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Agatha Prideaux Apr 2020
Dried-out sweat, tired-out eyes
Placards coated in reds and blacks
Hair strands wet, vermillion skies
Whiteout sneakers underneath slacks

Chipping bricks adorned with dusk's glow
Soft thuds drown in bustling sidewalks
Concrete walls enrobed in guised woes
Like calls of Cincinnati clocks

Down the path's lead, an alley lies
Only known by a few handful
An easy shortcut for the wise
A definite route for the fool

Empty blocks pampered in ruins
Grow dahlia shrubs in feeble soil
Yet cherished by passing humans
As they perceive in gleeful toil

Click, clack. Tip, tap.
Echoing the narrow pathway
Click, clack. Tip, tap. Click, clack. Tip, tap.
Reverberating the walkway

Gush of summer coldness trickles
Playing with thin skin's hair to stand
Along evening's hazy drizzles
Until lips' beam's closed by a hand

Frozen. Motionless. Absolute.
Pulsating ears, vibrating fears
I, the troubled, straightaway mute
Searching for comfort in fresh tears

Frigid, sharp blade graze flesh through clothes
Algid, rough palms tightened their grip
With trembling mouth, whimpers in lows
Time's ticking, closer to the tip

"How dare you go against!?" he yells
His voice falling on deaf pavements
Alike encaging prison cells
Beneath wretched, worn-out basements

Writhed free from his desperate hold
Unclasped myself, away I go
Yet burly hands grab my shirt's fold
On my side, planting the grand blow

The night weakens, the knife deepens
Meeting downcast eyes as I stare
Remorseless, the demon wakens
No plans—this petty soul—to spare

Deafening shrieks still ring my ears
The masses' cries of unjustness
Voices crystal clear amid tears
Demur of headstrong robustness

Earlier's protest fresh in mind
Echoing as I reminisced
Realized the shrills' suit unfeigned
Are screams from my own throat's abyss

Away from the hustling streetscape
For anyone to hear my plea
In desperate crawls to escape
He lifts the wood in counts of three

Bashed head meet placards to shatter
Jagged splinters abrade my face
Entwined with rain's pitter-patter
To finish me off, just in case

Each and every breath nears to none
Boulevard of dreams come broken
The mist douse this limp body done
I take my last, eyes wide open

Dried-out life, tired-out cries
Pebbles coated in reds and blacks
****** palms rife, obsidian skies
Lone witnessed—mum dahlias on cracks.
Day 5 of #NaPoWriMo 2020. This woke me up all night, and definitely not regretting. Yes, I love dahlias.
Isla Jul 2019
broken souls slump against battered brick walls
the avenue drowning in cheap perfume
drawing in the tired
slick pavement melts the neon lights, bathing the cold street in red reflections

she puffs on a cigarette
smoke clearing her head as it fills her lungs
her lips taste are made of whiskey and a million well kept secrets
her smile never reveals too much
but she has learned not to be afraid
she has learned to keep her head up
she sighs and straightens her back
it’s showtime
A Simillacrum Mar 2019
Oh me, oh my,
I hate to sound trite,
but I guess in the end
we all die, so
turns out to be true
whatever way.

Oh me, oh my,
I hate to sound trite,
but I could really use
a lullaby.

Great Papa, he left.
Great Mama, so close.
Mama, in the deep end.
Sister, she ghost.

What's love got to do with it?
It just so happens, in my world it's all.
I am conditioned to serve in the name.
No matter how hard servants seek servants,
the wardens and the masters pick up on the scent,
come running over the distant hills to close in on the ****.

I am conditioned to serve in the name.
Here they come running to stake their claim.
Igor Goldkind Mar 2019
I didn’t get her name.
It was a hot and wet Saturday night;
So I left the screen door wide open
Hoping for some kind of change in the weather.
She strolled in like the queen of Sheba riding the night’s breeze,

Her inspection was clearly on schedule.
She let me imagine that it was my company that she was after.
By earnestly engaging my eyes with her face
Which she put close to mine and stared into my eyes
As if she were the last soul left on earth who still loved me.
All the while she scanned the kitchen floor 
Out of the corner of her sharp feline eye,
Having assessed my modest, meagre means
She walks straight back out the door she had walked in.
Leaving me  staring at the empty space she had deliberately left behind.
Kerli Tulva Sep 2018
The sunrays flicker on earth
diving nimbly through trees
casting their light in search
of time and life they seize.

Down this alley of memory
leaves crunching in silence
I once wandered longingly
searching the soul's balance.

Collecting crumbled parts
where lies the spirit of a poet
the glowing, shivering heart
echoing in the eternal moment.
Sylph Sep 2018
Daydreams are the only thing
that keep me happy
When i cant be with him.
One of the only lights in my dark alley
The safest area
Where i can imagine dancing with the stars
Where i can feel okay
Only other thing
that can keep me happy
When my love is not near
When he cant hold me safe
                   Daydreams are my only other light
In the streets of manipulations,
simplest questions
unanswered in the virtual dimensions,
found no directions.

Monkeys all the way
slaying each other in the name
of the so-called glory of success,
with ugly evil smiles
or with beautiful deception.

Some shed tears of joy
while some others remain annoyed,
for those who drown
and for those who rise above.

Hearts and brains are sidelined
and devils spirits rule.
Are they lost or are they confused?
Looking at what they do,
Angels mourn them too.

Walking alone on those streets,
Running tired through the pathway,
Dark and dusted,
Happiness busted
Singing the requiem,
They call it The Alley of Dreams!
In this world of darkness, envy and jealousy, We still are running behind those dreams!
SangAndTranen Jun 2018
Forged in fire
his tainted smile
carved by deft hands of deceit.
Along this narrow passage
the walls fold in.
He lurks at the end
But a blank face
But a pair of hunched shoulders.
We know of his
We feel his pull
like burning chains
lodged under our ribs,
reminding us of our fragility
as we break
like a dying tree.
Flaked away has our innocence
for right before our bloodshot irises
are the twisted, tarnished roots of the thorns
that seek to uproot us,
snake around our ankles,
and rub our flesh to raw crimson
as they drag us into their jaws of crushing teeth.
A flood of acid,
eating at our spines,
warping our faces
beyond the point of recognition.
And then they break us.
Wow, this is random. What does it mean to you?
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