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 Feb 2015
Luminosity Cat
I suppose this wall is to blame.
No windows. No doors. Just brick.
No way to claw out of it,
But the effort is killing me.

I suppose the construction worker is to blame.
No ladder. No rope. Just height.
No way to climb over,
But I try in desperation.

No tunnel.
No passage.
Nothing.

I suppose I'm to blame.
I did built it so long ago.
I forgot how to get out.
This is my mind after all.
 Feb 2015
Luminosity Cat
If you looked,
I mean really looked,
would you see me?
I mean really see me.

I don't mean the side of me that smiles,
or the side of me that laughs,
or that seems care free,
or loving.

I mean the side of me that cries,
that is flooded with pain,
with blood on my arms,
and feels alone.

When you look at me,
do you look at my appearance,
or do you look in my eyes,
or do you even look at all?

Please, tell me what you really see.
Look at me.
Really look at me,
because I don't think you really see.
Maybe its time you really looked.
 Feb 2015
Luminosity Cat
Cut
There is this wound,
                  its on my left arm.
It kind of resembles the one on my hip,
                  but this one was longer and more jagged.
It'll heal like the one on my hip,
                   but it's cousin will appear very near.
It oozed blood at first,
                   but it stopped bleeding after a few minutes.
Oh, look,
                    now there is another right next to it.
And another, and another,
                    and another, and another.
Its like medication,
                    for the pain that hurts the most.
The pain of my heart is to great,
                     the knife keeps my wounds coming and the pain at bay.
 Feb 2015
Luminosity Cat
I'm trying so hard.

I'm pulling for my words.

I'm stammering.
           I'm stuttering.

It is a sudden rush of worries.

My mind is swimming in thoughts I can't sort.

I'm getting clammy,
            People are staring.

Everyone is going to see the real me.

My heart is quickening.

I'm drowning,
             but everyone else is breathing.

Someone, help me.
 Mar 2014
taylor roff
You are never around when I need you
And always around when I don't
The things that bring me peace
I know to you they won't
The taste I know you feel from my lips
Is shared from distant spaces
And all your struggles to grasp my attention
I can only see the traces
But please don't stray from your endeavor
For i am but a student in your class
With lifetimes of lessons in passion
And no need to learn to fast
 Mar 2014
Pushing Daisies
"Keep running"
He whispers,
Clinging to her,
fragile bones.

"Keep running"
He mocks her,
Footsteps echo,
Kicking stones.

"Keep running"
He chokes her,
His voice screams,
her heart moans.

"You know you'll never catch me,
But run my darling,
Run"
 Mar 2014
Theia Gwen
The more I talk to God,
The more I think he's not really listening
The more bad thoughts I have,
The more the ugly truth is leaving me wondering
The more I read the bible,
The more I realize I don't believe a word it says
The more I question,
The more secrets I can't confess
The more narrow minded my mother is,
The more she lets the light in so I can see
The more times I drink "the blood of Christ"
The more it feels like drinking the Kool Aid to me
I'm not trying to start a religious debate, so if you think you can change my mind, please don't bother trying. If you're offended by this, I didn't force you to read it and these are just my views. If you don't understand the last line, it's a reference to Jonestown.
 Mar 2014
Nicole
Alone I ponder of how life works,
Giving me exactly what I've wanted
Then taking it away just as quickly.
Now, miles away, I still think of that night;
Things made sense for a moment.
In the dark, music playing,
We didn't have to say much.
For we knew how we felt together:
Alive.
As our lips met i couldn't help but smile,
I felt it in my heart.
And I don't feel much anymore.
 Feb 2014
st64
I ran up six flights of stairs
to my small furnished room  
opened the window
and began throwing out
those things most important in life.

First to go, Truth, squealing like a fink:
"Don't! I'll tell awful things about you!"
"Oh yeah? Well, I've nothing to hide ... OUT!"

Then went God, glowering & whimpering in amazement:  
"It's not my fault! I'm not the cause of it all!"
"OUT!"  

Then Love, cooing bribes: "You'll never know impotency!  
All the girls on Vogue covers, all yours!"
I pushed her fat *** out and screamed:
"You always end up a ******!"

I picked up Faith, Hope, Charity
all three clinging together:
"Without us you'll surely die!"
"With you I'm going nuts! Goodbye!"

Then Beauty ... ah, Beauty—
As I led her to the window
I told her: "You I loved best in life
... but you're a killer; Beauty kills!"  

Not really meaning to drop her
I immediately ran downstairs
getting there just in time to catch her  
"You saved me!" she cried
I put her down and told her: "Move on."

Went back up those six flights
went to the money
there was no money to throw out.

The only thing left in the room was Death  
hiding beneath the kitchen sink:
"I'm not real!" It cried
"I'm just a rumor spread by life ... "  

Laughing I threw it out, kitchen sink and all  
and suddenly realized Humor
was all that was left—

All I could do with Humor was to say:  
"Out the window with the window!"
Gregory Corso (1930–2001)



Gregory Corso was a key member of the Beat movement, a group of convention-breaking writers who were credited with sparking much of the social and political change that transformed the United States in the 1960s. Corso's spontaneous, insightful, and inspirational verse once prompted fellow Beat poet Allen Ginsberg to describe him as an "awakener of youth." Although Corso enjoyed his greatest level of popularity during the 1960s and 1970s, he continued to influence contemporary readers and critics late into the twentieth century. Writing in the American Book Review, Dennis Barone remarked that Corso's 1989 volume of new and selected poems was a sign that "despite doubt, uncertainty, the American way, death all around, Gregory Corso will continue, and I am glad he will."

Born in 1930 to teenaged parents who separated a year after his birth, Corso spent his early childhood in foster homes and orphanages. At the age of eleven, he went to live with his natural father, who had remarried. A troubled youth, Corso repeatedly ran away and was eventually sent to a boys' home. One year later he was caught selling a stolen radio and was forced to testify in court against the dealer who purchased the illegal merchandise. While he was held as a material witness in the trial, the twelve-year-old boy spent several months in prison where, as he wrote in a biographical sketch for The New American Poetry, the other prisoners "abused me terribly, and I was indeed like an angel then because when they stole my food and beat me up and threw *** in my cell, I . . . would come out and tell them my beautiful dream about a floating girl who landed before a deep pit and just stared." He later spent three months under observation at Bellevue Hospital.

When Corso was sixteen, he returned to jail to serve a three-year sentence for theft. There he read widely in the classics, including Fyodor Dostoevsky, Stendahl, Percy Bysshe Shelley, Thomas Chatterton, and Christopher Marlowe. After his release in 1950, he worked as a laborer in New York City, a newspaper reporter in Los Angeles, and a sailor on a boat to Africa and South America. It was in New York City that he first met Ginsberg, the Beat poet with whom he was most closely associated. The pair met in a Greenwich Village bar in 1950 while Corso was working on his first poems. Until then he had read only traditional poetry, and Ginsberg introduced him to contemporary, experimental work. Within a few years Corso was writing in long, Whitmanesque lines similar to those Ginsberg had developed in his own work. The surreal word combinations that began to appear in Ginsberg's work about the same time may in turn suggest Corso's reciprocal influence.

Corso once explained his use of rhythm and meter in an interview with Gavin Selerie for Riverside Interviews: "My music is built in—it's already natural. I don't play with the meter." In other words, Corso believes the meter must arise naturally from the poet's voice; it is never consciously chosen.

Corso shaped his poems from 1970 to 1974 into a book he planned to call Who Am I—Who I Am, but the manuscript was stolen, and there were no other copies. Aside from chapbooks and a few miscellaneous publications, he did not issue other work until 1981 when Herald of the Autochthonic Spirit appeared. Shorter than any of his major books since Gasoline, it contains several critically acclaimed poems, many of them written in clipped, almost prosaic lines more reminiscent of William Carlos Williams than of Whitman. "Return" deals with barren times in which there had been no poems but also asserts that the poet can now write again and that "the past is my future." The new poems, however, are generally more subdued than the earlier ones, though there are surreal flights, as in "The Whole Mess . . . Almost," in which the poet cleans his apartment of Truth, God, Beauty, Death, and essentially everything but Humor.


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uGam9Z6PSWk
 Feb 2014
Sound Of Rain
Anger filled emotions,
Sharp words fall out.
Cutting and tearing you apart,
Silently you bleed out.
Those times when someone lets their anger get the better of them. Words hurt.
 Feb 2014
Chalsey Wilder
I'll pretend
Once again
That I don't feel bad
I'll pretend that I don't feel anything at all
While I slowly strip my walls that are already empty and stranded
While I quickly rediscover how depressed my soul is and how hollow the hole in my heart is
I'll pretend
Once again
That I'm okay,
but on the inside I don't feel like being here at all
I just want to wallow and listen to music until I have to pretend again or figure out how to end my pain
So I'll pretend
That once again
That I don't feel sad
I'll pretend that nothing hurts me until I wallow again
I pretend a lot lately.
 Feb 2014
Luminosity Cat
My heart does not hide from that of true beauty.
It hides from the pain that sent the wretched queen spiraling toward her blackened heart.
When life is formed it sparks of love.
When death has come, the poison is done.

I do not hide for fear of loss, I hide for fear of hate.
You say there is beauty in a rose that grows -
but petals that fall leave hearts to bawl.

A fairy tale is but a tale where every happy ending turns true.
But reality takes a different toll.
It takes the role of knight that never truly follows through.
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