Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
Neal Emanuelson Feb 2015
The limbs crying for so much more
Pain that it has never missed in its life
Lines so jagged like that of a rigged cliff
As her fingernails pursued their etchings

And she watched with glee with every action
No silence remorse, just a pure sensation of hope
That I would continue diving deeper than my need
Until she would be able to swim in all her lust for life

Condescension of tears falling crookedly from her eyes
Too much laughter that rested on her soft lips
That quickly took me in for her satisfaction
For the cuts that were never healed bleed more

Touching inside me, she ripped through me
Taking me apart slowly and putting together another me
A mere doll of my former past and my former mind
The betterment to her society and a shell conceived of pure love

And yet the sacrifice was hers alone that night
Giving up so much to please herself in her mind
And molding again what she had craved in life
To appease the struggle of eyes that followed her relentlessly

With her re-creation done, her canvas inanimate
Without the spark of a kiss to ignite his soul
She turns to his missing heart of blackened gold
And brings to life the love of her ill-fated past.

© 2005
Neal Emanuelson Feb 2015
I am a black foot angel, wingless and forgotten,
tasting immortal memories with stronger passion.
I will grab this bottle and toss eons of romance away
because the angel I loved broke my dark sky heart.

I sit underwater with the trees that sway upside down,
taking breaths of nitrogen mixed in with my tears.
All rocks unturned in the current that is never quenched,
darkened skin from the lava I bathe to heat my tranquility.

Cooled down in the rainforests that hide my dreams,
underneath the diseased soil for my incompetence.
I irrigate the lands I’ve sown in my lust to grow another day,
yet no fruition from my most fertile feelings from drought.

I follow the clouds that flood my misery in these valleys
and cry with the sun as it descends the haven of eyes,
speak with the moon that tells of lone lit stars and lovers
just to wait until it lullabies a quiet lunar night once more.

For the angels I knew that burst open my aerated wounds,
to caress the worry of mortal lives given to all sinners,
uneasy paths that fly upward as the rivers I sent unto my coasts
disgraced when I nail my hopeless love to the omnipotent cross.

Now I gently slip away into the kempt trunks of friends hidden,
an incredible place of secrecy and all-knowing substance,
only to leave again into the horizon that cuts me whole
from the pictures meant to make us all suffer internally.

I rest in the cradle of reality, born on a vine of trust,
this gracious corridor inside me is laden with unfamiliar doors.
My hope sparkles falsely under apprehension, which ruined the walls,
I point the finger, but can only blame the lost fool I see in my mirror.

I ponder my possibilities for flying back into that angel’s heart,
since I lay here in my bed, comatose to my clockwork feelings,
A newborn to a lovelorn life has grown feeble in understanding.
I await inanimate, inside as I cast my vessel into a new dedication of failure.

© 2004
Neal Emanuelson Feb 2015
Is the poisoning of hearts
Really the death of love?
Misshapen thoughts of assumptions
Claim tragedy within pure laughter.
Apologies wither as the forgotten &
Irreversible damage has been dealt.

Reveries of vicissitudes that scar
Hands that bleed endlessly.
It is not the cuts of silvered slashes
That can make some bleed on the inside.
Forgive me not, a sinner of all days, but
Do not fall into the abyss, fall into my arms.

Pain ceases as you draw close,
Wrapped within the flames of desire.
But a new pain begins, will it continue
To harm us or diminish with a cherry kiss?
Fail safe conclusion, hearted confessions
Unbeknownst to life but to lover's eye.

Forget-me-nots of white roses painted
Crimson by carved, etched hands.
Fear not the words I speak for they
Are never the end of my being.
They are the words of a forgotten moment
Tossed into the sea with anguished rain.

© 2004
Neal Emanuelson Feb 2015
An illusion to me was believing that the sun could be unset by
traveling this iced path laced with slippery regret.
But marked by my own accord, silvered bee stings from
nightly passions for crimes against myself.
Slithering softly a secretly silenced flow from blade tip
to skin deep are the fears held with the mind's first
traps.

Night-summers crept past my windows locked,
carefully observing my frame weaken from
failed attempts of drowning in my sleep.
As my heart slowed and breathing infrequent,
my mind wandered to darker halls, conversing
within myself for my own answers.
Rejection for help was an ambush set by my mind's second
maze.

All the leaves turned brown as the sky turned to gray
with an unfaithful thought to those I cherished.
With uttered sins against my enemies I lashed out,
"Till the last stands tall will I be undefeated."
Hubris being a blind path of death to the unwary disguises
Its self well within the needs of the suffering.
Tastes of abnormalities would tempt me to do what I did to
others to myself without choking up with hesitation in the third
riddle of my mind.

Daylight deceivers and no witness with a clue to what has gone
terribly wrong by fusing the thought of nine to one soul.
Recreation of my broken sky, a creation of myself as a product of
hurt by misleading lovers, blinded by love's desires to be accepted.
Life's lies lie in life's wake once your slumber has ended and your
eyes have awakened to the darkness of a fourth vision of an apocalyptic
mind.

Are they then over as they began their rampage?
No, never resting are tribulations of simple crimes
embossed to the sacred flesh of time itself.
Followed by my careful hand, shattered by the cares and worries,
I hold on to my broken shield of faith and pursue futures onward.
Thus, the last mistake, proven faulty at most, has been nothing more
than a grim reminiscence of why I exist. And so my mind fails to conceive
Its last oblivion.

© 2005
Neal Emanuelson Feb 2015
Silent sounds brush
The eerie calm chants.
We knew it would happen,
But when would it happen?

Sing to me the sweet pain
And stem not the bleeding.
Tell the tale of summer’s cold
And breathe in the flames of winter.

You can pass my eyes
Without a second glance,
As I lip sync my thoughts
Onto your soft skin.

Resist not motion
Of a cherry sensation
Sweet, yet wild as
A blossom in full bloom.

© 2004
Neal Emanuelson Feb 2015
Earthquakes due to a dropped feather
cause angels to fly underground
and demons to flood the skies.
Blood drips upward from crying eyes
while deep gnashes pour tears into the
dampening air.
Twisted words are humble as pie
but nice words are salt to the earth as
the grass cuts my skin.
Arctic prisons melt the sun with
cooling hate while we toy with the
lives of millions.

We never existed.

Mushroom people sitting around
all day, but who would believe you
when you've had too much sugar.
Let your mother pray for your death
as father prepares the swords and
pushes hilt deep past existence.
Apocalypse seems so futile now
as we already planned our demise.
We breathe, we live, we go.

We never existed.

We hide past our views on other
and we make broad assumptions
that were are not perfect.
Say it once, say it twice for
the guardian of Styx takes
all with the toll of time.
Sadness be it a disease or
an undying feeling for all
to bear in every way possible.

We never existed.

Be it a means to a life of
darkness or a life of light
Everything comes with a price
upon its own record.
Brace the darkness and brace
life giving force that compels
and attracts souls to unison.
Give up now or bear with
the truth of all things while
we wait and cry the night.

We never existed through
our own eyes, therefore
why should we start now?

Because. We. Never. Existed.

© 2004
Neal Emanuelson Feb 2015
Like a thief, I’m just stealing time
Another inch to your foot
Steal another minute, maybe two of mine
And just a whisper was all it took

I’ve stolen my words, I’ve stolen lines
Would you still like to take me home?

Another month and I’ve stolen your voice
Entwined on a stolen chair
And as we meet so often in the night
I believe I’ve stolen your despair

I’ve stolen my words, I’ve stolen my lines
Would you still like to take me home?
I could steal just about everything
Would you still like to take me home?

So now I’ve stolen promises right from your lips
Along with all of your warmth
And in the night I’ve stolen your hips, too
Laying across from you with stolen sins

I’ve stolen your space, I’ve taken your time
Would you still like to take me home?
I’ve stolen a glance, hell- I’ve stolen your shine
Would you still like to take me home?

You said I’m honest but that’s an honest lie
I’m sure you’ve heard that line before
We could talk of God and lightning strikes
Taking three extra steps, maybe four.

And when I’ve stolen everything I can
Could I steal what’s left of your hope?
To see me again is more than a passing chance
Another ‘someday’ just to cope

I’ve stolen my words, I’ve stolen my lines
I could steal just about everything
But the one thing I’ve lost and cannot reclaim
Was the heart that you gave me.

And I’ve stolen your love, I’ve stolen your trust
I could steal just about everything
But the one thing you’ve got that will never rust
Is the hate that you have for me.

© 2014
Next page