Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
Muscle memory of a snake as you yawn
Over and over and over again
Eyes are a lost treasure at sea
So sunken, people are surprised when they are blue
When I look at them and smile
And my face bounces back to a bright-eyed youth
I’m starting to wrinkle, to pickle
Most of the lines around my eyes
Are from laughing with friends
The others from grimacing as my face was one with a porcelain bowl
I pluck hair because it soothes me
And yesterday I pulled a grey one
I feel age approaching me like an old friend
We know each other, and we know it won’t be long before we meet again
We meet at night
When I wake in a panic where the room is murky to me
There is someone in my closet
There is someone in my room
I no longer yell to figments of a tired mind
I still throw my body away and turn on the lights though
I never hear them talk
For good reason
Could I survive what they say?

I sleep for a few hours at a time
Coughing up mucous and ****** phlegm
Words flow from the stains on the wall
I feel orphaned by the teenage loves I never truly had
(Because I love imagining the cringiest phrases I can)
They were there, but I was young and dumb
I’d call anyone who called me a boyfriend my true love
Serenade them with words upon words upon words
While always feeling like I wasn’t being true
It took me too long to figure out that that wasn’t a relationship problem
That was me
Genuine words surround a post-modern beating heart

I wonder how much more my eyes can sink in
Before I’m staring at my own ***
Blue Flask Sep 11
The words in my head are buzzing between themselves
so angry
they want me to do something more, something different
like they have a mind of their own
they want to be me so bad
flesh and ***** instead of words and synapses;
I'm so sorry
I try so hard to say its not my fault
I curl into the bath with them
they whisper to me
taunt me
tell me I'll never be 'the show'
I try and numb myself but their words cut into me like a knife
heated to spread butter
their words fill my brains folds
and I walk around with my brain smoothed into my skull
I go into my moods
throwing, creating, drinking
forcing ideas into the wall
the miserable sound stings as the slide down
my skull;
the first whispers down my spine
making my feet hurt
after standing all day in dress shoes;
the second whispers along the walls
teasing what others have said;
the third sits inside me
telling me what I really need to hear from myself;
I **** and moan and rage
as they talk among themselves
they tell me most don't have a voice
that controls them
they say they control the voice
I call *******;
There's a voice inside me that doesn't want others to know he exist
and tries to stop me from knowing him;
these insects plague me;
the voices can't be played with
trapped in my head
but they become flies
trying to suffocate me in sleep
I swipe at them
my hands joining them in the air symphony
I fold in on myself
it hurts
it hurts a lot
my body is telling me to go
my mind is screaming stop
I hug them both in bed at night.
Trying to convince one to take the blame
inspired by Charles Bukowski's work 2 flies
Blue Flask Jul 17
There's a bluebird in me
He drowns in my left ventricle
Shots of liquor and stories
After I shout at him to be quiet for one more evening
Let my hands dance across what they may
The paper, the keys, the strings, the body
I hush him when he whimpers
Telling him tomorrow he can breath
He wants to get out

I talk to him when he flutters
I ask if he wants this to end
Sure things are bad
He can’t sleep as the frogs croak in my throat
And the violinist plays my intestine strings
But I glare at him
Telling him he wants to give up the good times
Accusing him
What about the smiles on our friend's faces?
What about being real to us?
What about the success we’ve made soaked with our whiskey-stained tears?
He wants to get out

When it's late, I let him out
There is no shortage of alone time with him
He never feels lonely in our tango
I let him fly around my room as I toss and turn
We watch the lights of the parking lot fly across the walls
Looking at the designs our blindness gives us
Can we find a story on those walls?
A phrase, an idea
We often go to bed tired and wake up so
With the lights giving us nothing
He wants to get out

I whisper to him that he is right
Neither of us believes me
But he will always be trapped in my heart
And he can’t ****** me to change
The lights are telling us a story of a bird
Trapped in a cage.
We won’t talk about who it is
But they want to get out
#bukowski
Blue Flask Jul 2
Skin falls around my nails like so many ribbons
They gum up my keyboard
Trying to stop my fingers from completing their duet
Across these blank keys
I pause
To bite a nail
To drink some water
To look around me
Fall out of the moment
Life is just a series of pauses
Flying by to fast to recognize
But a moment isn’t a point
It’s this big messy thing
A moment is the edge of your vision
No hard lines, just a melding of there and not there
Like water flowing from one spot to the next
No matter where it is
Blue Flask Mar 1
Words flow through this point like it was being fed by a vein
Each pump of this mechanical failure spilling them out
I use the finest tipped pens
to create such delicate lines
I am writing this on a legal pad
Sitting in the nurse's station
I write whatever I can
Wherever I can
This is written on the back of some notes I took on a patient
Who twist his words without even realizing
Just how caught up in himself he is
I see so much of myself in him
So much of a life I've been fighting to end
So obsessed with myself while hating the very idea of narcissism
Humble to show those I could be
I was nice, I was there, I was
Different
That was before though
Before college
Before friends
Before my liver became harder than I ever could after starting Prozac
I am so different than him now
But I have to wonder
Will I say the same thing about myself now
After a few years
Will I be writing this
Again?
Blue Flask Jan 30
blue and gold words float about my head
cherubs for a cause that is lost to the whispers into the night
REM sleep is the flavor of the day
I take too many spoonfuls
tired tired, REM is the opposite of tired
I learned
from a neurologist
who I never met
gluttonous cravings
I want to be so full
when I feel so empty
fathers pride, sisters admonishment
everyone loves a successful doc
except what they leave behind in the suicide doc
waterfalls crash down
my shoulder ache more than a tooth
wound up like an old Calvin and Hobbes
my body is failing me
muscle synapses fire to a random
staccato beat
I have to wonder
am I alive anymore"
or is this part of the play
of me
Blue Flask Jan 30
lithe heat strikes this insipid core
a corpse beyond any defintion
my heart is failing
my brain is failing soon
my liver
pancreas
are odes to grecian God's
ambrosia is the **** of the grecian urn
Mary Percy Shelly shelled
Why do I feel like Frankestien
the monster, not the creator
the tag line i need to say
to show i am me,  i am smart
that i am not Dr. Frankentien
wasting away with a prompt
that i am real
i am real
I am real
please
please God
I am real
Next page