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Lakin Sep 2018
poetry is a business with
finger-snap appraisals
that thrives on how
much I hate myself
Sep 2018 · 446
faith-based metal
Lakin Sep 2018
silver spoons
singe privilege
hungry, wolves

steal copper
for the thief's
wife and their sons

24k gold in her
eyes, attracting
common men--

all fools.
Aug 2018 · 1.0k
Lakin Aug 2018
brought bones to
a gun fight,
cartilage and
Does the rope
around my ankles
make me look fat?
Lakin Aug 2018
the k nine & its teeth agree
that tender meat is better raw.
a land under one primal god-
his face slipped into ***** hands;
folded in grocery lines.

at a 24/7 gas station buying a
carton of a mother's hard work
cheaper by the dozen but i can't
sell mine; **** this ****** biology
it makes for another product taxed

and builds another landfill. I'm
stocked with candies i didn't want
to buy myself. It happened two
nights ago by myself in bare sunlight;
an ugly mess a day can make.

unaware of myself
the gawking
something about a man and those
repetitive hungry eyes.
where have i seen those hungry eyes?

the family dinner of twenty seventeen
and the serialization of a girl and her
father and then every day after. straw
berry kool aid will never be the same:
nostalgia is not who she used to be.

my ex boyfriend says he can't feel
sympathy for the opposite ***
because he isn't a woman & that's
why he's a ****** and life
***** me over
Lakin May 2018
i don't sleep well anymore
i am lying to my friends
because there’s nothing
better to do
i make music with my teeth-
my therapist listens with
enthusiasm- she must have
pre-ordered from itunes
the mirror told me a joke
and i was the punch line
i don’t laugh at ****** knuckles,
only stitches and their optimism
did you know an octopus
has 3 hearts and its probably
Because we lovely few keep
throwing cardiac glances
to cerulean eyes
i make mistakes
im going to get a phD
in loving myself outrageously
so i can stop writing ****** poetry
Instead i’ll count sheep and the
hours im never getting back
i don’t sleep well anymore
May 2018 · 283
a living man?
Lakin May 2018
congestion of a lung-
the left one that he can live
sans the pareidolia, what is
this organic machine?
maybe a
fool weakened by
failure of finding the
force in front of him.
having waited this millenium
after Archimedes,
subtraction has
become the reaper
of the living man: one who
doesn’t need his eyes to
find his feet wet from Styx.
one of my favorites. Proud of this one...
Apr 2018 · 367
beauty like that,
Lakin Apr 2018
it doesn't make any sense.

look at her anatomy, for example-
he still can't understand it.
Apr 2018 · 407
the other woman
Lakin Apr 2018
and if i die naked
from exposure,
left only with my claws,

may my stomach
be filled with her flesh;
heart sour.
Both of us now equals
Lakin Apr 2018
i don't sleep well anymore
i am lying to my friends
because there’s nothing
better to do
i make music with my teeth as
my therapist listens with
enthusiasm (she must have
pre-ordered from itunes)
the mirror told me a joke
and i was the punch line
i don’t laugh at ****** knuckles,
only stitches and their optimism
did you know an octopus
has 3 hearts and its probably
because we last lovely few keep
throwing cardiac glances
to cerulean eyes
i make mistakes
im going to get a phD
in loving myself outrageously
so i can stop writing ****** poetry
i'll probably fail out
instead i’ll count sheep and the
hours im never getting back
i don’t sleep well anymore
it's been a while
Jan 2017 · 541
Lakin Jan 2017
Our history is buried 6 feet deep,
and the worms are excellent archeologists.
Dec 2016 · 332
Lakin Dec 2016
I started writing to give recollection to my name.
I mastered the pages so I could hopefully forget yours.
But that failed,
so remember me as disappointment.
For the words on this page emanate the
same failure as the organic,
breathing matter holding them-
living them-
believing in them that I was as gifted as
the others before me who wrote sonnets
dedicated to forest green eyes.

Probably your green eyes.

****, forget forgetting your name.
It was carved into the tree that
conceived my paper heart.
And, by chance, did you use the same
knife to engrave it that
you did to tear me to shreds?

Classic of you to expect a rhyme.
The admiration bleeding from my poetry
cannot be captured in "love" and "dove,"
so to hell with you.
Yet, thanks to you,
came the spark of a nameless girl
with words that incinerate.

I have advice; although, I'm not sure how
it will taste:
remember me as a legacy.
I am proud of this piece
Nov 2016 · 846
Lakin Nov 2016
Cuff me to the bed
and set the house on fire.
Call it burning desire.
Oct 2016 · 439
Frost, Dickinson, Bukowski
Lakin Oct 2016
Famous hands
victim to this lonesome
abandoned in the candlelit
hours of dreary nights
spent shackled to misery,
turmoil, and a glass- no, a
of the nearest liquor.
Grieving in the pit
of bottomless words,
their bodies destroyed by the
chaos of nothing.

My mundane shadow
lives in the light of their
inventive sacrifice--
I bleed overused metaphors,
and plagiarize their pain.
conflicted on how I feel about this one.
Sep 2016 · 811
Oh, Beauty.
Lakin Sep 2016
You're written in God's perfect image
and the mundane words
I pen down
will never capture the allure
of you.
God didn't require editing.
Write poetry about all the beautiful things I may never have
Sep 2016 · 592
Shakespearean Tragedy
Lakin Sep 2016
not the something prose can cure,
nor any amount of wine you pour
can help endure the pain of his evanescent face,
always being the one you're looking for
I met a boy, and I'm going to look for him in all the love I have from here on. Please, send your remorse.
Aug 2016 · 693
Misfortunes in Love
Lakin Aug 2016
I fear that what I look forward to may never come back--
that he's dancing with the dust I'm choking on.
Aug 2016 · 772
Lakin Aug 2016
Write. Write so much your hand aches from long nights spent love-making to your paper. Write because the word dandelion is beautiful, and so are girls and so is life. Think less about why he hurt you and more about words similar to fearless or independent. Question the stanzas, but stop at nothing to bleed the pain of yesterday.

Write- because this isn't art- this is survival.
Somethings we must keep reminding ourselves.
Aug 2016 · 440
Lakin Aug 2016
I wanted to do something positive for the world,
so I decided to stay in it. Because what is greater
than a girl who wishes to flirt with something as
unfaithful as tomorrow?
Jul 2016 · 573
Writing Demands Death
Lakin Jul 2016
they have
been here-
where merriment
grows little,
and sorrow
feasts abundantly
on the
sacrificial red
ink I
must bleed
to convey
what my
voice dare
not say.
it's been a while since I've written, so hopefully it doesn't show.
May 2016 · 537
six word truth
May 2016 · 989
Alphabetical Recovery
Lakin May 2016
One day
I'll write poetry that
does not echo in his honor,
or shatter hearts like his hands
so unforgivably did.

But unfortunately,
and as misfortune may have it,
these words still breathe for him.
May 2016 · 609
Monday Mourning
Lakin May 2016
a mother,
a father,
dearest friends,
and every passing
crowded the burial sight
of my shattered
hearts’ numbered years
time moved a steady hand
to my shuddering shoulders,
repeating in a rhythmic tone,
“Don't fear, for I can fix this.”
I hope the vision of this poem is as clear here as it was in my wicked mind.
Apr 2016 · 605
Genesis 1:3
Lakin Apr 2016
God exclaimed to the darkness
an impossible threat of light,
and the foul night crept away,
suddenly stricken with
the fear of you.
He is as vital as the sun.
Apr 2016 · 749
Lakin Apr 2016
call me Pluto--
for I am tucked
Away into the
darkest corner of
the universe where
forgotten stardust collects,
hidden behind gaping
never with the  
the privilege of
being sun-kissed
and obliterated by
the warmest star.
Writer's block makes for terrible company.
Mar 2016 · 1.0k
Lakin Mar 2016
"Write and keep writing. Because a pen does not bleed for art; it scars for survival."
a personal quote
Feb 2016 · 577
Lakin Feb 2016
with this pen in
my hand
and your warm fingers
filling the
spaces between mine,
I swear
upon the stars
that we
will never die.
Feb 2016 · 434
Lakin Feb 2016
I cannot ignore
my watercolor dreams
of foreign places
and their local
eyes puddled in
mystery and a
sense of youth;
all of which
make a desperate
calling to bring
me back to
the sprawling hills
of everywhere.
Jan 2016 · 1.2k
Lakin Jan 2016
remnants of old
mimic forgotten
fossils, and I
spend my sacred time
sifting through the remains,
trying to find what
exactly we left behind.
Jan 2016 · 810
Earth Cycle
Lakin Jan 2016
Death sat upon her chapped lips
while midnight crept up, still
with intentions to capture the sun.
I hope this sounds just as good written down as it does in my head.
Dec 2015 · 915
The Real Book of Genesis
Lakin Dec 2015
If you crave
discovering the pit
of fire,
shower the floor
with your coverings
and summon lust
under white linen
while my hungry
eyes make a
meal of you.

Or, if you
fantasize of glowing
gates drenched in
golden glory,
keep silent
prayers tucked under
your tongue,
and don’t let
God hear you
say my name.
Dec 2015 · 1.2k
Lakin Dec 2015
with your sparkling eyes
like crystal ****
and tranquilizing words
smoother than
****** gliding in innocent
you should stay away
from dark alleys and
promiscuous street corners.

above all else,
avoid her greedy fingers-
She's a user.
I hope the double meaning of the poem is noticeable. enjoy **
Dec 2015 · 438
False Tongue
Lakin Dec 2015
a language so promising
and artfully arranged that
I unknowingly inhaled thick
tar laced words into
inviting lungs- carelessly
choking on your
Dec 2015 · 801
10 word Declaration
Dec 2015 · 897
Alcohol Marrow
Lakin Dec 2015
haunting frights slur,
convincing a tired,
throbbing spine to
stumble away from
memories lost in
the unforgiving happy
hours of continuous,
cheap brown lager.

young, blonde pigtails
tap weary broad shoulders
and mumble under
bubble-gum breath:
“strong bones won’t
do a corpse
any **** good.”
Nov 2015 · 650
Inked Passion
Lakin Nov 2015
she had known,
was love no one could ever
take away from her
and she fancied that,
in her new solitude,
she had piece of mind
among the few words
which kept her feeling human.
Made personally by found poetry. I hope many can relate.
Nov 2015 · 691
Buspirone- 7.0 MG
Lakin Nov 2015
after you left,
anxiety attacks threw my body
into a fitful quake- a tremble
my bed couldn't suppress.

and to ease my aching mind
about your absence from
within familiar walls,  
I splattered blood, red crimson
chemicals on bitten nails.

they shimmer, yet
there's still nothing
beautiful about this
painted lady.
I was painting my nails and thought of you. Again.
Nov 2015 · 582
Grimm's Hand
Lakin Nov 2015
when your cold
fingers get the
chance, let their
haunting abilities
of ink dance
across the fine
white of paper
and choreograph
what it's like
to dance in
the vast nothingness
of an inevitability
you were too
curious to prolong.
I hope you'll still love me in the afterlife.
Nov 2015 · 826
White Noise
Lakin Nov 2015
broken record
melodiously repeating
the same phrase
to a constant rhythm:

“I love you”
“I love you,”

a timid ear eager
in pace to halt the
sounds of the music’s
delicate reassurance
I wish this poem would have never been written, because I can't stomach feeling distant from my lover.
Oct 2015 · 663
Free Fall
Lakin Oct 2015
Luminous starshine drips
from the sky and
cascades freely toward
the mundane world
,with no hesitation,
ceaselessly pours enchanting
inspiration into the
empty wasteland that
my ink pen.
I've been at a writers block and this is all I've managed to bleed out as of right now.
Lakin Oct 2015
What a piece
of mental sanctuary
your name held
before you thought
of traveling to
the door.
Oct 2015 · 653
Gypsy Souls
Lakin Oct 2015
Your tires sped off
in the direction of tomorrow
while I sat below a streetlight in
the wasteland of yesterday.

Its artificial glow created
silhouettes of occasional by-passers.
(Their footsteps scraped against cold
pavement and the sound reverberated
in my ears like your name.)

Car engines echoed from blocks
over and I mistook them as whispers
from ghosts of our clouded past- reminding me
that we were both once children of the open road;
although, I’m now orphaned on familiar lines of double yellow.
I hope this is as powerful as I had hoped for. enjoy **
Oct 2015 · 1.1k
Lakin Oct 2015
I should have realized my heart was thin, fragile
paper before you wrote
on its surface in pen.
Oct 2015 · 790
Ink Stains
Lakin Oct 2015
My thoughts are contaminated with an unknown radiation
and the blood in my veins feels as if it has have been replaced
by toxic sludge.

There are ink stains on the bedding where my body rested
from the times were my quarantined mind was deprived of slumber, for further testing.
Oct 2015 · 1.0k
Coping Methods
Lakin Oct 2015
I never wanted to be writer,
but you no longer craved
my deepest affections,
so I melted them down
into black ink and pressed
them against an inviting
skin of paper.
Sep 2015 · 1.0k
Lakin Sep 2015
You could illuminate as bright as the North Star
but you're settling for a shine as insignificant as
a street light in a crowded city.
Sep 2015 · 536
Used And Bruised
Lakin Sep 2015
He turned away from you while you were on the ground
with bruises on your face lying with a puddle of blood next
to your cheek on the floor. With plead in your eyes, you glanced
his way because you thought this was love and you wanted more.
Sep 2015 · 952
Love Scars
Lakin Sep 2015
Every cut on my paper heart
bled crimson love for the boy
with scissor hands.
Lakin Sep 2015
Like a blazing fire to a city of 10 million,
there will be no end to the destruction.

Up in flames it will all go and down will ashes,
cascading to the ground like a snowfall of innocence no longer.

My hands are warm and I know it’s that same restless fire burning in me; a fire I know no monsoon could ever contain.

There’s power that surges inside- I am aware of it’s presence
because I feel the indescribable desire to wreak havoc tingling in my veins.

I don’t want to char the world for I know those scars won’t heal, but without something that lasts how will they remember me when

even the brightest flames die out?
They asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up. I replied with "indestructible."
Sep 2015 · 627
Lakin Sep 2015
Do you still perform autopsies on our old conversations?

Or do you let their existence decay,

just like you did with your love for me?
It's been years now and I'm still praying he answers my questions.
Sep 2015 · 659
Obscurely Colored Anxiety
Lakin Sep 2015
It started as a gnawing
in my stomach- not
butterflies of love
but the anticipation
of flirting with death.

There after, I'd race cars
down empty streets and
sing louder than the speakers
overpowering blue and red
sirens behind me.

Liquor rolled down my throat
like dice on the gambling table
the first time I bet my luck and
held your hand.

Midnight's like those were the
times when the barrels of loaded
guns seemed as tempting
as the sweet kiss of your lips.
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