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Old man with his Atacama tongue
dusting off stories of his youth
forty-nine knock outs he spattered out
heavy weight champion travelin' the world
stories of tribes auctioning off slaves
that they couldn't sell
that became that nights meal
pieces in a stew
how it could make a man cry and cry
oiling up trees so the lions
slide right off
tent births and baseball cards
a preacher neighbor who beat a woman
then had his teeth knock out
by the holy word
then points out his bird houses
only to dive deep into something else

"Old man" says I,
"I have to return to work
but next time I will save
your stop for last. There's
an oasis in that head of yours
and I tend to bask in it."
you may feel buried
but you are just being
re-planted
Merwin Nikad Oct 3
I have only my mind's sight to create words that could be carried by winds and air
No sleep induced by nectar, no thick plants grown after a midnights rain
The green and blue of breads do not belong to me
I keep the edges of cliffs sharp in my eye’s lair
For voices sing to me and me myself of flames under my skin
Their muse being the thick plants, their instruments the nectar and their breath of my demise the greens and blues
From the drum in a barrel comes the red that looks blue under the light and heats the tendons of what could be a metal giant
Under the helm, these voices dance in their prison, throwing bolts of lightning, igniting horrors only seen in darkness
From whence these calls came is unknown to the drones clad in blue green and white
I have only these calls to create words
My metal body holds strings of hellfire, leaking lava onto the Yggdrasil of white and touch
This lava turns bees to hornets that sting the branches in which they live when the sky turns to a kiln
Rivers that fall from the ceiling cannot soothe the hornets wrath.
I reach for the celestial lights, my metal hands crude, my fingers outreached. My metal hands. My metal body
That drum aches for a time when it was more than a beat. When it felt more than the emptiness
When it beat with the sound of laughter
I wade through galaxies of blue and green. My hands glide through the stars, feeling the life of each lifeless planet
My legs brush against the serpents of the nebula, baring their teeth, they pierce my metal legs with with fangs of supernovae
Their bright venom fills my body with light that soon becomes black and is ****** into the void of the drum
When I lay my head and close my eyes, nymphs speak to me in voices that leave when I realize them
I keep their messages in my head, unable to discern their warnings from the life inside of my mind
When I wake, I hear them, I remember their distant messages and say them to the rivers of green in the sky, with beds of bright stars
Sending them back to where they came from, telling the nymphs that because I am a metal giant
Does not mean I am not from their same earth
We all swallow our sins
I am no exception
I may be of this mother but I have taken the highest stairway, to the outside, only to see it's slopes flatten and others, reach past the clouds
A poem I wrote when I was younger. It details my mind as I was dealing with drugs, depression, isolation, insomnia and anxiety
I take light inspiration from the poem Kubla Khan
S Rose Sep 20
My heart, it bleeds.
My mind keeps sending
These thoughts never-ending
As if a train-wreck of infinite cars.
How can I ever clean this mess up?
Or invent thoughts so long?
Or the words to a song?
That my ears need.
Alice Sep 18
I am a wilting flower.
I am over-watered, hung heavy.
I am the blackish-blue in your eyes after a flash.  Splotchy, blinding, lacking clarity.
I am the looks you receive and the smiles you don’t when you enter a room
I am the ringing in your ears, the sharp alarm
of your eardrum dying.
I am the weight in your stomach, a cowbell sitting above your bladder.
I am the cold.
I am the frigid wind at 5 a.m. on a February morning.
I am the dark, suffocating, all-encompassing feeling of being smothered beneath a pillow.
I am the frostbite which makes your fingers swell and feel like needle jabs.
I am the exact-o knife against your skin.
I am the beads of blood.
I am the slice which opens up when you pull on my lips, revealing the muscle inside.
I am the wall which stares back as you sit staring.
I am the voice in your head which cycles over and over.
I am the rotten banana peel left on the lunch table for the janitor.
I am the wreaking garbage on your curb.
I am the abandoned wrapper everyone steps over but no one picks up.
I am the dried gum stuck to the sidewalk and under desks.
I am the drowsiness, the lack of concentration, the sadness.
I am the numbness, the lead in your limbs, the cramps in your back.
I am the constipation and the nausea.  
I am the headaches which press into your temples.
I am the thoughts and the quiet holding you to the bed.  
I am the used ****** left in the vineyard.
I am the empty roads and stoplights after dark.
I am the fist which clenches your heart.
I am the suffocation.
I am the loneliness.
I am the fear.
I am the self-hatred.
I am the weight.
I am the loss.
I am the spreading.
I am the increasing while you decrease.
I am the dark cloud.
I am the thunderstorm.
I am the heavy rain on your windshield on the highway.  I am the broken windshield wipers. you cannot see anymore.
I am the empty cavity in your chest.
I am the remembered, you are the forgotten. .
First poem in a small series I did a few years back.  Very sad and rather personal.  A few vague triggers, but please do not read if triggered easily!  Once again, if you in any way feel like this for an extended period of time, please seek help and I promise it gets better!
madameber Sep 15
for those days
when the world’s weight
lies heavy on your lungs
and the knots in your back
simply can’t be undone
by your tired fingers,
the aching lingers,
and your body can
go on no longer,
you mustn’t fret
you’re not to blame
for the demons
clutching to your frame
******* all your
energy away
you simply forgot
you were stronger.
their jabs, your pains
won’t keep you still,
witch, you were
born with iron will
your body may bleed
but they can’t ****
the spirit you hold inside.
focus, witch, and close your eyes,
concentrate on where the pain lies,
and use the power
you have at hand
your knots will unwind
at your command
the demons will flee
and your body shall be free
to leave the world’s weight behind
Bitchcraft.

the third spell
Lynx Ng Sep 15
no longer will i follow
creatures of convenience
trail of red petals
disguised as blood

though your name i cannot forget
regret
may haunt every line
i will etch it on paper

till the essence seeps into fibre
ink on paper
thoughts on soul
what i could give is never enough
Styles Sep 5
My mouth drooling;    
   I am feigning for her deliciousness;
    her fleshy fruit -- blooming in my mouth,
    spewing her milky nectar -- all over my tongue.
    I kneel before lapping at her hole;
thin pink lips
     parted by my fingers,
      praying on her weakness.
        feeding my desire;
                 as her body quivers beneath me
                   her swells flooded with satisfaction
Mohamed Nasir Aug 28
upon a branch a pair of doves sit
and doesn't bend the branch a bit

it doesn't for being light and easy
no cares weighted responsibility

be weighted by gravity pins us tie
to earth for we're not meant to fly

as human wears heavy the crown
of  ******* of  the appointed one

crooing on a branch the lovers sit
the branch they sit don't hurt a bit.
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