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 Oct 2016
Rapunzoll
it's the emotional
strip-tease,
the tingling,
depressions hand
on your thighs,
his skin is soothing
enough but his
nails curve red moons
into those pretty
little girl tights.
they ******* so well,
anxieties got a
mean eye,
for the girls with
insecurities,
they're the most fun,
swallowing back
their screams, saving
them for the
bedroom at night.
you find them in
the morning teasing
the pill bottle,
they got a will to live
stuck in their throat.
doctors say there's a
heartbeat but
no heart.
all their red dresses
over the floor,
the first of many
warning signs,
red dresses to funerals,
red dresses to slide
down the underbelly
of dissatisfaction.
they sleep without love,
exhaling demons on
the balcony, until
they burn like stubs
in their eyes.
© copyright

i was kind of thinking of mental health as these abusive figures in a girls life. red is often said to be the angry/passionate colour, i was thinking about a girl wearing it a lot as a warning sign, a sort of cry for help, that keeps getting misinterpreted and leading to more abuse.
 Oct 2016
SG Holter
You owe me nothing but to breathe.
To remember how I tore my heart in
Two rendering a

Blood Eagle to stretch its wings and
Tickle our souls with its sticky feathers.
When I think of us, I see us as we were.

Other people than now.
Memories framing themselves like a
Fantastic painting the artist

Stepped back to admire, then died.
Hang me. Hang me before i hang
Myself.


Dramatically opposed to drama.
Uninterested infatuation.
Broke billionaire.

Mortal gods shaking divine hands
With decomposing composers,
Thanking them for the silence.

We were lovers and enemies, and
I'd still give my life and afterlife to
See you worship another as if I

Never left a fingerprint on this
Planet; resting as safely in arms that
Love you unendingly,

As we all lie sleeping; dreaming
In our own, stronger arms,  
Forgetting that even our loving

Is imaginary.
Death is awakening.
Rubbing the

Eyes of our souls and yawning,
We look up and smile at that which
All of this is a bleak and fleeting

Shadow of.
Plato knew.
When I wish to die, I do too.

This love is not Love.
It's all mud and air.
You owe me nothing but to breathe.
 Oct 2016
Nat Lipstadt
circumscribed circumstances circumspect  

~


these then
the circumstances,
that circumscribe
my essentials

the surround-sound orb walls of choices
made and yet-to-be-made delimiting me,
making me wary of the unforeseen,
more circumspect of what I will someday have chosen

recall standing on the now crushed,
destroyed subway platform of the
Cortlandt Street Station,
debating

take this job or that

took the one but a crow mile fly away
(and not the one that didn't survive)

come that day,
me, audience observer then,, not one of the
death undefying unwilling circus performers, and heroes,

when I pass the covered up burial sight,
the many nearby and  forever crinkly crape draped firehouses,
or open the drawer where
I have
saved the tidbits of that
particular day's memories walk home,

a covenant reaffirmed,
a circumcision of the soul renewed

a circumcision upon the soul,
the renewed cut, sheds, allows some light
into the circularity of life



9/11/16
true story...
 Oct 2016
nivek
This being poetry day here in the UK
poets being the original rock stars
even Viking warriors were versed first before learning the art's of war
slotting into one of the oldest crafts
is one of the greatest adventures one could hope for
in my poets heart opinion, of course, backed up by personal and shared experience.
 Oct 2016
bones
Death stirs all ways like the wind
like something getting up to go,

and like the wind death doesn't
leave anywhere alone,

but where it is he travels with
whoever take his guiding hand,

gladly will I wait until
                     I die to understand ..
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