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Moe Jan 2023
my soul is left swirling
in the black waters of ailment
i am hearing bottomless
pages of music
i am the circle with no
understanding
my internal guts and thoughts
are all delusional
i have no inner life
nothing achieved
several dreams in a fog
to reduce the fever of my futility
there is contradiction and paradox
i will say things and mean nothing
in my own minds argument
the virus of being will create awareness
of how pointless it all is
i am trapped inside a trunk
fragmented
left outside of time
i am sad delight
at long last
failing to comprehend the right way to live
Scorch'd Diana Feb 2021
I am the experiment.
This is my place.
This is my role.
The drug paints hallucinations of meanings around each single of these empty words,
that are naked on a notepad but belong onto a colorful clustersheet,

pityfully fallacy!

Can we, the two of us,
find the meaning of rhymes in here together?
We can engine the searches, only if we want to;
and talking about principles:
Well,
most of it, it's ego ****, and I dare to write and spit on anything forbidding me my will I'm freely willingly willed to write
a *title now, within the flow, than out of it at given times, when it rims
and rhymes and Romes and rums.

*******,
let me write when I want to, not if you could to, how dare you, I'm sensible and easy to brittle, don't pressure me with principles, you son of a dissociative spine itch!


- We were derailing. And still are. Rhymes so easy, reasons so far. Words I delete will never teach me memoriance.
Two tasks,
can't comprehend this nonsense, I slide on the blade of sentences that split my own illusive walls of honour I enhanced -
throughout the conversation with each myotherselves, perhaps
in advance, far before you knew,
this
that's
choppy-chopped chown-chauwn-to-grid-cheese-strings
¿point of view?,
while I faithe for making sense with my course of understandnessless mess of a what's a

what-a hard digest.
~ Personally, I recommend
do not become this experiment.
Dah Jan 2020
1.
… from now on, a reshuffling of diction,
word-acrobatics, perspectives gleaming
with thought: somebody built an orange tree
against the other things around it, to devour
boiled eggs in the porcelain hand of a plate,
the convulsions of the world can only go
a short length, it’s a matter of …

… regression, like tumbling downstream
over the backs of boulders …  

2.
… near the end of his journey the man’s voice,
as dull as ashes, a cracked seed ready to burst,
declining through the dark, a short distance
to a wintry end: traveling alone to the bottom,
sound of his dusty age drawing in the earth
lying at the edge of bones: today, the light,
tomorrow the ledge: think lightning fast …

… his affliction is not pain but death: cold
at his feet, like frail children ...

3.
… even in the icy spring of March, your eyes
were the stars melting lingering snow: we lay
buried in the warm blood of naked bodies, like
refugees in a new land, and the wind that did
not reach us, and the ice that could not find us:
outside, the silent streets could hear thunder
beneath our blanket …

… ask me where she is, the one who ignored
my heart, who was gone by summer ...

======================================

from my unpublished manuscript: Fragmented

©dah / dahlusion 2019 all rights reserved

first published in Record Magazine
Dah Jan 2020
1.
the architecture of waves, pelicans in adagio
but a tempo slower, the silver-colored fish, streaks
of light, like conversations out of reach, counting
waves, the soft and hard ones …

the sun-reflected surface makes me sleepy
as if a hypnotist at work: my thoughts resisting
this sleep that feels like the final dust of
existence …

starfish ******* the life out of clams,
the weight of the ocean …

2.
the frail branches of an old tree, an old woman
an old dog, a city that’s outbuilding itself, straight
up from Hell, straight into the atmosphere, across
the sky, across the universe …

at sunset, the challenge the sun has to stay alive,
as if a magician at work: darkness falls, like the dead
flame of life, several seconds pass, then several more,
I collect the darkness …

time flies, like a harbinger of bad news, like
an awkward simile that needs explaining …

3.
of all of my loves, of those who were actually
lovers, either married or single, you were the one
who drew me in, against our will, both hearts fell,
bodies withered and ****** …

at sunrise everything reshaped, our bodies felt
alien to each other: nothing has changed but  
the distance between us, always these forbidden
remains …

how our voices grew hoarse, outside it was raining,
everything had rusted …

=========================================

from my unpublished manuscript: Fragmented

©dah / dahlusion 2019 all rights reserved

first published in Fishbowl Poetry, Germany
eleanor prince Dec 2019
In solitary spaces
I find parts noise hid
screaming simulacrum
in broken cobwebs

a life pending
in crevices
sensing
chill

broken
concepts
mantles for
ruptured elements
their soft core exposed

casualties of bloodied past
salvaged fragments
society's furnace
discarded

singing
synths
waiting
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