Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
J J Sep 24
Council house dilapidated and brittle as the bones
     That inhabited it, invalid mother bedridden,drugdazed
With a prescription-based carnival skull and sore lungs
   sustained from years of cigarettes and TB.

In the night there was machine gun coughter, foxes
        howling frost -if you looked outside you could see them
stringing silver from their fangs on the street below-
   And I went downstairs to fix her some tea
          because for the first time in years she asked me

And the storm outside lifted the window to the edges
     of it's brims

And I felt a stinging ping as an ache
    Spread the crevice of my spine

And I thought 'is this it? is this the life I've instore?'
        and as it turns out,it was it.

                                        It is it.

I remember once lying on that cold kitchen floor
     after getting home from school
worried about something or another,
   biting my nails and dreaming a hundred million
Futures on the ceiling and wondering how they could ever

           Come true.
Not as polished as I'd like but oh well
J J Sep 23
therupetic monologue
                                  that taunts as its teaches
singing it's song at tooth's breadth
                                     To my sordid chest.

in the mirror my ****** features distant
        And zoning,
                              Try to love myself and a las,
I love you like chaos loves the silence.

Concrete morning swings along the window pane
   and ushers in a dreary reminder: not to get lost if

You're iffy on your
                                way back home.
Rachel Sep 19
I won’t lie.
Once those eyes met mine,
I imagined.
When I watched you run your hands through your hair multiple times,
I daydreamed.
But when I saw that genuine smile and laugh you gave once I made you laugh,
I fell.
Vinca Aug 31
Has my skull ever really been a home to you?
Or was it too cold, too surreal?

You weren't complete, neither were my masterpieces.
I couldn't kidnap enough of you.

It was more of a cage than a home,
an utopia for me nevertheless, mine alone.

Hours upon hours I've spended on you.
An addiction, art, or my fall?
I can't even remember all of you.
J J Aug 22
I contemplate
the inevitability of
                          Over the course of a
As Otis Redding plays.
                         I should really stop smoking...
My last cigarette and my last poem for a little while.
Keiri Aug 15
Just above the endless sky,
Beyond the clouds we fly.
Among the air as a whole.
I nearly lose my soul.

Lost in thought my head goes off.
In the distance I hear a cough.
If only it could wake me now.
I move my face and frown my brow.

A little bird flying by.
I wave and said it "hi".
She looked at me and flew me past.
I didn't want to see the last.

Opening my eyes I see my class.
I should pay attention to pass.
But only a minute or two I tried.
And back I was in my evening glide.
This poem is about not being able to focus your attention, and accidentally drifting off while important things are being said or done. It took me a while before I could controll my "daydreaming" in class, and it sure did ruin alot of classes for me in the past.
J J Aug 12
(To Emily)

On the bus
I've only the blank eyes of my
to study, and the heat of a bitewound
on my lip
to accompany it.
back and fourth
   in my seat
Your face
In my thoughts,
thru my eyes;
You keep me safe.
Written following a bus joruney home after one of the first meeting's with my future wife. She entered my life at a very depressed and lonely stage where I needed someone to cherish and cherish me back. I was gorged in Ezra Pound's early works at the time.
Seanathon May 22
When your hand reaches, grasping mine
It's like I'm pulled through the ice on the pond my own imagination

With fingers waking
I fall from the clouds without landing
And return to the wandering desertless streams

Until you squeeze again
I forget who I am
Daydreaming And Hand Holding

The thoughts of


fill my mind.

Keeping me away
that I've been assigned.

Not like it's a bad thing thinking about you, but now it's become daydreaming.
Wally Apr 22
Sitting criss-cross applesauce
Behind over-grown oak trees in a pit of paracosm
Bedraggled from a rigid world, masks of ceramic reticence
Enduring the fever of love quickly maddening of sweet soundings
Running elsewhere unable to hear the ringing of her innocent world
Gaping a red apple of hand, acrimony dripping below cadaverous lips
Nirvana expeditiously slipping oppositional of an hourglass
A shine of twilight by a black coat flashed above her eyes
Captured in a strained love of delirium
Next page