Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
 Apr 2013
Laura Reinbach
You want to see my blank stare
after death, tasting like metal,
came to meet me half-way?
The red on living canvas;
the rose blooming,
and the blue lips.
Hear the chambers drown my last,
after the thorns tore
my internal sails?
A drum beat fading,
the river slowing,
and no more.
Smell the claret stains,
my blush gone bittersweet
and reeking of ruby metal?
Adrift in the Red Sea
after the lead rain,
you can.
As my debut to this site, I'd like to start with a poem I've held close to my heart. I've never ceased to love it - despite its less than tasteful content.
 Apr 2013
Lupe Guillen
A song comes on, thudding through my eardrum
And suddenly, I’m flashing back to You,

(It’s one of our songs)

For those few moments I let myself succumb,
To the memories we shared, yet that’s all I can do

We tried,
and it wasn’t that it was wrong

But it wasn’t right

We’re just friends today
And I’m fine with that

But I still have the things I wanted to say
To you
Locked away

How I wanted to trace the curves of your cheeks
With my fingertips

How I would stay up with you for weeks
Just to hear you speak

How I wanted to kiss your soft lips
That taste like ash

How I loved you
Unbearably so

But we are so young

So for now,
I’m letting this song go unsung

Yet I can’t help
The way my stomach flips

When I hear that medley fall
From Ingrid Michaelson’s lips
 Apr 2013
Thomas Wolfe
Oh, will you ever return to me,
My wild first force, will you return
When the old madness comes to
Blacken in me and to burn
Slow in my brain like a slow fire
In a blackened brazier - dull
like a smear of blood,
Humid and hot evil, slow-sweltering
up in a flood!
Oh, will you not come back, my fierce song?
Jubilant and exultant, triumphing over
the huge wrong
of that slow fire of madness that feeds
on me - the slow mad blood
thick with its hate and evil, sweltering
up in its flood!
Oh! will you not purge it from me -
my wild lost flame?
Come and restore me, save me from the
intolerable shame
Of that huge eye that eats into my
Naked body constantly
And has no name,
Gazing upon me from the immense and
Cruel bareness of the sky
That leaves no mercy of concealment
That gives no promise of revealment
And that drives us on forever with its
lidless eye
Across a huge and houseless level of
a planetary vacancy
Oh, wild song and fury, fire and flame,
Lost magic of my youth return, defend
me from this shame!
And Oh! You golden vengeance of bright
song
Not cure but answer to earth's wrong
 Apr 2013
Kayla T Mally
What sort of divination is this?
Immediately paralyzed by a feathery kiss.
The magnetism between us was always so strong,
But now I'm tortured awaiting you to arrive erelong.

You cast your wand, chant triple syllable spell
You filled my void, something you'd always done well

Now something has changed

This is far more intense
I find that I have lost every single defense

Tender Wizard, Loving Warlock, I am begging thee
Do not ever set me free.
Whatever potion, illusion, or spell this is
I am forever in need of you, my Adonis

For withdrawal seems fatal on both ends
The future now on you depends
For I do not want to leave my trance
This allurement was never a happenstance

Forever I see you with love veiled eyes
Vulnerable to even the slightest demise.
 Apr 2013
Winter Reverie
Its unbearable, this pain. Another is coming, I tell myself as worn fingers grasped the bars, knuckles bleeding white as a test in fear. I tell myself that my will is unwavering. My resolve is that of Everest, unshakable. Nothing will move me. Woe be to the soul that boast in ignorance!  The wave seemed to speak in volumes, its sized and mass attempting to relinquish all hopes I had summoned. Suddenly, nothing felt concrete; solid in my hand’s embrace.

Then it unleashed it’s fury.

The initial sensation seemed to strike a blow to my very essence before rippling outward with the intent on leaving nothing in its wake. Mentally, spiritually, and physically stripped of all strength and filled with an agonizing torment that brought about the desires of eternal flames. My grip seemed to be pried from the bar and there I was, frozen in translation.  It was then I could hear them. At first it was faint voices, but soon they manifested into separate conscious each with their own opinion as if each ripple of the storm possessed  its own personality; speaking on its own accord.

And how they spoke! Vast in their opinion and intricate in their meaning, they spoke of everything! From my dreams and desires in both the light and the dark. Selfish wishes and Selfless sacrifices. But it was a pattern I noticed. Some were hurtful. Some were horrid. Some were cruel. As others were kind, thoughtful, and loving. Did I own these voices? Was I their creator? And if so, where were they going? It was then it struck me, willing my body to take action as I began to screaming soundlessly against my drowning agony.

My hands sought substance. Tangible. Anything to keep from being swept away in the sea of madness! Frantically I lashed and claws against the currents will. My will? Some broke shattered in my grasp, like reality breaking in response of an influx of emotion. Some passed through my digits and I could not grasp the meaning behind why. But atlas! A firm grip wrapped about a bar and my other hand aided resist being washed away. Soon it subsided and the currents grew still, tranquil in design. I found myself hugging those bars for understanding before I could feel the tremble once more.  

How long have I been here? I can’t remember. The struggle doesn’t allow for such luxuries. Will I ever be free? I’ve often sought freedom, nearly losing myself for my self-indulgence. The ideal that this may come to end would be nothing more than a lie. Since it all began, I’ve heard the voices of those that have ****** me to this hell and I can only wonder if they suffer as I do. Consciously or Unconsciously.

Wave after wave of relentless weight attempting to wash me away, knowing I am the key to breaking the levees and unleashing something horrid upon the land. At this point, no one would stand survive. Its becoming too much the bear and I don’t know how much longer I can hold on. Whether theses voices represent me or some others entities, they want to be heard and I am to key to it all. As another fades away after leaving maimed and battered, I reconstruct myself from my remains. My will still unwavering.
Written a long time ago though I still feel this way sometimes.
 Apr 2013
Evynne
Sometimes waking up feels like going to bed to me
It's because I can't tell the difference between things anymore
Or it's because there's nothing left to do
It could also quite possibly be the actuality of my waning grip on reality
Do you feel real?

I'm just at an utter loss for words
And rightfully unsure in regards to how to go about fixing that
What does one do when their brain overflows but their lips never speak?
How does one go about translating their thoughts into actual words?
Why do I feel like I don't have any solid thoughts anymore?
Where has my mind been?
Where can I find it?
I want it back
I want my creativity back
My ability to access the deeper crevices of my mind
My ability to write about any possible thing that pops into my head
My feelings
My thoughts, my thoughts, my thoughts
Who am I? Who should I be?
Maybe no one
Maybe no one

Sometimes waking up is really difficult for me
Actually, most of the time it is
It's because I stay up too late
Or it's because I feel so different in the morning than I do in the wee hours of the night
It could also quite possibly be the actuality of my waning grip on reality
Do you feel real?

I keep feeling like a programmed robot
But sometimes I also feel really happy
It's like at times I'm inside of my body and other times I'm outside of it
What does one do when they don't feel in control of their lives?
How does one go about dealing with their own apathy?
Why do I feel so out of place but so oddly content?
Where has my mind been?
Where can I find it?
I want some stability in my life
I want to get rid of my delirium
My uneasiness
My confusion
My apathy, my apathy, my apathy
Who am I? Who should I be?
Maybe no one
Maybe no one

Some days I wake up with an odd, unexpected burst of motivation
These are the days I feel hopeful and resolute
But it all disappears within a couple of days
It's because I lost stability in my life a long time ago
Or it's because I don't know how to hold onto anything anymore
It could also quite possibly be the actuality of my waning grip on reality
Do you feel real?

I'm constantly disappointed in myself
For multiple reasons actually
Why is it so hard for me to do things that most people find easy and routine?
What is it that so greatly and definitely sets me apart from my peers?
How do I go about fulfilling my deepest desires?
Where has my mind been?
Where can I find it?
I want to be able to be proud of myself for more than just two days at a time
I want some permanence integrated back into my life
My passion
My purpose
My life, my life, my life
Who am I? Who should I be?
Maybe no one
Maybe no one

Some days are far worse than most
It's because I am able to overlook a lot of things & keep going but it gets to be too much
Or it's because I have acted sane for too long and just lose it
It could also quite possibly be the actuality of my waning grip on reality
Do you feel real?

I can't stand it on the days I do lose it
It's like for 5 or so solid days I can be so content and upbeat and then it all comes back and slaps me in the face, saying "Ha see! You're not as strong as you thought you were."
It's extremely frustrating and ultimately discouraging
Why am I beset with soothing waves of bliss and then destructive tidal waves of searing sadness and exasperation?
What is it that causes me to lose sight of all I've worked so diligently for?
How do I go about controlling these breakdowns that plaque me too frequently?
Where has my mind been?
Where can I find it?
I want it back
I want a life without the rigid limitations that others have always set for me
I want a life without periods in which I don't have to lock myself in my room and forget the world for days at a time
I just want some ******* stability
And I want some answers
 Apr 2013
Michele M
Lately her dreams have been playing out like the beginning
Of a clichéd dime store horror novel
Always awakening on page three
The theme it varies
Sometimes it is about Vampires and Werewolves, sometimes Zombies, or even some crazed psychopathic serial killer

But what never varies is that she awakes on page three where the dark place starts
It also happens to be between 3:00 and 3:15 am in the morning
The Witching Hour
She recalls a quote from a movie she just recently watched, “Pitch Black”
Riddick: “They say most of your brain shuts down during cryo-sleep. All but the primitive side, the animal side. No wonder I'm still awake.”

Sleep is a required activity, not an option, and is needed for survival.
Yet when she dreams, she is deeply awake
Yes her primal side is on constant alert
And not sleeping can be deadly
Rats deprived of sleep will die within two to three weeks
A time frame similar to starvation
Her primal side is always hungry so she must she feed it


When she gets to page three in every story there is always a door
A big wooden door made of bristlecone pine
With runes and symbols upon it
From cultures she is familiar with and cultures unrecognizable
Covering since the beginning of time

It is when she pushes that door open and walks through That she finds the dark place
Where she begins to acknowledges her shadow self
And that the world is not rose tinted and fluffy
That fear of the dark is a wasted and useless fear
And she is able to embrace her hidden desires
The unknown

In this dark place she brings death, for without death the earth is not fertilized to bring new life
She is the Destroyer, for without destroying that which is no longer needed, things cannot grow
She is a murderer, for there is evil in this world
And the children need protection from it

She is the keeper of magick and mystery
For the dark fuels it all

She realizes that when behind that door
If she were to suppress her dark self, it would build in intensity and break out uncontrollably
So she embraces it all

And when she awakens from page three at the witching hour
She is exhausted but stronger, eager, and ready to
Tackle subjects such as violence towards women, war, child/animal abuse, ******, and death
Topics avoided in polite society
And she can deal with these subjects in a healthy manner
She is sister of the Dark Goddess

Page four always begins in the light of day
She continues to write the rest of the story as time passes
So her sisters and their daughters will no longer fear the dark
Nor fear their own dark place or primal selves
They too will walk through the big wooden door
Heads held high
They will weave new stories
New beginnings
Become warriors in their own right

After all, someone has to be willing to face the boogie man down…..  ~M
 Apr 2013
Ernest Hemingway
For we have thought the larger thoughts
    And gone the shorter way.
And we have danced to devil's tunes,
    Shivering home to pray;
To serve one master in the night,
    Another in the day.
 Apr 2013
Ernest Hemingway
Desire and
All the sweet pulsing aches
And gentle hurtings
That were you,
Are gone into the sullen dark.
Now in the night you come unsmiling
To lie with me
A dull, cold, rigid bayonet
On my hot-swollen, throbbing soul.
 Apr 2013
Ernest Hemingway
The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not
                  want him for long.
 Apr 2013
Ernest Hemingway
"                        "
      !            :                  ,                .
              ,            ,            ,                .
      ,              ;                              !
                    ,
 Apr 2013
Hermann Hesse
Many thousand glittering motes
Crowd forward greedily together
In trembling circles.
Extravagantly carousing away
For a whole hour rapidly vanishing,
They rave, delirious, a shrill whir,
Shivering with joy against death.
While kingdoms, sunk into ruin,
Whose thrones, heavy with gold, instantly scattered
Into night and legend, without leaving a trace,
Have never known so fierce a dancing.
Next page