1.
There was a lot different,
not much we could say,
just a few swollen words;
A half dead bed for two.
An "I love you"
When you don't have to.

2.
They all ran away.
Little servants of their time
defining a salty sort of courage.
When you know,
you know evil as a warm welcome.

3.
Gladly falling in hate with my green paisley wallpaper
with some sort of pasta meal
enhanced with genetic forever love
and I'll say a new "Ja kocham cie."



http://suchpoeticthoughts.blogspot.com/2013/11/littles.html

A *** bottle slowly imploding in on itself for a universe – you told me that was how you were born.

If Man wants to be soothed, Man avoids the trampling, follows the drumming
thrumming beats, and Man finds peace in a glass bottle full of itself. Artic ocean
ease in a cupped hand, press into a paper and find release.

Snap, there’s a picture, Man takes it to a pin and lets it sit for the world, meaning
nothing to Man other than perhaps an igloo or self-royalty dream.

I’ll take all the dark parts of your heart for you, She said with a kiss, knowing full
well that he would have nothing left.

That boy talked to Man and they had a good conversation they could drown in.
Spectacles skewed and clothes everywhere, a swarm of self pity breathing fresh snow air.

Man said, sorry, I can’t feel.
“Who are we?”

Man said, shhhh, you know I can’t hear you; I can’t feel.
So just miss me hard.



http://suchpoeticthoughts.blogspot.com/2013/11/human-qualities.html

I take a marble path to where we met
Underneath the ebony pressure and blowing mini lives
And think of every single thing
That ever chanced to grace your lips
And I walk and I walk and we walk to the bench
Where we aimed at those deaths
How they laughed at our kiss
Trilled down the fragrant spools
Of blurb stained cotton
You and me forever being
Good at bad ideas
Dark stories flying through the pane
Teasing me and never to be seen again
So take take take me to where we met
And where a single moment was greater than this
And even brighter than this
Swirled veins of redundant horrific prayers
Get me out of myself
to infinite
Yes darker than the 'byss
Please believe me
I never wanted this
And never could again
And here I am ready to jump
Into the magnificent song of yours
The gates creak for want of you.

I take a step away
And see a look-alike of
Her
Next to a pseudo-Usher.

Thrown backwards
With leaves flying to their dying branches.

And I,
Born to be whatever anyone ever needed,
Could not lose myself in her.

Oh, if I could. I have so much to tell you. I don't know where to start, really, but I feel like I owe it to you to try. Not really myself, however, for I'm so messed up and perfectly chaotic that I am not you. I don't know how you will get through this, but I know every step of every breath that gets you here. I know what makes you laugh. I know how you sing when you hear a song. I know what makes you question your life. And I know what makes you beg. These are still ours. And I hate that I know this. I hate that I can't tell you, either. Or perhaps I should. Perhaps I should spill everything to you. You would understand I'm sure. You would honestly probably give me better advice than anyone here has even thought; you'd surpass every attempt. But the leaves still fall to the Earth, and so you stay gone. Rip your tongue out now. Or don't. You'd be able to scream with or without it. Spare yourself that, at least. I know I'm avoiding the issue at hand. But I'm afraid you will deplore me for my feeble attempt at maintaining any sort of depiction of dignity. I, in the process of wanting to be everything for everyone, have lost you. I lost you in the once marvelous pursuit of love. I can't even form my thoughts in eloquent words, ones you find easy; everything is just too much. The incessant tearing of you from me goes against every change of the seasons, every spoken word. Joys now are conditioned to my sadness, and you are not here to break this. You are not here to hold out my heart to me, a smile oh so sweet, like a gift. Maybe that's why I'm so cold.

But I guess there is still hope for me.
(Though all I have left of you is the worst part.)
I still love him like you.

A girl tells her phone she's in love.

Be brave. He leans back in the chair.

A raised fist. Poised. Angry? Demanding? Knock knock.

Tattered, stained beige shirt pressed into the rim of the trash can, half in, its owner's head calling for his wife.

Multiple two hour drives, erasing eight lost years (fight to stay lost).

She says, "I love you" in a different language when she has to lie.

One plate of reheated goodness, served with amour.

The same girl, looking for a stranger in thousands of faces - she just wants to ask the reason.

They stare at the wrinkles in the wood and wonder if the lines will ask each other, for them.

A glorious sunset reflecting on cream stone walls, curls and marble staring at her feet.




http://suchpoeticthoughts.blogspot.com/2013/11/specifically-ten.html

I’ll hum as we take things
For granted
Because come on
No one ever really wants to know
And we’ll seek a bitter town
For a repressed enlightenment
You and your filthy smile
Draws me in from my DNA
Tricky tricky, spinning me around
And around
Cause you like it, the
Crystalline structure of fear
You, when you’re selfishly brilliant at
Keeping a silence
Muting like the snow
She would never think she would
Love lonely quiet
Who am I? I thought you were
Supposed to know




http://suchpoeticthoughts.blogspot.com/2013/11/winter-in-my-ears.html

My breaths hum a tune
that shouts in my mind
never quite finishing or
even singing in the correct order
just "I loved you in the best…"
being thrown into my chest
over and over
until nothing is comparable

It’s all streaked wood
hinge-less doors and cement windows
fear of thick air
a hidden black hole in my lungs
that I woke to see
leaving the transcendental dark
of swirling whats-its and loopy love
“…I loved you in the best…”


I climb into the scene
of a worn out love story
and **** **** up
make it real, brilliant veracity
stuffed ears
baby blanket
cant listen
wont.

“… way possible…”

Looking at this blank paper, I know this poem is mad.
Stop socializing so I can walk down the hall exposed.
I hate everywhere I’m at,
With everything I have and I’m not.
I was always the one to stand up and wonder aloud,
Run with a high-pitched laugh even.
Back with stable bridges,
Now to crying mirrors.
A month away from that sneaking revelation.
I feel bad for my body. It didn’t choose me.
It didn’t know what I’d become.
Now it has to sit here and accept my cruelties;
I clutch my body as she shivers.
It’s not everyday you wake up to
Pounce upon - we won't say.
(And stay.)
I’m starting to think the opposite,
For rain never leaves the desert completely.

http://suchpoeticthoughts.blogspot.com/2013/10/lover-i-dont-have-to-love.html

The child grew inside itself; slowly over the years a jail was formed.

Everywhere, you were held - the cardinal rule.

"Draw your mind" and I, bathed in surrender, admitted myself to Hell.

All born broken; only pseudo-images created in lenses, piecing together lives -

Wanna being.

But I will be no more,

breaths humming a tune, shouts in mind, loving more when out the door.
Lets sit and watch air fall apart,

listen to the faded gasp of one last smiling shriek, (three a.m. world.)

**a housefirebook prompt

10/24
I wonder what my poems will be about once I understand us, and myself.

10/27 a.m.
A broken ******* a greyhound bus - how lyrical.

10/27 p.m.
I felt like I was being taken to my execution, but I was only going to your apartment.

11/5
"Now all I think about is you."

Bones deflected the actions.
Dreams - wait nightmares - no, dreams. Haunt me.
All said, falling down the sky in waves.
Your stories, his or whomever, waving but looking the other way.
Another he turns to shadow-I, heavier than a child, and is diligent. Behaves.
What is the standard for being enough? Still Another he may know.
If nothing else, where can someone reach in?
Instead of flashes of being.
How do I notice I'm alive? - scrape myself away from my glinting rigid body.
Trees grow while I'm in overdrive - subhuman.
Pressed ideas into their heads - that's there - I be it.
"You're not here to re-re-re-replicate."
Fixed states
That bear of a thought
Nestled in the curve of my nose and in between his shredded palms.
Eighteen, newly, and already dead in between breaths.




http://suchpoeticthoughts.blogspot.com/2013/11/another-language.html

A beautiful thing about learning to accept oneself is that you can choose to not remind yourself of your failures.

There is something about humanity that brings us all together.
In dark corners of rooms,
wintry muted nights,
railings overlooking city streets,
plush chairs on mountain tops.

I wish I could hold the hands
of all that hate.
Hate their nose, life, parents, workload, ex, intentions.
I want to tell everyone that
they are so important.

Tomorrow cannot be better without today;
you are here and I want you.

A silent agreement,
like skies permitting wings to fly.
That's like life.

I've learned that I cannot hold onto torture.
That to become whole,
wrong-doings must be set aside,
and a shaky faith in purpose must be nurtured.

Similar to a pinprick of blue light instilling comfort,
there is always someone to look to.

Humanity makes us mourn lives we won't ever get to bask in,
closed eyes bringing us to the souls of the ones that did.
A steady red thrumming, quiet and loyal,
stops.

Maybe we were not made to question such a beauty.
And I am foolish for wanting to forever chase demons
in replace of my own.
Staying awake just to feel,
trying to focus on each cell and breath in vain.

Blackness in a mind is dangerous, and you can only wish yourself whole for so long.
Promises sealed in ragged envelopes will suffer until the day I sleep,
but I will continue to write them to myself until one day I forget.
Altruism is the best form of selfishness,
and helps to remember that no matter the troubles,
wrongs,
words,
fear,
there is always a piece of someone's soul that dies when you hurt.

I love you, truly and honestly.
You're beautiful and I'm shaken and changed by
the carbon dioxide leaving your lips
as you open to speak to me.
It's so nice to meet you.

It's quite quiet when you reach the end
When you're lying all alone
With bones beside you, but the love is gone
And 3 a.m. comes crashing down
With nowhere to go but a breath's length away

It's quite vague when you count your thoughts
When you're peering through
With automatic wants to redeem, but our bodies block the bathroom door
And every word is a strangled gift
With love stopped dead behind teeth

It's quite lonely when you find yourself
When transcendental twirls cease
With a horror unworthy of any release, but the anchor's rust tastes so clean
And the rope is burning too much to let go
With absolutely nothing, you're set free

It's quite quiet when morning birds cry in their sleep.

A comfort, like the soap trilling down our backs.





I participated in a fast after hurting my hand from punching a wall and finding myself.







The strings rung so purely as I played with the poison in my jacket pocket.
I wonder if I should warn the boy.



http://suchpoeticthoughts.blogspot.com/2013/11/dont.html

A bitterness we accept with arms open
one pacing, other stumbling
sparing a glance at the black stain pedaling below my collar bone
you weren't there to see
A raw corner lip
and skin tight across the bones on the chain fence
and bare eyelashes fluttering in front of flashing images of two
but there was always three

Comforted by a steady ache ebbing in and out of tune
A dainty release with a silence darkened by love
"I'll let you go" not just a pause
but a final stamp