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Somewhere along the line I broke my internal compass.
Already inhaled our poisoned water, fearful of not reaching the surface.
Never knowing the right direction, leaves me left alone.
Done so much to weather this body, not as clear cut as a broken bone.
I just feel I want to go that way.
Eye see what I want - stumble, blackout, and stray.

Script already written, but the characters are constant variables.
Knowing everything in our heads is all malleable
Reading in between the lines searching for guarantees,
Feelings come influx.. and then slowly flee

Anchor me down to anything.

Sinking into a black tar pit abyss, wondering when I'll leave.
But maybe my soul was always meant to roam foreign zones, alone, free.
It's in moments like these where to thoughts I feel shackled to, can't release.
It becomes a hassle to feel happy, struggling to properly breathe.

Maybe no world is the same as yours
Each path has perfectly placed locked doors,
That's as individual to you as what you soak into your pores.
Getting *****, but we still want more.

It'll soon be time to graduate from our physical capabilities,
But man, how did I go so long without seeing the synchronicities?

I bleed red, I'm tired, but true.
I can't bridge past the fact that I don't know if this is for me or you.

My monster of malice,
Helps me hold high, the aluminum chalice.
Knowing these roads don't help feed my head,
Left Alice in bed for the next adequate depressant threshold
Draining my spirit and the malicious comes back-
Writing down symbols, using me as a vessel.

This dream of a life can be stressful
My walls I am enclosed in has become a mess hole.
Halls with trophies that look much like alcohol bottles.. oh wait.
Little victories! - I'm still here.
Make the liquid disappear so you can see the skewed you a little more clear.
I make the art of dying look so graceful,
Just hoping before the expiration date I left you with something tasteful.

My genes are tearing at the seams.
Glittered with fractured beams of half- hope
Slipped down the rope before I saw the light
Shining down on disappointment.
Been joyously walking to the liquor store for my alcoholic ointment.

Too much cancer, fresh internal scars, and airbrushed perspectives.
It's too bad we mostly only look at our exterior when being reflective.
*** becomes a place where we can forget.
It happened for more than hormones, yet many tend to regret.
People can run off course and divorce themselves when ******* leads to remorse
But the choice is yours.
Then we develop new feelings whether intended or not.
A home for new wounds, just waiting to clot.

We're simply riding through life chemically imbalanced,
Happiness turns to madness, sadness, numb.
Jumping from this feeling to that, this person to them.
Firing more into the overworked synapses that overreact through connection
When you clash with your mind, and embody all it's destructive four course meals
It eventually takes control over your entire life, robbed blind, an easy steal.
Peel away each sentence, and bask right now in the surreal,
Make a deal to be your divine self and let the soul show ya what's real.

In these very limited bodies, currently, time is currency. *
With your unlimited potential act purposefully-
Spend the ticks wisely to enrich your soul.
Mind plays tricks from time to time, never let it have control
Open your third eye and dare to be bold
Strengthen vibrations with intent to share the love
and you'll be riddled with appreciation without deviation,
From the heaven within us all, to the heavens above~

But I trust our spirits know our way around the blueprint.
Despite the many unseen forces, forever at play.
Look deeper into the depths like an enthusiastic student
**Reality is just a matter of what you believe; namaste~
They tell you the words
On the ageless page
Are held fast with iron
And cannot be repaid.

I tell you this:
Morality is not lost.
Some would rather be Righteous
Than Obedient.

Though pain is always there
And sufferings will pursue
It’s not what they like to scream
That matters
But what others whisper to you.
When I am old,
And sadly steal apart,
Into the dark and cold,
Friend of my heart!
Remember, if you can,
Not him who lingers, but that other man,
Who loved and sang, and had a beating heart, --
When I am old!

When I am old,
And all Love's ancient fire
Be tremulous and cold:
My soul's desire!
Remember, if you may,
Nothing of you and me but yesterday,
When heart on heart we bid the years conspire
To make us old.

When I am old,
And every star above
Be pitiless and cold:
My life's one love!
Forbid me not to go:
Remember nought of us but long ago,
And not at last, how love and pity strove
When I grew old!
 Dec 2013 Meagan Olsen
Erica Lynn
Beat like wings and you will take flight
Climb into the clouds to reach great height
Skip across the lilies before your weight reflects
Return to the heart for life’s love effects

Flutter like butterflies and you will be free
Flow into the river to reach the blue sea
Dash across the plain before you stop to admire
Return to the heart for love’s most beautiful fire

Moisten like the dew and you will replenish
Drop into the canyon to echo the finish
Linger in the valley before you miss the silence
Return to the heart for love’s obvious hints

Click like two stones and you will be heard
Creep into the wild to admire the littlest bird
Rush into the waterfall before the moment passes
Return to the heart for love’s inevitable relapses

Wrinkle like the skin and you will pass time
Disappear into thin air to refresh a lost rhyme
Piece into the puzzle before you lose your way
Return to the heart for love’s final say
How weird
I am here
and you don’t know it.
Sleeping they say,
in a better place.

George on my right
has been gone for years,
even the flowers all brown
gave up God knows when.

I wonder if you knew
your neighbours
before the batteries stopped.
Did Edith know Agatha?
Did Frank chat over the fence?

Chris was seventy-two,
moved here mid-nineties
when I couldn’t yet hold a pen.
Now just a name
on a slab of stone.

There’s a spot near a tree,
no stone no dirt.
I think ‘that’ll be fine,
a place by myself.’
I shake my head.
They’ll stick me
somewhere else.

These aisles go on and on,
one giant Tesco,
nobody at the tills.

If you could speak,
the stories I’d hear,
the chapters spilling out
like salt from a shaker.
But you can’t talk
and I can only walk past
and wonder how you went.
Written: November 2013 and January 2014.
Explanation: A poem written in my own time for a class at university - as such, it is likely to change slightly in the upcoming weeks. Fairly similar to an older piece, 'Best Before.' The title is taken from The Jam song of the same name.
Sun leaks through bullet holes in the sheet-tin ceiling,
Sprinkling light on dead mens' clothing
Piled stiff with dried blood and dust of fifteen years.

What does it mean when the stained glass windows
Left intact
Let in less light to this church
Than the small holes in its brick walls
Made by grenades  
Thrown from the hands of its priests?

What does is mean when the left overs of dead believers are
Speckled the holy white color of
Bird ****
That drips
From the bullet holes above?

Nearing the aisle's end,
I feel an urge to touch
What I don't believe I see

And look more closely.

Tangled human hairs, crusted blood,
Loose threads torn from hand-stitched hems, in shreds,
And insects nesting in the decay of the dead.

I recoil and suddenly, reach...

— The End —