vialethanshade - Hello Poetry

“You’ll never get in. You just can’t. You don’t understand.”, she says. in this, i can’t help but hear that constant chorus. she sobs softly in a room i can’t open; door locked. she can’t help herself. she always cries in the morning. i can’t believe she’s the same person as in the evening before; in fishnets and spike heels, vying for attention, can’t take no, no, won’t take no as an answer. in fact, i can’t take no so well myself. in a growing rage, i can’t hold back. can’t stand this helplessness in my own home. i try to get in with a slam and a kick but can’t. she sounds out louder in fear, can’t help herself. in-side, i burn angrily at the sound. i can’t stand it; can’t shake it, like a potlid in the throes of boil. it’s strange. in my mind, i can’t remember how it started. in memories, we can’t keep our hands to ourselves, intwined at the hip and mouth, can’t stop or don’t want to. in reality, i guess we still can’t, though i can’t say it’s in the same ways. well, i get in. she can’t hold back her sullen tears. she can’t hide the hints in last night’s stockings, torn into large holes. i can’t help but growl and she can’t help but weep heavily in that old, familiar way. and so now, we can’t stop it. it’s in motion. the ritual complete. can’t help that, in each other, we summon the worst.

0

Feb 28, 2025

Feb 28, 2025 at 2:36 PM UTC

incant

“You’ll never get in. You just can’t. You don’t understand.”, she says. in this, i can’t help but hear that constant chorus. she sobs softly in a room i can’t open; door locked. she can’t help herself. she always cries in the morning. i can’t believe she’s the same person as in the evening before; in fishnets and spike heels, vying for attention, can’t take no, no, won’t take no as an answer. in fact, i can’t take no so well myself. in a growing rage, i can’t hold back. can’t stand this helplessness in my own home. i try to get in with a slam and a kick but can’t. she sounds out louder in fear, can’t help herself. in-side, i burn angrily at the sound. i can’t stand it; can’t shake it, like a potlid in the throes of boil. it’s strange. in my mind, i can’t remember how it started. in memories, we can’t keep our hands to ourselves, intwined at the hip and mouth, can’t stop or don’t want to. in reality, i guess we still can’t, though i can’t say it’s in the same ways. well, i get in. she can’t hold back her sullen tears. she can’t hide the hints in last night’s stockings, torn into large holes. i can’t help but growl and she can’t help but weep heavily in that old, familiar way. and so now, we can’t stop it. it’s in motion. the ritual complete. can’t help that, in each other, we summon the worst.

25

I will bury you your bones and mine first above & below then slowly into each our entrails will form radicles and shoots blowing past the past to entwine in the rays of some future sun unspoken & bespoke I will bury you each gift given freely consumed whole seething, staring down with unseeing eyes another morsel demanded of you which you bequeath lovingly, for love, to love, to be loved I will bury you lips smeared with pale juices, an elixir to transform you, from your youness inhaled hungrily from saccharine statements in offering to some eldritch thought that sits just between us both.

0

Feb 28, 2025

Feb 28, 2025 at 2:49 AM UTC

i will bury you

I will bury you your bones and mine first above & below then slowly into each our entrails will form radicles and shoots blowing past the past to entwine in the rays of some future sun unspoken & bespoke I will bury you each gift given freely consumed whole seething, staring down with unseeing eyes another morsel demanded of you which you bequeath lovingly, for love, to love, to be loved I will bury you lips smeared with pale juices, an elixir to transform you, from your youness inhaled hungrily from saccharine statements in offering to some eldritch thought that sits just between us both.

30

dark & light dance left horizon a glacial crawl spectrum shifting sable watched closely enough she was as an old TV, diode warm, alive and yet, undead too. not gone but going. she knew. her silent song set a winking line of signal, weeping out her last lacrimal notes now waves rushing to shore sounded bent, for a moment wobbling, unmoored i heard the hum of a **** turning, clicking to off. electrical bubble burst. picture crushed into that same long line, like an eye mid-blink but never blunk

0

Feb 28, 2025

Feb 28, 2025 at 2:31 AM UTC

twilight at erielhonan

dark & light dance left horizon a glacial crawl spectrum shifting sable watched closely enough she was as an old TV, diode warm, alive and yet, undead too. not gone but going. she knew. her silent song set a winking line of signal, weeping out her last lacrimal notes now waves rushing to shore sounded bent, for a moment wobbling, unmoored i heard the hum of a **** turning, clicking to off. electrical bubble burst. picture crushed into that same long line, like an eye mid-blink but never blunk

23

there is inside me at my deepest part a little black ball of rage i don’t know how it got there well, that’s only half true i don’t know how it quite got there at my core at the heart of my being but i know when it got there hewn hard into my flesh my mind, bones tempered into me each night my matriarch’s take on hephaestus’s forge and each morning quenched in the light of day each walk to school under the sun’s yawning beams miasma erupting from my pores the liminal release before the cycle began anew so, suffice it to say, it’s in there deep. DEEP deep. and it reminds me every day. hissing out from my heart seething out of my skin the steady sssssssss of it always in the periphery BGM for my life like whatever that Animal Crossing theme is called but sharper a slicing sliver of steam most days she’s content to rest easy in the wet dark alcoves inside me a passive hum of her slumbering ember rattling from my chest on others she demands her freedom tells me i don’t deserve the reins tells me i need her to lead us i say “no” she rouses sizzling note rising to a low rumble she says yes i say No. first a jet of flame burning bright blue white like the first blazing pinions from a piece of fresh firewood seared sap seeping into sssssssss down to deep crimson a spider lily dancing out of me showing me beautifully bouncing and it’s tempting to get lost in that get lost in the beauty of a renegade part of your very own soul saying **** That. saying **** You. there’s something profound about it (and someday, i hope a wiser person than i can tell you about it) but getting lost in it is a snare a distraction more importantly there’s the ssssssssseething if you listen hard now the little black ball she says sssssssss no one will ever understand you sssssssss another burst of light that sinks sallow from it she shrieks sssssssss your only talent is pain sssssssss now a cascade SSSSSSSSS she roars now a lioness tearing her way out of me into me she says you know it would be better if it was just all gone my back erupting a billowing cloak of indignant ignition stoked by memories of midnight visitors with knives or less and christmas eves in dank dirt rooms of ****** tears and well-tended wounds and this is part of the temptation, to be honest to just burn with it to let go and feel fall to it all to succumb to the anger. sorrow. vengeful vigor. ambrosia would feel like this ultimate release my metaphorical form Usagi mid-transformation We Burn and i’m gone there’s no me just us just her we’re a phoenix of rage she sneers through my teeth a cheshire grin in smoke she leers through my eyes unblinking and vulpine together, we cut down forests burn and salt the earth in devastation there is clarity, ya know? we seethe we embrace in that flame we connect we seethe shrieking a banshee’s call unheard to all but us We Seethe and it feels amazing truly but as we all know there is a cost to such things and the cost of flames is steep so. not plan A. she needs out though my little black ball and i think she deserves to seethe she deserves to rage and so, some days, i let her out i let her out here right here she reaches for you wants you to know the burden and blessing the sorrow the anger the hiss of her voice she wants to be known she wants you to know her you're almost there it only burns for a moment can you hear her? can you hear her sssssssss?

0

Feb 26, 2025

Feb 26, 2025 at 7:13 PM UTC

seething

there is inside me at my deepest part a little black ball of rage i don’t know how it got there well, that’s only half true i don’t know how it quite got there at my core at the heart of my being but i know when it got there hewn hard into my flesh my mind, bones tempered into me each night my matriarch’s take on hephaestus’s forge and each morning quenched in the light of day each walk to school under the sun’s yawning beams miasma erupting from my pores the liminal release before the cycle began anew so, suffice it to say, it’s in there deep. DEEP deep. and it reminds me every day. hissing out from my heart seething out of my skin the steady sssssssss of it always in the periphery BGM for my life like whatever that Animal Crossing theme is called but sharper a slicing sliver of steam most days she’s content to rest easy in the wet dark alcoves inside me a passive hum of her slumbering ember rattling from my chest on others she demands her freedom tells me i don’t deserve the reins tells me i need her to lead us i say “no” she rouses sizzling note rising to a low rumble she says yes i say No. first a jet of flame burning bright blue white like the first blazing pinions from a piece of fresh firewood seared sap seeping into sssssssss down to deep crimson a spider lily dancing out of me showing me beautifully bouncing and it’s tempting to get lost in that get lost in the beauty of a renegade part of your very own soul saying **** That. saying **** You. there’s something profound about it (and someday, i hope a wiser person than i can tell you about it) but getting lost in it is a snare a distraction more importantly there’s the ssssssssseething if you listen hard now the little black ball she says sssssssss no one will ever understand you sssssssss another burst of light that sinks sallow from it she shrieks sssssssss your only talent is pain sssssssss now a cascade SSSSSSSSS she roars now a lioness tearing her way out of me into me she says you know it would be better if it was just all gone my back erupting a billowing cloak of indignant ignition stoked by memories of midnight visitors with knives or less and christmas eves in dank dirt rooms of ****** tears and well-tended wounds and this is part of the temptation, to be honest to just burn with it to let go and feel fall to it all to succumb to the anger. sorrow. vengeful vigor. ambrosia would feel like this ultimate release my metaphorical form Usagi mid-transformation We Burn and i’m gone there’s no me just us just her we’re a phoenix of rage she sneers through my teeth a cheshire grin in smoke she leers through my eyes unblinking and vulpine together, we cut down forests burn and salt the earth in devastation there is clarity, ya know? we seethe we embrace in that flame we connect we seethe shrieking a banshee’s call unheard to all but us We Seethe and it feels amazing truly but as we all know there is a cost to such things and the cost of flames is steep so. not plan A. she needs out though my little black ball and i think she deserves to seethe she deserves to rage and so, some days, i let her out i let her out here right here she reaches for you wants you to know the burden and blessing the sorrow the anger the hiss of her voice she wants to be known she wants you to know her you're almost there it only burns for a moment can you hear her? can you hear her sssssssss?

164

when i spilled onto this earth, i was born with a human head and a mane no one thought anything strange about this of course not so strange to have a mane i was just ahead of the curve (which would not be a trend) i grew and so did my mane it blossomed bushily i got my name and, when the first fist arrived at my ribcage, i got my first fang sulfurous and shaking rank marlboro breath reeking from sorry bones he called teeth the first of many came and showed me that my human head was soft resilient and surprisingly springy bouncing with less pain than i thought off of banisters and landings (ironically named the moment you land on one, don’t you think? but i digress) must have been from all that bouncing that my human head began to shift into something else but it was made real the moment those haunted knuckles knocked on the door to my heart my jaw snapped like my mind and i bit just bit deep and visceral his glazed eyes wide with surprise maybe fear (although not for long before the first was joined by the second but still) as i sailed away through the air about to bless a landing with its purpose i saw the arc monument of my malicious maw broken into skin an insidious smile but not that of a child my head was a lions now as my follicles foresaw on my zeroth day i was eight when i got my horns it was surprising actually third week of third grade prismatic fissures of light creating colorful schisms in the asphalt of the church’s parking lot i drank in the bittersweet view as my face fell toward it my travel sponsored by another boy more sadism than sense and two years past the rest a fact never languished on for long as most trophy hunters do, he inspected his **** a little too much hubris about a little thing he just did my chubby form rose like Dracula from his coffin at dusk stiff and unyielding despite the protestations of my body below and delivered my forehead to his own the eponymous number of times face newly painted in a scarlet shade half blood below the skin half above he said you’re crazy i didn’t know he was right, you see? so that statement very much offended me and so i added one to my quota and left the nuns told me not to be so stubborn not to hurt other kids Jesus would turn the other cheek, they said but Jesus also turned up dead they said i was stubborn as a goat my hair wild and unkempt canines glistening wetly with blood and, as if to suggest it knew what a goat was, a **** on my scalp split open just a bit more just enough for sable spirals to rush forth i was thirteen when i got my venom

0

Feb 26, 2025

Feb 26, 2025 at 7:09 PM UTC

Chimeric

when i spilled onto this earth, i was born with a human head and a mane no one thought anything strange about this of course not so strange to have a mane i was just ahead of the curve (which would not be a trend) i grew and so did my mane it blossomed bushily i got my name and, when the first fist arrived at my ribcage, i got my first fang sulfurous and shaking rank marlboro breath reeking from sorry bones he called teeth the first of many came and showed me that my human head was soft resilient and surprisingly springy bouncing with less pain than i thought off of banisters and landings (ironically named the moment you land on one, don’t you think? but i digress) must have been from all that bouncing that my human head began to shift into something else but it was made real the moment those haunted knuckles knocked on the door to my heart my jaw snapped like my mind and i bit just bit deep and visceral his glazed eyes wide with surprise maybe fear (although not for long before the first was joined by the second but still) as i sailed away through the air about to bless a landing with its purpose i saw the arc monument of my malicious maw broken into skin an insidious smile but not that of a child my head was a lions now as my follicles foresaw on my zeroth day i was eight when i got my horns it was surprising actually third week of third grade prismatic fissures of light creating colorful schisms in the asphalt of the church’s parking lot i drank in the bittersweet view as my face fell toward it my travel sponsored by another boy more sadism than sense and two years past the rest a fact never languished on for long as most trophy hunters do, he inspected his **** a little too much hubris about a little thing he just did my chubby form rose like Dracula from his coffin at dusk stiff and unyielding despite the protestations of my body below and delivered my forehead to his own the eponymous number of times face newly painted in a scarlet shade half blood below the skin half above he said you’re crazy i didn’t know he was right, you see? so that statement very much offended me and so i added one to my quota and left the nuns told me not to be so stubborn not to hurt other kids Jesus would turn the other cheek, they said but Jesus also turned up dead they said i was stubborn as a goat my hair wild and unkempt canines glistening wetly with blood and, as if to suggest it knew what a goat was, a **** on my scalp split open just a bit more just enough for sable spirals to rush forth i was thirteen when i got my venom

97

i lost it there was a thread here once i had it just here between the tips of my fingers i lost it though cursed, i tell ya. they say about me, in some circles eyes hidden under indistinctly specific iconography of ships past their prime grumbled under half gagged swallows of whatever passed for palatable ***** past those discerning lips or, perhaps, poorly applied mascara downturned eyes, downtrodden but their feet? find purchase on my back when you look like this what else are you for? and sure, about the curse thing they were half right which is a stupid turn of phrase isn't it? half right is just ******* wrong rights aren't piece-meal thoughts they were, in fact, wrong But somehow right enough. black eyes put a dark period on that (do you even know my name?) the universe is a strange place what can i say? but we digress cursed was the vibe tho an idea carried through some three or so decades to now our dying father fishing for breath in the dusty light of morning the sun, weimar conductor that it is, demanding awareness for the passage of time “are you still not ready for the day in there? tsk tsk” he’s thinking it probably. and that’s not all because of-fucking-course would we get sick the day we get back bb death riding shotgun the very help we brought to show appreciation to the rock that kept us from sinking eons ago now a threat to his life cursed, i tell ya or stupid. leave that for another day but today, we flit to and fro pathos ponging pitifully a small white pixel but capable, of self criticism of despair bound uselessly in cognitive dissonance intensely considerate ironically exposed through gentle spritz of lysol and heavy sighs each wrenching open the wound anew and we knew curses too don't get me wrong this is no fresh hell we know but do we learn? now that’s a good question for someone to ask someday when we are ash, i hope for now, we wait breath bated afraid to take too much of the air left how much is left, I wonder we think on that for a while we wait for nothing for meaning while he fades i had a point once something sharp and poignant but it’s gone now i lost it we lost it that thread cast out cascading across my fingertips we lost it away it went a taut twang as it did and, yeah, we all lose all the threads will slip this is true yet no one tells you once released it is not lost just gone

0

Feb 26, 2025

Feb 26, 2025 at 7:07 PM UTC

i lost it

i lost it there was a thread here once i had it just here between the tips of my fingers i lost it though cursed, i tell ya. they say about me, in some circles eyes hidden under indistinctly specific iconography of ships past their prime grumbled under half gagged swallows of whatever passed for palatable ***** past those discerning lips or, perhaps, poorly applied mascara downturned eyes, downtrodden but their feet? find purchase on my back when you look like this what else are you for? and sure, about the curse thing they were half right which is a stupid turn of phrase isn't it? half right is just ******* wrong rights aren't piece-meal thoughts they were, in fact, wrong But somehow right enough. black eyes put a dark period on that (do you even know my name?) the universe is a strange place what can i say? but we digress cursed was the vibe tho an idea carried through some three or so decades to now our dying father fishing for breath in the dusty light of morning the sun, weimar conductor that it is, demanding awareness for the passage of time “are you still not ready for the day in there? tsk tsk” he’s thinking it probably. and that’s not all because of-fucking-course would we get sick the day we get back bb death riding shotgun the very help we brought to show appreciation to the rock that kept us from sinking eons ago now a threat to his life cursed, i tell ya or stupid. leave that for another day but today, we flit to and fro pathos ponging pitifully a small white pixel but capable, of self criticism of despair bound uselessly in cognitive dissonance intensely considerate ironically exposed through gentle spritz of lysol and heavy sighs each wrenching open the wound anew and we knew curses too don't get me wrong this is no fresh hell we know but do we learn? now that’s a good question for someone to ask someday when we are ash, i hope for now, we wait breath bated afraid to take too much of the air left how much is left, I wonder we think on that for a while we wait for nothing for meaning while he fades i had a point once something sharp and poignant but it’s gone now i lost it we lost it that thread cast out cascading across my fingertips we lost it away it went a taut twang as it did and, yeah, we all lose all the threads will slip this is true yet no one tells you once released it is not lost just gone

109

i still remember your voice the last time we spoke distant and aloof. a far cry from our first tryst twenty-six stories up, cries of all kinds that night and, i know, i know. consistent crying characterized us after too i still see your face, eyes downcast. you already knew knew i’d let you down again. crush your heart again in the middle of Essex, we stood. last bits of love falling away, rose petals in abscission - to memories - nightmares - nothing else i still taste those tannins on my tongue, Ernesto's best vin transfusing through our veins, future fallout fueled. red, rosé, i can’t recall. unctuous though, and rich. it sat heavy in my mouth, like transubstantiated blood of christ i still feel the thought of your breath warming my neck the light of your smile, unencumbered by the reality of me. we didn’t know what i was yet. then a variable, an unknown. but we know now. i was pain. plague. pestilence. i still miss you. your idea, your memory but i don’t have roses in my eyes anymore i know. i stole so much from you. too many firsts you should have shared with someone who saw you. who knew you. but all i knew was roses this dirge is yours, dear Laura. not for your demise but for mine - the last lamentation i can give may my memory haunt you no more - may your days be bright, blessed, and bountiful, far and away forever. may your roses be real farewell.

0

Feb 26, 2025

Feb 26, 2025 at 7:05 PM UTC

A Dirge For Laura

i still remember your voice the last time we spoke distant and aloof. a far cry from our first tryst twenty-six stories up, cries of all kinds that night and, i know, i know. consistent crying characterized us after too i still see your face, eyes downcast. you already knew knew i’d let you down again. crush your heart again in the middle of Essex, we stood. last bits of love falling away, rose petals in abscission - to memories - nightmares - nothing else i still taste those tannins on my tongue, Ernesto's best vin transfusing through our veins, future fallout fueled. red, rosé, i can’t recall. unctuous though, and rich. it sat heavy in my mouth, like transubstantiated blood of christ i still feel the thought of your breath warming my neck the light of your smile, unencumbered by the reality of me. we didn’t know what i was yet. then a variable, an unknown. but we know now. i was pain. plague. pestilence. i still miss you. your idea, your memory but i don’t have roses in my eyes anymore i know. i stole so much from you. too many firsts you should have shared with someone who saw you. who knew you. but all i knew was roses this dirge is yours, dear Laura. not for your demise but for mine - the last lamentation i can give may my memory haunt you no more - may your days be bright, blessed, and bountiful, far and away forever. may your roses be real farewell.

25

empty, he hangs hunger echos eternally euphoric echelons unreached up tips the glass all sixteen ounces vanished split second, drained down our dry roiling throat oscillating, undulating fleshy chords twanging discordant as our eyes scan the floor for food the hunger is not unknown to me. he speaks his piece each evening, growling guttural in the ear of my psyche in a word-like lilt he needs a constant cadence to feel full, as he enthusiastically entreats every evening tonight is no different. across the table he sees one. entrée du jour. body fills with foul pitch and sulfurous fire. and shame, of course, always shame. i shouldn’t need this and neither should he prescriptive philosophies aren’t particularly obtainable, he offers ourselves rising, a snap audibly cracks from my ailing back. ours? his? hard to quite say these days but i digress anyway we’re halfway to target rolodex of first topics spinning manically searching, manipulating, looking for that lone loquacious line, algorithmic in its alignment to enthrall engulf, enamor the spotlight of consciousness is fickle, you see. bodies are only loyal to themselves. they contain all. and mine, sometimes, does not even contain me. no warning, he simply begins his hunt, filpped light switch so banal and flippant i am not needed and so aside cast succubi schema sunsetting sense i don’t know where i go it is the sense of nothing, absence. my body simultaneously there and gone. i feel some of it. pleasure sneaks seductively up into my sinew and bones. i always wonder who was first which of the ****** spirits presiding amongst my cells was the first to see sumptuous sunlight as his evening seeps into me squeezing into the small spaces where i still exist, i flux both small and sprawling my void form changes with me, taking direction from my wandering thoughts “was he born here?”, i inquire ineffably to no one. expecting an answer, none comes. just the squawk of *** and sheets, vibrato voices vigorous, vehement. couldn’t say who was first out but i’m first up today, rays rousing from sleep and stupor. i see her with my eyes for the first time, curled up like a kitten, exhausted of the evening’s destruction. cast into her shoulder, his teeth show i’m the stranger here. like mine but aren’t. can’t be. never met me. still, she serenely slumbers silent, sensuously voiceless now in his void, we are finally separate. abandoned to the labors of the morning, infernal impulses satiated, i go method, best impression donned. she is, obviously, confused by the reality of me. former affection burning away like vampire’s flesh in light of day succubi’s ******* now gone dry. so too it’s mosquito’s charm subtle and soft, now irritated, vulnerable. hurt. and alone i am again.

0

Feb 26, 2025

Feb 26, 2025 at 7:04 PM UTC

succubi

empty, he hangs hunger echos eternally euphoric echelons unreached up tips the glass all sixteen ounces vanished split second, drained down our dry roiling throat oscillating, undulating fleshy chords twanging discordant as our eyes scan the floor for food the hunger is not unknown to me. he speaks his piece each evening, growling guttural in the ear of my psyche in a word-like lilt he needs a constant cadence to feel full, as he enthusiastically entreats every evening tonight is no different. across the table he sees one. entrée du jour. body fills with foul pitch and sulfurous fire. and shame, of course, always shame. i shouldn’t need this and neither should he prescriptive philosophies aren’t particularly obtainable, he offers ourselves rising, a snap audibly cracks from my ailing back. ours? his? hard to quite say these days but i digress anyway we’re halfway to target rolodex of first topics spinning manically searching, manipulating, looking for that lone loquacious line, algorithmic in its alignment to enthrall engulf, enamor the spotlight of consciousness is fickle, you see. bodies are only loyal to themselves. they contain all. and mine, sometimes, does not even contain me. no warning, he simply begins his hunt, filpped light switch so banal and flippant i am not needed and so aside cast succubi schema sunsetting sense i don’t know where i go it is the sense of nothing, absence. my body simultaneously there and gone. i feel some of it. pleasure sneaks seductively up into my sinew and bones. i always wonder who was first which of the ****** spirits presiding amongst my cells was the first to see sumptuous sunlight as his evening seeps into me squeezing into the small spaces where i still exist, i flux both small and sprawling my void form changes with me, taking direction from my wandering thoughts “was he born here?”, i inquire ineffably to no one. expecting an answer, none comes. just the squawk of *** and sheets, vibrato voices vigorous, vehement. couldn’t say who was first out but i’m first up today, rays rousing from sleep and stupor. i see her with my eyes for the first time, curled up like a kitten, exhausted of the evening’s destruction. cast into her shoulder, his teeth show i’m the stranger here. like mine but aren’t. can’t be. never met me. still, she serenely slumbers silent, sensuously voiceless now in his void, we are finally separate. abandoned to the labors of the morning, infernal impulses satiated, i go method, best impression donned. she is, obviously, confused by the reality of me. former affection burning away like vampire’s flesh in light of day succubi’s ******* now gone dry. so too it’s mosquito’s charm subtle and soft, now irritated, vulnerable. hurt. and alone i am again.

136

in the bottoms the lowest points tesseract echos of clicking jaws clamping down clacking shut with voices murmuring in between the soft augur exfoliating down a sandpaper of teeth garrote out in such kind supply and velvet layers fluttering through so soft this psyche crash pad a spiral funneled down or out? dunno but scribbly sounds reverb around greatful dead demonic retiree homely calling there there even evil gives a break just be all ideas struggle to swim so float a spell

0

Feb 26, 2025

Feb 26, 2025 at 7:00 PM UTC

k

in the bottoms the lowest points tesseract echos of clicking jaws clamping down clacking shut with voices murmuring in between the soft augur exfoliating down a sandpaper of teeth garrote out in such kind supply and velvet layers fluttering through so soft this psyche crash pad a spiral funneled down or out? dunno but scribbly sounds reverb around greatful dead demonic retiree homely calling there there even evil gives a break just be all ideas struggle to swim so float a spell

36

did you ever close your eyes tight as a kid? i mean, REALLY tight. Tight™. so tight that the dark gives way to deeper dark which, inexplicably, explodes into starburst sparkles of abyss, dark-light shimmering like eyelid fireworks Lawrence’s nethers, bemoaning bavarians and gloom, black blooms blossoming all around keep squeezing. keep looking, head bowed low do you see the mad shadows now? at first dancing geometric, measured soon to vanish spectrally into the void then – back! now embracing iteration forward-thinking in their anti-euclidean considerations midnight backdrop finally filling with colors; form the first cracks of crimson breaking forth, shaping it don’t give up now. I wouldn't. he wouldn’t. mama didn’t raise no quitter now, did she? (or whatever aphorism gets you going just get there) have you? good. stay. for me, those shards of red form rivers tributaries of some inner sanctum a breach in the boundless black on black static, silent and solemn, shhhhhhhhs the space in-between paradoxically shifts. Then, we finally see it. the impossible pool. the reflection somehow gleaming through white noise to a subtle blue-sable flow, rippling ever-outward can you see yourself? no? keep looking down. i do, my face embarrassingly younger than i’d like to admit vanity finding me even here, even at the core of my being for a moment, all is peace. calm. christ-like in repose memories flood forth, ajna working overtime these ones don’t smack so sour, more often than not in my father's favorite dives, only dregs in his glass remain but, like all tides, it turns. the backwash bitter acerbic, odorous. the brimstone feel of it confuses i’m half-expecting to be boiled by a burst of flame none comes. the pool simply calms, somehow hellishly frozen it is a mirror now, harsh and unyielding. i stayed too long (did you?) nostalgia holds my neck down at first, but only just. they rush forth, recollections forming a phalanx. a salvo. Ah! – but water does better than fused sand can at justifying a god's ways to man. and so, it gives. blasting upward, each now an arrowhead, rending rifts across me traumatic bear trap sprung, Nemesis on Narcissis punishing a hubris apparently deserving the maximum sentence of always i know what happened to Liropie’s son, gazing longingly into the depths of his pool, Echo’s pining just ringing out for the first time how his ardent passion, his primordial linage, burned him from the inside out. he melted, that child of **** and regality his tears rending deep rifts, a hunter in bittersweet appreciation for the trap he understood himself to be snared within. he knew he'd never leave. must have, storied slayer that he was. a wounded gazelle in denial, bargaining with the Fates frivolously he knew the score, packed it in. burst forth into molten golds and whites. rebirthed radicles reaching for a new day yet the sky above bears down, ever down, to the vengeful mirror below always is always, ya know? i get it. but i find myself asking how long did it take? how long did he bow and bleed? how long before he made himself a karmic ingot? before sorry.

0

Feb 26, 2025

Feb 26, 2025 at 6:59 PM UTC

narcisseae

did you ever close your eyes tight as a kid? i mean, REALLY tight. Tight™. so tight that the dark gives way to deeper dark which, inexplicably, explodes into starburst sparkles of abyss, dark-light shimmering like eyelid fireworks Lawrence’s nethers, bemoaning bavarians and gloom, black blooms blossoming all around keep squeezing. keep looking, head bowed low do you see the mad shadows now? at first dancing geometric, measured soon to vanish spectrally into the void then – back! now embracing iteration forward-thinking in their anti-euclidean considerations midnight backdrop finally filling with colors; form the first cracks of crimson breaking forth, shaping it don’t give up now. I wouldn't. he wouldn’t. mama didn’t raise no quitter now, did she? (or whatever aphorism gets you going just get there) have you? good. stay. for me, those shards of red form rivers tributaries of some inner sanctum a breach in the boundless black on black static, silent and solemn, shhhhhhhhs the space in-between paradoxically shifts. Then, we finally see it. the impossible pool. the reflection somehow gleaming through white noise to a subtle blue-sable flow, rippling ever-outward can you see yourself? no? keep looking down. i do, my face embarrassingly younger than i’d like to admit vanity finding me even here, even at the core of my being for a moment, all is peace. calm. christ-like in repose memories flood forth, ajna working overtime these ones don’t smack so sour, more often than not in my father's favorite dives, only dregs in his glass remain but, like all tides, it turns. the backwash bitter acerbic, odorous. the brimstone feel of it confuses i’m half-expecting to be boiled by a burst of flame none comes. the pool simply calms, somehow hellishly frozen it is a mirror now, harsh and unyielding. i stayed too long (did you?) nostalgia holds my neck down at first, but only just. they rush forth, recollections forming a phalanx. a salvo. Ah! – but water does better than fused sand can at justifying a god's ways to man. and so, it gives. blasting upward, each now an arrowhead, rending rifts across me traumatic bear trap sprung, Nemesis on Narcissis punishing a hubris apparently deserving the maximum sentence of always i know what happened to Liropie’s son, gazing longingly into the depths of his pool, Echo’s pining just ringing out for the first time how his ardent passion, his primordial linage, burned him from the inside out. he melted, that child of **** and regality his tears rending deep rifts, a hunter in bittersweet appreciation for the trap he understood himself to be snared within. he knew he'd never leave. must have, storied slayer that he was. a wounded gazelle in denial, bargaining with the Fates frivolously he knew the score, packed it in. burst forth into molten golds and whites. rebirthed radicles reaching for a new day yet the sky above bears down, ever down, to the vengeful mirror below always is always, ya know? i get it. but i find myself asking how long did it take? how long did he bow and bleed? how long before he made himself a karmic ingot? before sorry.

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