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Laokos May 12
brief echoes of the past
arrange themselves in my present
like shadow puppets on the backs
of my eyelids while i sleep.  

there is an uneven fulcrum
digging into my lower back no
matter how i turn my long
body.

my eyes open into
the same familiar room, with
the same familiar speckles on the
ceiling that they always do.   the
shadows resume their innumerable
forms and i wake
to write another step towards
the beveled edge of immortality.
nightdew Apr 25
meeting you has caused me to lie awake at night,
staring at the stars on my ceiling.

my sleep has been broken throughout the night,
and you're the sole reason for my insomnia.
alexandra Mar 26
the music is starting
they said

the music is starting!
they said

and start it did.

the sound cascading like rivers
funny how it feels like it's surrounding me
when the speaker is very clearly to the left


when the song ends
the room is in an abrupt silence
and the walls are farther
and farther away
the walls
they grow taller
and the ceiling rises into the sky
for a minute i close my eyes
and feel an overwhelming empty

but here it is again

the music is starting
they said

the music is starting!
they said

and start it did.
Hiraeth Feb 29
I look up - ten stars
Every night they shine for me,
glued on the ceiling.
"Soulful abysses"
Haiku (2)
Dream Fisher Dec 2019
Sometimes I talk to this mirror,
That man never talks back
So I turn my back on him so he knows
How it feels to be alone.
But if I'm only reflecting on my own reflection
Maybe I'm stuck having his connection.
Collecting my thoughts without judgement,
Packing up my subconscious like luggage,
Letting it disappear into that sunset.

I've been hunting for good mental health,
Tracking the prints before the snow did melt,
When spotted, I speared it and skinned it.
Now look at this beautiful pelt.
Hands drifting across it's skin
I developed a deep understanding
Of why killing mockingbirds is a sin.

They say we dream of a perfect soul,
I think we just dream of feeling whole.
quinten g Sep 2019
Jul. 18th - 2:45 PM

i. (one) -
How do I explain (to you) the art of foreplay?
it begins with a stare,
a lingering of eyes
(perhaps?)
yes.
an invitation.

ii. (two) -
Your eyes
(often) speak louder
than you do.

iii. (three) –
A cold touch lingering,
searching for warm skin.
a tender contract
firmly pressed and packed tight
in hesitant hands
awaiting a signature.

iv. (four) -
I listen to your body
telling me how to respond,
speaking with my hands
in case
my tongue and lips
fail.

v. (five) –
My mouth begins to recite
a series of sins
against your skin.  
(bruising)
(biting)
(begging)
vi. (six) -
and then it stops.

vii. (seven) -
An intimate wound
scrapes at the hollow parts of
your heart.
viii. (eight) -
we’ve learned to talk,
why won’t your lips move an inch?

xi. (nine) -
Some nights i still remember
the ringing of still-bells;
silent sounds of precious silver.
clinging to the flush of a cheek.
the soft sobs of her soul,
sinking into
my dreams.

x. (ten) -
Consent is communicating
your intent before
acting on it
and getting permission.

xi. (eleven) -
Portrait of honey-tongued boy,
with glass in his eyes
meets
girl of calacatta marble
breaking
from her.
(insides)

xii. (twelve) -
I want you
the way artworks
want to be
painted.

xiii. (thirteen) -  
“I know that isn’t convenient”
careful, lover.
(i must be)
so so careful.

xiv. (fourteen) -  
She turns to glass — (before me)
a push too hard could break her.
I’m ashamed to admit
I am tempted.

(to try it.)
xv. (fifteen) -
“Nothing about you
is inconvenient
for me”

xvi. (sixteen) -
It's the gentlest of ultimatums.
not (love me) or (leave me)
but I want you, however, I can have you —
it's up to you to choose
how we proceed.

xvii. (seventeen) -
I would have done anything
to wipe the insecurity
from your face.

xviii. (eighteen) -
The kiss would come
as easily as breathing.
every movement reassuring,
her lips brushing
(please be careful with me)
and my tongue
dipping back
(of course.)

xix. (nineteen) -
(I know) I need to be so sure
that it's notarized and signed in triplicate
I need pictographs and simple instructions
in small words.

**. (twenty) -
I learn to become an expert in transfiguration
— loud and demanding,
(one minute.)
soft near-silent,
(the next.)

xxi. (twenty-one.) -
I hope when my tongue
meets your skin
(again)
that your ******* are like
snowflakes; no two ever
exactly
alike.

xxii. (twenty-two) -
“I’m not capable of cheating on you
whether you believe me
or not.”

xxiii. (twenty-three) -
(good)
because I don’t.

xxiv. (twenty-four) -
Your absence is the most
agonizing
thing.

xxv. (twenty-five) -
I wish you would
just
talk to me.

xxvi. (twenty-six) -
(I believe)
there is no perfect time
for truth,
but my heart
speaks to my mind
(so clearly.)

xxvii. (twenty-seven) -
I learn to become an expert in revelations - I confess.
(and write in sin)
every feeling I have (ever) had.
(yet still)
my words cannot provide
the volume of
my heart.

xxviii. (twenty-eight) -
Vowels and consonants fall off
my tired tongue, with such
****** (grace)
I feel like my sentence(s)
should be punctuated
with an apology.
  
xxix. (twenty-nine) -
My candor makes her
her quiet heart
inwardly cry
(please forgive my silence.)

***. (thirty) -
unspoken words have never
suited me (very well)
the sadness and so-softness
of my heart’s
silence.
(i’m here if
you need me.)

xxxi. (thirty-one) -
I think (maybe)
I just care
(about you)
too much.
to my lover.
Dusty old and gray
Always either spinning or perfectly still
It creaks when it spins
Like the bones of an elderly woman  
One bulb is almost burnt out flickering on and off
Wanting the motivation to stay alive but losing it anyway
Losing it,
Losing it,
and now this bulb has run out of light
Now encompassed in darkness
Two bulbs remain shining so luminously Optimistic like they’ll never burn out
unknowing the impending darkness to come
that they are unable to pause
unable to slow
unable to stop
I’ve never seen a ceiling fan and it’s bulbs like this before
Excuse me if when I said an elderly woman instead of human triggered you it just sounded better
Mia Kuhnle Dec 2018
Stuck
Swirled
Stamped
Ceiling of stars
Saturated dreams, not yet
Seizing the future, her, harbored in pink princess prints
Scribbled walls of verses, covered child yet without vain
Cemented in my mind, childhood bedroom I haven’t forgotten at all
Ceiling of stars, from above, I hope you don’t witness my fall.
A depiction of the first bedroom I remember as a child, with a ceiling covered in adhesive, glowing stars and walls covered in punchy princess wallpaper
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