every distance is a long shot~ within reach of a fool Prv. 𝑓:𝑦 bleed your heart out in dripping poetic pretense―slip that inky salamander some silk: "the wilting waiting flora bequeathed their busting bouquets and bountiful bosoms unto the world in all of its prescient violence" then read it back to yourself later and be absolutely disgusted. throw it away with all the other things you've done in your life. now reach back in your closet and rattle the skeletons lingering there. finger your dreams in the dark under pressure from the mind to find yourself. the lightning severance will sing and anxiety will harmonize with the knife. you've done it again... ****** it all up and everyone knows it. you could eat all the erasers in the world and your **** still wouldn't come out correct. a lifetime of valleys and seawalls has made you an avatar of effortless blunder. and you can't stop bleeding all over the page; white is red again cause you blue it. bleed in―breathe out breathe in―bleed out bleed in―breathe out breathe in― bleed out... welcome to the creative process.
I get paranoid after throwing up my fears the night before, intoxication comes easy when you’re lost in the worries of not being enough. The whispering from my nightmares become real, their faces distort in disgust when they look at me and the weight of terror eats me alive.
DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, some memories haunt us to the grave---they never fade:|
I put the space mere a distance and air to redeem for the desk to choke the fogging steam heavy unspoken glares of things untold a gleam nears and approaches some spites that repeat if walls at least could shout could scream lines would be spit to the ultimate some tense perched meant on bits of merged known subtles left on the bottles shaped from knuckles inherited not chuckles reds on the addicting muffles ------ravenfeels
DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, some days can be numb:\
in the instant blink of an eye in the double slow tick of the clock in the gloomy twitch of the sun in the unnnotice of the dusk and the dawn in the raw mere of blur in the racing droplets down the tub in the pretentious eyes of red in the odorless stink of the day in the companion of numbness in the tasteless lines of wry disgust in the lyrics of merciful peace -------ravenfeels
A river runs red
From my knuckles into the sink. As I stand there, Hands dripping. Washing the evidence of loving you, Scrubbing the remembrance of the flesh. Draining into pipes are memories of bodies together, And mouths full of lies.
I give up anger
Face my fears Surprise my body With feelings of happiness And yet sadness still prevails Filled with disgust I despise With my faint heart I'm consumed once more By the very bitter emotions i tried to over shadow
Bitter emotions of anger, fear sadness destroy one true sweet emotion which is happiness
Insecurity is a fast acting disease.
Pouring into every cell, thickening the lens, distorting view. Erupt in jealousy, tension fills the chest, breathing deep feels sharp. Pick at their flaws, make them feel small, tempt them to inch down to your level. Do what you can, in every desperate attempt, But the self disgust still radiates off your skin. The unjustified hatred will consume you, convince you, that you truly are the victim. But it is merely a sickness that will eat you away.
1800, 1200, 500,
nothing. When will I look myself in the mirror and say, "you are beautiful" When will I see me and not cringe in disgust. When will I feel good in my own skin? When will this end?
When does this end? I don't know.
Always wait 'till it's gone
Always blind even when taught Always deaf even when sought Only looking back at what was Only pilling bricks on my walls Only gulping bile in my rue Coulda had, coulda got Coulda grabbed, coulda talked Coulda laughed, coulda loved Emptied comforts, emptied joys Emptied rooms, emptied possibilities Emptied mind, numb false serenity Only broke up by Intense flashes of Sanity. Disgust.
I pen a poem
about a beautiful flower, and think that maybe it is about a woman instead. in disgust, i throw it away. not that i hate her, the contrary, but to me, it seems, a flower cannot be a flower and a woman cannot be a woman.