Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
ryn  Nov 2014
Absinthe Minded
ryn Nov 2014
these thoughts...
they are my own,
walled within the deepest recesses
of my
cerebral labyrinth.

sprouting out of vine covered walls,
are multicoloured blooms
brandishing thorned stems
and
thirsty stigmas,
dripping with
absinthe.

mind full of poison in
permissible amounts...
i am caught in a
web of restless stupor,
anguish...
and regression...

these thoughts...
rationed out sparingly,
for they're not for unready ears
blooms of thought meticulously
triaged before
necessary expulsion.

hairline cracks between
insanity
and peace...
i tread precariously
the fine,
meandering line.

still clutching my flowers
in a tight obstinate grasp...
not letting go
for these tainted blossoms
are
undoubtedly
mine.
Danica  Aug 2018
rosy-minded
Danica Aug 2018
when you're off to another state
to a place where i can't see
winding up and down the boulevard
and working on your dreams

spare a thought for me, my love
picture slanted eyes and curls
keep me on your mind as i
wait on edge for your return
Lyn-Purcell Oct 2018


~
I trust yet I'm suspicious
I love yet I'm hateful
I laugh loud but I cry
I observe, I'm not blind
I try so hard by confidence
shakes
Try harder, esteem breaks
I stand strong with laughter
aimed
Locked deep, my ferno rage
I clam up
Guards up
Shields up
Inside, the shards of my bones
break
Laughter to me is a sword
with two faces
I see the argent lighthearted face,
but my eye is locked on its
shadowed edge
Malicious, cruel, sharp and swift
Sheathed ever so deep into my heart
I can hear the echoes more than feeling the pain
I pick so blindly at an open wound
My mind is a riot, a murked brew
of emotions
Time will heal the wounds,
but it's a scar I'll always remember
Anger screams
Sadness cries
Frustation seethes
A joke, am I?
The sun is dead
Blocked out by echoes
Ink
So disoriented
Heart pulses
I cannot think...
~


Trying to calm a turbulent sea that currently is my mind...
Lyn x
bones  Feb 2016
Stories...
bones Feb 2016
Hoards of leaves hurry to gather
at one worn headstone after another
like a funeral party uncertain whether
these are the dead who they grieve;

Time and wind tug at the memory
left in this absent minded cemetery
visited only by them and I
and those lying under the trees

with stories that no-one can read.
Next page