passion waning in Stonehenge
studying the ancestors below me
no longer needing the satisfaction, i'm guessing
you'll be needing the ever after
when clinging to the clingfilm of thy emotion
lust for the green light of capitalist torsion
but we're fine,
we made it
did she even make it through or did she just forget me
altogether, i get why she'd renounce me
the pretty lady now's in paralysis
of the menaces
of the surrogates
mind shifting through plain fields of evergreen men
bottles upon bottles of ***** autumn drinks
guilty smokes, alternative facts and poltergeists
cloud my gaze
renounce my place
forgotten wee daisies were born in this place
but i didn't
and i don't
sister is trembling
sorry, she's alone
repenting for foreign perversions
preventing the invasion of thy nation
crossing the borders with thy translation
simply old age
it's bad, i need to get back into my old writing habits
intentions crystal clear
daylight savings time, saving us from paranoid suicidal minds
future plans and remakes of the past
carefully deposit them in a clear green vial of dust,
unbroken flask made out of dreamy hazy glass
as memories fade,
(this won't -ever- happen to us)
lovingly embrace you & hold you in my arms
still, the daylight can't help but ask me why,
how we're supposed to never come apart
Destiny forgotten due to our childhood's screams:
Romeo and Juliet were prised apart by their mother's grin
now I'm done
questions asked, better left unanswered, better to forget instead
paranoid insomnia (no sleeping at night),
waiting to be forgotten
(even worse, will I forget?),
when the distance gets too heavy
when the drunk thoughts get too weary
when my feet hurt from running in circles
when you realise what you've done.
in reliving golden memories
they came across one in particular
(it seemed to contract and disappear
only to grow stronger when the need
was present, as their fears)
of a rope being held, stretched across
the five-centimetre gap between both lovers' chests
******* have been cared for,
& loved & handled well
intertwined at the lower primal core
the youngsters would dance
to the sound of one's heart&soul
and the other's heart-lifting glance
into amber closets of the finest silks
lose myself in them.
in those golden memories...
during the golden hours of the day
i remember when you'd breathe by me]
while falling asleep and practicing being vulnerable
she came across her doublest of entendres:
the stone cold ***** had already made amends
but kept her flatline on low-profile
as to not relive &
as to not regret
(so to speak, so to forget...)
the lowlife suffered a pay rise
and her stomach turned on its head,
the secrets to the feelings between them
were only audible in the coziest of beds
the peeping tom has been baffled
by the mesmerised gazes of her trustworthy men
the unexpected loving family was,
all hers to present in the end.
the rythm flows nicely:
in & out, ballerina thighs;
magical and sultry, the only thing that i breathe,
grab at me desperately
(no time for human need).
today the soul has been nourished
and i've uncloaked myself to thee.
i lost something i had held on to,
but i'm so glad you lost it with me.
swirly figures in my mind's eye & bruises on weak knees.
pull me tighter,
(it's 6 am?)
but we still could go on for weeks
the freckles, snow drizzles and supernovas on your chest
have the same sole intention as me:
to leave a mark on your body & soul
so you can always feel me when there's need.
i adore you
vulnerable naked goddess, my one and only temptress
the reflection of insecurity inspires the reflection of you in me
she turns the love ballad into a ****** message (and then it's again reversed)
it flows out of my aura like your odd ***** northern ways
forever has been trampled one too many times
the timestamp on this union withstands the heated rendezvous of a million grandkids buried in the desert sands
she'd just feel so lost without you
(let's never go out of style)
if living will just mean waiting in line at infinite supermarkets
i renounce my human mortal right,
while the longer the waiting gets, i cannot comprehend
and the future seems so far away, untouchable by a mortal's haze
we are all left gawking, dumbfounded, restless in the last lampshade
mosquitoes on the wall
"stop waiting for life to begin with" will be carved on my marble tombstone
as three babies thought of the future,
in limbo three souls were put to rest.
why teach soul-economy to the young ones,
when we can blame them for everything instead?
remember the love that she gave you?
i'll want it back by the end of may.
dutifully unprepared to confront youth,
virtually ready for despair.
as the sun comes rushing in
through the cracks in the window, with a Matisse-like sheen,
a witch ponders over her natural, self-made enemy;
her trees are topsy turvy,
her entrails are unfurling.
as she careens into arms unfolding,
her breath mist was captured by Rodin
make art of what scares you
if my head hurts, will i get a toothache?
if my neck burns, does it mean i'm raging?
does the burn feel the pressure of me failing?
does your mom know your chest-burn won't bail me?
will you hold her, when she's escaping?
will she ****** the thoughts that enthral me?
if my head hurts will i get lonely?
if my veins stop will you stay with me?
as the hangman jumped
the rivers explode,
the music has stopped,
everyone just watched...
he's taking a leap
but the adrenaline's gone.
pins and needles and *******'s blaze
out-of-body-experience leaves me trembling for days
do i renounce my will & my ways?
is this the point of no return?
am i falling hard into doughnut-like-smelling glace?
am i doomed as the forsaken one? do i need to shun Your Grace?
shall i wake you up in a minute,
with cold tea and easterly-brewed eggs?
am i supposed to never let old habits prevail?
does the sole pen feel the need to shine in moonlight?
or am i mistaken (in need of ginger ale)?
do people really write less when things go their way?
why must i hate the sappy?
(how could i convey the same?)
so tell me, my darling, am i willing to take the bait?
is your warmth going to last forever?
will i come back to my previous stage?
in the surveillance of our story, 850 seconds perhaps, in glorified memory,
little jews open their eyes amongst the flaming sculptural spire
and the third of her name, Jerusalem, (is it him?)
(artistic was her surname)
unfortunately, her ID, consumed by torch & flame (.........)
another mourning, another brown, & soggy & tasteless ******* day
in which to despair at the state of her very purposeful Occidental ways
surrounded by fake patriotism & fourteenths & sevens & May
contrast the Marseillaise's rightful sudden death
[ violet haze ]
the saddened by the tragedy
have more to lose at stake
Al'Aqsa, Notre Dame, you deserved so much better
the tidings, barefaced,
bring news of revenge
housewifes have been murdered
and cleansed and chiseled and thread
victims have overrulers
and dummed luck friends
tidings are favorable
yet wet in the end
for no forsaken warrior
shall be mourned in his own head
unfortunately, tidings bring (as well)
the news of a drunken lost shell
of sea voyagers and criminals
thank god i'm not infinitesimal
a girl, laying down
on her stone cold bed
listens to quiet tappity taps
on the pastry roof over her head
she likes to dream, to conquer (and scream)
like in three girls & a cig walking,
she likes to stop, to think, to see
but her watch's-a-tickity-tocking
the compass of 16 brown cats' feet
are keeping her company, after all,
she lies in bed and dreams about
her neighbourhood flooding with blood
if the hand outline has been emptied,
i'll say sorry in advance.
call the emergency mind-repair system
(please never ever call me back).
quiet down the thoughts now,
if seems your time has come:
to be cast into oblivion
with the rest of the mortal ones.
hubris tendrils are the only ones that'll hold me close
your appearance is extraordinarily redundant (if i'm quite honest in my prose)
nothing new here to witness, just the monthly overrated sickness
killing softly with a silver knife in the darkness's burning plate
clichés, i hate, but i won't let me sway-
i need to find my center quick! & i need to find my place
so i can be with someone else that won't grow weird and gray
so we can laugh about the many i have trampled on the way
in a world of able bodies
are you able to perform me?
reaching into deepness & honey
the bass in our voice sounds lovely
but some treble is, quite frankly,
the one thing that we find lacking
in our mono-universal cell beats
in our silly English breakfast tea
reach into the tranquil divided personality
and pull out a couple vodkas & martinis
a long night awaits us out in the city
the elder travellers used to whisper quietly
but now they're just dust-
do you ever just hate anything you ever write
stripey girlie lost in the woods
trees fall behind you but your feet are now roots
Daphne's magick won't come running to save you
because, stripey girlie, you are too lost in your boots
pointing at little birds' tiny nests of tiny houses
hearing, not listening, to their creative social outlet
incorporating the spark into your very own eyelashes
seeing the world through another's survival handle
hear the roaring of the forest's floor as it breaks under your toes
crumble into nothingness and girlie'll be thought of no more
stripey girlie, pointy girlie, it was all your fault
'cause you couldn't hide your chip (from another machine) no more
the crystal palace by Paxton shatters
and with them, our pots&pans clatter
all clothed in black
all ready to knick-knack the lumberjack
not one body, hair, eyes; unknown
one body, one mind, one goal, one soul,
one damsel, three-headed, five traumas & a million foes
we are one and we are all
we’ll stay silenced, thus shout no more
abandon the tight hold of gravity
believe me, all of us are sacred-to-be
tied for forests, trees interrupt my fantasy
my high school lagoon reflects
what we’ve been craving so badly
we are strong if we are all
yellow vases shan't hold Montmartre coffee nor goldilocks no more,
brilliant sunshine wrapped around thy hair, unmoving in this unending fall.
yellow paint and quivering ink-eating, masking something for sure:
just make this bread, add spicy Dijon must-dust for show.
eat it all up, absinthe's place in your heart and soul,
toxic waste in your yellowish carnation, oozing out lemon holes.
will he really swallow the missing piece of his own (...)?
was he really the type to ponder & slaughter the only thing that he truly owned?
condensed baby milk.
baby wipes wiping baby's rage
baby in a crib with Jack Daniels in her cage.
dummies and dum-dums and honey and Babe,
humming & strumming & getting on my nerves.
peek-a-boo! i see you!
god, i wish i ******* didn't.
baby tantrum, mommy's head turns,
stifle a sob in baby's wrecked baby doll,
vases cracking, baby nappies flying,
now baby's mess is everywhere.
still, (enraged) what did you expect?
round and round the roses went
around the raging mood you've put baby through.
go and hide, mommy & mommy,
baby is glowing with murderous rage
& climbing out of her baby cage
with her tiny baby legs.
baby reaches over
and squeezes mommy to death.
m'avait puissé à agir
une, deux, presque trois cents fois
j'ai fait la même choix
j'ai commis les mêmes fautes
je suis têtue comme personne d'autre
mais qu'est-ce que voulez-vous que je dis
si tu m'appelles "babe"
et je ne me sent pas non plus moi même ni libre
French is not my first (or second) language. I tried.
look! she said
pointing at stinky flowers in a drainpipe's head
i stared at the hem of the flowers' own dress
methaporical witness of the unfolded events
the downfall of love & grace & respect
"i shall name my next book like them" i said
but secretly i promised i'd write about something else instead
i have amazing friends
soft words and their way of making people sing
lull me like a sweet tune in this chimney, in this place
in my head, slurring over and over until lines would draw up triangles of sleepy infant "jeux",
circles of faded fantasies would come to life and pray,
plus rectangles and cornucopias filled with fun and livelier days.
clouds of droopy golden light drip over our heads as we both lay
in soft blankets made out of my personal handmade Heaven's embrace
lush silk pillows under our overweight, over-bearing, strongly fastened necks
'cause they hold Atlas' weight and the answers for today.
the cycle ends for another shortened day...
the air seems rich with the smell of freshly-made pancakes.
little troll walking down the stairs with a new spring in her step.
lean into the chocolatey sweetness of a mother's oven-like haze,
close your eyes and wonder
if you'll ever feel the same.
distinct memories like these hold the most childlike tenderness in the world, sometimes your own vulnerability is worth being thought of when revisiting memories like mine.
i finally did it
day three hundred and sixty six
i surrender to your strength
31.12.18 // i did it... i really did. happy new year everyone. may 2019 be full of inspiration and beautiful poetry. love you all.
in a labyrinth
how can you choose wrong twice
bandersnatch plays tonight
i am bald, no new ideas
as i hurtle towards the end
my "go back" button breaks
enigmas bedazzle me
colourful lights intertwine us
impossible romance novels
VICtory is ours
i wonder what's up with her
why she seems so... like me
parties for bored people
silly string ties us together
we dance as one dancer
could be jolly and holly
cold wind round our necks
can we panic now?
while we wait for the rhinoceros
to stomp us all down
imagine not having
supplies to be able to breathe
in this cold unloving world
sister mary, cute
how does your garden grow today
are the roses like you hoped?
daddylonglegs, leave me
for i am weak with guilt
atrocities seem familiar
the green tea is served
my mom sits back and crumbles
the sofa cleans her tired
earth looks tiny
when astronauts are fighting
over it, god-like
i'll make loneliness
work for me if i can
i'm too addicted to it
they all explode
mice in zero gravity
spotify in space
if you were stolen right now
flown far away and taken to mars
would you feel lonely?
i need inspiration
someone make me fall for them
someone come and share my bed
days slurr together
once again i uphold my vow
even if i am indifferent
have you ever felt
tired of your favourite thing
creating exhausts me
nearing the deadline
shall i do this for 365 more days
it tires me so...
still, it'll come back
like the thought of a born-still child
sick to my stomach
i have written too much
with your name on my own tongue
can this be the last one?
don't rush the ginger-man
he might break his leg and his arm
he might be exiled to that north-a-way land
do you smell my mom's baking?
surely it smells different
to the sound of your mom's baking