
solace
momentarily,
but i feel ill and lost.
hadn't i found happiness before?
My heart is sick of being in chains.
Aug 4, 2014
Aug 4, 2014 at 12:16 AM UTC
our lives are now a
taboo.
we didn't ask for this.
we didn't ask for anything.
but then isn't that just how this
funny, little
life
works?
my existence is now a fantasy:
I am walking in a dreamworld.
thick, black clouds of melancholia hang low over my head,
though there is not really a true cloud in the sky.
what does this all mean?
I am searching in my innermost depths
for some answers.
fire
I feel the great heat collecting in my small heart,
this circle of fire.
*Oh, Elizabeth!
Muriel's been missing,
Won't you help me
find
her?*
we are dancing on lost graves.
Jul 26, 2014
Jul 26, 2014 at 7:20 PM UTC
Earth: our ominous all-mother,
she, the greater good:
the interminable fountain out of which stems life and vivacity itself
always reaching
and grasping for the abstruse azure heavens above.
her hair never stops growing. the mites and parasites never cease to fester her scalp. She is growing and changing and rotting and dying. but where death comes, there is no long interval until more
life.
the liveliness is everywhere; it promotes to all faces and regions and niches. Multiplying, begetting, propagating. all for the greater good of our orb and its inhabitants. Most dwellers are humble and solicitous toward her, and learn to keep a vigilant eye
as she can be so
forceful and violent.
She does have, however, one rascal who believes that the globe belongs all to Himself.
He is the man.
He has a masterful gift, yes. He is profound and competent. He forges the impractical query into a conclusive answer. He, however, is also egocentric and pompous, and He sees her as a specimen to which
He has the rights to dismember and pervert.
He makes a mess of her unique vistas. He tramples and stamps on her face, running about as if she were the coliseum in which the gods gather to view the Species fight itself to extinction. He works her to the
core, always asking for more, more, more, more,
until she has little left to give.
But she never loses courage in His asinine and moronic views and His sprawling village,
for she created Him
out of herself
she is the framework out of which the mind is able to mundanely manifest itself.
Without her, He would be nothing.
And she is so immeasurably loving and benevolently caring and forevermore giving; for
She is life, she is love.
We are love.
Feb 13, 2013
Feb 13, 2013 at 9:19 PM UTC
the cold, white building has been abandoned for seven years today.
what was once a majestic foundation for the analysis of a humanity, now an empty fable of
gargantuan men in
laboratory suits
and young women who thirsted to follow in the footsteps of the
honorable Florence.
The sanguine fluids left from the yesterdays and the yesterdays seep and transude into the
holy grounds of the asylum.
no man, no beast dares to disturb the forsaken soil,
the venerable clay loam out of which grows the neverending carnage of body and flesh.
lost voices of a
thousand schizophrenics
still scream
from the silent operations of their euthanasia.
the lands have not lied under the unadulterated, pure heavens since the genesis of
H. sapiens himself. This “wise, knowing man” has
doused and suffocated
the flame that radiated prospect, leaving the wide, exquisite cosmos
no more than a nefarious expanse of chaos and dismay.
The structure, the edifice of what was intended for
knowledge and bounty,
has indeed fallen
victim
to the inauspicious prophecy that they molded and sculpted themselves.
Jun 8, 2012
Jun 8, 2012 at 3:52 PM UTC