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I want to confess
whisper all my secrets
admit to all my lies
tell you every fantasy
that hides behind my eyes
I want to lay my heart wide open
then rest my head upon your lap
and pour out every burden
that my soul is holding back
but I close my eyes and breathe
get a handle on my need
I force a smile and say
just two words,
“I’m O.K.”
The stars are falling off my ceiling.

I'm paying bills,
Buying college books,
Saving for a car,

And the stars are falling off my ceiling.

My calendar is full
Marked with appointments
And work hours

And the stars are falling off my ceiling.

My friends are getting married,
Having children,
And buying houses,

And the stars are falling off my ceiling.

Like the child
In my heart
Is emaciating,

I'm twenty years old,
And the stars are falling off my ceiling.
Trying to embrace adulthood, but it all seems so strange.
Also, I'm too old to have glow in the dark stars on my ceiling.
Cold air swirls and clings to my naked form
arms outstretched I feel the icy grip of peace.
Divested and devoid of all personal items I walk to the edge
Naked as a new born under a baleful moon I am reborn.
This new birth will not last, it's a temporary relief.
Clad only in my skin the cold scrolls over my body
I feel its grip, its participation in this my final act.
The wind now howls, as if it too wants a role in this my curtain call.
Whipping at the frosty air these elements almost make me stay.
Toes poised on the cliffs edge, head thrown back, eyes closed,
face upturned towards the moon's celestial il luminance
Ill light indeed, for it allows me to see my path in the dark.
That path is a spiral into the water below
© JLB
28/04/2015
18:51 BST


The Moon has a long association with insanity and irrationality; the words lunacy and lunatic (popular shortening loony) are derived from the Latin name for the Moon, Luna. Philosophers Aristotle and Pliny the Elder argued that the full moon induced insanity in susceptible individuals, believing that the brain, which is mostly water, must be affected by the Moon and its power over the tides, but the Moon's gravity is too slight to affect any single person. Even today, people insist that admissions to psychiatric hospitals, traffic accidents, murders or suicides increase during a full moon, although there is no scientific evidence to support such claims.
I just can't seem to get out of my head these days,
that's why I've got a penchant for smiling, when it rains.
You don't quite see the sun when you dwell in the shade,
I've grown beyond a longing for it's warmth on my face.

Nothing's concrete, I see the grey in your white and black.
It's a paradoxical existence, much like Schrodingers' cat.
Am I dead or alive? ****, where the hell am I at that?
My thoughts zip through my head like a thousand angry gnats.

Living The Heart of Darkness things seem increasingly insane,
but I'm trapped on this twisted river, heading deep into my brain.
Maybe it's because in here, I form monsters out of pain.
To feel emotion's difficult, but monsters can be slain.
Kiss the calamity on my lips
and leave your imprint of
atrophy like a stain on my skin.
What is really a love poem
but bits of broken words
you said in your sleep?

I hear music in the distance
that sounds like things I cannot
romanticize with justice. There's
deterioration in the melody, and
with every beat
your heart skips I get a closer look
at the fragments of you that fell apart.
Somethings are just too personal,
like what I daydream about 24/7, or
that fire dancing behind your closed lids
that warms your dreams when
another can't fuel them
physically.

The biggest thing about ourselves we
could hope to have is our
complex. And even that
is pretty small. The ground can't
handle the weight of our hearts
and we're just begging to slip
into the cracks of the
pavements to our proverbial
futures. You always did
connect more to torn and ripped
remains of poems
than fresh handwritten ones, with
evidence of my glistening
fingerprints
all over.

We don't die like stars, you say. We die
like heartache. Real, tangible,
and then just gone.
wrote this in pieces, first sleepily over strong coffee at 5am, then in a brainstorming session at night. had it on a shelf for the past few days because i couldn't think of a title and because i felt it was too unconnected.

enough rambling. thank you for reading, i really really appreciate it. -ivy
Red
Lightning from a bright blue sky
Wildfire dancing on ocean waves at night
Chaos pure and clear
Is the one I hold dear

A gentle brush of butterfly wings,
Wildflower perfume on a summer breeze
Sunlight shining on the sea
Peaceful and deep
She sets my soul at ease

Storm surge rush across the sands
Crashing thunder shakes the land
Breathless desire
Sets my heart afire
At thoughts of taking her hand

All these things
She stirs to mind
And gives me hope
With her broken edges smooth against mine
For any who read it, I believe this may be the end result of my "Searching" piece long ago, at least in spirit.
 Apr 2015 CastorPolydeuces
Tupelo
Baltimore is bleeding,
Boys in blue blind to faces,
War being raged over races,
Can't tell what this place is,
Blocks where I spent my sundays,
******* with police and gunplay,
Hood up to conceal my color,
Complexion passed down to me from mother,
Hard to find peace when the avenues erupting
Nothing seems to matter when you're fighting for something,
So please pray for this forest of concrete and lamp light,
Scared for the events that are coming after midnight
Really sad to see this place in so much agony. Places where I've spent so much time in going through the extremes of these protests. Pray for Baltimore and the rest of Maryland. We need all the prayers here.
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