Jul 17 Alyce Black
Mike Fashé

Maybe in some other lifetime we can be together
Somewhere along the road our souls will remember who we were in the previous life
Beneath the moon
Night blue shaded sky
During summer nights of June
To hear your voice and never say goodbye
We gaze
We love
We listen to each others heartbeat
We indulge this night
Reality is out of sight
Time ceases to exist
In this heavy mist
Of ecstasy
You are my remedy
You are my serenity
I must confess
Heavy breathing
I love your melody
As we lay side by side
Ashes to ashes
The children of the night
Sing lullabies
Sound asleep
Underneath the sky
I love you
Now we can die

Wrote this when I was drunk lol... Something about being inebriated brought out a wave of love & death
  Jul 17 Alyce Black

I miss finding pieces of us on the floor
I miss our soft words tugging at each others zippers
I miss our sharp insults ripping at each others buttons
I miss the feeling of myself spilling out
Of my walls crumbling to the floor
I miss every piece of me being exposed
Open to your eyes
I miss playing with everything I found inside of you
I miss our carelessness causing everything to lay scattered on the ground
I miss swapping ideas and thoughts
I miss the library we built together
We didn't have time to clean up
To split evenly what was laying on the ground around us
You took what you could and you ran
With my voice urging you to go
Now I lay here in our mountains of things
I stroke the pieces you left behind
And I start rebuilding my walls
I start putting the pieces that I have back together inside of me
I know that I'm missing some
And I know that when you go through the same process you'll find them and think of me
As I sort through myself
I find things that I don't want anymore
I discard things from both you and I
And rebuild a different way
The walls I'm building now are thinner
Because I know the feeling of them spilling down is a good one
The library inside of me now has more meaning, and less gaps
I'm still in the process of cleaning
I think I will always miss finding pieces of us on the floor
But I'm preparing myself to be ready to experience it again.

  Jul 17 Alyce Black

I'm too young
to have lived like this;
I'm too young
to have given my heart,
my bed,
my life,
To you.
But I offered it to you.
No man could resist

                                    If you loved me;
If you were truly the man I worshiped,
you wouldn't have let me.
You would have tried harder
to tell me to care about my life.
But you and I
withhold a sweet selfishness,
and not even I can blame you
for stripping the last pieces of my childhood
right off of my body

I spent a year in your arms
and no where else
Alyce Black Jul 17

A copse of trees,
slender silver fingers
from the earth,
filling the air
with silent screams.
The leaves they shed
lie at my feet.
They crunch beneath
my heavy heart
the way your
crunch against me
in my dreams.

The velvet sky
swaddles us in
indigo night.
I try to feel alive.
I can't remember why
the flowers do not grow...
I have no
idea where all the ravens
fly when they do not sing
for home.

This place looks dead,
as dead as you feel.
The memory
of you is all
I will ever have.
And now
it does not feel
like a memory at all.

"I think I made you up inside my head."  
Sylvia Plath's poetry
still rots beside my bed.
As if all those 8th grade
library print outs
were waiting for you
to give them purpose.
My melancholy wasn't deep,
my life had no real meaning.
Like a heroic tragedy,
I needed you to inject
true injury
into her hollow phrases.
Madness wasn't enough.
I needed to really love,
before real love
could be ripped away
from me.
Nobody can ever tell
how much that hole
a necrotic wound
that can never be
or filled
or patched.
I would say my heart
instead grows ever larger,
pulsing angrily
from an infection of the soul.

You aren't real
but this pain is.
Years of abuse came rushing back
after one moment
of uncertainty from your direction.
I had thought love
must be perfection,
and I was wrong.
This isn't a love song.
This is my head
in the
oven, and
a note caught between the
pages of
The Pigeon

Fucking Sylvia Plath...you never liked her. This is just my emo Dr. Suess phase all over again.
-B. Monkey
Alyce Black Jul 10

In my hour of need
I found myself alone.
Eyes of stone
and heart of butchery,
I played with knives
and painted with my blood
the spot betwixt my eyes.
Anger and hate and
rage without cause,
fires burned,
licking away my womb
and frying away my pride.
I was broken.

are you afraid to die?

But I am afraid to live.
Anger might burn me up
without direction,
but fear had left me
Fear had left me nearly dead,
I couldn't stand the itch
of dying wounds
or the pulsing in my bleeding thumb.
I wanted to feel numb.
I wanted to look bleary eyed
at this rotting town
full of festering lives,
I wanted to look at my own life,
high as a kite...
and declare myself beautiful again.

are you afraid to die?

My ancestors were warriors.
Mighty women
who took no prisoners,
bards tough as nails
who roamed the emerald shoreline.
My ancestors were warriors,
and what am I?
I am a mad woman
with blood on her forehead,
fighting wars inside her mind.
I direct my rage inward,
with no source to blame in sight.
This is no way to win a battle
or a fight of any kind.
My ancestors were mighty warlords
and I can't even fight
my own damned mind.

are you afraid to die?

I am afraid to fight.
I am terrified of the way
blood glistens in the light.
I am enthralled by the sight
of my own destruction,
as if watching from afar
offers me some protection
from my own folly.

are you afraid to die?

Yes. I am afraid to die.
I am still here,
a coward,
putting warriors to shame
and borrowing their names.
Damage was done
and battles were won
but never by me.
I need to remember.
I need to see.
My arms pulse angrily,
reminding me
of what my festering wounds
have provided.
Someday, I say,
I will remember your name,
and it will be you, not me,
who bleeds.
My skin is red and dry,
my eyes are mad-green
and wide.

are you afraid to die?

My ancestors were warriors.
They conquered nations,
they fucked Gods,
they fucked themselves.
I am alone
with eyes of stone
and though my blood runs bright
I feel no pain.
No more borrowing names.
Soon I will remember
and soon you will see.
I will paint my wounds
with molten silver
and it will be YOU
who bleeds,
not me.

are you afraid to die?

I am afraid to die,
afraid to live,
afraid to fight,
no more.
I am Fiacha the Fearless.
I am borne of blood
and rage
and loneliness.
I wear my blood as war paint
and make my own name.
We were never one and the same.
I am Fiacha the Fearless,
and you are the wretch
from the fetid corners
of my rage-rotting brain.
You are the wretch
who will die
choking on my pain.

Alyce Black Jul 2

I roll over in my bed.
I'm wide awake and feeling sick again.
I'm clutching at my head,
tears streaming, heart screaming,
remembering the things you said.

Every word was a thief.
Every toxic, noxious idea from your mouth
became a heartfelt belief.
Every word from you stole everything from me.
I wish I could take it all back
and leave you bleeding at my feet.

I fight things I cannot see,
and battle a version of me
dressed in your clothes.
I cannot win this civil war,
I cannot rise to meet a higher standard.
I am locked in constant stagnation
while two warring Nations of Me
cancel out the other's energy.

If I could, I would
I would spit at your feet
and take myself back,
take it all back from you for me.
If I could,
I would hate you alone
with every fiber of my being.
But it seems the hate
that's meant for you
is only here for me.
It seems the love
I should receive
is yours to take while I am healing.

So while I fight and tire quickly,
trying to win myself over...
I'm realizing I can never forgive you,
and I cannot hate you.
I cannot blame you.
I am you,
and you are me.
This is a war without end or victory.

Alyce Black Jun 30

I fall through a
wave of turquoise blossoms
white gardenia foam
and I toss against
cold silver rocks
and settle on
a peach coral home.

I find my love inside
My Own.
My Own rhyme.
My Own reason.
My Own flow.

I will wear
rosy seashells
in my brown curly hair.
I will sing
from my crystal dream

Spanish pirates
will play
their guitars for me.
I am the Queen
of my own Reality.

Come sailing to
my shore, I plead,
but only if you
bow to me.

Once I was dead,
a Goddess was freed...
A Sea Queen of Ambiguity.

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