the scars of red
below my heartbeat
now stir in the warm decay of the air  
the wild eyed towers  
have fallen like waterfalls
into the roots they smouldered and burned  
they now tumble into waves of blinding light  
and i lie in melancholy fields

like cold yellow bathroom floors
and cold yellow flickering lights
i have found comfort in the frigid winds of November
and the ominous light of the crescent moon
for they steal the unwanted sounds
that break the day
and the mania of my soul’s dismay
This poem is about when unique spirits die, and is also about my love for the dark
Izzy Aghahowa Nov 27
as your heavy hands
lingered beneath the golden light
i heard your heart split open and melt unto me
it stained the silk curtains
and turn them into heavy vapour
as your veins filled up with my ghosts

your skin
as unsheltered and as lonely as mine
frayed at its ends
and made scars of history and pain
your body could no longer hold

your steady heartbeats
and slow movements
were filled with fear i couldn't help but keep
wrapped inside my earthly flesh
for your turgid eyes
sunk into mine
Izzy Aghahowa Nov 27
sometimes I dream of a recluse by the sea
as he paints the waves into obscurity
as they scream with prejudice
whilst he ponders of all the coffins that lay beneath the ground

the brick walls he rests upon
have sharpened the hole in his heart
and the overwhelming emptiness of world that lasts too long for him to forgive

the pale sreets he prances on
are tempting in their isolation
for isolation always feels adequate
when silence is delivered in fragments
and your heart no longer beats in time with the rest
for it is now sharp, and swollen
Izzy Aghahowa Nov 25
roaming through city streets
swimming in lakes of luminous ink
drifting above speckles of homogeneous aliens
that paint in black and white
for they cannot see the colours of the rainbow
that i see every night
Izzy Aghahowa Nov 13
i've been turned inside out
by this tender emotion i picked up from the ground
it was wet and was wounded  
by senseless gunfire
i've been bursting at the seams on my marinated bed
i've been swarmed by the hush of the quiet storm
the warmth of of a soft hand, lost in daylight

my bed
soaked by the pain of an early release  
as hefty stallion hearts spew out their endless past lives    
that couldn't hold for a moment more
for the melody of a thousand moons
crept up on them all on that sunken midnight
that was too close to the places that stay awake

i'm being spun into wool
for blankets that will eventually hold memories
that i will surely turn into
no-man's land
this poem is about being betrayed by the day and by the people that come with that sun rise. I have a lot of moments late at night where i am in a place of utter peace and vulnerability, a place where all of my hearts can speak freely and don't have to be on guard, but when day comes, all the armour has to go back on, just so my body doesn't just crumble to the ground, nor my brain. I've been turned inside out by the beautiful things i find at night and by the experiences and the emotions that come with the night time. It is all about the beauty of the night before the day comes, and how it is rendered useless, until it comes back again.
Izzy Aghahowa Nov 13
when the earth settled
i would feel the horse  
by the side of empty roads
walking behind hills of weak grass
and every time i would catch a glimpse of its eyes
it would shatter into a million smooth pieces of metallic light
and as i looked through and into the empty spaces around it
it would return to form
as if nothing happened
like how a tyrant pretends to be an innocent man
for his infant daughter

holy Icelandic horse of heart
oh how you defy my line of sight
and catch off guard
my mental stride
on highways and on silky main roads
you make me paralysed
underneath those power lines
that the birds always seem to find
horses have beautiful eyes, i always think about them when i imagine visceral beauty, they are strong, beautiful creatures and i just love them. They are amazing creatures that are simply stunning to just gaze at for hours. Wanted to write a poem about one, was feeling inspired for some reason...
Izzy Aghahowa Nov 12
in a fragile state
underneath the rocks
in a cave far away
as loneliness is the most
terrible poverty they say

slow moving oceans
winds of ascendancy
tired waves meet the melted shoreline
in an eye of mine
in a different space and time

it's always strange, when the coldest nights
are the ones amongst the hot city lights
and the warmest
amongst the spirits found in the cold freshwater
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