Anon 1d

dead-eyed mannequins bathed in holiday lights
blur of neon-lit faces in a mad rush
lingering shadows born from grey skies
witnessed, as I stood in the rain
coaxing your name
from every raindrop that fell on tired,
brown skin
on a cold New York December.
I stand in the rain, again
under velvet-black skies
a million miles away
ocean caressing my feet, and a zephyr
weaving shy fingers through my hair
poison competing, with your face
coursing through my veins
this rain now acid-on-soul
trying to erase an eidetic nightmare
burning your memory,
from my rust-infested mind

tonight I am letting you go
I am...
no, I am letting ME go.


Anon 2d

a hazy encounter in another den of iniquity
under the influence of a hallucinogen,
or two
I was taken suddenly by a need,
unburden the weight of my sins
to a stranger bedside me
knowing with dawn, he wouldn't remember
in hushed tones I spoke of days
when rage fuelled my hands
nights I fed my hatred-- without remorse
"how the fuck do you sleep at night?"
he asked.

I don't,
I still don't


Anon 3d

against type, i go
not for a cause
i DON'T rebel. just contrary
i'm being fucking contrary
to someone's
my own fall.


Anon 4d

these cliffs look like gnarled hands, maybe
of an old man trying
to choke life out of me
the sand under me feels heavy like
it's fallen out of my life's hourglass
calm waters just a reminder, irritating
that a bottle of rum is empty
a portuguese song somewhere
fading away into dawn.
death. that's the feeling.
like the carcass of everything
dying inside my head
beauty, words and madness
yes, even the madness
all decaying as if
that old man's fingers, and
down memory lane I go
like a bad fucking habit
fights, audience, ugliness
and love, you know how it goes
the psychedelic flash of a life lived
but they seem like someone else's memories
not mine, because all I remember
is her smile,
and the lilt in her v o i c e when...
even this beat up note book
is ready to keel over, and die
like an overworked sad mule
the beacon from the lighthouse
completes its arc, the beginning?
I feel like the end, a ghost living
in the cul de sac of Ruin Boulevard
now that you are gone, lost to me
the solitude
even my madness
is fucking lonely
without you.

© Anon

Anon Aug 14

There was once a promise;
now I am dust on hands
from earth I have fallen upon.
ash on skin
from the funeral pyre I sit on.
flesh on teeth of cannibal fruit
borne from seeds I've sown.
now I am man,

I am doomed.


Random thoughts watching life unfold. Self reflection even, maybe.
Anon Aug 13

Spoken Word

heroes are false gods
villains become prophets
posers thrive
the voice of a heretic shines
as the language of reason.


Anon Aug 13

dark obsessions
are shadows
suspended on dust
crimson tainted, 
my spirit's thirst 
for sempiternal anarchy.


Next page