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Andrew Rueter Apr 2022
I close my two eyes
I can’t see anything
I need a hand
from my pineal gland
to give me some vision
projections hit the back of my eyelids
showing me images conjured by myself
I am the artist and the audience
finally a filmmaker
but I have no editor
every edition is a suicide cut
the assembly footage with no assembly
different stories with the same outcome
being stuck in a homicide rut
different possibilities creating a medley
of my own creations hunting me
with the faces of others plastered on
in this world my mind is God
isolating flaws and fears
always feeling the end is near
when there was no beginning
to moving pictures with no plot
just mapping out my mind rot
showing me my insecurities and anxieties
leaving me insecure and anxious
I’m starting to hate the author of these stories
but the more I hate him the more they get gory.
The moon fades
Under a heavy eyelid
K Balachandran Jan 2020
I bat both eyelids.
She attributes motive and winks.
The right moment to think!
annh Dec 2019
A twitch of the toes,
A pop of the lips,
A flick of an eyelid:
I watch as electricity sleeps.

‘Hey there, Mr Conductor. Y’know I can’t resist you.’

Sunday schmaltz - sorry.
Soap suds and rubber gloves have that effect. My right hand is wielding a *** scrubber but my brain thinks it’s holding a pen. Let’s call this dishwater doggerel and be done with it. :)
Daniel Long Dec 2018
your tear damp
curtains for me,
so that swift dawn
of iris sun,
brush horizons
teary cloud aside.
A poem I wrote after seeing a past girlfriend cry.
My poetry/short story website:
K Balachandran May 2018
resting on his oars,
listens  the barcarole far;
drooping eyelids close!
should any women
try to form
a cosy partnership with him
she'll put a cleaving wedge
in between them
it is quite plain
that she won't tolerate
that kind of thing
going on
apparently she's got to be
the only paradise bird
he'll ever see
a few of his prospective
consorts were  told
to scram
and not to be tempting
with their eyelash
batting scams
a casual observer
might well say
she's pretty **** good
at vamoosing
the rivals
emme m May 2017
I wake up. Quiet. The sheets beside me are cold. The sun shines trough the dewy windows. I look down at my brown knees. The nail polish on my toes is falling off. I close my eyes for a second and open them again. I leave my bed and look myself in the mirror. My eyes are as blue as the ocean, and I’ve got freckles on my nose. My lips are dry, so I wet them with my tongue. I can feel the warmth from the sun on my thighs. It’s silent.
     My mother enters the room.
     “Who?” she asks.
     “I don’t know” I answer. She leaves.
     I look at myself in the mirror again. I look pretty, with my tan skin as a contrast to my blue eyes. An eyelash has fallen off and landed on my cheek, but I don’t remove it. I look away, at the sun. It shines again today. I miss the ocean.
just a lil story for u.

— The End —