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Jordan Harris Jun 2014
I need to know you haven't done what I'm thinking of doing.
Jordan Harris Jun 2014
She sings the blues,
yet her tone is golden,
and sounds as sweet and hard
as newly ripened strawberries.
Jordan Harris Jul 2014
I was told that he-
   Yes, but were you told by him?
I heard that she-
   Yes, but did you hear from her?
I know that you-
   Yes, but do you know me?

My stomach churns to sour froth
when people know because they hear.
If you allow distant whispers to define knowledge
then your truth is ridden and diseased.
Such wounds fester, rotting in the filth of lies.

Stop feeding these ****** vines.
They are barbed and poison and coiling.
Constrictors of death: and they will absolutely consume you
squeezing until your pathetic, bitter brains
ooze liquid from your shattered skull.

If you are not a part of something, leave it be.
Jordan Harris Jul 2014
I don't want to be the one who snaps you into the world.
I don't want to be the one who says "look, honey, the universe *****".
I don't want to be the one who proves how horrible life is.
But I have already become that one.
I already am that person.
And I can't send you back to blissful innocence.
It's too late.

You claim to have already been hurt.
I mean of course, who isn't?
But you weren't broken,
only bent.
Any strained branch can be carefully reshaped
but once it has splintered, there is no return.

And I just wanted to heal something
because I had already torn so much.
Jordan Harris Jun 2014
Surrounded by obscurity without gloom:
the depths of calignosity suffocate every speck in ebony ink.
Yet, every molecule breathes with ease.

It is the crushing, bewitching hour of eternity in nightfall.
A sigh exhaled is impassively terminated by the midnight dusk;
sound is silent here.

Emptiness gapes as the leviathan's gob
thick with gelatinous mucus,
vast, however jailing:
closed and unknown to the living universe.

The saliva sparks in a moment, as a release of static charge,
even though no solid is sensed, never-mind two touching
loaded with electric friction.

And then again, as a sparkler of summer's independence
now holding for just more than a whim.
An explosion.

Flecks of bright stains scattered within the physical aura breeze past;
they ripple like wave crests under a kaleidoscope moon.
Colors arc in the resistant free current: endless lightning.

The vacuum is an overpopulated city
of which the blind could never take census
and the ignorant believe to be mute.

Visual speech fills the void of sound.
It is the starlight of a body.
A collaboration from the same prompt with Chloe Schwartz. She is amazingly talented and a joy to work with! Check out her page in my favorites!
Jordan Harris Jul 2014
Beside a dusty fan droops languid veins
whose movement barely churns up tarnished grime,
as lazy sun exudes through poisoned panes
injected with the film of listless time.

A gentle sigh is exhaled without will
for emptiness of long forgotten mind.
Eyes shudder closed to desolation's shrill
of conscious much too free and so, confined.

Revolting spittle dribbles down a chin
with absolutely nothing left to do.
To entertain and keep from going thin
you spy on friends who in turn spy on you.

Alas! For boredom is the finite trait
of great mankind's insufferable fate.
So, my second attempt at a sonnet. This one seems oddly appropriate considering I am impossibly not entertained and this is direly irksome.
Jordan Harris Jun 2014
I perch distantly
not as a stalking panther shrouded in night
but in exile
society is welcoming as I chose my solitude
internally enforced diaspora

I claimed it was to marvel the awful expanse
a view of unabridged artistry
authentic beauty
however here
truth's firm grasp scrambles for a grip
but fingers could only ever scrape a void

I gazed across a projection
my utopia
a wish upon a whim

I walk the world with starlight in my eyes
to blind myself from the otherwise unavoidable darkness

I stride not at the center of galaxies
but in the emptiness of space forgotten
knowing resolution is inevitable
and I will either become a part of it
or its mirror

I will be whipped from the universe
an absent thought
lost in tumbling amnesia
Jordan Harris Jul 2014
Another slimy page absorbed by gentle, tender hands
Another reality channel infected by impossibilities
Another grainy film shaded by green to hide the truth

All eyes are glued to these perfections
Simple utopias I can never be

Her hair, his eyes, their laugh, that smile

How disheartening it is
for my friends to say one word
when the tags on my clothing say another

A dent here, a scar there, a bulge elsewhere
hips too wide, skin too rough, hair too straight, eyes too red,
toes too small, nose too big, scar too dark, skin too light
My entire being is stitched together faults

So my eyes burn as yours shine
I guess it is yet another imperfection

But then again, are the blemishes even mine?
Jordan Harris Jun 2014
To put it quite simply; it hurts.
Jordan Harris Jun 2014
a dire desire
to flee
to wheel the spine around
and stumble in the opposing direction
quit, split, fly
the physical embodiment of escapism

a towering tsunami
there are only three directions to go:
to face
to exile
to be crushed a statue

a pinched atom
compressed in a chronograph
has a beach still to pour
during here and after now

a glinting ax
to smash the glass

a tug
unlike a leash on a hound's leather collar
great draft horses quarter the prisoner
meat hooks pierce intestines
at its finest

i run
Jordan Harris Jun 2014
He is an
erroneous man
with a soul splotched
in every color
whose death
his ultimate
Jordan Harris Jun 2014
Every brush is a first as a spark to a fire;
though the ashes still fall from limb and leaf,
each blaze sizzles an original melody:
forever unique and soulfully sole.

A delicate comfort envelopes me,
wreathing my pieces with a gentle autumn breeze,
mending me whole when I was never broken.

Her ambiance dances as rays of shattered moonlight,
slipping beneath a sky of the arctic dawn.
She gathers my fragments,
even when they had never been chipped away.

I lay unprotected, yet entirely safe.

She bends until the space separating us is airless with tender yearning.
I taste a thin sea-foam of maple sugar.
Dyspnoea remains fluid in our slumberous desire.

When I close my eyes, submitting to the quiet rush,
I am welcomed by an island universe.
Stardust spirals as the cosmos beams above our heads.

A sylvan petrichor swirls about the fall
as I am consumed with pure euphoria.
Jordan Harris Jul 2014
I’ll say goodbye to the stars that dot the night
and likewise to the moon that floods the dark with light.
I’ll breathe goodbye to the sun at its great height
and so to the clouds that range from black to white.

I’ll sob goodbye to the underfoot of soil
and repeat this to the frothing ocean at a boil.
I’ll cry goodbye to the vines that wrap and coil
and such to the flowers, unafraid of toil.

I’ll scream goodbye to the birds at dawn who sing
and furthermore to the tiger, who’s roar will always ring.
I’ll spit goodbye to the insects on the wing
and finally to the men who thought they could play king.
Jordan Harris Jun 2014
She is tired and torn,
battered and broken,
and longs
for nothing
and no one.
Jordan Harris Jun 2014
Such an insignificant significance that moment was;
the last brush of our fingertips.
Jordan Harris Jul 2014
There is a difference between knowing and understanding.
You know how I feel because I have told you;
I explain my emotions
and you chose to listen.
I understand how you feel because I live it.
You do not tell me,
but I understand
the emotions
that course through your
body and mind and soul.

I never chose this.
And I never wanted it.

When I tell people I am an empathic
they mostly roll their eyes.
They have no idea what I am talking about,
until I touch their skin
and relay
every emotion
of their

Then they call me freak.

But I cannot help it.
Anything that feels pain I feel pain for.

When your teeth sparkle in laughter's sunlight
mine twinkle under the changing moon.
When your skin turns searing red with rage
mine glows white hot as a smith's hammer.
When your lungs burn from submerged depression
mine are right there
to release their final breathe.

There are those
who turn and marvel
like I am some otherworldly being
meant to be shoved in a glass cage
and goggled at in a zoo.
They tell me it is a gift to understand.
To that I say:
this world is no utopia.
How would you like to see every flaw?
How would you like to drown in the ocean of tears?
How would you like to experience your skin raw from all the fury?
How would you like feel the ragged edges of scars
raised as far as they were cut
with every curious brush of your fingertips?
You wouldn't.
This is no gift
unless from Hell.

In my lifetime
I have tried to make it
so the world doesn't hurt
so that I don't hurt.
Now I know;
I can't.

I can't whip the tears from each child's soft chin.
I can't massage the ice from each man's shriveled heart.
I can't dowse the flames from each woman's fiery tongue.
I can't.

The only thing I can do
is change my position within this world
in an attempt
to heal my scars.

And I am not sure which soothes my pain more:
surrounding myself
with those from whom I receive the most
sorrow and anger and dread
because they
understand me;
they can help,
engulfing myself
within the entourage of those who always smile:
to drown out all the pain
and push the world aside.
Jordan Harris Jun 2014
The world was shrouded
in thick curtains
of ebony night,

a chocking,
faded into the void,

and I became aware
of my own
Jordan Harris Jul 2014
I am a child of truth
one not blinded by belief or whim
my vision is luminous with veracity
I am a daughter of science
the proven

there is pride in this
the authenticity of my perception
I see the world in all colors
not the black and white of sin and virtue

I judge the world on the confirmed and validated
my value is in the clarity of possibilities
and the assessment of the affirmed

but for however meritorious I may grant this view to be
is such sight of pure moral?

it burdens to recognize I am the only control in my world
there are none in my eyes with ultimate or immortal reign
the only fate I view is individual and collective ends

I wish I could have faith
perhaps the pain would ease
at the thought of another with power in control
knowing my actions are not my work
but the results of a larger set of hands

but how hideous is it of me to say such filth
to long to believe
but be supposedly unable to feel gods
I consider it disrespectful to those who do

so I keep to my facts
my deafening, blinding, muting visual certainties

but what if I am wrong?
after all, there are more colors in the universe
than those of which we see
I know religion is a touchy subject, and I have been told numerous times as an atheist to hush up and not speak of it, but honestly, I marvel at such beliefs and ways of life. I mean absolutely no disrespect and truly want to make that clear to all. This poem is honestly a stab at myself in my confused scientific state of mind and under no circumstances meant to hurt others. Mostly, I wrote this because it has been on my mind a lot, and I felt the need to write.
Jordan Harris Jun 2014
If I would not wish this onto my worst enemy
then why do I allow it to consume me?
Jordan Harris Jun 2014
I gazed out across the Black Hills of South Dakota: a lone, ominously dark mountain range isolated in the Great Plains of the north. Here, granite is muscle and pine is skin. Obscurity blankets the cliffs in a perpetual dusk, and beauty is present in a chaotic peace. A quilt of poison needles cloaks the landscape, but has no intent on bringing warmth. Instead, the blanket shrouds the world’s bouldered bones with a somber complexion. Euphoric tears of the firmament gather in great pools composing mirrored utopias between the cupped fingers of ancient, frozen magma. Vertebrae arch skyward like a great cat ending a reticent vigil and eroded claws grasp and scrape the sky. In the daylight, this Empyrean burns azure, roasting the land in an elemental fire of plenty, but when such luminous blaze is absent, the cosmos beams down at the minuscule fragment of terrestrial acreage in awe. And yet, for all the pure wonder I presently envision from even the dullest of memoirs, my eyes as of then were sealed.
Jordan Harris Jun 2014
I know I always do it;
I shove people away.
I bury myself alone to protect them
because I do not want them to hurt
by revealing my own pain.

It has come to the point
where I am so concerned, so fearful,
at the prospect of being a burden
that I am blind to a crucial fact;

the most painful thing
I have ever endured
was my best friend
pushing me aside
shoving me away,

because she thought
she weighed me down.

And now I am realizing
solitary silence and defensive deceit
cause more agony to a friend
than any volcanic mountain range
of searing, fiery truths
could ever reap.
Jordan Harris Jul 2014
a sylvan safety
doomed to die
left alone
it wonders why

corrupted carcass
melts to mush
choking chains
burn the brush

fearsome flames
lick at lies
rotten roots
fend off flies

blackened bark
torn in two
scent of smoke
of beastly brew

sinful scandal
heinous hate
worlds to wander
and face their fate
Jordan Harris Jun 2014
How much longer must I jail here;
imprisonment for what length of time?
Rails block the path I would wish to take,
had the choice to leap been truly mine.

How much longer must I starve here,
lasting out my days alive?
Until you find there is some mistake,
release the chains, and let me dive.

How much longer can I stand here,
permitting you to take my blame?
When all you have done is try to save me,
in hushed whispers to calm my flame.

How much longer could I think here,
perceive the crashing fall to land?
Why can you not let me shuffle forward
to break my hour glass of sand?
Jordan Harris Jun 2014
You claim it is to save me.
You say I am worth the fight.
And yet, all I ever dream of
is a dark and silent night.
Jordan Harris Jun 2014
I am from the past,
of mine and all the rest,
from memories and mind
and thinking for the best.

I am from the willows
drifting in the breeze,
from magnolias and maples
and the spray of salty seas.

I am from the orchards
packed with booming mines,
from sewing hands together
and fading away lines.

I am from a petrichor
soothing away pain,
from thunder on dry earth
and scent of dust after rain.

I am from the universe
every star that ever was,
from suns and moons and galaxies
and a magic police box buzz.

I am from counting stars
yet leaving time unnumbered,
from waiting 'til the day is right
and knowing the clock is slurred.

I am from the abandoned
forgotten and alone,
from black sight and forced fright
my supporters never known.

I am from the dream catcher
with borrowed feather tears,
eating all the insects
to drive away my fears.

And I am from the future:
the prospect and the test,
from seeking on for treasure
and a heart inside my chest.
Jordan Harris Jul 2014
but you reduce me to feeling.
6 word story
Jordan Harris Jul 2014
For what reason do I bare these arms
if their flick does not fluster
and their embrace does not ease

For what reason do I glance with these eyes
if their concern does not comfort
and their ghost does not give

For what reason do I speak from these lips
if their sweetness does not soften
and their cool does not calm

If my touch leaves no fingerprints
when I press skin to the world
then what is the purpose of my effort?

Or perhaps I do leave marks
a stinging slap
a gouging gaze
a ravenous rip

Then my resolve is of hellish terms
and I am consumed by demons
Jordan Harris Jun 2014
She embodies a
yellow-backed salamander,
only violet.
My first ever haiku; just havin' a bit o' fun here friends!
Jordan Harris Jun 2014
Her eyes shine like undisturbed dew drops
hovering at the gentle fingertips of young moss
on the northern bark of a white cedar tree
under a lazy morning sun.

Spear points of obsidian pierce the disc:
banished from the core of a volcano
scorched by a molten heart
and choking on onyx soot.

The dawn warmth filters through,
carried by a serene and wafting breeze.
It illuminates the pleasant, tickling greenery,
bringing to light the depth of her irises.

Fire belches from the mountain's stomach,
and the flame ignites a gleam.
Her gemstone eyes shine
as though the embers have been captured within.

At the base, there is the earth:
firm and dark and cool.
Interlocking underbrush layers fawn with chestnut
overtaken but not undermined by powerful streaking tree trunks.

The rim is built of force and rumbles with strength.
A cast of bronze is seething and glowing.
Her intensity blazes as sun spots
deep within ancient amber.

She is as her eyes are
an indigo inferno:
elegantly alive.
Jordan Harris Jun 2014
I am not afraid of death.

I am afraid
of leaving nothing behind:
no legacy, no memory, no lasting impression.

I am afraid
I will not have a mark, a footprint,
a story worth telling generation after generation.

I am afraid
everything I ever do
will have absolutely no meaning
after my conscience is inevitably whipped from existence.

I am afraid
all of the tests and assessments will count for no grade:
none of the points will have ever mattered,
whole nights awake and exhausted stress for nothing.

I am afraid
each word I wrote and every line I drew will be erased,
the rubber shavings swept to the floor by a careless hand
vacuumed away in spring cleaning,
and emptied into a trash bin months, even years later.

I am afraid
the lyrics that sprang spontaneously from my lips
soaked and soapy from shampoo in the shower
will only survive dripping through dank, rusted pipes
echoing with hollow drops in an empty bi-centennial home
for no one.

I am afraid
what I saw, what I understood, what I thought, and what I spoke
will have no impact on the interpretation of the universe
through the eyes of others;
there is no continued learning through humanity,
only amnesia
forgetting and loosing
until our entire species dies of sheer stupidity.

I am afraid
my essence will be forgotten.
But then again,
I am also afraid if I am not.

I die and then what?
Wailing and depression?
Screaming and fury and reverberating shrieks?
Pure, blessed joy at relief from my existence on this Earth?

I cannot decide which I fear more:
my last breath passing as not an eyelash bats with nerve for care
or my memorial lasting eternally.
Jordan Harris Jun 2014
I was not myself for weeks, yet nobody noticed.
Jordan Harris Sep 2014
I once thought big words
held more depth
than small ones.
Now I know they just cause
macro-cosmic misinterpretations.
Jordan Harris Sep 2014
A grown child falls a young child flies,
a gray man huffs and rolls his eyes

a smiling nurse in all white sighs

a hand flings up to answer tries
a spoken comment was not wise
a star is given as a prize

envy consumes all the lies
a mother buckles down and cries,

some mental fuse is blown and fries
as masks are raised to form disguise

to mute the sound as laughter dies
Jordan Harris Jul 2014
Forgive me dearest mother; I have blood on both my hands.
I seem to keep on torturing and murdering your lands.
My siblings, we have fought, or more so waged war in your toes
and it was never in our right to throw you all these woes.

Now sweetest child whatever do you think that you have done
when all your actions have been planned to fulfill only fun?
You sail across my waters and dance in sylvan brush.
What harm could you have done in joyous smile and sweetened lush?

Why we have killed and stained the world in our own heinous pride!
I simply do not see that fact, just flick the thought aside.

Our factories spew onyx soot to poison all the air
their mammoth boilers seething heat no one could ever bare.
We melt your gemstone icecaps to make tsunamis out of fears
and drown the world in oceans, salt-filled with dying tears.
So ravenous is hunger that our stomachs burst with acid
consuming grand and graceful woods, aged and wholly placid.
We don't even take ownership of our raw gruesome deeds,
and yet we have the guts to say others are filthy weeds.

Oh such greed that runs and courses through our soured veins
we crack a whip, so carefree, as we throw our kind in chains.
We are the grand oppressors. That is all there is to it.
We trample on the trodden to squash out all the spirit.
The bombs we build explode to carve deep craters in your heart
tearing blood away from blood and forcing friends to die apart.
We use wars as excuses to burn and **** and pillage
never mind the ceaseless, toxic flow of radioactive spillage.

Experiments on your children throw their lives on gory shelves
to concoct potions and elixirs to immortalize ourselves.
As arsonists we roar to celebrate forgotten pain,
and the world trembles in fear when we set fire to the rain.
Burglars sneak about in black beneath a starless sky of smog
while miscreants cheat cheaters and lie in lazy bogs.
We claim to have a right because 'survival of the fittest',
but we are murderous monsters: the bottom at our best!

All this is quite alright my child, for after all you see;
you are the only one you hurt, your bombs cannot scathe me.
You are such selfish creatures, though not in the way you think
not self-centered in the fact you seem to consume in such great feat.
No, you my little narcissist with such egotistical mind
you are selfish because you are oh so very, very blind.
For the truth, my sweet child is that all your ****** games
harm not a single soul but you: humans and their names.

Your flames burn but your ashes, your explosions reap *your
and the lacerations you inflict? scar just inside your head.
The world will live regardless of your stained and guilty hands
and honestly, you won't be missed from these alluring lands.
Jordan Harris Jul 2014
Even as I ride mounted high on your hips
arching and arcing my spine like an endless surge of foaming breakers
as my waist rolls beneath your shaking fingertips

Even as a moan slips from your shivering lips
and the mussels surrounding your throat contract with delight
as a gasp rushes forward, rippling in the aura surrounding you

Even as I take control
and your limp and helpless body sprawls beneath me
begging for more

I am selfish

Because it is not for your pleasure why I prowl this night
but your reactions
I only live to see your eyes turn to marble
and your mind go blank behind your lustful gaze
Jordan Harris Jun 2014
He was the doctor that would destroy anything to claim he had healed it.
Jordan Harris Jul 2014
you are too young
to hear such things
yet they spew from my mouth
as i spit poisoned blood
snatched from my lungs and ripped from others' throats

i reek of acid
it breaks me to know it tears through you
slicing deeper than the silver blade i use
to carve myself to a shape i think might be better
though you would never admit the pain
at least, not to me

i say you should abandon me
you say i have no right to claim order or jade
and i'm not
i just know the truthful why
are you blind or do you refuse to see?

i am the nightmare
the fear that flares in the back of minds
the shadow haunting every eye
when it retreats to safety from the misery and torture of the world

i am
the pain that blinds
the blood that chokes
the breath that was never exhaled

i need you to understand
to see the horror i embody
so you know to run
so i can't hurt you
so i can't hurt me

clawing at shards of shattered knives
i desperately try to force your sight

yet i cannot keep pushing all this at you
all of me as myself
this ******* monster
i know i am
Jordan Harris Dec 2014
It has become my norm to push people away
because somewhere along the road
I found it was easier to shove people aside
than give them a chance

It's easier to hang up her call
than watch her drift to sleep.

It's easier to tell him I have work
than turn to face him.

It's easier to walk away from them
than sit there worrying about hurting them and them hurting me.

It's easier to sleep at night
knowing I drove them away
instead of the other way around

It's easier to know I'm the one who ended it

Because it's easier to hurt someone else
before that person has the chance to hurt me.
Jordan Harris Jul 2014
to save you
there truly are
quite few options

a rope from which I dangle
drifting gently in a breeze
as the rash about my tender throat
oozes red to my bare knees

a vial poison orange
thrown across my bedroom floor
sea foam rests on greying lips
no breath rattles anymore

a hole blasted through my brain
great chunks of memoirs thrown aside
lever still in crimson hand
I could only ever wrote "I tried"

a woven necklace
a coral bottle
a silver pebble
all thrown full throttle

I can only hope that this
will save you from demise
but nothing can save me
from the hungry, rotten flies
Jordan Harris Jun 2014
You disappeared.
I thought I was to be invited to a funeral.
But I would never attend.
Because I would have already gone.
Jordan Harris Sep 2014
the omnipresence of a forest
a melody

the laughter of a child
a spirit

the rage of a star
a supernova

the ground of a glass
a mainstay

the warmth of a firefly
a comfort

the gore of a war
a fighter

the haven of a lionfish
a protector

the circlet of a nymph
a friend

the wish of a girl
a mask

to hide
the truth of an eye
a magnificence
Jordan Harris Dec 2014
I move forward to ignore the past
I learned from history in my mind
I did not want to express yesterdays

I ask you
I plead with you
don’t taint this ground
I know the past is colored scarlet
and you will drench the floor in your blood

I am fragile, but you break like time

I climb, but now look to this pit
I am the pit of a pit on the ground, and you wander

I step once
then step again
but it is you who should watch your feet
because I am an orchard
an orchard of mines
Jordan Harris Jul 2014
Come here, I miss you, radiant one
with heart the size of Zeus's raging storm.
There is a song circling your irises,
traversing immense emotion,
filled from indigo depths of an ocean's mirror
and poured over the searing rim of the strongest volcano.
Such power fuels painful wars,
but you won each battle with bleeding fists.
And I cannot wash your hands
because mine are covered too.

Come here, I miss you, magnificent one,
fierce and clever: protector of all.
Now, you have fire in your sight,
lava on your tongue, and embers in your belly.
But the brazen flames I love, those livening your whole,
you tell me they flare from your fingerprints,
and then you are burnt.
And I cannot douse the embers
because I choke myself on the ashes.

Come here, I miss you, beautiful one,
such pain among the four of you.
With soft eyes sweet and wide as fawns,
such youthful play within your soul.
Creativity and intellect course through your veins,
yet you carry the weight of three
almost strung up by the neck.
And I cannot coax them down
because I am one of them.

My friends have always been there for me.
They support me through so much.
But I? I feel completely helpless
whenever I try to be the shoulder
instead of the tears.
They have always been the best of me, and I love them for it.
Jordan Harris Aug 2014
It isn't sadness;
that is the biggest misconception.
People treat it like an emotion infecting a blue day,
labeling slightly soaked cheeks as this ailment of the mind.
The term is cracked like a whip in stinging insult:
weak, powerless, loser, outcast.

It is feeling a lack of feeling,
where one exists in a mental state of wanting to be anything but lethargic
yet finding nothing worthwhile inside
with which to take action:
no talent, no skill, no interest.

It is not only not believing one has any energy
but seeing nothing to which to give it,
in yourself, in others, in the world.

It is severe despondency and dejection,
consuming worlds like oozing, viscose magma
dribbling uncontrollably as burning ***** from the mountain's fiery mouth
burping filthily as is sludges onward.

It isn't sorrow, or misery, or despair.

It is inadequacy,
an ebb of interest in life,
with a sliver of interest to take it.
Jordan Harris Jul 2014
our time in this universe
is ridden with a luminous oddity
for light is a rarity
in the biorhythm of the macrocosm

the normality is jet
inky, obsidian slate

such liquid void drips laboriously
completely free from ejecting effort
like beads of pine sap among evergreen needles
seeping in a slowed, oozing, endless rush
at gravity's inevitable, gentle tug

eventually it will consume the cosmos
like maple syrup poured atop a whole-grain waffle
primarily, the charcoal sweetness fills
the quite purposeful lack of solidified batter
but then greedily begins to swallow the flaky bread

it bleeds
spurting with immense weight and impossible magnitude
until each limb dissolves
drifting away in the acidic salt of onyx crimson

what would I see at this inevitable state?

I am in a cave
open to the same air as the peaks of mountains
and it is so dark
I see more color with my eyes closed

my vision feigns my mind
I almost believe the expected:
the twirling endless cluster of shining cream
spiraling above my head
For those of you who do not know, 'phosphene' is the term used to describe the phenomenon that occurs behind closed eyes when one sees sparks of colors, regardless  of the presence of actual, visible light. It has been described as 'a universe behind my eyelids' and 'the stars I see with my eyes closed'.
(also yes, the comparison of the universe to a waffle was meant to be somewhat comical)
Jordan Harris Jul 2014
When the normal is expected and consumed with boredom,
and the highs pass along unnoticed because they are so humanly desired,
and the lows are too painful to survive through, let alone move on from,
who has the right to ask me to continue trying to live?

Who on this Earth possesses any righteous ability
to command me to survive?
No one.
And yet, I am powerless to stop them.
Jordan Harris Jan 2015
cup of poison rage
pint of verdant, bleeding tears
and pinch of fever
Just a little haiku about tulips
Jordan Harris Jun 2014
As survivors,
they are hated
by everybody
and hate
in return.
Jordan Harris Jun 2014
now look at what you've done
such a monster I've become
Jordan Harris Jun 2014
-why d'you love me; I'm a freak?
-well, I prefer the term unique
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