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Meka Boyle May 2013
Should I but drift cross the street
Like a tattered pamphlet that
Could only be used for the first week:
For a fraction of the cost.

Should I but lay upon the floor
As if I was a simple throw
Destined to lay at the feet of those
Who thrive on what they know.

Should I but fall onto the side
Of a dense and forested path
Then I would know how it is to live
Without fear of turning back.

Should I but wake before I die
And renounce my elusive doom
Only then would my mind lie
Peacefully beneath my tomb.
Meka Boyle Jan 2014
I've never felt more than half an hour:
Insomnia trickles down until the black-tar-ridden-sap oozes onto
My partially open eyes.
And, to say I've never been in love.
Emotions rise up and retreat-
A constant heaving of the battered
Chest- saving us from finding out
How frightening life is.

Murmuring our sordid laments to Lady Death,
Beneath the murky glow of hotel room bed sheets
And fluorescent dollar store night lights,
Too vacant to summon anything more than a whimper
From our submissive minds.

Nothing ends, here.
One upon another, words flow effortlessly
Out of our cavernous mouths,
Clogging our chests with empty syllables until
We forget why we ever tried to do something more
Than care.

Depression can be felt anywhere-
The air slowly seeps from the hissing
Caracas of a worn out tire,
Or the lungs of anyone
Still enough to remember.
Mindlessly chanting Hail Mary's,
We taunt time with our penchant for immortality
And hospital lobby greeting cards,
Until Aphrodite descends to sell her soul
To the highest bidder.

Mother, I have killed the world
With a time bomb that will never detonate:
Ceaselessly ticking on and on-
A reliant backdrop for something
Too harsh to exist in silence.

Our hearts have fallen from our sleeves
And into films, romance novels,
And 3am cooking infomercials.
Land of the living:
The walking dead,
The too-afraid-to-tell-you-how-I-really-feel,
The product of a broken people
Who traded silence
For a language full of mixed intention.

Children of the night,
Blindly parade around before noon,
Trying to buy redemption
At a corner store market
For half the price
Of the pulpit.

Afraid of hearing the latent echo of
Our own pulsing hearts,
We fill our lives with white noise
And intimacy, too stagnant
To exist without our 3am spirituals.
Anxiously arranging our feeble lives
Around minutes and hours-
Slaves to false agendas,
We battle the dark, secretly,
until soon
We lose sight of the purpose
And get caught up in the motion
Of a world too drugged out on
That we forget our own names.
Meka Boyle Mar 2013
Do you ever wake up at six in the morning
With a deep, sour pit in your stomach,
Feeling like your life is going nowhere?
Expectations snowball out of the realm of reason.
What makes sense,
And the course your life is taking
Don't add up with each other,
Pushing and pulling until you realize that maybe
You're just another **** up
Without enough ambition,
And common sense that only comes out
In a muddled after thought
When you're bundled up between the covers
And the darkness of the night.
Meka Boyle Sep 2014
A nation with daddy issues
We call out- yes master
Success took a sudden left
And we've forgotten what we're after-
Because mommas got a curfew set
No matter if you're plastered
A nation founded on being a *******
Afraid of our youth
We drown it out with our laughter
As long as we fake it
It really doesn't matter.
We pledge allegiance to the mad hatter
Swallow down our issues
Call it morning after
The fact
That our hearts are in our stomachs
But our brains are intact
Securely in a system
That needs to be hacked,
We gamble our values
Betting what we lack.
The age of information:
Our odds are stacked
Up against
A doctrine that overrides
Common sense,
Pushing our past
Into present tense,
While we pry our fingers
Through the picket fence
Between our rights and wrongs
And the need to make sense
Of the corruption that places
Appearance overides the common sense
Of discrimination and ideals
That we can't fight against
Without binding ourselves
To a static defense
Where poverty and status
Don't need a pretense
Meka Boyle Sep 2013
A burning star went out last night,
While I paced across the floor-
For, nothing casts as bright a light
As that which is no more.

I saw it flicker distantly,
Across the tortured skies,
Lamenting it's torment, patiently
Because passion yearns demise.

And now, as its reflection wanes
With the subtle, indifferent moon,
Rays pour through my windowpane
To announce its emerging doom.

Oh, fragile beams, you're not alone:
The world is too at bay,
As you beat against the night- unknown,
For, your splendor casts decay.

Yes, I've seen the sun set many nights,
And held my head to sea,
But never felt a greater fright
Than the light quivering in me.
Meka Boyle Mar 2011
My loneliness is self imposed
I try to escape, yet the door remains closed
The walls I've built up keep me grounded
As I take sanction in the fact I'm surrounded
There's no on to blame for the demise of my soul
Alone and isolated, my heart devours me whole
Constantly searching for something to numb the pain
Yet nothing dulls the thoughts racing through my brain
Hopelessly I long to be proven wrong
For someone to pick up my pieces and carry them along
No matter the wishes, I remain alone
For who I really am remains unknown
I hide, halfheartedly, behind a broken facade
Seclusive, elusive, its myself I evade
Secretly hating all who claim to love me
Yet still I hide in the shadows, allowing no one to see
For no one can handle my distorted senses
In order to protect them, I put up my defenses
In a world of shallow thinkers, I sink to the floor
Blending in with my surroundings, its myself I abhor
Yet I can't contain the longing in my soul
To find someone who fits the missing piece, making me whole
Meka Boyle Feb 2011
I'll never fully fathom what you went through
But I want you to know it doesn't define you
If I could I would take your hurt as my own
I want you to know you will never be alone
It pains me to think of what you've endured
But you've won the battle, life is your reward
Your the epitome of beauty and you don't even know
Submerged in faith, you find the courage to grow
Scarred by a past full of darkness and violence
You mask your vulnerability beneath subtle silence
No need to speak, your deep insightful eyes say it all
Rising from your ashes no matter how hard the fall
Everything you do is influenced by your grace
You subconsciously struggle to hide it from your face
Yet your elegance can not be subdued
You set up walls, its your past you allude
In a world of lies your illuminated by truth
Your inner light shines as an halo, encompassing you
Surrounded by shallow ambition you remain grounded
You never surrender, even when you feel surrounded
Your vulnerability comes from your soul
Mixing with your courage, making you whole
So tune with your emotions there are times when you cry
As you bravely look reality in the eye
Little broken angel, in times your wings will heal
The last faith in this world, your the only thing that's real
A living saint with wisdom beyond your years
Carrying the weight of the world and battling your fears
Caught in a war with no intent to win
For the outcome will be greater, peace within
As I write these words I begin to see clearly
I can only hope there is a hint of you inside me
I want to thank you for showing me love
Your my guardian angel, sent from above
In a world of despair your spirit provides contrast
Epitomizing hope, your influence will always last
All that I am is a product of you
This is the one thing I know to be true
So whenever you feel the toll of life's pressure
Remember that my love is beyond any measure
Words can't describe the beauty of your spirit
A symphony of all things pure, waiting for you to hear it
So as I tell you I love you, I'm really saying much more
I was born into a closed world and you opened the door
You are the reason I know about love
My angel in disguise, sent from above
Meka Boyle Jun 2013
Mother dearest jumped the gun,
Thought she found the chosen one
In the reflection of an eager bride
Who looked too deep and died inside.
Bang bang,
Mary shot her down
And plucked the thorns from off her crown,
Aphrodite got too close
And lost her face beneath the smoke.
Time has never looked so sultry
As when she falls from noon with a nosebleed.
Mother Nature lost her mind
Trying to pacify humankind.
Ashes ashes, there's nothing real
When all that is, lives to be concealed.
So bury me beneath the ground,
Next to those who also drowned
In something of a sordid tune,
The funeral can never come too soon.
Helen brought her face of gold
Plastered in cement, frozen cold-
For, who we are isn't what it seems
And nightmares are but twisted dreams.
Wake me up so I can feel
The bitter pang of all that's real.
Momma has gone and leaped again
Deep into the lions den,
Down and down her figure drops
Until all at once, everything stops,
Torment has yet to look as docile
As when it rests upon her heavy smile.
So prepare my casket and let it sink
While I loosely cascade off the brink.
Meka Boyle Jul 2013
Beauty is an empty cage that shakes the world anew-
Yet, falters at the slightest rage, or faintest sickly hue.
A sweet yet poisonous embrace, it slowly clogs the pores,
Of lonely men of a pious race, slumped against heavens doors.
A heavy weight upon the back of those cursed enough to bear it,
Turned to salt for looking back, now eternally doomed to share it.
The elegance of poise and grace send shackles up the palms
Of the amorous eyes of a lover's face- the most perverted kind of alms.
Oh, Aphrodite had her laugh, her poor afflicted soul,
And now she revels in the past, as penance casts its toll
Upon her sweet reflection, the sole source of her empty joy-
As her heart cries out dejection in the name of Helen of Troy.
Ah, fragile bird have you no cause- to hide your face with shame?
Does happiness subdue your flaws- or is humility to blame?
A lepers skin can hardly hold the burden of an empty nation,
Yet, still the world has bought and sold innocence for infatuation.
There's a subtle pain beneath the ring of a mother's sordid song,
Still she bites her lip as she's forced to sing,  while the audience treads on.
The ****** Mary cast her lot among those new and pure,
Then temptation came from Camelot, and knocked her to the floor.
It's faith that holds her safe and whole, a figurine atop a shelf
Alas, her eyes so bright were smeared with coal, for love has lost itself.
Yes, virtue finds her strength in those too weak to carry further,
Doomed to bear a thorny rose, eternally sworn to serve her.
She's rattling her bones again, in hope for something hidden,
Beneath the glistening shards of glass, twisting and churning within.
How sweet it is to stomp the ground of all that hides the eye
From righteousness and morals sound- is beauty but a lie?
Rituals and good intent lay stagnant at the feet
Of Cleopatra's testament, too indifferent for defeat.
Heaven thrives as the world recoils, collapsing crumpled to the floor-
A rotten corpse of ancient toils, too tired to implore.
I've heard the sirens sing their alms, with intentions pure as snow-
As sailors mindlessly follow along, cursing the maidens as they go.
There's something to be said about a grace so bent on fate
Of that which crafts a sultry face: vanity in its purest state.
Meka Boyle Apr 2013
April is a month of forgotten dreams,
That began to fade away in February,
And drew their last breath in March.
Missed opportunities wax poetic
As the tumultuous spring wind pushes empty
Ideals into a realm of something not quite there,
But present enough to be felt over the roar of
Cryptic resolutions and half baked goals.

April is a month of resurrected love
That has already grown rotten and putrid,
Decaying under the warm, dirt ground
Built up over the heavy hopes of December.
Memories full of partial truths and "I love you"
Twist and pull at untuned heart strings,
Until a sad, sordid melody sounds out,
Almost completely evaporating before it reaches
Anyone brave enough to write it into reality.

April is a month that sometimes isn't really there
Until the middle of May, when a distinct pang
In the chest gives weight to its existence.
Meka Boyle Mar 2011
Life is my medium
Art seeps through my seams
As I paint a picture of reality
Nothings what it seems
Bright colors
Mingle with one another
Till they simultaneously agree
To stop
Take cover
Leaving me alone with the words in my heart
Which bleed through the paper
The most vibrant art
Mixing with my emotions
Creating a potent potion
Which pours over the canvas
Which in my case is life
So thick with meaning
You could cut it with a knife
Accurately depicting
What society is scripting
Holding it over the ocean
I lose my grip
Watch it sink
I wake up
This cynical cycle is just part of my makeup
I can't shake it
There's no way to break it
So I do what any great artist would do
Paint it
With words
So that my medium can be heard
Through the silence of it all
Evoke society to fall
Unlock the doors of my wall
Open it up to insight
The whole time thinking
Only I know what's right
I think about it every night
So armed with words I prepare for the fight
Meka Boyle Aug 2011
I'm tired of hearing the same old concept
Rehashed with the back lash of a delayed onset
It's easy to have an opinion when it's been approved by the norm
So gather your sentiments and allow them to form
To the mold cast by a nation fueled with generalization
Is it worth being original with the risk of condemnation?
Occupying the top is the common aim of our generation
Even if we have to surrender, call it moral suffocation
Cuz life is defined by how far we progress
And happiness is measured by the height of our success
So paint on your smile, little artist of conception
Convince yourself that you control your perception
Meka Boyle Jul 2011
August is a time for remorse.
A time for memories,
swelling up and distorting one's vision.
The ripeness of summer has withered
under the harsh July heat,
leaving behind a shriveled skeleton of time.

August is a time of love.
Emotions that have been accumulating through June,
subtly burst through the seams,
oblivious to the Goodbyes,
lurking right beyond the bend.

August is a time of forgotten promises,
of the misled see you later,
so often mumbled from lover's lips.
The scent of leaving lingers in the air,
creating a bitter aftertaste,
mixed with the flavor of devotion.
For, forever doesn't mix well with farewell.

August is a time of silence.
A time where a single word might betray a hidden feeling,
that is swelling up beyond the bend of casual conversation.

August is a time of noise.
Where "I love you" and "see you soon",
drown out the static of reality.
Where loneliness is judged by the tangible,
and everyone is afraid of being left.

August is a time of leaving.
Minutes become muddled with sentiment, moving like molasses,
dripping slowly into the oncoming hour,
overflowing with empty formalities.

August has no tolerance for long goodbyes;
which fester like an open wound in the middle of the day.
No, August is parting in silence,
with one's final words uttered in the darkness,
the moon and stars as the only witnesses.

August is a time of closure,
not the type seen in movies,
full of mundane routines.
Accompanied by tears and terse observations,
"Your coat appears worn thin, my dear".

August is the closure that comes in the middle of the night,
when it is least expected.
It is neither welcomed,
nor is it pushed aside.
It comes as easily as sleep,
nestling into the deepest corners of one's soul.

Sometimes August isn't recognized,
until December.
After it has faded into the hazy realm,
which all past months inhabit.
Its only legacy is etched upon our souls,
haunting our every thought,
in the most lovely way:

August is a time of growing up,
of forgotten forever's,
full of the sweetest intent.
Meka Boyle May 2013
Tugs seductively
On my
Smiles twist and
Until they collapse
C/o/n/t/o/r/t/e/d pile
Of something like
A grimace-
(But not quite).
My heavy
b r e a t h i n g
Reminds me that      my heart
Has yet to surrender to
The toxic fumes
Rampant in my thoughts.
Eagerly I inhale them,
Something like     knowledge
But, with a pain
ful kick. It's
Never easy to fil
ter thoughts that are thick
Like molasses,
(And just as Sweet).
B ang,
You're dead,
Just like the rest
Of them-
Body still w
arm. Pulses
Still audible,
s l o w l y
Fading. Who
Will save you
I'm far too gone
In a land of
Make believe
To press down upon
r (gaping) wounds
And dated dreams.
Doesn't it feel
Something like
Lo ve?
when you're lying
On your death bed
For the pastor
To come in and slowly murmur one last prayer
To save you from some
thing too difficult
To understand
Faith and a poor
You're off
Onto another journey
That can only ex
ist when
out, and replace them
With ideals pre
made by the same
Precise hands
That cut
The deli
Lunch meat-
Meka Boyle Mar 2011
Thoughts racing
Faster faster
Until they meet
A beautiful disaster
Open conclusions
Creating an illusion
Vanishing doubt
For a moment
Reality becomes diluted
Dreams are substituted
In order to hear
The world must be muted
Tune out the violence
Mindlessly thinking
Treading contradictions
To keep from sinking
Ideas constantly interlinking
Forming thoughts
Which is where I'm caught
Trying to decipher what is
From what's not
Meka Boyle Dec 2015
There is no movement here
(Except inside my head)
Besides the rhythmic heaving of my chest,
My arms readjusting around my pillow,
Legs contorted into what I can only describe as
A lying down flamingo.
There is no motion that cannot be accounted for,
Only the necessary,
The slight,
The human impulses that cannot be quelled
By bedrest.


I laid there—two weeks—
Alone with my thoughts,
My fears,
My shortcomings,
My inability to be
Anywhere but where I was:
Facing the ceiling
With such intent
You would think I was waiting
For a ghost to appear
(Maybe I was),
Haunted by myself.
Meka Boyle Mar 2011
Waves crashing
Onto powerful mountains
I long to be there
So minuscule in comparison
I don't amount
I need not
For I become one with the wilderness
The silence is all I hear
Calling me closer
I'm on the shore
The waves lapping at my toes
My mind exists nowhere else
I am the powerful mountains
I am the savage waves
I am the tall red wood trees
Rooted to the ground
Thriving from the very dirt
My branches stretch out to the sky
They intertwine with my being
The silence is a symphony
Awakening my inner self
Allowing freedom
From the dull noise of life
Droning on
At times it is too much
I reach the verge of submission
The waves break my trance
For a moment
I'm brought back
To my sanction
Meka Boyle Aug 2013
Is this what it means to be alive?
The heavy thud of strong ***** and cheap beer
Sounds slowly throughout my empty body.
5am sinks into 6 am
And I remember that I never made a wish
When I was blowing out my candles.
Warm suds mix with the remnants of my birthday cake,
As my trembling hands focus on the glass container
Beyond the slightly dull kitchen knife
That rests alone on the marble countertops,
Facing it's long sleek body towards my upright torso:
A modern take on spin the bottle.
No one cares, here.
Houses flood in and out with lonely crowds of
"Nice to meet you" and "I've missed you so much",
Until all you can hear is a constant drone of yesterday and tomorrow muddled together in a ***** sink.
Is this how it feels to grow older?
Each year seeps into the next, and sometimes I forget my name,
Lost in the American dream of party hats and pinatas.
There's nothing real here, anymore.
It was all left behind: all the cherry stained finger tips, macaroni noodle jewelry, piles of presents by the living room door:
There's no room for any of it, now.
The train rolls by like tiny knights clinking around in their brass armor,
Off to slay emerald dragons that only appear
Right before sunrise,
And evaporate before their presence can be uttered from the lips
Of anyone ****** up enough to see them.
Another year has snuck it's way into the room,
Gradually slinking over to the small leather couch,
Where I dutifully await its arrival.
Outside, the world grows restless;
Sleep walking, the city streets begin to dance and pulsate with empty ambition,
Jerking back and forth to the rhythm of the rusted train tracks
And nameless sounds of empty avenues and sidewalks.
Knees curled to my chest, I'm five years old again,
Listening to the tired clamor of white and grey birds and the smell of salt water.
Everything's easier when you only know enough to paint your world with the same colors
You found in library books and pamphlets from the aquarium.
Now, the acid in my stomach churns with yesterday's Taco Bell
And the distant squalor of seagulls falls flat against the ***** windows
Of my second story apartment:
Nothing grows here.
What's left of yesterday's light
That hung around until the morning,
Slowly spreads across the kitchen floor
Until it reaches the thick, shiny skin
Of our resident house plant,
Basking in its sorry habitat,
It's spindly arms reach out towards the window,
Only to be smushed back towards its fleshy body
By the paper thin mesh netting:
A testimony to the world around it.
I'm fourteen, again,
Fighting back tears in algebra class and planning my Friday night,
Because life turns the color of Nebraska mud
As soon as you dilute your reality with that of everyone else's.
Bang bang,
Sounds are only as poignant as our imagination;
Afraid of what we would hear,
We force the fairy tales that once flew freely throughout our worlds,
Into a tiny ten minute daydream,
Too brief to ever be accepted as anything more
Than a distant memory of a half there story
That served no purpose
Outside of entertainment.
We've replaced never land with shopping malls
And Main Street.
Throwing our arms up as we pivot down onto the paved floor-
Fairy dust can only hold so much before failing,
Leaving us to our own devices
And a slew of infomercials and prime time television series.
Being nineteen isn't that different from any other age.
The past continues to build up like caked mud
And dog **** on the bottom of peeling, white tennis shoes.
One, two, three,
Maybe growing up isn't so painful after all,
Until you look back and realize you accidentally
Left your entire life behind in the process,
Tucked away in a musty banana box
Between a broken pink dresser and old magazines
Somewhere in your mom's garage,
And the more you think about it,
Try to remember it in every subtle detail,
The more you gently try to force it out of the crevices of the past,
The more faded and distant it all becomes.
Age makes us clumsy, time makes indifferent,
And nostalgia will drive you mad.
The light in our eyes that was once illuminated by childhood ambition
Now shines from the reflection of a glossy
Photo album that lies face down
Amidst the remains of an instant milk childhood
And birthday wishes that gave us something to believe in.
Now our gods rest indifferent on the chapel floor,
Reaching out from under cedar pews
To grab the ankles of desperate sinners,
As they drift up the isle
To drown out their passion in holy water.
Nothing changes, here.
All around us, the same old song falls effortlessly from the end of every syllable we
Mindlessly spit out like watermelon seeds.
Generation to generation,
We preserve our day old revelations about what it means to feel,
In the hopes that we may fight off death
By forgetting that we were ever alive.
Meka Boyle Mar 2011
Your blinded by beauty
Clinging to a false sense of dignity
Wrapped up in your self centered vanity
Transfixed by a pretty picture of reality

The respect you claim isn't rightfully yours
As your shallow insight fits to society's words
For a face like yours should be insured
By the materialistic means which bind you to this world

Seeking refuge in what appears before your eyes
You inner self is what you despise
For your definition of beauty is based upon lies
As your falsehood erodes you shall meet your demise
Meka Boyle Apr 2011
Break me down
Erode the shimmer of my handmade crown
Swallow me inside the eye of your hurricane
Don't refrain
From pulling me in
Feed me the apple from eden
I wanna taste your sin
Give me something to belive in
Then define it without reason
Break into my heart
Your the best kind of treason
Wear away my free will
Sugar coat reality and feed me the pill
And watch as it goes down smoothly
Attach me to the ground
But tie the string loosely
Then sneak up behind me and cut off a loose piece
Releasing me from this world
Setting me free
Meka Boyle Jan 2014
There isn't much to be said
About the day time-
Hour after hour, we beat on
Against the ticking clock
Of complacency,
Until before we know it-
We're ****** into the realm of
The halfway living.
Awake past midnight,
Processing the happenings
Of 9-5,
As if draging them out into
Will increase their potency.

There's nothing more moving
Than yesterday,
After a night of fermenting in
Our desperate minds.
Often too late to be felt
Before 10pm.

Reality is too much with us.
Pushing up against
Our trembling palms,
As we reach out
To ******
The manufactured idea of
Happiness. Prepackaged
And with an expiration date
Beyond the next year.

We try to find our fate in tarot cards,
Palm readings, grocery market bargains, expensive haircuts where they only take an inch off but you still cry, second rate ballets and strip clubs, the words of others, and Sunday services past 12 where the hangover isn't as dreadful.
Experience junkies,
****** fiends,
Attention addicts,
Compassion parasites,
We **** the marrow from the earth
And prescribe her with Ritalin
And 3 months of sick leave-
The placebo effect has never seemed
So enticing.

Is this what it's like to talk to God?
Newspapers from last week
Find their way into the warm,
Sticky floors of the subway:
They have no purpose here
In this cool, indifferent future.
Bold headlines prophesying drought,
And lamenting those already dead,
Alongside ads for half off
A large pizza, and 25% off your biggest
Problems. Classified ads
And the sports section
Reek of ***, failure
And vulnerability-
No one cares, now.
The past is only real within the proceeding hour,
And middle school history class lessons,
Too optimistic to hold
Any reality beyond repetition.

Lifeless, we seep through time until
The pages are soaked and soggy with
Our failed ambition and twice baked
Love stories that grossed a billion dollars
For the movie theaters, gas stations and diamond companies-
Condensed into romance novels
And nonfat ice cream:
A testament to a nation
Afraid to feel anything that isn't synthesized
And discussed in tabloid magazines.

Sideline poets and actors,
We rap our knuckles raw against the railing,
Nervously counting down the seconds
Until we will be called to dutifully recite
All we know.
Waiting, we count our blessings.
The cumulation of good deads and sacrifice
That have paid the dues for a one way ticket
To the promised land.
Little children, again,
We twist the frays of our sweaters
And buckle our knees with anticipation
Of judgement day
And Memorial Day weekend.
Meka Boyle Jan 2011
As my thoughts ramble on i'm at a loss for words
Constantly listening for the unheard
But silence is your greatest virtue of all
Unaware that's its what you didn't say that made me fall
Fall into something I can't even explain
To call it love would be speaking in vain
So instead I tune out of the world's constant commotion
Yet by the sound of your voice i'm thrown back into the ocean
Drowning in my subtle fear of emotion
Still I struggle to survive, call it hopeless devotion
Alone in the sea for your ship has set sail
Submerged in my subconscious I desperately flail
Its as if i'm awaking from a bad dream
only to realize everythings not what it seems
For in utter despair I reach for the truth
Becoming aware, meeting the real you
For the stranger who blindly led me out to sea
Was simply a facade of what my heart wanted to see
Built up by a daydream, kept alive by hope
The torment you inflicted was just my way to cope
Playing into your games it would seem I have lost
But really I have won, my heart the cost
In search of a way out, I found a way in
In attempt to evade reality I found shelter within
Crossing over to sanity I leave you in the past
Burning bridges, I come to peace at last
Meka Boyle Dec 2011
Can you hear the cry
of the emptiness?
"You're pushing me
Can you
Feel the pressure
Of the open sky?
"Darkness is pushing me out"
Is the horizon still
Behind empty wishes
"Save my soul from
Can your senses
Beneath the rough blanket of
Or does it suffocate you
Pushing you
Meka Boyle Feb 2011
We are lost in another dimension
Far away from comprehension
Struggling with empty goals
Far in debt with priceless tolls
Constantly digging never ending holes
As we mindlessly surrender what's left of our souls
Trying to find ourselves in this bottomless mess
Feigning the belief that more is less
For driven by success we steer off road
Our footsteps imply we have a heavy load
The definition of freedom acts as a cage
The curtain has risen, we take our places on the stage
Struggling with the fact that we've been dying all along
Carpe diem, the show must go on
Meka Boyle Jun 2013
Transculent threads run up and down
Old planks of wood-
Upright and close together,
Like distant cousins leaning towards each other
And whispering sweet condolences
At a funeral.
The spider weaves her heavy web
Out of weightless air,
Intricately trapping
Suicidal fruit flies
And drops of dew,
Reflecting off the shriveled corpses of
Unfortunate insects,
Casting a subtle shadow
Upon the indifferent shrubbery:
Infected with parasites that fail to even
Acknowledge his heavy existence.
"I'm here", he desperately wails,
"Beneath your spindly legs
And despair ridden hearts,
Full of something like ambition, but of a different tone,
Beating on and on below your silent wings."
Deaf to his compassion,
They lay tangled in their fate,
Accepting death
From the moment the spider drew close
And caressed their sorry souls with her
Delicate finger tips.
His emerald tendons wear her web-
For, the past won't let him shake it.
An old man
Who keeps the shawl of his late wife,
Wrapped a little too tightly
Around his frail, veiny throat,
Just to know she was once there,
And to keep her from ever really dying.
So the bush cloaks his body
With the cobwebs of the savage spider,
Adorned with corpses
Of insects too passive
To question that which required their lives.
Alone in silent ceremony,
He gravely continues on,
Beneath the dance of life and death,
Yet never fully numb to it all,
His nerves twitch and shake with the presence
Of something gradually taking it's course.
Life flows in and out of his branches,
Like a tumultuous waterfall
Giving life to all around it,
While drowning those too weak to follow
In it's unalterable current.
And so, another day goes by,
But to the forest, it's all the same,
For none can hear the old bush cry,
Mourning each fragile bug by name.
Meka Boyle Apr 2011
All our morals went out the door
As we greedily call out
We want more
The world sold out
She's a *****
Tryin to find a way out
Behind a closed door
The word revolves around consumption
It can't properly function
Orbiting around need
So easily deceived
Unaware we could override it
Our fate has already been decided
Punched in
As we prepare at the starting line
We forget it's also the end
For we've surrendered our capacity
To comprehend
Awed by the audacity
That our minds are only a trend
Constantly changing to fit a mold
Don't form your own thoughts
Cuz soon they'll be old
Out of date
So change them when you're told
And continue on
With this mundane game
Surrender your name
In a quest for fame
For bright lights
Provide insight
That only survives
Till the dark of night
Afraid of you demons
You hold that spotlight tight
Unaware that it's purpose
Has blended in the surface
For in your journey
You're not alone
You have one last call
Society's already on the phone
Inflicting the fear if the unknown
Providing a antidote
You swallow the pill
Become a drone
Kiss goodbye to individuality
You've been reduced to a clone
Nothing sets you apart
From everyone else
You sacrificed your heart
Now it's labeled on a shelf
Next to a dictionary
Made to define yourself
By someone else
So break out of the cycle
Spinning you towards destruction
Cuz pretty soon you'll come to a junction
Where you'll have to decide
Between your mind
And the comfort of conformity
For it's much more simple than reality
So listen to my distorted wisdom
There's one thing I am certain
We need a change in the system
Meka Boyle May 2011
I have trouble deciphering trust
From the voice in my head
That's driven by the lust
Of wanting to be needed
You had a warning sign in your forehead
But I chose not to read it
My fate was decided
The moment we collided
Meka Boyle Jan 2011
numb to reality
trying to defy mortality
you just sit around and wait
like a lost cause
banging at the gate
depending on fate
that against all odds
you'll get a message from your false gods
and rise from the dust
forgetting the difference
between ambition
and lust
hoping to embark on a mission
unaware that it'll be defficient without trust
so go with the flow
surrender all that you know
bend with the status quo
or bust
wait no
break out of this vicious cycle
in order to leave
you must understand
whats at hand
from your troops
come to realize that what your fighting for
is a lost cause
behind a closed door
you cry out for more
living for the sensation
its reality that you abhore
stand still
filter your thoughts
stay focused
on this hocus pocus
dont let the walls break
or out the truth will pour
to mix with your recognition
distorting fiction
creating contradiction
a cure to your addiction
between you and yourself
you eagerly welcome
input from anyone else
all that you've become
is shaped from someone
with the worst intentions
you against the world
you can taste the tension
but your taste buds have the day off
so does your comprehension
its paid no attention
fitting into the mold
surrendering to your surrounding's hold
do what you're told
the price has been bartered
you've been bought
and sold
the return policy
your last breath
held captive for life
untill your encounter with death
tests and trials
evaporate any denial
that could hide beneath your pleasent smile
simmering below is a truth so vile
baracaded and shut deep down in your conscience
lies the fact
that your unconsious
its on the tip of your tounge
but never mentioned
i guess that makes you
society's invention
Meka Boyle Mar 2011
You think you've got it all figured out
You understand life and what it's about
But you only know what your told
Society offered understanding
You were bought and sold
Crammed and twisted to fit a rigged mold
Sure you know yourself
It's easy when your the same as everyone else
With your pointless attempts to make a name
In your quest for individuality
You all are the same
Yeah you can think your own thoughts
But language's web has got you caught
Meaningless words describe your deepest emotion
On a hunger strike, you drink society's potion
You claim to be a rebel by definition
It's like having a gun without ammunition
As you express yourself through how you appear
You might as well cut off your ears
Cuz your wake up call has passed by in silence
Still you dream on
Clinging to common sense
Meka Boyle Feb 2011
Living life with open conclusions
Unaware that its all an illusion
We turn our backs on the fact we're defected
Silently striving towards being perfected
Its so easy to judge from an outer perspective
Claiming an open mind yet we keep our thoughts selective
Afraid to admit that we are not in control
When deep inside, fear devours us whole
Meka Boyle Jan 2013
I do not miss you in moments,
But rather the lingering space that lies in between them:
The soft "nn" sound preceding "one mississippi"
Falls stagnant as I attempt to count out measurements of my grief.
Your presence is too large to be condensed into the language of time,
Hours and minutes limply droop over each other,
Until nothing is certain besides your existence.
Two mississippi, three mississippi,
I slowly drag out the syllables in a subtle defiance to your untimely exit.
Your time isn't yet over, I've kept you alive,
Pushing air into your crumpled lungs by counting sheep.
The moments in which you fell are recycled here,
Like stale air in a small cement cell,
They propel my time forward the same way they stopped yours.
I do not miss you during desperate sentences full of almost there prose,
But instead during the white space that runs between each line.

Four mississippi, five mississippi.
Meka Boyle Mar 2013
What is time?
A constellation of fleeting moments,
Loosely strung together,
By the hands of an indifferent god,
Like far off, iridescent stars
That long ago, lost their deep
Luminous glow to wishful thinking
And withered souls with nowhere to disappear to.
Swallowed up by the dark, subtle indifference
Of the vast ominous sky,
They desperately glisten, lamenting
Their distant remorse,
Flickering out only to reapper, as if they are trying to escape
The nagging, elusive truth
That they too are nothing more than a hollow echo,
Sounding out across the abysmal space
Between the seconds that fall dormant
Against our empty idea of what it means
To feel alive.
Meka Boyle Feb 2011
Only in the darkness of the night can I fully see
When silence engulfs my senses creating a symphony
As cold wind shakes me, darkness awakes me
From the haze I have been dwelling in, living in a deep sleep
Meka Boyle Feb 2011
Your nothing but a daydream
Made up in my head
The words you spoke were illusions
Never actually said
So keep telling me lies
As I submerge in your disguise
Allowing my ignorance to cover my eyes
For what I  didn't see has become my demise
Your simply a word
Which I foolishly defined
A made up fairytale
Who thrives in my mind
Taking up residence in the back of my head
Pushing out words I wish I left unsaid
You made me forget myself in the midst of it all
You told me you'd catch me, then let me fall
Yet when it comes down to it, you're not to blame
For who you are and who I see isn't the same
Meka Boyle Jan 2011
can one find happiness within dark trenches?
not if one can't be both happy and defenseless
for happiness comes along with barries and walls
which rapidly disinitegrate when such boundaries fall
caged and shackled within defintion
one's true happiness is clouded with subtle ambition
for is what one has determines who one is
then should one redefine what it means to live?
should one bow and bend with the status quo?
give up what is is felt burning inside
for the soothing assurance of what society knows
afriad to create a new route and step out of line
instead, blindfolded, we surrender
giving up our mind
making oursleves hollow and empty becoming utterly senseless
piling up armor yet claiming to be defenseless
Meka Boyle Feb 2011
Constantly battling with my insecurities
Yet they always seem to get the best of me
I'm treading the water in a pool of self doubt
Slowly I'm drowning as I pray for a drought
Every day that I awake, I'm taunted with reality
Afraid to admit the toll it has on me
So I gather my pieces and patch up my heart
To be held together with lies is better than to fall apart
I hide all emotion and paint on a smile
Too afraid to face myself, I take refuge in denial
Meka Boyle Jul 2011
I think I had an epiphany last night
I tried to sum up how I felt but it didn't sound right
Descriptions come easy to me
When I have no attachments
I'm good at building up emotions
If I'm supplied with the fragments
From an outside source
If the path is paved
I'm willing to take the course
How can I make my claim to fame
When I can't standout
Without becoming the same
I need everyone else to convince me I'm sane
As I confess my inner motives
They become lost in vain
Meka Boyle Jan 2011
on a crowded street, my surroundings begin to fade
as everythings blur together, its reality which i evade
gazing past people, off into space
i imagine for a moment that i'm out of this place
only to be brought back with the blink of an eye
to the streets where the blurred silhouettes of people pass me by
with a crowd that big, theres no room for indivduality
i feel like a minuscule pebble lost at sea
going with the flow i grasp at the air
even though i know there is nothing there
i'm lost but i dont want to be found
shouting out but i dont make a sound
diagnosing emotions without definitions
longing for change yet clinging to repetition
in search for solitude, being alone is not my goal
giving up my freedom as a subconcious toll
the darkness of reality mixes with the light of lies
creating a mist that acts as my disguise
Meka Boyle Dec 2011
Tonight's a night for going out.
For red lipstick, a shade too dark.
Don't be nervous my dear, they'll all love you,
As long as you remember all your lines,
And don't forget to smile.

Tonight's a night for going out.
For wearing that new black dress.
Don't be afraid, you'll fit right in,
As long as you remember not to eat,
And don't forget to smile.

Tonight's a night for going out.
For splashing your face with cold water.
So no one will notice you've been crying,
As long as you remember to hold your breath,
And don't forget to smile.

Tonight's a night for going out.
For unlit cigarettes and etiquette.
They'll understand you when you speak,
As long as you remember to keep quiet,
And don't forget to smile.

Tonight's a night for selling your soul
And don't forget to smile.
Meka Boyle Jul 2011
Somethings wrong with me
I'm ****** up
Life sold me lemons
I bargained up
Cuz I'm willing to pay any price
To get to the other side
My lucks in the dice
So I pack up my wishes
Throw them down a well
Holding my breath
To get to the sunny side of hell
Relationships only block my progress
Towards my own demise
They don't mix well with success
Empathy is only a word
I'm a monster
Playing with a double ended sword
Meka Boyle Sep 2011
The scent of death is a curious thing
Sometimes it is upon one long before ones final hours
Yet other times it doesn't appear until long after ones last breath

But when it appears, there is no mistaking it
Despite its similarities with longing and forgetting
It has a subtle distinction all its own

It comes in the dark of the night like a thief
Stealing ones innocence and erasing any signs of hope
Leaving behind a skeleton adorned with empty optimism

Maybe if we pretend we can't smell it, it will pass us over
Leaving us prey to it's scarier half, called life
Whose smell is faint yet highly sought after

So douse me with dreams and kerosene
To trick the ghosts of the darknes
Because life and death are not what they seem as they see who can pull me farthest.
Meka Boyle May 2011
I'm kept alive by the faintest doubt
That I've yet to discover what life is all about
It's like praying for rain
In the midst of a drought
I keep silent in vain
As everyone around me shouts
Out their self scripted solution
How to to save oneself
Was omitted in the constitution
Still I thrive on the premonition
That life has yet to be defined
Longing for the recognition
That reality can't be refined
So I set out to prove
That nothing can be proven
For the meaning of life
Is cunningly elusive
Meka Boyle Oct 2011
Structure and conclusions
Are no friend of mine
For the precision of allusion
Does not correlate with my mind
Meka Boyle Jan 2012
Every time I try to write about you,
I can't.
I want to say something,
About you.
And I want it to be both beautiful
And sad.
I want it to ****** your image
Onto the paper,
I want to reflect your very demeanor,
Through my words.
I want to create a prose
So touching,
And harsh,
That all my other works
Wither up
And become stale.
I want to taste you,
Feel you,
Smell you,
Hear you,
See you,
In my writing.
And then,
After it's complete.
After I have exhausted all my capabilities,
After you are vulnerable,
And raw.
After my name is scrawled at the bottom left hand corner,
And yours, at the top, centered.
I want to take it in my hands,
Tear it into a million tiny pieces,
And throw it into the fire.
Watching it burn,
Yet only for a moment.
I want to make this feeling I have tangible,
Only so I can destroy it.
But it's still thriving, right out of my reach.
And every time I try to write about you,
I can't.
Meka Boyle Aug 2012
The windowsill is slightly dusty,
Just enough to push absence into an idea.
There's a lone cobweb, only recently abandoned.
The screen is popped open, and a small breeze escapes the thick velvet curtains.
Nothing's changed.
When you were here, there were still cobwebs
And traces of dust,
And velvet curtains covering busted screens.
Nothing's changed outside the window, either.
There's still a big, dry lawn
Full of imposing weeds and lavender.
The flowers are blooming now,
Their fragrant scent comes in through the window,
Imposing it's presence,
Nothing's different for the cobweb,
For the screen,
The curtains,
And the flowers,
They aren't affected by your absence.
They didn't mourn your passing.
For them, today's another summer day,
Another day to exist,
Carry on,
No matter how much I tell them,
Scream at them,
Beg them to listen,
They don't understand me,
Or you,
Or us.
Past tense doesn't bother them,
It doesn't tear at their souls
Whenever "was" replaces "is"
Or "knew" replaces "know"
They're too preoccupied with the present,
With existing,
With life.
Their lives didn't stop when yours did,
And now they mock me
With their oblivious,
Unaffected existence.
Dead, in their own way.
Memories dance about their lackadaisical corpses.
Meka Boyle Aug 2012
I'm not tired, but it feels so **** good to close my eyes,
Letting the thin veil of flesh spill over, cradling my senses.
It's dark out, so there's no red-orange reflection from the harsh, burn-out of a sun.
Just the nakedness of my eyelids, and the musky scent of twilight enveloping the room.
I only feel alone when my eyes are hidden beneath my veiny translucent skin and soft blond eyelashes.
A safe haven from memories and obligations,
I'm not tired but it feels so **** good to close my eyes.
My half meant promises lament in the daylight, and darkness still  isn't enough to chase them off,
Not quite, at least.
Meka Boyle Jan 2013
Eyes closed,
The heavy drone of
What If
Heaves through my
Frozen ears,

Aphrodite rears
Her luminous head
And cries out
Beneath the slow
And steady
Thumping presence
Of How Come.

There's too much time here.
Space that needs
To be filled.
Is stretched thin,
Cracking at the center
Like the walls of
An old tool shed,
Canary yellow
And peeling.
Meka Boyle Jun 2011
You speak with the effortless air
Of somone who has spent many nights
Dwelling upon the awaiting conversation
Premeditating every move
You have your lines memorized by heart
Yet your heart is not in them at all
The words that tumble from your lips
Have been ****** dry of their raw emotion
Leaving behind the empty skeleton of conversation
Which you have so diligently perfected
So much so that when your voice rings back in your ears
You can hardly recognize it as your own
For the voice inside your heart is not universally appealing
Nor does it allow others to twist it so it fits their insight
Suppressed by the drone of causal conversation
It remains silent and untraceable
Lost beneath your faded words
Meka Boyle Feb 2011
On empty wishes
Basing facts
On superstitions
Empty ambitions
Building up our walls
Forgetting it all
In order to know
We go with the flow
Keeping track of time
With the emptiness in our mind
Subconsciously pacing
As our thoughts are frantically racing
We had a reality check
But we cashed it
Spent up our wishes
Call it fatal attraction
We want it all
But only understand a fraction
Afraid to take action
We wait on our dreams
We see the light but it blinds us
As we lose sight
Reality binds us
There's no escaping
We must claim defeat
Get back to our feat
Not miss a beat
Continue on
On this gallant retreat
Meka Boyle Mar 2011
You often get lost starting out to the stars
Intertwined with the darkness, you forget who you are
Unaware your indifferent gaze is transparent
As I try to call you back, your heart remains incoherent
For you'd rather live in a world of daydreams
Where everything is what it seems
For it's not always gold if it sparkles and gleams
The silence of nature muffles your hearts inner screams
Dignity masks your struggle with pain
The walls erode as you continuously fix them in vain
Despite your past you've tried to move on
Desperately avoiding closure yet wishing it gone
It's time you faced reality and looked it in the eye
For you must understand the ground before you can fly
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