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My feelings consume and devour every iota of my being

Oh wanton madness malingers in my thoughts skull crushingly

My headspace clouded like the sea of the frothiest milk

It hurts how white-hot tears race towards release from my rapture

My cranium slips towards combustion at any moment never-ending

Where do I find relief for what feels as if a curse's birthright

My soul begs for a ******, a coda, a finale, a demise

I want to lose myself to the conundrum of cyclical fear and wash away

My body will float ashore and rest with the company of coral and kelp

This will be the state of my self when the sky dawns another plague
Your hopeless devotion for a pointless lie lost in flames

As the clouds tip towards grey and the moon hopelessly yearns

You will find what you call my shape

And I will not stay
So **** me and end it here

Within your vacuous heart

Rosy perfume trails your familiar knife

Gore is the language of our love

Hatred our kisses, ****** our ***

Torture, our existence
There will be nothing at our consummation

You will destroy us all and burn our ties

Bodies will coalesce together into a nightmare
Swallow that rotting acid

Plaster your desire

Dream of what has been judged

Harm your shelter

My life.
I wrote this very early in the morning. I was not in a very good headspace and my thoughts began to spiral out of control. I know I haven't written in awhile but life has thrown nothing but curve ***** at me. I'm proud of myself nonetheless for finishing this piece after many hours. It's not the best, but I love it anyway.
Nallely Martinez Aug 2021
Great, foreboding thoughts exercise and perspire into my being.
Every form of consciousness sojourns from one crevice to another.
Ultraviolet flares with vivid rays peek through my budding mind.
Immense electricity and excitement course through as if agreeing.

I feel the water rushing through and in turn I feel the adrenaline.
Craving the soul's infestation from which comes the best literature.
I want to take my thoughts and dance with them in ripped dresses.
My fingers ache and cry to write, it entices me, it is menacing.

I hug my core and reassure her even in the deepest of midnights.
Asphyxiation grips every sense and licks my skin on all sides.
They come out as aggravated threads of yarn crawling for safety.
The petrichor hanging overnight, I wish to know what caused this.

Do the other Greek poets ever ponder what just to write?
For in Greece whatever they will, it might as well be right.
I wrote this when I was 15. That's all the context that is necessary.
There, in the
tide pool, dappled by
the sun, is birth and death,
and the spark that continues.
It leaves mankind in a wake of regret.
What have I to do with the albatross
Or sea lion?
I can but write, while they fly and roar.
I gaze upon the Pacific from this rock,
all its mysteries and grandeur.
I am inferior, while it forever reigns with
every wave and break of light.
Black loom the crags of the uplands behind me,
Dark are the sands of the far-stretching shore.
Dim are the pathways and rocks that remind me
Sadly of years in the lost Nevermore.

Soft laps the ocean on wave-polish'd boulder,
Sweet is the sound and familiar to me;
Here, with her head gently bent to my shoulder,
Walk'd I with Unda, the Bride of the Sea.

Bright was the morn of my youth when I met her,
Sweet as the breeze that blew o'er the brine.
Swift was I captur'd in Love's strongest fetter,
Glad to be here, and she glad to be mine.

Never a question ask'd I where she wander'd,
Never a question ask'd she of my birth:
Happy as children, we thought not nor ponder'd,
Glad of the bounty of ocean and earth.

Once when the moonlight play'd soft 'mid the billows,
High on the cliff o'er the waters we stood,
Bound was her hair with a garland of willows,
Pluck'd by the fount in the bird-haunted wood.

Strangely she gaz'd on the surges beneath her,
Charm'd with the sound or entranc'd by the light:
Then did the waves a wild aspect bequeath her,
Stern as the ocean and weird as the night.

Coldly she left me, astonish'd and weeping,
Standing alone 'mid the legions she bless'd:
Down, ever downward, half gliding, half creeping,
Stole the sweet Unda in oceanward quest.

Calm grew the sea, and tumultuous beating
Turn'd to a ripple as Unda the fair
Trod the wet sands in affectionate greeting,
Beckon'd to me, and no longer was there!

Long did I pace by the banks where she vanish'd,
High climb'd the moon and descended again.
Grey broke the dawn till the sad night was banish'd,
Still ach'd my soul with its infinite pain.

All the wide world have I search'd for my darling;
Scour'd the far desert and sail'd distant seas.
Once on the wave while the tempest was snarling,
Flash'd a fair face that brought quiet and ease.

Ever in restlessness onward I stumble
Seeking and pining scarce heeding my way.
Now have I stray'd where the wide waters rumble,
Back to the scene of the lost yesterday.

Lo! the red moon from the ocean's low hazes
Rises in ominous grandeur to view;
Strange is its face as my tortur'd eye gazes
O'er the vast reaches of sparkle and blue.

Straight from the moon to the shore where I'm sighing
Grows a bright bridge made of wavelets and beams.
Frail it may be, yet how simple the trying,
Wand'ring from earth to the orb of sweet dreams.

What is yon face in the moonlight appearing;
Have I at last found the maiden that fled?
Out on the beam-bridge my footsteps are nearing
Her whose sweet beckoning hastens my tread.

Current's surround me, and drowsily swaying,
Far on the moon-path I seek the sweet face.
Eagerly, hasting, half panting, half praying,
Forward I reach for the vision of grace.

Murmuring waters about me are closing,
Soft the sweet vision advances to me.
Done are my trials; my heart is reposing
Safe with my Unda, the Bride of the Sea.
O'er the midnight moorlands crying,
Thro' the cypress forests sighing,
In the night-wind madly flying,
Hellish forms with streaming hair;
In the barren branches creaking,
By the stagnant swamp-pools speaking,
Past the shore-cliffs ever shrieking,
****'d demons of despair.

Once, I think I half remember,
Ere the grey skies of November
Quench'd my youth's aspiring ember,
Liv'd there such a thing as bliss;
Skies that now are dark were beaming,
Bold and azure, splendid seeming
Till I learn'd it all was dreaming —
Deadly drowsiness of Dis.

But the stream of Time, swift flowing,
Brings the torment of half-knowing —
Dimly rushing, blindly going
Past the never-trodden lea;
And the voyager, repining,
Sees the wicked death-fires shining,
Hears the wicked petrel's whining
As he helpless drifts to sea.

Evil wings in ether beating;
Vultures at the spirit eating;
Things unseen forever fleeting
Black against the leering sky.
Ghastly shades of bygone gladness,
Clawing fiends of future sadness,
Mingle in a cloud of madness
Ever on the soul to lie.

Thus the living, lone and sobbing,
In the throes of anguish throbbing,
With the loathsome Furies robbing
Night and noon of peace and rest.
But beyond the groans and grating
Of abhorrent Life, is waiting
Sweet Oblivion, culminating
All the years of fruitless quest.
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