Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
A shroud that blooms a single bud,
Blossomed at the peak of perfection,
Piercing eyes of those who dare to behold-
Taking trance to those of hereafter.
She waits to vicariously live through another,
By piercing one with her sharp thorns,
A trickle of blood released from her holder,
Captivates her swooning love.
Fooling the world with her perfume.
It covers her stain.

Truly a lifeless child with a brown core
Rotting out the ends of her teeth,
Cracks at the seams that should be mended;
Should be stitched
         perfectly.

Instead lost in the intertwined lines-
withering from the inside.
Unable to grasp each end of the rope.
Never could weave the fabric with a still hand,
She



slips into Darkness.
Although she cast a tranquil shadow,
She fades into the background-
Slipping silent as her seems come undone.
Fooling the world with her transparent seal.
It covers her shame.

A single blossom that blooms in the spring,
And dies each night by the moonlight-
Howling outside to try and wake her inside.
To regurgitate her woven ends,
To seal the wound pried open by her past.
By her current death bed.
Sharpening her thorns for those who take hold,
Masquerading her disease-
black vessels rooted in deep soil-
Fooling the world with her beautiful petals.
Only she's to blame.
I can feel it.. the shadow aura.. the darkness flowing around me
The energy flowing through my body.. letting every bit consume me
I can feel it as i close my eyes
it feels good
going to keep it all in and then let it out at the right moment
full moon powers, shadow aura, darkness, energy...all of it
on the full moon
heart increasing on the outside of my body but...
cooling on the inside
 Apr 2014 Angela Nagisa
Valerie
Lies like liquid dripping from your tongue
You hang it out, forked and scandalous
Your words like venom, they stung
And I look at you like you have no soul.

The taste of honey on my lips
My words are soothing and fresh
We tear at each others pride, and it rips
Like poorly sewn seams of a dress.

Your eyes are vicious and angry slits
Mine are doe-round and bright
There's a darkness lingering around all your infamous wits
And I knock them down easily, one by one.

You're a tattered and tortured thing
You live by your words, but would not die
And I skip around and merrily sing
Oblivious, or not, to the hatred you harbor.

Like magnets we oppose each others side
But it takes two to tango
You are here and so am I
We will learn to live together -- Yin and Yang.
SSK <3  AKA: Valerie Garcia
Sitting with Eyes closed,
feet crossed, relaxed,
with mind and hands open;

Within the Void of the Screen
of the mental Non-stimuli,
something so curious
begins to unfold:

The Mind,
when left alone,
will construct for itself
a sort-of playground of thoughts.

These thoughts are not the Enemy;
they are indications and signals;
they are residual reverberations
of higher-dimensional activity;
that is to say, if I may,
of a higher-dimensional Entity,
the physical shell of which is Body;
unto itself a Chapel of Sacred Mirrors;
Organs, Chakras, Emotion, Reason;
a Vessel for something Greater:
Thy Godself is there.
(hiding within the Chapel of Sacred Mirrors)
The Godself is there:
(within the Chapel of Sacred Mirrors)
Allow thy Godself
to become actualized,
all else shall fall into place;
though not before it has all
fallen terribly out of place.

Thy Path implies sacrifice;
Sacrifice not thy Path.
Matter is a conduit for Consciousness;
Your Body is a Prism for your Self.
Chakras are sub-prisms
each tuned to a specific vibration
a specific state of being
a specific aspect
of your specific being
It had been many years since I last visited....
I could smell the salt in the cold sea breeze
As it welcomed me and
Blew my hair all over my face.
I gathered my hair in a bun.
Thereupon, I caught sight of my surroundings...
A town, which  used to be a hub,
Has turned into a neglected, dying place,
Now rich with junk cars, old stores,
Abandoned warehouses,
Torn down wooden fences, old houses.....
Everything was old and unkempt,
Walls, broken glass doors and windows
Were marked, spray-painted with all sorts of
Writings, distorted faces, big and small letters,
In all styles, shapes and colors,
Whichever suited the vandals' tastes and moods.

It saddened me, for I knew so well...
This place had seen better days,
I had seen it full of life,
During my childhood days......
Days, when my siblings and I were
Forbidden to go beyond those breakwaters.
Crippled was I by my fear of the waters...still,
I longed to swim far beyond rows of big rocks
Where big ships were anchored, and
Colorful sailboats sailed along.....
Back and forth we ran, from sea to shore,
To see a starfish or  even a jellyfish,
Brought by the waves as they hit the sand.
We were content with knee-deep splashes
In that clear blue water, long ago uncorrupted,
Once so natural and undefiled,
Now, with traces of oil and all kinds of debris
All visible even from afar.....

I leaned on a wall, crestfallen.
I reflected on my life, and how
It paralleled with my hometown.
My heart and my mind
They have marked walls, too,
Wrapped with deception...
Wounded by betrayed trust....
Scarred by past experiences,
Sad and unpleasant ones.
And yet, here I was, standing on my two feet,
In front of this dying place,
Still alive, while my hometown
Had turned into a ghost town.

That moment,
I felt countless eyes staring  at me,
While a strong gust of wind blew,
Almost pushed me away from where I stood.
Like, it was begging me to go......
To leave my hometown alone,
And give my life a second chance....
But live it somewhere else.....

The cold sea breeze, once more
Brushed against my face,
Whispered to my ears
And pressed upon my mind,
Thoughts I had always resisted then.
Something was flowing inside me....
It was starting to fill my soul.

I straightened from where I leaned
And brushed away the dirt from my coat.
It was time to move on, time to go
I untied my long hair,
Let it fall on its own......and
Let it be blown by the wind.

.... Sally....


     Copyright 2013
      Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
 Mar 2014 Angela Nagisa
Kairee F
This staircase -
These cold walls and concrete floors
Are the only things that understand.
My pen forms the words I cannot speak.
This staircase is all that will listen.
It cannot hurt me,
Because it cannot choose to not care.

But soon I will not be a burden to it or anyone else.
The twenty left will be used on me,
And I cannot wait for that day.
Next page