Dawn Mar 26

Filtered sunlight exists beyond another leaf.
Lingering in the musty smell of wormwood
thoughts, regrets, permeate parched veins.
Amid tenuous crackling the mantra persists.

While glassy gaze and fingertips move feverishly
oils pillage to dismantle fiber and ink.
Aimless memories fall apart unglued,
unbound by desperation's white-knuckled grip.

Chapter two is an inkling, a slip of the tongue,
a pasty hand reaching for the curtain's leading edge.
A give, a break, the playful breeze
slipping a tendril beneath the foliage to steal your breath.
An ending without a reader,
sunken eyes or wizened lines,
without a face--never lives.
Living is every page.

quote inspiration : "you can't start the next chapter of your life if you keep re-reading the last one."
Nick Moser Feb 4

If a delicate heart is placed within a strong grip,
It will never break.

But it is only once we see said grip released,
That we may witness how strong it was to begin with.

For those pesky shaky hands are always imitating,

What they could never be,
Just to get what they could never hold.

Those pesky shaky hands
Pamela Rae Jan 17

unbearable awareness
sometimes threatens to invade
to wrap its proverbial fingers
around my neck
and squeeze
until my heart explodes
within my chest--
but then
and inexplicably
you arrive on the scene
and loosen
the grip
of fear, angst and regret--
you caress
my innermost
intimate parts
with your eyes,
your hands,
your beautifully
spoken words
and remind me
that you,
(yes, you)
are who
rescued me
from the depths
(so long ago)
of my dark despair--
so when it happens
when I become
so unbearably aware
that life and love and sorrow
are all intermingled
into one and the same--
I will know then
to simply
raise my voice
with true determination
and call out
unto the universe
your name...
©Pamela Rae 01.17.2017

oh, this grip, what seems to be
the power you hold over me
a hold that I cannot escape
like syrup within a tasty crepe
like old shoelaces, worn and ripped
like fries in chocolate shakes are dipped
or flapjacks on a stove are flipped
perhaps a moonlit serenade
perhaps some homemade squeezed lemonade
or simply lying with you in the shade
you see, these simple things, to me
perhaps are what our love can be

Elizabeth Squires Sep 2016

the overseer
not allowing them
any latitude

from their cuffs
none could
readily slip

not ever
giving up the
controller's toss

never to be
released out of
the inure

Zachary Sutliff Jul 2016

Please don't take me away,
I never wanna leave,
Home can be the place,
A place for me to let go of all the things,
Clutching touch,
Blood lust,
The flustered razor blades,
Caressing veins,
The jewel,
Hoping we can mend these battle scars,
Stitching surgically,
See my naked eyes,
Clearer than you'll ever be,
Wait until we die,
You pretend you've known me,
Drinking drops blood,
Floral print,
On bloody gloves,
Mending madness,
Sharp like spikes,
Sadness grips again,
Shove the screams back down so low,
Silence takes the place,
Taste the hollow catacomb,
Sweet  like honeysuckle ,
Sucked between your cold lips,
Pretend to die forever,
Hate to know you've never lived,
Love so little never give,
Back your bones to shallow streams,
Naked in the water,
Skin that peels forever,
We're waiting to be swallowed.

*I wrote this about a friend. It's a shame to see someone loose grip to something so much stronger than them. Their decisions begin to reflect the madness that filled a void I only wish I could have filled. More on this soon.*
Jack Jenkins Jun 2016

A summer solace wind storm,
Blowing against my face, ripping against my clothes,
Out here, on the edge, thinking of you,
Imagining your face, in this abyss trying to swallow me.

It creeps against me, holding me to the ground,
I didn't want to move anyway.
But the shards of rain and ice pelting my skin,
Causes pain, causes me to tear up.

I hold your memories in my arms,
I hold your gentleness in my breath,
One last time, I hold you close to me,
Then I let you go.

Pamela Rae Jun 2016

I put my signature on your heart
those many years ago and promised
that you could keep it forever
and things would never, ever change--
I've kept that promise on my end;
I love you now as much
as I did way back then
and forever you will live on
inside of me
and though you and many others
may not be able to see--
my signature is still there
written in the most careful script
with loving swirls of my artistic flair
(yes, I peeked while you were sleeping--
it really is still there)

and until you find someone
who can overwrite my loving script,
my signature will forever
keep its grip
and guard your heart
with a diligence that is right and true--
you see, that signature I left
spells out my forever love
for You.
©Pamela Rae 06.03.2016

The light of the television
dimly lit two
but not really.
He stunk of wine
from the lips and
mauve teeth,
she stunk of wine
by proxy.
her legs, only slightly
unshaven, he stroked
gently, which they
both enjoyed, but
not really.

Dirty pots, plates, and
cutlery lay placid
in the sink.
They'll be washed
sometime soon,
and put away in  
cabinets of wasted
white wood, very soon,
but not really.

The floor, like them,
began growing clothing
like wild moss or ivy,
and claimed the room
& claimed them too.

The movie, he'd recall,
but, then, she would
He watched the blood,
and conflict,
and at times laughed,
and she saw him,
and conflict,
and didn't laugh at all,
which he knew was strange,
but not really.

On the dim, small, screen,
The lean and hungry man had his
Nemesis on the
sepia-tone ground,
and finished it all,
with rage and mercy,
with a stomp
to the

They watched, her eyes wide,
for she knew this was
them, him on the ground,
and her in the air, and she gripped
him a bit tighter,
which he  noticed,
but not really,
which she noticed,
In the dimly lit room,
they could not see
they were alone,
and it was true,
only Bruce Lee & He,
and She.

rr May 2016

His grip tight enough
to not let my fingers
slip through his
but also loose enough
to let me know
that i should always be ready
because at any moment
he could let go.

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