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mikarae  Dec 2018
rubatosis
mikarae Dec 2018
noun.

hot-rod red, boiling—veins snake, denim—skin throbs.

my eyelids are pounding.

dozens of sparrows, pushing at pale canvas.

thunder gasps at the
caverns
of my lungs.

lightning
at the fuse.

noun.

an Edgar warning;
thumping at wooden chest,
racing.  

it just echos.

i am not your dictionary.

i am not your dictionary.

reverberate.
reverberate.
reverberate.

hollowly, it
hymns.

muffled by fire-truck cloth
and sun-starved cotton.

noun.

blue trees dance to the
rhythm,
singing up at skylight eyes.

reverberate.

breathe.

reverberate.

repeat.

noun.
(n) the unsettling awareness of your own heartbeat.
Leah Rae  Aug 2012
Rubatosis
Leah Rae Aug 2012
I’m Writing An Apology Letter To Myself. Its Been A Long Time In The Making, Cause You See I’m Not Good At Saying Sorry To Anyone.

So.. Dear You, I’m Sorry For How I Dressed You In 6th Grade. I Know, I Know, We Both Regret The Knee High Socks.

I Hope You Still Smile As Much As You Used To.

I Can’t Believe Some Of The Things I Said, I Know I Shouldn’t Have.

You’ve Been Tearing At Those Stitches Long Enough, Haven’t You? Where Did You Leave Your Fingertips This Time? I Know You’ve Been Destroying Yourself From The Inside Out, And Watching Saturday Night Skylines Vanish Into Darkness.

I Heard You Like Keeping Yourself Busy. Are You Sleeping Enough These Days?

I Saw You Downtown A Few Weeks Ago, You Had Your Head Down, I Think You Saw Me, But I Was Too Afraid To Ask.

I Still Have Your Number, You Know. I Still Think About You Sometimes, Between Dusk And Dawn When The Sun Is Calling Me Skyward.

In My Imagination I’ll Greet You With A Fistful Of Black-Eyed Tulips, Butterflies In My Stomach & Two Tickets To Tomorrows Sunrise. We’d Hold Hands The Way We Used To, With Fingertips Laced Together, And Our Mouths Stuffed Full With Swallowed Pride.

We’d Wait For It To Rain, And We’d Strip Off All The Layers That At Meant To Impress, And Beg The God Our Parents Prayed To, To Take Us Home.

I Picture You Tangled In Christmas Lights, Bought With Intent To Make A House A Home. You’d Smile At Me, Across A Broken Abyss And Remind Me Of All The Things That Don’t Belong, Like The Way Babies Are Born In Prisons, Or That There Are Christmas Trees In Homeless Shelters.

You’d Place Your Open Palms Against Stained Glass Windows, And Look Away From Me, Afraid Of What I Might Say In The Wake Of The Silence, Kissing The Walls.

I’d Finally Tell You I Was Sorry. Sorry That I Had Left You, Curled Up Most Nights, Crying Yourself To Sleep, Chocking On Swallowed Phrases, Hollowing Yourself Out Until There Was Nothing Left.

I’d Tell You I Was Sorry That I Hadn’t Been There To Kiss Your Forehead, And Tell You Just This Once How Proud Of You I Was.

In My Memories I Try To Convince Myself That All Of This, All Of Us, Had Happened For A Reason. But That Excuse Is So Cheap, It Leaves The Taste Of Awful Rotting Regret On My Tongue.

It Would Be The Moment When Fingertips Would Could Reach Out And Meet Across A Spot Light, And I Promise You I’m Not Romanticizing This Devastated Conjugation Of Where Past Meets Present, But Only The Taste It Left In My Mouth.

I’d Hold You, And Take You As An Empty Canvas. I’d Promise You That I Meant It, When I Said I Loved You.

I’d Grab You By Your Broken Wrists, And Say “You’re **** Beautiful”, The Way People Say It In Your Dreams.

I’d Let My Knees Go Weak, And Find Tangible Forgiveness In This Gravity, And Put My Monsters To Rest.

I’d Heal The Heartbroken Hero, I’d Sew Shut The Gabbing Wounds, And Swear My Promise Into Eternity.

I’d Tape My Eyes Open For The Oncoming Storm, And Finally Say It.

Baby, I Am So, So Sorry.
Sean Florick Aug 2012
Thump, thump...
I'm here, I'm here,
But where is everyone else?
Thump, thump...
My heart beats alone,
Nervous, compulsive,
In a house where no one's home.
Hello? Is anyone there?
No one answers,
Not even echoes in the air.
Thick layers of dust
Veil the furniture
Like an ugly bride,
Soon to be widow in which
No one takes pride.
Oh, Apollo, Aphrodite,
Arrive in time
And show me how to be.
The silence is coming,
It's coming for me,
To swallow me whole
And spit out my bones.
It's coming for me,
It's coming for me!
Where are you Aphrodite?
Where once there were memories
Now lay enemies in the dark,
In which fear lives to haunt,
And love sits in taunt,
My innocent imploded heart
Which lay in tatters on the rug
Of ugly green,
Beside my father's rocking chair,
Still rocking on it's own,
Eerily as if he'd just gotten up.
Maybe a ghost of what was,
Doing what it does
And as it's always done.
Oh Aphrodite,
After ages and eons
You've arrived too late,
With too little to say,
My fear has eaten,
And now I live alone,
As bare bones with no hope,
As a skeleton of stone.
My sadness is closer
to the surface, I can feel it
tugging at my mind
but my gut won't budge
and all else is quiet.

All I can hear is my own
lonesome heartbeat
as I wonder
whether it's possible
to die of a broken heart.

I don't know why I'm sad,
I have so much to live for
but I set the bar too high.
Guess my cardio isn't
what it should be.

*Guess we could blame
the N-Ethylhexedrone,
Hexen does seem to pressure that *****.
A nasty little thought struck a few weeks ago: being able to afford depression, having time for anxiety, stressing over anything other than survival; if you set the bar low enough we're all privileged. Such is the disregard and contempt I've held for my own humanity.
I am trying
to change,
I want to
so badly
I would relinquish who I am,
I would lose myself again.
To what end? Will it be
The Entheon or
The Apotheon
that captivates me
and will I've changed
at all if I succumb to their
homeliness; split the spectra.
Al  Jun 2016
an unnecessary poem
Al Jun 2016
this is what it feels like
to hold your life in your hands
and feel beneath your skull
a trigger and stand—

you stand because we all stand,
and we stand because we're living;
i stand because i have it all
but it's hard to keep me breathing

and you can feel your heart beat
to the rubatosis of your fears
that shaking, pounding beat
that no one seems to hear—

that shaking, pounding fear
to feed all of your tears,
that numb and hollow smear
on your heart's inner ear:

because there's nothing quite like
nothing to hold you still in place
when you're shivering and quaking and crying
and lost—drowning—in outer space.
because there are absolutely no words to describe what it feels like.
aurpera  Feb 2014
On the road
aurpera Feb 2014
Kiss me in the cruel beating wind,
your rubatosis against mine,
after I feel our opia.
Make me invincible to everything
except you.
rubatosis: n. the unsettling awareness of your own heartbeat, whose tenuous muscular throbbing feels less like a metronome than a nervous ditty your heart is tapping to itself, the kind that people compulsively hum or sing while walking in complete darkness, as if to casually remind the outside world, I’m here, I’m here, I’m here.

opia: n. the ambiguous intensity of looking someone in the eye, which can feel simultaneously invasive and vulnerable—their pupils glittering, bottomless and opaque—as if you were peering through a hole in the door of a house, able to tell that there’s someone standing there, but unable to tell if you’re looking in or looking out.

{definitions from dictionaryofobscuresorrows.com}
efni  Apr 2020
rubatosis
efni Apr 2020
pause.

do you hear that?
your heartbeat
it's always been there

can you feel it?
it's the most powerful
and gentle feeling

isn't it hard to ignore now?
it's almost silence
but it is deafening

once you hear it.

29.04.20
the sound of life

— The End —