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Dante Rocío Sep 10
It is sharpening crimson steel in a knife as of that, with it fingers softly bleed like care and rise as a shuttered peach in
a sturdy piece of scarlet, paid in heed.

Your foreboding onthou my skin is no more truly nor less rigid unplugging of violin strings out of a guttural chords into a straight morbid fire, and a pain structure
hardens, straightens,
embeds them forever into every light’s riddance, this trial mended.
Welcomed fireflies in a
solstice. bonfire. forest. [stygian].

Love, my dearest Love, if your ever evanescent body or voice even exists:
if I ever dare to greet in my tears music it only may be to bleed with you in one common fluid, to have my ribs torn gently by
each your promise barely for my hand’s taking,
endure time to have my truer form by you,
a sensation, clad in lilac velvet that goes
under the name of “Paper Airplane” by
my thoughts.

To keep.
Us.
Intact.
More than as rain we always are.

A child picked up a solitary chalk and sketching protruded some things by that hand & sight, some sun with injustice drawn, that elders’ words and acts
have not put up.

Some of the chalk simply lays everyday crushed.
Foundance.
With no human passage, luggage.
No matter how hard I’ll come to cry
Never shall I reject my waters.
My Love, you who kiss me further and further
Without lips or anything to align,
I wish for you to never earn a step or body,
And to marry my sand-sea plaited follies.
Be veritable Garden Song.
parthenope Aug 15
Four walls,
Trapped in deep.
Windows blocked,
Black in ink.
Shadows locked,
Will freedom win?
Dead inside, finally,
The astral body leaves.
Dante Rocío Jun 23
[Pour Marie C.]
Tu te souviens de cette fois
Quand tu m’as demandé
Si j’ai jamais pleuré de la douleur ?
Car je te réponds
profondément et tendrement
que oui.
« Oui » vrai de nouveau chaque jour.
De supporter un nom
Un sexe
Un âge
Des vêtements qui me donnent
des descriptions
et m’emprisonnent en plus.
De la longueur de ma maison.
Et ça fait mal comme un pur viol.
Voir, sur les genoux parmi des bêtes,
devant soi-même tout ce qui t’admire,
ce qui te laisse respirer,
t’aime,
te donne l’identité
et vit en tes soupirs des yeux
et des larmes,
juste à la distance de la main
pour ne pas être jamais rendu à toi
en publique
et te tuant ainsi dans un pays étrange.
« Oui » de souffrance inédite.

Quand j’t’entends,
te vois en mon esprit,
Je nous demande
Combien de nuits sourdes,
trop silencieuses,
du goût du sang et du métal
as-tu passé séparé, tout en eau,
Sans air, les mélodies
comme la seule compagnie ?
Combien des choses y a-t-il
auxquels tu ne donne jamais la voix ?
Combien de masques as-tu créés
et détruits ?
Combien des portes as-tu claqué
devant les personnes
qui s’appelaient ta famille ?
Combien d’êtres as-tu blessé
pour te protéger ?
La masque de pierre n’endurcira
plus un jour
Et la pierre se cassera en porcelaine sanglante.

Je désire te voir te romper,
Toucher une corde sensible de ton piano,
Pour que tu meurtes et naisses de nouveau.
Pour que tu puisses authentiquement respirer.
Pour que tu te laisse pleurer sans cesse.
Pour que je puisse te tenir dans mes bras.
Comme si tu étais la chose plus valeureuse
et fragile du monde,
Et pour qu’on puisse se regarder
dans nos yeux pour des heures,
Sans mots ni pensées se retrouver,
Devenir fragiles tous les deux.

« T’es trop lumineux », tu dis,
« pour moi »,
Eh ben, t’es pas trop sombre
pour moi.

Tu t’emportes des écouteurs,
Ta barrière et ta rédemption.
Seule distraction et chemin au ciel.

On se rend tous les deux aux étoiles,
On peut s’y rencontrer un jour
et entrelacer les mains.
Peut-être même s’appeler
de derrière de nos miroirs étroits
Avec des nouveaux sons pour nos noms.

Je t’embrasse, observe
Et écris de là,
Marie.
I know you might never see the note here, Mary, but I wish you all the truth,
eyesight beyond
and your life given to you back.
Wish I could delve into you like God does
To make you out and hold your state
Like that of a broken child.
Pozdrawiam cię z tego miejsca powyżej zrodzonego w francuskim,
tak dawno a jednak wciąż.
Choćbyśmy miały się już nie zmówić.
Zaprawdę nasza relacja specyficzną jest i była.
Afloat in the loveless void of space loving a soul that bleeds  of slithering in solitude.

Accross the allevation of what the soul seeks among the hearts that no longer beat,

I managed to stumble upon a heart that beats,

Never knew what to give for that graceful heart, for all i knew was dull and dark.

Wish i had a rhythm to realign but then i realized i had no voice.

Wondered if could shine to catch her eyes then i have light.

Wish i had a fragrance to frantically Flirt yet then i knew no flowers bloom in space.

So i stand right here in the astral space in a distant place where she ll never know that i ever existed.
‘︿’
Comment your views.
katie Mar 16
he called me, "honey" as if it was second nature
and in his presence, i felt comfortable and calm
does he know that these tears are a result of longing,
and not of my evergrowing qualms?
i dreamt about my love, and there he called me his darling.
Bad Luck Nov 2019
It's the same familiar road,
Dark and slightly paved,
Toward which my soul drifts at nighttime,
Pulled by nearly broken chains.
Sleepwalking to find some danger
Where, among the chaos, it can feel
A little less like a stranger;
Around the blind side of a curve.

While I sleep, it finds a way
To - despite my slumber - travel.
Laying down, and replaying how
Life and death, seemed to briefly
                    Stop their battle . . .
And rest so soundly,
Sprawled out, side-by-side,
Strewn 'cross the roadway's gravel.

           - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Each morning I awake
And to the same spot I've returned,
Laying next to my soul, in wait,
For a lucky car to make its turn.
I stand up, and spark a cigarette
-- click --
Just to watch the orange light burn.

        I inhale the noxious gases,
        As a car skids, and passes.
        I start back home with a shrug,
        And flick the ashes to the masses,
        Burn some bibles, and break some glasses.
        And as the rain soaks to my skin,
        It corrodes the memory like acid.
"Bad Luck: In a Wakeful Contradiction" is now available on Amazon in paperback!

Link: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1691941182
My psychic energies are energized , warm, and strong


Signaling waves of physical feeling, warmth of a beating heart felt, and ****** moves exchanged.


Though miles apart, we are physically and in soul, together.Real.


Our blood flows through our veins and we appear to each other as our bodies sweat and touch is fused and cannot be changed.


The lightening sounds as we make love over waves so real


Sensual rhythms so bold and understandably near


we fuse together.


Real love and the desire for one another satisfied


as the remote seduction pleasurably brings our bodies to wet and desired ******


Forever.


We long for our lives to become just as fused as our psychic bodies..


we know the attraction is here…


we both ****** under a huge yellow moon….


as destiny dictates the night of lust and also deep love


between two people from two far away places


Sweat draws full and near…


Our hearts begin to swoon….


as we celebrate our need and wanting for one another


in pure exotic form..


we are now physically and soulfully an art-form alike no other..


The ritual of the senses is a fire that rages on..


Until we return to our originating soul’s taken up places….


We know we never need to feel alone or deep in separation from our bodies..souls…and love..


For we can fly, at will, remotely to greet one another as our eyes


lock


as we enjoy admiring one another’s beauty and faces.
mars Jul 2019
Cosmic projections underlying in spaces
as warm sunburnt bodies move together across the floor
purple lights in neon glow attached to the ceiling,
mind spinning with the fluorescence.
And youth- your mind is spinning with how young you are
only seventeen
you carry the burden in your stomach the sadness on your shoulder.
You are much too young to have abundant regrets
to be living yet dead in a bitter grave.
Wrong choices overlap each other as the grave gets deeper- I know that sometimes it feels hopeless.
Banter with old friends about the aliens and rehab centers, the girl who taught you four square teaching you how to torch the end of a crack pipe.
Cycles of the same tornadoes, dreams of constant death,you’ve seen your best friends dead body more times than you will admit. Yet they’ve never imagined yours, or imagined you, or cared.
The rose colored glasses are ripped from your face given to the other unsuspecting girl who will walk the same journey I did with him.
One-sided friendships get lonely
lovers are no longer loving
and the pino has run out.
The purple lights manifest into messages coming across the lifeline simulation- Give up those who have fallen silent, your mission is not with them.
The mission is uncertain
get a man to prison
to watch a wild orca
have a family
but the process is daily.
My mission right now is to live freely let my hair grow and stick my head out the window singing Janis Joplin tunes on the 105.5
The aliens come through once again to extend long hands and acid tabs offering insight into treasures unknown.
Time capsules I have yet to bury.

The great thing about cycles is you can stop them.
Angel May 2019
The comparison of such dejection
Makes me feel as though I am not one
But two or many or all
To feel prototypical is an oddity in itself but I need distinction to find comfort in being astral
I want to feel authentic
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