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Raingoaway Aug 2015
When I had your arms wrapped around me
It felt like I was on top of the world
It was exhilarating,
But at the same, forbidden.
Deep down, I know that I left a part of my heart with you even as I pulled away.
Herein, laying dormant,
    veils of reposed
      secrecy 'neath
       foamy seascapes'
              frenetic passages,
languishing below
   sunken treasures'
     false facades of
        reticently rolling
            shrouded bluffs,
 shaded of darkly impetuous
        hued blood in
             bound convolutions,
a million ancient
     undisclosed shadows hidden,
     notwithstanding combative
        rumblings of death's
         unwelcome sycophancy,
depths of centuries'
         old unparalleled stories,
 whence hush-hush
       undulatory influx
          of defiant upsurges
            and turbulence reside,
     that of which only the
          winds of indiscretion,
                 clandestine spirits
                      & gods could surmise

*  privileged moons watch over amaranthine skeletons
MissMew May 2015
We are the capricious youth,
desiring farewell from monochrome stencils etched onto our once blank canvas destined for a mixture of hair dye, blood stains, and beauty like no other;
a band of misfits.
We are the abandoned bunch,
free from moral restraint and expectations of perfections as the reigns break from the hold of their eyes piercing in fury with a judgment heartless and rigid;
Fugitives from the box.
We are the bats in the belfry,
mad as hatters and rich with curiosity, the true descendents of Alice with our cheshire grins and cups shattered at the edges creating our own wonderland in lost treasures and spare parts;
welcome to Wonderland.
We're are the criminals of time,
Our minds yearning for adventures of mass destruction to ignite the fires in our eyes as our hearts lust for one night stands and temporary lovers until we find whom of which tames the beast of our innerworkings;
Our perfect mistake.
We are scientists of our generation,
experimenting with love in temptation of others and blissful passions not specified by gender, but by the content of their character, and they who love purely scream ******* to those who say otherwise;
Pride is not prejudice.
But most importantly,
We are who we want to be:
The girl with the colored hair and artistic skills unparallelled by others,
The boy with the piercings and mathematic expertise who incipient a revolution,
The timid girl with the voice like an angel's who soothes the souls of those damaged by fear,
The boy with an ear for accoustic melodies and a taste of eccentric chords with the potential of a thousand choruses,
Or the those who haven't the idea pictured yet,
We are exactly who we make ourselves to be and the creators of a portrait by our hands,
That is how our story begins.
MissMew May 2015
How I adore those fleeting moments
Wrapped in lace and tender touches.
Those intimate instances where the heart is flooded by butterfly kisses,
and the body ignited by fire.
I long for love's innocence
By the voice you whisper late at night.
I long for love's passion,
By your lips pressed gently against my own.
I long for love's warm embrace,
By your arms when the world crumbles beneath my feet.
But most of all,
More than anything,
I long for you.
My love.
My kerosene.
I only wished,
You longed for that love too.
Ink and paper flowing as well as my blood; in time I’m missing you
My candle gets older and a wisdom whispers I shall not waste every clandestine
You’re the reason why verbal runs out and paper planes lost their way
I shall commit
K Balachandran Jan 2015
Anger, is the steaming red on her face
refusal creates in an instance;
jealousy is foaming green
profusion of colors in motion
takes this dance for them to upward
and downward turns,
or a sudden dissolution---
an intense ****** in unison.
Even in darkness he  can see the
spasmodic ebbing waves
sleep is the banana plantation
where night wears translucent green
"nobody would see us here"
she whispers in his ears,
as if they are thieving ***,eyeing
the yellow banana she likes, to play with

Purple is the psychedelic color
smeared on horizon when
dreams repeatedly fly down
like night bats and happen
the way mind designs
we don't want to leave the scene
of the dream even when we know well
that the show for us is now over
we just want to hang around
like the dog,  in the place
it  got a juicy bone.

Yellow is the banana song
that's heard as wave after wave,
by the blind bat squadron
that roams with raw aggression,
for raids above the plantations
Unripe bananas show green fingers
to say "NO! we aren't ripe"
like coy underage virgins.

Then, they ripen, go yellow
some even bright red, inviting
who is blue here is the sky
and those bats who got
the bananas still raw green

Night decents on the banana land
as the white umbrella of sun
is snatched by the dark maiden.
Black is the bat's wing extending
and folding like lust, umbrella and the like.

He finds her shivering fingers like a serpent,
on the banana trunk slithering down,
as he dreams bats, banana, blue sky
and she slithering over him.
Sensuality connects, colors, assorted things  and places that become symbols for experiences , ***, lust ...
Aubrey Nov 2014
I'm not sure how old he is, my step-step-granddad, but that's the advice he gives that fixes itself on my psyche.
The act is the goal.
It's the thought of having been and becoming whole.
Each event is like a pebble in a landslide.
I take it in stride.
I am everywhere and there is no center, no home base, no dock on this river. I'm caught in current. Stay calm. This is perfect.
Each twist in the flow, every rock of the boat, every splash in the face, my being gives chase to  possibilities in consistent inconsistencies, sacred, eternal, geometries. Do our bodies disperse like the leaves that traverse from limb to ground, spiraling down?
Where are your shoes? We're running late, and there's no time for another drink. We're out of milk? Look at my sink. It's piled high and I can't think with you  making all that ******* noise. What time is it? I forgot to call... that bill is due tacked on the wall. I wonder if we'll talk again. There's spam where your email should have been. All this time I thought that we were friends. I can't sleep. I'm up too late and I can't sate this need to see what I can make of missed phone calls and mystery texts. That write up? No, I haven't seen that yet. But don't forget, I told you, "I can handle it." Remember? Double. Oh. Seven.
Breathe in. I'm calm. That's resurrection.
Breathe out. I'm smiling. That's reconnection.
Reanna Horsley May 2014
And I guess one could say this is the pinnacle of all that is us. My feelings could never be put to rest.When the acrimony of departure has come at last, I will stay here for all of my life. You will see the world and you will love many others. Deep in my clandestine mind, I won't love again when you leave me behind. I simply will not ; even if you say I must.
Nickols Sep 2012
A circle spinning;
Forever round.
Down a hole-
to underground.

Spinning faster-
blurring faces.
till they're all twisted--
twisted up backwards.

Facing downwards--
through the roof,
that is underground.

Up is down,
and down is up.
loosing grip,
on plastic society.

Acid burning,
till it tickles.
a rotting apple--
tasted sweet.

but wait,
where am I going again?

Oh yes,
Spinning circles,
there below.
through the roof,
hidden underground.
Someone, I think *she* lost *her* mind.

© Victoria

— The End —