Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
Jun 2015 · 354
Tossed Expectations
Emily Jones Jun 2015
Rhythmic vibrations
You quietly snore
Repeating words
You only learned in the future
Your clothes quietly drench my hallway
And sit perfectly crumpled
Upon the tossed sheets
I miss the smile
And slam the cupboard door
Away with you
Away
Jun 2015 · 393
Starched Waves
Emily Jones Jun 2015
Peachy contours with subtle donning
Of weightless snow drifts
Tracing the gentle curl as
The violent crash emits
With the solid intensity in dutiful purpose
Meandering it’s way through a hum
Without attempt to create solitude

With equal amounts of sifted grain
A reflection appears, grazing over
Each aspect of the expected self
One must merge with the tide
To remove themselves with the present
To arise from the hearth where
The roots bind one to the expectations
Of the measured day

To sprout wind currents and dance in light
Bemusing the shallow redness that arises on
The palms of those who ask too much
A cramped grammar this is to tell and be told
With silvery sinew that loosens the joints of time
Allowing the ebb to push you out
Of the past and into the
Malleable starch of the future
Jun 2015 · 422
Polyester Paranoia
Emily Jones Jun 2015
Intently silent and skulking
Bleeding polyester paranoia
For some time I stand behind you
Creating mindless afterthoughts

However far from distance
See those solid veins
Where crimson tears rain down
Breaking the wary vase below

Shatter the lens of the polaroid joke
Taking the salty hand
And mix the unruly strands
Weaving uncertain eulogies

Dead leaves and shattered bones
Take form, opening endless eyes
To days less travelled
And nights awkwardly hidden

A simple granule changes time
Where a heart slowed- stopped
Whirring quietly- pausing- to breathe
Then nothing matters again
Jun 2015 · 738
Fluorescent Kudzu
Emily Jones Jun 2015
A simple peace exists
In all the lines between
And balanced upon the throne
You are, precariously strung up
Let go of the crumbling precipice
Breathe in the lucid flame
Strip the grey of your soul
Proceed to devour the filth
Enjoy the stonehenge of your years
Make another mark in the Earth
And bind the roots of life
To the dreary mists of days long past

Take first the heart of jaded lies
Then shatter the cracked backbone
Let loose the tides of weary men
And bring forth the unspoken champion
Refuse the offer of eternity
Trust the deception in reflection
For who am I when I am with you
And who am I when solitary
You wish to journey in fluorescent tunnels
To find many paths left untrimmed
Brush past the weeds and kudzu
That degrade the refusal of submission
May 2015 · 356
Waiting For Time To Pass
Emily Jones May 2015
Clogging my brain are your thoughts
They cannot rhyme
But merely stand still
In a dreary stupor

Thinking of now

A puzzle piece, once shaved to perfection,
Is now bent out of place
No longer fitting
The mold you made so carefully

Sometime ago

So delicately placed were your rules
Of fate and law
So if one should step across
You fly in panic

Into the folds of tomorrow

I swim through the waters
So clear
Turning the gears of my mind
Shocking my cold bones

Back to the present

Waiting for your response
Is like watching snow
Melt fire
Yet I still look for you

Every day

I give you my mold
You fit perfectly
Of course
But tomorrow you are gone

So I am left to dream of yesterday
Apr 2015 · 413
Holes in a Mason Jar Galaxy
Emily Jones Apr 2015
You cannot ask why about love,
Even if you questioned me every day,
About my heart and why I do not riddle
It out to you in a rhyme even
I fail to understand

I do not know what love is, I do know I
See your face every night, somewhere
In the shadow, of a filtered mirror

I cannot escape
You inside my corners, or the time you
Kissed me in the snow, with your
Black trench coat
Under an oak tree

Then I asked
With pleading eyes
What drug can I take to
Bring you from my mind?

To leave those wretched memories shattered
On the ground
Like crushed stars
Suffocating in a galaxy filled with
Holes

I am so sorry for your never ending pain
But I do not know what you did
To make me scream every night

Darkness compressing the air around me
Twisting my body like modeling clay
Prey to the hands of an invisible
Sculptor

I remember the fallen tree I perched on
The night it all started
And how I fell with it
Through an icy wind

Though my pale skin matched the snow
That coated me in white
Entering my veins and dyeing my
Failing organs black

We never thought it would run wild
Like a rabid wolf, feasting on my soul
Or hit quite as fast as that Cheetah
We saw yesterday

So let me take the broom from your hand
To sweep up all the wrong and make it
Right

And then you chose that butterfly
Trapped in the
Green mason jar

Leaving my tiger
On the shelf
Collecting layers of dust

But
I would never have matched your socks
Anyways,
And you talk to me now in a language I do not breathe
And one day I will forget
You lived in my veins

One day I will turn to you laughing,
And know it is
Okay
Apr 2015 · 424
Slot Machine
Emily Jones Apr 2015
My skin clings to the water
Entombing the silky moisture
Sweating out the hate
Floundering for life

I feel my heart slow
In tempo of a cursor
Some things you tell no one
Stash them in a corner

I cease to skim the surface
Returning wistfully to the depths
Air is no longer a measure
It is but a worthless element

A useless component of the slot machine
The happiness I breathe fails me once more
I cannot feel the world
I wish to touch the silence

Air thick as mud closes in
Wrapping my lungs in iridescent twine
Laughing at my empty blood
Letting memories drain away

I tried she said
The room was just too small
People closing in like animals
Spectators of the layers of time

With one who passes
The other shall rise
Or so I thought
As the fluid drips

A glow
A whisper
Perhaps a chance
To prove them wrong

However difficult
To break the grasp
A capsule of twisted ebony
Takes another victim
Apr 2015 · 757
Contouring by Shadows
Emily Jones Apr 2015
Dark, toned muscles awash in sweat
With beads of liquid maneuvering
Through the collection of dust
Creating paths that were inhuman at a glance
But in depth were signs of immeasurable power

The searching slice of the shovel, feeling for the loose stone
A bone perhaps, in the core of earthen veins
That solidify life, weaving it into the folds of eternity
Slowing the soul until only a small tempo in the symphony of time remains
Harbored forever in the memories of others

The smoke carried particles of dust
Dead skin that had parted from dying shells,
Empty of red and full of black
The pores of all eyes
Infected with the memory of sculpted dirt

He stands sentinel, over the man-made wound in the epidermal layer of green
Watching the sun fall behind a scattered horizon line
Creating calculated contouring by shadows
Between patches of light that illuminated the insignificant descent  
Of helpless pebbles

An older, breathing soul stands and reads from a weighted tomb:
“The price of living is to face an end
But the privilege of life is worth the price itself”
Then the parcel is lowered
The dust swarming into places yet untouched

A tirade of platelets rains down
Stemming the flow between this life and the spinning of the Earth
Shrouding the parcel in spattered reds and browns
Protecting it from the wrongs
Sealing it in the stillness of simplicity

With a final look back
The gravedigger turns in the direction of the sun’s masked glow
Forging a path between the peaceful earthen tombs
Making his way towards family and home
Where life continues for the living

— The End —