Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Inked Quill Oct 2018
It’s encroaching
Stifling my breath
Like cold gates
At the mouth
That vicarious grip
Of distorted desires
Trapped inside
Playing hide & seek
Like a childhood friend
Or am I just having
A fever dream…
Ákos Domonyi Sep 2018
You are dropped off at a shady part of town,
neon lights surround you, they are cascading,
you don’t know where to go, you are their clown.
a briefcase in your ****** hand, fascinating
how easy it is to slip and fall, graceful landing its not.

Masterful plans in motion, gearing up for promotion,
Handouts for the lost souls wandering the streets of devotion.
Wage slaves, suit and tie, tight rubber band and an injection.

Your little baggage is ticking, tick-tock.
Run for your life through dirt ridden alleyways,
Closing doors of sanity behind a tight lock,
See the faceless amalgamation of people, life finds a way.
Finds a way, to take your last breath away.

Your lust for carnal pleasures is a weakness,
This blade that cuts the thread of passion is your mistress.
Your body will reject your non-organic heart, don’t stress.
Sharon Talbot Aug 2018
Green night in the middle of the day…
Fire rising to ****** the moon,
Uncle Sam’s praying in my room
And the 8-ball will not say

Why a woman holds a gun
To her husband’s sleeping head;
Does she play or just wish him dead?
An armadillo’s included for fun.

Uncle Sam’s lost his hat in the fire
Maybe that’s why he’s praying.
Not for the country he should be saving
While we are conquered by liars.

I’ve tried to make sense of this before:
Masked fiddlers strum in the conflagration,
Dead books, butterflies and chimps run the nation,
…there is luggage on the floor.

Should I run from the scene,
Or stay and try to fight?
I can’t read my books in the deepening night
And there’s a skull waiting just to scream.

The man sleeps on with a gun at his head
And I see another skull by his side.
It must be a sign saying: “run and hide”.
But why can’t I do it?
There’s no way to get through it,
But I must wake up and fight or I’m dead.

June 1, 2006
This is from a popular group's album cover, reminding me of one of those Dadaistic nightmares you have during a fever...or the state of the nation just before The Crash.
She invites me up,
And it has been so long
that it's the first time again.
Tumbling onto hot sheets,
Shirts, shorts, socks,
Everything innocent,
Everything snug,
Everything hot.
And suddenly lips,
And suddenly pulse,
And suddenly fingertips grazing
turn something inside me
turn to hands clutching and grasping,
and arching and pulling,
and the missing puzzle piece
is suddenly about to fill!
I know her -
is it...
could it be...
And she slides away.
She is me,
and she has had her fill,
But I am still hot.
I wake in sweat,
pulling layers
from my sticky flesh.
Even in my fevered dreams,
I am too much.

— The End —