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Amanda W Dec 2017
Absolutely astonishing (and amusing) is the aftermath of this
Bonanza, beyond baptism. Blackened, broken and bleeding,
Corpses collapsed copiously, carelessly
Disrespected down to the depths of  their deaths, now dreaming,
Enticed, ever in eternity.
Funny is this funeral of fibs fabricated from unfaithfulness.
Ghosts gaining the Grave's grand greeting,
Happy to hoard the
Infested, incommensurable, inacceptable,
Jaded and jinxed,
Kind of kin who kept
Lies lingering, leading on their lover.
My mirror mentions memories,
Narratives knitted with needles
Obtaining obsessive obscurity,
Painted with pillars of impurity,
Querried by the quaint quadruped,
Reassured of rest and relinquishment.
Sorry now is the sayer but
Time ticks tactfully.
Ugly is the untruthful, of the utmost unimportance,
Vexed and vulnerable,
Without a widow in the world,
Xenon exemplifying,
Yellow bellied,
Anti-zenith czar.
rest in peace to my false memories
Amanda W Feb 2015
I want to climb inside your head

and take a walk.

Your lips say its empty but I too well

its filled with everything.

I want to find the “nothing,” you say.

To find where the demons live

and stay the night.

Have dinner with them and learn their names.

Leave the next morning, knowing they’ll be okay.
I thought this up because anytime I ask my boyfriend what he's thinking about he always says "nothing" and I know it's really not nothing. Once in a blue moon he'll say "everything" like he did last night. That's what inspired this poem.
Amanda W Oct 2014
O why hello! A bird sits upon the
Ledge. He says to me, “Do not worry, friend,
I am here, let us chat.” So we converse,
The feathery friend and I, and as we
Chat walks by a cat and joins. He come from
The east and leave toward the west. “Goodbye
Our friend,” I and Bird say. He will return
Tomorrow and the next day and again.
O sweet holy grail from which I sip
My bliss. You are but the one thing I find
In this house full of packed up ugly crates.
I have no need of other things but my
Great cup of Christ; never empty from me.
My friends will be gone. God, don’t let this cup
Pass from me. I speak with no one in this
Small, young-peopled, loud spirited, crazed town.
this was a poem for a class I am taking. I myself am not the speaker in the poem, only I wrote it. that is all.
Amanda W Oct 2014
That sound we make when noses itch inside.
We breathe in deeply, shut eyes, noses hide.
The squeal, "AH CHOO!" sounding like loud trains.
"Bless you," and "Thank you," our friends and we say.
Amanda W Oct 2014
She dresses all in shades of reds and blues
She cries the world grey
Cold and dark, her heart is fire.
Her mood evolves every day.
Amanda W Oct 2014
At 2am, you're on my mind.
Amanda W Jan 2014
Is it strange to wish
that you had someone to miss?
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