Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
JR Rhine Jan 2016
We sat anxious and low
in your bedroom cupboard
beleaguered by hollow briefcases
and stifling musty winter clothes.

Holding our cigarettes like a crucifix
hunched over the ashtray
basking in the lonely timid light
you yanked into life
with the tug of a frail string.

I was ready to speak existentially
ready to be immortalized
by the blinding flash of the ancient pictor
black and white
candid but purposeful.

Locked into my eyes
lingering in their intensity
my artistic mystery.

I was suddenly pulled from my disillusionment
as my wishful banter was silenced
by your stern hush
preferring a whisper so your
parents didn't hear.

I watched you take a drag
like a glass of water
in the middle of the desert
so desperate, so agonizing.

I watched you shakily tap
tiny flakes of your soul
into the ashtray
your eyes distant, mournful.

It was irreversible;
my childlike fantasy
of aesthetic in the smoke
on my breath--

not from frigid temperatures
but adolescent guilty pleasures
coveted forbidden treasures--

to turn into the ashes
I watched my friend flick
routinely into the tray.

"This is not James Dean," I realized.
This is not somber-eyed bedecked
in worn leather jacket
leaning against a cool brick wall.

"Neither is this 'A Hard Day's Night.'"
This is not Ringo smiling amiably
shaking his head with cigarette
bouncing and dainty on his lips.

This is huddled in my best friend's
cramped cupboard
watching him surrender himself
to a caustic lord who scorches his life
away

in every drag that burns between
his cracking lips
in every ash flicked from
his shaking fingers.

I watched the smoke envelop his weary body
I watched the ashes eulogize his fading spirit
I watched him bid farewell with his tired eyes
I watched him disappear.
Goodbye, dear friend. I pray you rise one day the phoenix lingering in your ashes.
Amanda Oct 2014
My view count has reached over ten thousand! When I started posting a little over a year ago, I never imagined so many people would see the words that come from the deepest places of all my selves. I am forever grateful to everyone and anyone who has ever read a single word written by myself. This whole experience has been completely cathartic. My poetry has helped me through my darkest times and reminds me of my happiest times. So I just want to say thank you, from the bottom of my heart, to everyone who was there with me through this never ending journey that we call life.
Olivia Frederick Oct 2014
The photo, wrinkled and flavored with time,
That passed all too abruptly. But it shows
Smiling faces, eyes closed in laughter's rhyme,
The laughter that ever so smoothly flows

Through my past; it is my favorite mem-
Ory. It lingers in my lowest play
To catch my heart off guard. The waving limb
Of my family tree started with this face.

How blessed to have this fleeting moment caught!
My past, entangled in this candid shot.
Axion Prelude Jun 2014
candid malice, besieging
drained by lucrative ignorance
frustration staining teared windows
the hole leaks with pure essence
once where the heart stood, emptiness retains resolve
desolation sets in
she calls, in the mind..
passion begets strife
i walk on
Ariana Sweeney May 2014
Bitter.
Enfold me in it.
Steel body and diamond crusted ears
So I can feel no pain
And hear no outer influences.

   Hard.
   Turn me into stone.
   Infuse me, weld my cracks
   From a past never to be renewed
   And too stoic to ever feel another's warmth.

      Bold.
      Let myself take whomever I want
      Whenever I want
      Without consequence of being
      Anything but concrete.

         I'll be the manifestation of a developing polaroid
         Only to be swayed and
         Persuaded to come into focus
         By the tickle of murmured wind
         And golden embers of light.

             Black and white
             Color
             Negative
             Sepia­
             I could be it all.

— The End —