Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
Caitie Jun 2014
another pen runs out of ink,
your cup is empty.
and your eyes see a desert.
it's 5:33am and you're wide awake
but your body aches
and your chest is heavy
and yet again your find yourself
bombed, and hurt.
but no one hurt you.
your mind continues to linger in the past
haunting your every move.
it's screaming "you've ****** up"
and you know it speaks the truth.
because why else would you feel the way you do?
you turn on the radio, loud as it can go
to drown out  the mutters
of disappointment
but nothing helps
because you're internally
scratching and clawing at yourself.
"what can I do?" "make it stop"
no, there is nothing.
so you sit in your own dismay
and you wait for a distant change
that you may never see.
  Jun 2014 Caitie
Kenny Johnson
So many opportunities were ignored I wish I could rewind. Lyrics that provoke thoughts from the subliminal mind, there's minimal time to realize the hurt in our eyes. Ignorance and truth is even seen by the blind. We the people need to stick together to reminisce this unearthly demise, and in time you'll realize the pain will subside. As you sit confused and dazed in this amazing world beneath the stars we gaze, grasp every opportunity dont let it slip or fade. Face your problems there not just something you evade. Dont hide and run away because if you do, down to rest is where your soul will lay. Grasp every opportunity dont let it slip or fade.
-The Prospect
  Jun 2014 Caitie
mark john junor
come to stand center stage
white garish paint on thin hand
thin black mask for a face
he stands in the fading light
dusty serene silences surround him
with deep words paused on his wooden lips
speak now oh devilish masked man in this passion play
speak to the fathers plots and treason's
folly is his candy
trickster lover saint

fathers and other clowns
pour over the construction blueprints of
better living through chemicals
while the girl in the passion play sneaks out the window
to find her song in the silence of pantomime
find her pretty face masked in feathers
so lovely she awaits her lover beneath painted moon

harlequin and the servant slap with a stick comedy
and silently chased by the policeman
run amok on the worlds stage
come children of all ages see the show
silly and sad
fun and adventure
as harlequin and his lover
regale you with the tale
tricking father and the clown to sad defeats
harlequin, harlequin where for art thou harlequin
here you fool slapping the cow on the moon with my stylish stick
folly is his candy
trickster lover saint
its not misspelled, its a type of theater
Caitie Jun 2014
white feathered birds-
trees high, mountain tops.
sun sets on the west coast,
and pottery barns filled
with colorful mugs.
paintings with a story
that line the walls of diners-
puffs of a cigarette
on your front porch in summer.
little wonders of life
and questions of common actions.
beautiful questions
asked by the smartest of folk.
because there is nothing
we know all about.

-----

ground poles put
in front of boundaries
and cruel discussions
between man and woman.
golden manes
and good haircuts-
coffee on a Saturday morning.
green grass grown
full and rich
and daisies bloomed in the winter.

-----

reminders of what we all dream for
and what we shoot for.
looking in the future
and loving your current self
breathing techniques
due to anxiety-
calm yourself
be free
and love all you contain
Caitie Jun 2014
I remember when you told me
you'd always
be there and comfort me.
regardless of words
actions always spoke louder
and it was apparent
that your hormonal needs
were far more important
than my emotional needs.
do you realize that broke us?
everything that we stood for
diminished the moment you said
"I love you"
because naivety and suppleness
took over my body
like a demon
and told me to be sure of the words
we spoke to eachother.
little did we know, it broke us
and I'm glad.
because it was all a lie
and all you wanted was intimate "love"
that I refused to give you.
  Jun 2014 Caitie
Faith
last night i couldn't stop thinking of the way your head always fit into the crook of my shoulders,
or the way your tiny hands would wrap around my warm waist.
i kept feeling your bright blue eyes burning through the back of my skull,
pleading for me to never lie to you;
never leave you.
but i did i leave you.
you had nothing to call a home anymore,
because i kept you so high up in the clouds.

all i can say
is that the way your lips curved up whenever i smiled at you
is haunting me,

and i think i need you.
Next page