Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
This room, a field of shattered daisies
Stalks of withered doubt break in the breeze
Wishing wells of hope lie drained and rank
It all falls to the rhythm of your lies
Storms melt the ozone above
Stippling the rain as it falls on my tongue
Burning me with fire cold as your blood
And the dark cadence of your voice
Raggedy songs twist like vines over the rooftops
Shivering me as they echo down forever streets
Drawing musty shadows from forgotten gardens
Lavished with neglect
While l, clad in dry withered leaves and
A sulk of brambles
Fall with the Seasons, trembling like a leaf
Under coverlets, sewn with promises of comfort
Stitches undone by deceit
Night’s peace yields to floods of unquiet
Squalls of questioning
And a tree tap tapping staccato sympathy
On the window, the wall, my bones
Time slips through tangles of sleep
And stubborn naive obsession
My heart beats a hailstorm of disillusion
Watching mirrors fox all your reflections
My innocent love lies crucified
In the orbs of your Narcissus eyes
RA DeVito Sep 2018
In restful sleep I've wandered to a land far and beyond,
Where banes, which, present, ******* me, have left me - far and gone.
Where havoc and the woes of life drift off to nullity,
And the breaths I took, for once, for once, came in tranquility.

For, gone were my anxieties, and absent were all tragedies,
Rubs of which make living a great bane on my reality.
                                                        ­...
But, by morn's time, the waking from the dream blighted the peace I'd found.
Worries and pernicious troubles, soon flocked back: a pack of snarling hounds.
(From their mouths did drip my dreams, which had been tattered at the seams;
Left in a state of disrepair, of which did cause me to despair -
For nothing else I did much care, but had much longing for those dreams
Which were now gone, ripped at the seams)
                                                       ...
Alack! what is this life to those who've cast their eyes on better things which lay,
Beyond the fringe of this existence, a land which living keeps at bay?

'Tis but a walk of sullen gloom, of which feels much like hellish doom
Though trying, never to break through, until you're sleeping in your tomb,
Where all the learning, of the wise, are shut into your pallid eyes,

Where all the learning, of the wise, are locked behind your pallid eyes.
Inspired by the poem "A Dream," by Edgar Allan Poe
Writ August 11, 2018
SoZaka Aug 2018
who could sleep on a night like this?
how could you not stay awake?
whilst I wander amidst these wildfires
you started by mistake
anger rage discontent
Laura Jul 2018
Three syllables should roll easy,
yet sear acidic the tongue,
refusing formation
of empty expression.

The sun shines no brighter
than the struggling bedside light,
and rivers flow no fresher
than saliva leaked in sleep.

The malodour of rank roses
drifts from every kitchen,
where flies **** on dishes
of all the dinners not savoured.

Inside we search for desire; in drains,
under beds, between stale sheets. 
The arid well resists fornication
as we ***** for absent frisson,

the floral miasma lingering,
as if to scoff.
JonahAlonso Jun 2018
may these words ignite shame in your throat
so you can feel the red hot,
of rage and disillusionment

may these words,
welt your skin,
like apathetic whipping
and bruise your pride
with uncontrollable whimpers

may these words flay and pierce your skin,
like unforgiving shrapnel,
staining your lovely supple skin,
with the most beautiful crimson dye

and feel the loss,
of faith,
of purpose,
of love

may these words set fire to your soul
and feel the agony I know so well,
because lord knows,
you never had mercy on me
Hell is something you carry with you
eryssi Jun 2018
I've forgotten what it felt like being with you.
Who I was when I was with you.
The women I flirted with loving through your eyes.
Mark Armstrong Apr 2018
Rapt by prognosis, sterile elocution
Acute halitosis, banal delusion
Digital notice of distant retribution
Thrombosis will move you before revolution

Brash adolescent right-side part,
Strand obsolescence, abstract art
Pinstripe filaments, two turned backs
Bowed in benevolence, borrowing slack

Hieroglyphic ruminations,
Plastered protestations.
Muscle memory incantations,
Aquifuge of patience.

Future shock, feminists ride-centaurs
Skin-tan hedonists reside-indoors
Tin-can telephone spinal chord,
Sings-an injured semitone final word

40 years since you were a punk
Tommy Randell Apr 2017
All this talk of crying, all this grief and sorrow,
The worship of dying, the Light of tomorrow,

All this promising of peace everlasting,
All this eulogising of prayer and fasting,

All this stuff about Sin, original or otherwise,
All this reincarnating of dead people's lives,

It's the mother of all *******, it's hypocrisy and hate,
It's a religion of commerce taxed by the state.

It's chocolate and glitter, it's a dressage of delusion,
An endless repetition of power doing the using.

They are selling you incense so you can make smoke.
They say only they walk down the true road.

It's a pantomime of rhetoric perfected over time
So we look the other way Deaf Dumb and Blind.

Who wrote these rules, carved them into stone?
What have they done to us we let them rattle our bones?

It's all hidden in riddles of Tax Laws and Treaties -
100% of the future owned by 1% of the species.

It's in every paper, it's on every screen,
The drumbeat is progress and money is the dream.

The hard times are here we must all tighten our belts,
We must put up with sacrifice, every little will help.

But listen to the beating of those soft silver tongues -
They're not fasting they're feeding, until tomorrow never comes!
Next page