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she remains anon Dec 2018
As I walk an all too quiet house
glass under my feet,
I look for the whereabouts,
the place my sanity retreats.
A temple modeled after the greatest intentions
and point of my attention.
I hear the clocks
ticking a warning, looking, a response,
reminding my woes
of the sky I'll never know.
This home is built of memories
not concrete or tile or trees.
Built off of everything I want to be,
how I devote my character to thee.
Silence,
my only tyrant.
My pain and misery,
deliver me
from this toxicity.
Come back, knock, the door
anything to make it louder once more.
she remains anon Nov 2019
Sometimes dreams come waking
by the American shore.
Over and over,
escorting wandering souls, more and more.
Over deep ocean, golden rays;
blinding eyes, singing praise.
America the beautiful and America the free.
How free is possibility,
In a nation of changing, pride, urgency?
How much can you bear internally
watching your brothers and sisters wither in desperation.
Oh, beautiful and free and desperate nation.
Nation of red, white, and blue
red blood,
white knuckle,
blue bruised back.
We struggle together, yet unity was never true.
Everyone seems to be rushing up and pushing down
when we are all surely hell-bound.

We fear failure, we fear love
we fear whoever is watching above.
Because, regardless of who created and thought,
“my artistry will change the world”
was surely not
trying to leave it in ruins.
Simply; we, America, move too fast
we justify the present, suppress the past.
Ignore all the wrongs we've rendered within our own borders,
to our own neighbors.
What can you do wrong, when you have dominion?
And when you are below, what importance is there in your opinion?
There is no morality in a man who has his eyes on the rise,
a man who has never taken labor
in his stride.
America was built on sweat and vigor
though, now, whose finger is on the trigger?
The new America, polished and improved
has the gun cocked in every angle
advertising the glorified dream, the success that you can strangle.
The time that can be abused; yearning for wealth, working to the grave.
Servant to the passing days, when,
wasn't it liberation we once craved?

We're building an empire, disguised as democracy,
where we ****** the spirit of those we promised were equal.
It reeks of hypocrisy.
We're building an empire,
but even once-great Rome fell down in shambles,
and we aim far, far higher.
Higher buildings, higher expectations, higher need to achieve
to beat and beat down on those that only breathe.
We're building up walls to elude the sun, dead,
when you live in darkness, what, honestly, becomes right in your head?
What light shines upon a nation, still unashamed
of prerogative and seldom rights to be obtained
by virtue and strive for those who believed in the American scheme?
Sometimes dreams come crashing
at the American shore
littered its sands
all the years from America forever and America before.
the only poem i've ever read aloud for a school project
she remains anon Dec 2019
The devil stalked my boulevard,
in the days of summer's heat wave and cigar.
the times I forced my heart to beat so hard,
and risked it all, against your guard.
If I love over and over
what is fear but to stay sober?
To draw you closer on closer;
take my weakness and expose her.
You came with a name to keep reciting,
eyes of blue, igniting.
It's saintly to save
but we stay fighting.
Curl my long dress
right between your fists.
Catch my breath,
you breathe risk.
Oh, you did it again
you've done it all over again.
Washed under tides of sin.
What is pure? What is holy?
When there is you, and you only?
Blessedly, I am marred.
I try to forget, so fast, so hard.
Still, all the heavenly hues
become colorless in your muse.
By your mouth, I bruise.
Angel; corrupted, mine to lose.
she remains anon Nov 2019
I danced for years and years
beneath the Grecian sun.
My feet hurt yet I felt no fear
when they told me I could be one.
Painted, painted meadows
and life spent too little too long.
Hair splayed in salty waves
I ever whispered her mother song.
Lemon groves all swept my hands
calling far away.
Climbing up the stairs they hold
to heaven's gate, I pray.
To this day I still dance on
though eyes flash over my shoulder,
awake til the summers dawn.
Never to grow one day older.
she remains anon Nov 2018
You look like
a boy in a blizzard.
Scared and cold and without a clue.
I feel like
the heat of a fire.
Fueled with nothing but a desire for you.
she remains anon Dec 2018
Let the demons have their fun,
snap my fingers one by one.
I'll still pour on daddy's cologne
so I don't feel so cold alone.
Lover, turn my head
you are all I dread.
May a firm hand
take my back
and break it.
I'll reason, i'll admit
only think of things that hurt.
Drag me through the dirt,
discover me a filthy women
don't take your ear to listen.
I, savage, rip it from you,
pieces; break me into.
she remains anon Apr 2019
Brother moon,
do we dream the same dreams
in the valley of black sheep?
My lovers eyes are the size of you
and I yearn only to sleep.
Beneath the freckled sky, be easy,
forgotten, you and I.
Brother moon,
do you weep for sister sun
the way I weep for you?
Can children still on Earth a'run
when you cast your soul's great blue?
Brother moon
will you take me, come afternoon?
To my house of lonesome joy
Brother moon,
do you dream my dream?
Or are you just another boy,
basking in my gloom?
I know I can forgive you
as your eyes take in the view,
of a knife up to my throat.
Your eyes, in sweet loathing, they float.
The red truth on rings,
frantic in my ears
soft as butterfly wings.
Soft as butterfly wings.

Your voice, so near me, an ocean away
crashing and foaming
cursing my life, begging I stay.

Curled, unsure fingers
beneath the dark of my hair,
shadowed and lingers.
The day so forgotten, the moment so there,
forgiven, unfair.
Felt like an animal, fighting be tame,
and your hand - domestication, clutching my veins.

Thought of the clementines you so cherished much
as juice dripped down your boyish arm,
on and on, until crimson pulp, to touch.

Pulls at twin cords,
cold, practiced fear and warmer words.
Same pulse along the jaw.
Familiar flush of jade stroked wings.
The end, hopeless and raw
and the feeling your name, on brings.

Through all spite and longing,
days of sun forever dawning
I get fluttering creatures
still as a hand so seizures.
Deep in place unknown
between belly and throat.
Under gruffest tone
and nights alone.
They will never wish a wing to know
the hurt of hidden bones.
How it come, ever slow.

Your taste, your say, your meaner things,
soft as butterfly wings.
Soft as butterfly wings.

The angst of pain
is so foolish gone
when blade of gruesome lust and flushing hate,
is in your hands.
So, my heart, it stays.
she remains anon Nov 2018
Shake,
my hands do violently.
Carousel horses why do you run from me?
In a world stuck spinning,
I am a girl caught thinning.
Carousel horses, how can this be?
All my dreams, they do escape
and I, a women of the flock, always await.
Carousel horses, will you hear my plea?
So I pray;
my hands do violently,
shake.
she remains anon Nov 2019
bring in your hands,
pain and broken daisies.
you cry; like nothing in my arms
grieve for flowers and unsung lullabies.
because you see the whole world as alive
never seen the devil and his harm,
while I live my life through maybes
you refuse to understand.
meant to be read as A, B, C, D, D, C, B, ***
she remains anon Nov 2018
A funny thing,
the colors of my longings.
Much like watching
autumn pass by
through the windows of a car ride.
A furious compilation
of the various imagined dreams
I will never acquire.
she remains anon Dec 2019
On the shaded floor of a velvet dark forest
careful feet pace into a dance of death.
Bright flesh devoured between grisly teeth
or live in starvation, take your meal as breath.
Whimpering under my salivating beast,
I call out, throat caught in the jaw, no release.
"Midnight man, sing a soft song of me"
As, for that sleepy place, I seek
to bury my body in the shadow of the wood,
so discreet.
So meek;
me in my whitest cloth and quivering stare,
try to hide, soft rabbit, but white leaves you bare.
Better to become wolf and chase an ever
darkening
moon.
she remains anon Nov 2019
i wonder how you feel
burgundy sweat upon your chin
when your hear the clink
of paper thin glass
in your ear
how do you hear
against intermost words, so crass?
am i so indistinct
when
daydream is your only meal?
she remains anon Nov 2018
And even roses,
they get crushed.
By wicked motive
we still trust.
No matter what I try;
these thorns.
You always pass my garden by.
Alas, let me mourn.
she remains anon Dec 2018
With every exposure
I am left
nonetheless closer.
Strip it off
peel it back,
find out what's underneath;
everything I lack.
she remains anon Nov 2019
She smells of apricot
and love me not.
Her branches are much too far away.
she remains anon Nov 2019
Fruits of the Earth's broken slate
juice and sweet and tongue
flowing; reddest spate.
Tonight and forever we are young
tell me I am not the only one
that wants to live worshiped by the sun.
Summer whispers in my ear
plump lips, scrubbed skin
boy is water, boy is clear.
Everything that can be, has been.
All the arms have been layed in
and every glutinous youth atoned of sin.
Suffocating desire
lust, sings the choir.
Fresh and raw
succulent sugar-dried flesh
after Winter's aching thaw.
Taste me, test me, core and all.
she remains anon Nov 2018
I am a candle in the wind,
faltering.
Yearn to set it all aflame,
pour yourself upon me, gasoline.
she remains anon Nov 2019
Eyes of ghosts all fill the room
lovers, made of dust and made of gloom.
I remembered them but I forgot,
to forgive and forgive, the lot.
As always, the night went on,
my face in the old glass window
stared at me with an iris of killing pawn.
she remains anon Dec 2018
Eyes of hazel
she is April,
showering all my days,
she is killer, I am Abel.
Evil; in her ways.
Walking backwards,
the sweet disaster.
And teases like
a winter's blackbird.
Mirrors,
where I see her
oh they make,
make things clearer.
Pacing down familiar stairs
chanting old, empty prayers,
looking for ghost of months gone by
here she come, there she lie.
she remains anon Dec 2018
Gnarled heart
growing apart
from all I hold dear.
Branches to ribs, oh spears.
I am overgrown
yet never let alone,
twigs and leaves all split my bones.
Outside, looks so trim
but I cannot let him in.
Twisted beyond what is grim.
Forest forever,
wish him luck on his endeavor
to cleave a gnarled heart down.
she remains anon Dec 2018
Hands,
sleeves pulled over.
head lowered.
And
touch me slower,
your soul, I beg closer.
Barren land,
I am
a temperament of dry sands.
Hands,
break me
and build me into something of sensuality.
she remains anon Nov 2018
He rose like the sun in a church window.
Seeping in slowly
and blinding me.
God laughed,
he likes to joke.
Making me fall in love with
Helios.
Boy of gold,
firey and miles away.
she remains anon Dec 2019
you, special one, so enthralling indeed
casting fits of need with viridescent pits of greed
take me between your fists in the lifeless heat of night
break a willful bird from the fantasy of flight
what kind of crippling love do we breed
when all is good only when I bleed?
I bleed.
she remains anon Dec 2018
I never wanted to reply
with truth.
You lose me,
I am loose.
Of ships in bottles
trapped in a forever sail,
bitter air
inhaled.
Perfume and closed curtain
in my solitude,
hope you aren't hurting.
she remains anon Dec 2018
Cold fingers
dance across my skin.
Too bad, from me, they linger
not him.
she remains anon Jan 2019
If Summer were not but a season
and instead a man.
I would beckon him closer,
put myself in his hands.
We would walk slow
silent as happiness
and from me, would grow
a terrible sprig of tenderness.
Feel his radiance right up in my bones,
lay under that sweltering shadow.
Only, come Autumn, to feel so alone.
she remains anon Nov 2018
It is a giggle
becoming, little by little,
an arrow split down the middle
Cupid brought me no signal.
Ah! How laughter makes life such a riddle.
she remains anon Nov 2018
Lay the idea of me to rest.
Put me in a pretty dress,
in baby blue I must be drowned.
Leave me dreaming in that ground.
Caress my empty skin,
don’t awaken my soul
with your subtle sin.
Plant flowers near my grave,
to your love, I was a slave.
You may visit me now and then
but,
never make my heart beat again.
she remains anon Dec 2018
He was a morning lullaby,
and I, a sleepless night.
So, lay in my bed hypnotized
fading and felt right.
Down in the lawn
early dew,
I lean against the steady pecan.
Walk, but never follow through.
Silken sheets
and rosy eyes
I am a set piece
in a house of lies.
Sometimes, think I've up and died
at the waking shore.
Yes, he be a morning lullaby,
come to sing once more.
she remains anon Nov 2018
Sometimes, when I look up at the sky I see
more faces smiling back at me.
That make me clean,
wash dark indigo over the scene.
Of the twisted human being,
our body’s simple liberty.
Sunshine never brought me glee
because under the light, much you can see.
Everyone has security,
secrets whispered cautiously.
The stars, they weep with me
for all we cannot teach
For that reason we remain
out of mandkinds reach.
she remains anon Dec 2019
Mouth to plum, bruised blue and black
it's always guilt, the wild eyes lack.
It's always pansies, blooming down my back
If you could ever think to love me - attack.
Feel my fingers, feel my nerves
boy,
relish my blindness, dampen my words.
Eat me alive,
I've forgotten what it is to die.
Forgotten how to bring my ****** lips to wine
and let you shove away the tears - I'm dry.
The beauty of petals, what do they serve,
to only dry and fall dead from a flower,
when the sun is not hers?
she remains anon Nov 2019
in my coarse sorrow
and aching qualm
i think of febrile tomorrows
for
what am i
but a girl obsessed with winter’s poppies
in a torrid mid-July
Red
she remains anon Nov 2018
Red
The color of cherries
of blood and wine.
The feeling of passion,
your skin on mine.
It’s on that sweatshirt
and your face too.
A can of cola
my favorite lipstick hue.
The way that we talk
neon lights at 4 o’clock
in the morning.
The kind of color that makes me deny
everything my mother’s ever told me.
The color of you and I.
she remains anon Nov 2019
Sweat,
on the sheets of another.
His silhouette
a tasteful composure.
Blood of my lips
savior
to desolate, desperate fingertips.
Savor me,
far gone
the ocean breeze.
Down the avenue
wet foot.
You, I miss you...
she remains anon Dec 2018
Figures
on the wall;
memories of all my faults.
But I still dance along the halls
good friends with skins that crawl.
Dark house, let me recall
my endless thrall
state of mental assault
Over my shoulder, go, the salt
cannot tell what is false.
Nothing makes me feel small
like figures
on the wall.
she remains anon Dec 2018
As transparent as Galveston water,
my only is.
Sunlight to the Earth.
I am drawn back and forth.
Summer, my lover.
she remains anon Nov 2019
for more months, i talked to his mirror
because he always looked right back at my own moon-straught face
he always looked clearer.
from there he seldom strayed from perfect,
he never spoke wise
it seemed he was only reciting my words, disguised.
still, the man that i saw,
through silvery sheen
was so much easier to love and to keep evergreen.
she remains anon Nov 2018
And I built shrines in my eyes to you
to mourn what I never had but still held onto.
Dove into an ocean of profound blue
only to come out still nothing anew.
I look out at fig trees
ponder like the Greek’s great Socrates
question my disease,
the words I can’t release.
My life spinning all around him
orbitals of light grown dim.
Through space you cannot swim
from the sins you have been condemned.
If I am mad as they say
how do I still walk the driveway?
Worship on the Lord’s day;
get down on my knees and pray?

Faithful I am, still, to the life I have lived
however disguised.
Loving, as I will when all has died.
Everything you’ve seen is advertised,
a movie set in frames
the tape up in flames.
How tired she is of playing your games,
mouths running to blame.
Me? I am just fine.
Owing it all to bottles on bottles of sparkling wine,
to you and your redesigned
view of the dividing line.

If you wake a girl from her dreams
the gentle chug of a mind’s machine
will it break down, by all means?
It’s better to let her softly scream.
Than distract from the will of inspiration,
of art and deaths flirtation.
Continue the persisting narration
speak her mind, give it standing ovations!
she remains anon Nov 2018
If a painter
took his brushes unto me.
Would I remain a stranger?
His hands were stone,
cold and alone.
Yet his eyes steady as a storm.
And I, a simple masterpiece
afraid only to be torn.
she remains anon Jan 2019
In winter you can look and look around
but still, as every man has found,
there is no rose.
Girls of calm and February lies
spring and warmth's beginnings.
Always right and sweet and wise
steal the pleasures of living.
When all has been promised as forever
how am I to refrain?
But then, as soon as ruby leaves dissevered,
he left me miseries, left me rain.
For roses bloom on ****** skin
not on skulls accused of
sin.
she remains anon Nov 2018
All my pleasures be to the skies
why, oh, why
do I only love what’s beyond my eyes?
she remains anon Nov 2018
Untie me
from this trap you’ve weaved,
silken lies, flowing as the sea.
How it would feel; being released.
Though, you enjoy the tease
rhythm of impossibility.
So I stay on my knees,
an image of the love you need.
I think I must have loved you
neath the holly bush
Where red fire grew
and silver voice hushed.
I think I learned and knew and pined
a different form of word,
one which I was free to call you mine.
A whisper, still, you so heard.

Ever on, the things of sleep and fur all stirred.
For winter's numbing breath
was far past faith's deceit
of mere comfort, ease, and depth.
Beyond linen sheets and rosy cheeks
and you at peace with I.
So I sit through season's wistful sorrow
frost and birth's sweet lies.
To see the day bleakness says its last goodbye,
and you awake me a marrow.
she remains anon Nov 2019
Is it too much to want
a boy of confusing lines
and waters gray as his eyes?
How is it to be
touched
under a lurching sky?
With my eyes wide open
I feel ever more blind,
only sense the heat in his stride.
Is it worth my nervous wit
to awaken
a soul of furious passion?
If I hurry my sin away
are we both victims of time?

— The End —