Miserable I am, stucked.
My mind's wynds, entwined.
Inside burning, being indecisive.
Attempted to decipher, all in vain.
A maze unsolved; the unsaid pain
Perplexed **** thoughts' umbra
Darking in pursuit of seeking.
The more they amalgamate;
the more I Separate
Wretched. Same do all bear?
Distracted by despair;
I ended up nowhere.
Love travels sideways,
Down dark alleys,
Along winding country lanes;
Hesitates too long,
A journey to take,
A destination unmapped,
An invitation to linger when we least expect it.
Her clear lazuline gaze ******* my clumsy attempt at transparency, an unambiguous hesitation the length of a skipped heartbeat. I watched her eyes darken and spool as realisation ebbed and flowed, and ebbed and flowed again. 'Let’s go,’ she said, pulling me gently to my feet. 'And listen to the ocean breathe.'
You are the fire escape on the side of our apartments - climbing up and down, hair blowing in the breeze-
You are the burnt edge of this film I keep staring at hoping to find you in this room instead of this photograph-
Dark alley ways are for the bad girls you told me once-
Dark alley ways are all we have left of that night-
your lips dancing across mine, your hand in my hair, the blurred self portrait we took lying naked in bed-
intertwined, mixing skin with sheets, mixing sweat with saliva ; kiss me like you mean it boy-
Dark and devilish thoughts are what keep girls like me awake at night you told me once-
Dark thoughts are the only sensual thoughts I have left of you-
You are the hurricane that's forming in the gulf; waiting to destroy what's left of the coast-
You are the fire burning the rest of our photos except this one i hold in my hands-
Dark rooms are for the insecure lovers you told me once-
Dark rooms are what I have left of the secrets you left behind-
Black and white film, colored dreams, and memories clashing with reality-
Dark thoughts about dark alleys and dark rooms are what you left me with-
The beeping in my house is telling me that there are so many things I have to do, and my ****** hair is a subtle reminder that there is a pair of eyes more fit to see it than hers. When you put a blue ribbon on a rolling rock you tend to forget, and I don’t need to be seen when the graffiti is already watching. I’d find the nearest alley if it weren’t for the fact that they always find me first. Naturally, I put the sequence on my tab, or maybe it was the tab that was always sequencing because there simply isn’t enough time to go black twice in twenty-four hours but there is for this delay to spray its mess all over his shoes. It’s dead, it’s dead, killed by too much noise out on the rooftop, and if a sour three a.m. isn’t your go-to just think about my rather polyamorous affair between all the ***** I get to choose from. It was on my way to the art house that I realized I would never get there, forced to paint my mind with the imagery of popsicles, and gay bars, and cars on stilts instead. Liberty, equality, and jaywalking; surely the French would know that there’s an after party for the after party, and it’s right here at the house of God where he’s blessing me with an empty can.
Curing sadness that never disappear when life has broken into pieces,
We agnize everything has gone so wrong.
Visually perceptive world revolving around me,
While I found myself in a stationary engagement ,
Merely to collapse without one single movement
As visions dilated on the far side of mental susceptibility.
My progressive journey begins here,
Through the alleys of pain with me inside my Heartache Memorial.
While I’m still drifting towards a light ahead,
Apprehension is on its way to devour.
But I am grateful enlightened that I’m alive,
And that I’m appreciative to be here to catch the last ride home,
Through the subway of lost dreams.
Vietnam, you uncovered my soul
Gave me a song, a direction smog
Looked at the pandora box I held
Unstripped my flames up temples
A hologram of the graded existence
Seasoned in explosions of burnt haste
Decked on buses,ducked in valleys
Chilled bays, overly paddled kayaks
Such sweet taste of the Halong bay
Undreamt mist of the skies stared
Fishing squids and bellied jellyfish
The soil, the sound,an orotund playlist
Travels.... I miss you Vietnam..... you were hyperreal!
There’s a key
to open the lock
of the door
that leads to
history peeling off
the strong walls
for many centuries
forlorn and tired
the last footstep
and long forgotten
the town’s existence
if one had the key
to walk down
the forgotten alley
history would wake up
so many stories
a long spell
an effort to
wipe away its existence
but it soul
and the key shall be found
to the lucky one
walking amidst history
to the past
to feel the essence
of this unnamed place
away by time
There are many such places and cities which were wiped away from memory and also history, which once thrived with life, but the whole ecosystem was wiped away over centuries. This is an imaginary write and do not refer to any particular place or city.
In this city the bright lights can blind you
let you forget the rustic coins littered around the floor
caught by grimy hands belonging to a woman
she holds her life on a thin piece of cardboard
written in faded Sharpie
If you ever lose your way with the crowd
and stumble upon the empty alleyways
they possess cracked glass from beer bottles,
old shopping advertisements, broken toys
and the stench of trash mixed with lost hope realizing
the pavement isn't always perfect but littered with cracks
Walk further down and you will pass the rejected streets,
houses gone foreclosed and no remorse
all that matters is the country's history,
pressed on notorious green paper belonging to greedy hands
forgetting about the family that lost their house
Wait at the train station,
for the rumble and two yellow lights
The snake of a train claims passengers
trapping them between closed doors,
only allowing them to face their own misery
some escape with headphones
others just stare into the darkness with sunken eyes and drunken sighs
Walking home see the gum wrappers and dead leaves skid around
the soles of your worn shoes
Graffiti garage doors only display discarded art
And when the night is still
you can feel the empty consonants and vowels crawl up your legs
forming the unspoken words from unwanted voices that lay
Hidden under our feet.
In my creative expression class we read Italo Calvino's *Invisible Cities* and then we had to describe NYC, so this is just my piece. Hope you enjoyed it.
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