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Andrew Rueter  Aug 2017
Airplanes
Andrew Rueter Aug 2017
Every night I die in an airplane
Beads of sweat fall like rain
Every night I die in a plane crash
I wake up feeling like plain trash
Because every night my plane dives into the ocean
I can't believe the virtual reality of the motion
All my friends and family are there
I watch them drown
Leaving me marooned at sea
The river Styx of my dreams
I wake up marooned at bed
Swimming in a sea of sweat
None of my friends and family are there
And my adrenaline nightmares keep me scared
Because if I fall asleep
It's a nosedive I reap

Every night I die in an airplane
Why is this image so ingrained?
Every night I die in a plane crash
Pressure crushes me to plain ash
Because every night my plane flies into a mountain
The passenger's blood fills my eyes like fountains
All my friends and family are there
I watch them burn
Leaving me stranded in the hills of hell
Until I understand the pills too well
I wake up stranded in bed
Buried in an avalanche of sweat
None of my friends and family are there
And my reality has begun to tear
When I keep dying in my dreams
My mentality rips at the seams

Every night I die in an airplane
Why must my mind be so untame?
Every night I die in a plane crash
And my life becomes a plain flash
Because every night my plane flips upside down
As my useless body is tossed round and round
All my friends and family are there
I watch them get mangled
Leaving me to die at high speeds
With corpses that profusely bleed
I wake up dying in bed
Flipped face down in a pool of sweat
None of my friends and family are there
I begin to wonder if they even care
Because I watch them die every night
It makes me love them more
Because I watch them die every night
My life becomes a chore
But there's nothing for death to reclaim
When I'd just cross over to another plane
ethan gaskill Jul 2018
i want to be
your vintage crooner for life
frank sinatra mixed with marvin gaye
with twenty-first century style
i'd greet you at the door with flowers
and be your chauffeur to wherever
you want to go i'll take you
there's no rush; we have forever
our life can feel like a movie
almost too good to be true
sooner or later you'll realize
i've always felt that way about you
galas and night dances and jet airplanes to france
would only be enjoyable if i'm holding your hand
i think that we could see our dreams
with our own awake eyes
so come and ride away with me
and we can have the time of our lives
whether sunday morning pancakes or a tuesday noontime lunch
breakfast in bed or a venice bistro will be equally fun
and if god takes us that far
i'd point to you when our daughter asks what a queen is
we could show our children how dedication
and compassion makes life feel like you're dreaming
and someday many years from now
when we have an empty nest
we'll remember the feature film of our romance
and decide that we did it best
Carlo C Gomez Oct 26
Here comes Mr. Chemtrail--
Pretty jets
Stream across the sky
By day, at night
They're tucked into cushy
Launching pads;
To sleep like us
Underneath the stars,
Drooling like a baby;
The rains of which wash away
Our Happy Tomorrow sign,
Written in sand
Across a hiraeth seashore;
With bountiful aura,
Everything is smelling like roses
Kept in the fuselage,
Waiting for a turn
To shine, perhaps ignite,
In all the glamour of
A shooting star:
Great godless geyser;
A prism of colors
Rain-bowing
Electively over funeral flowers,
This death was always meant
To be a friend with benefits,
Allowing us one last
Glorious ride into the heavens,
Before overtaken
By the undertaker;
The sky's the limit,
Steely-eyed missile man;
We're terminal now
And on final approach,
Bleed for us once more...
L'appel du vide is French and describes an intrusive thought or urge pertaining to self-destructive behaviour, that may occur during everyday activities.
Harley Oliver Jul 2014
aching for immediate relief
i turn to the thing
i fault in the most
one last time
is a lie i've told before
these white lines
won't erase my problems forever
but i was too weak to see
that we were a world away
distracted by the blinking airplanes
mistaken by shooting stars
we lie restless
living life without knowing
this cold snow
won't keep us any closer
and if it really kills us
it would have done it by now
so i do it again
to fill the void
my ******* boy left behind
Annatman  Dec 2018
Sea Child
Annatman Dec 2018
Lingering salt from the risen sand
Reminisces of a sea-side land
I have abandoned in search of peace
Arriving inland - no sea, no release
From the concrete-desert landscape
Bricks and bridges, and no escape
For the dirt from pores into water
Only mortar and glass, but the latter
Like the sea, shines and reflects
Made of sand, this mirage protects
The memory of this desert land
Where light, reflected, on the skin lands
Like airplanes arriving from distant lands
Where pigment - the only reminder that stands
Free from our far-fleeing, wandering hands
Memories, immigration, Israel, Crimea
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