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Francie Lynch Dec 2018
The most rhymed word
In the poetry world is
That reveals volumes about
Chase the chaos
embrace it
wrap both thighs around it
until it screams a name you recognise
and replies
with rhythmic fury
coursing through the contortions
spinning on carousels of shame and regret.
Dea Elizabeth Nov 2018
My first love was real love —
absolute, pure bliss.
An innocent lie,
but what good love story isn't?

My second love was **** —
passionate, destructive ****.
A hedonistic trip,
but what great love story isn't?

My third love was safe —
conventional, traditional safety.
A step back for feminism,
but what ****** love story is not?
jlf Oct 2018
for all the turbulence i sought
and sought
i was pretty good
i was so good

i battled through all the chaos
my kite was finally flying

but i snorted so much ritalin
my pupils are tar pits
and she calls me a hedonist but
i don't know what that means

i do know that
i fear neither death
nor consequence
you can treat me like your last meal
always at my most decadent

i remember i need to eat
then delete the thought
the only thing that sustains me is the rushing

by now
you should know that

it's all about me
we did the maths remember?
hypomania is like having low grade superpowers that you can't co-ordinate to do anything other than self destruct
Francie Lynch Nov 2018
As a young man in love,
I was selfish.
I walked with you,
I shared food,
I slept with you,
It was my insatiable thirst;
Desire, and
I needed to gulp it,
At any cost,
For survival.
Perhaps you felt likewise.
I didn't know.

Now, being older,
Which I do
Out of love,
I do for you.
William Maxwell Sep 2018
She's full of lavender kisses
Fond of purple lipstick
Eyes of sapphire riches
She's possessive and hedonistic
She is love.
When I look down I know
one world apart
from when I look up.

A world below, more reality
than what I've known of reality
through living since my birth.

One earth, two worlds,
splitting hairs,
scrambling airs,
creating errors,
chastising errs
so much
that nothing's

Living lies,
Blurring lines,
Up/Down --

It's not that I don't know
what's actually worth a ****.

It's that I see worth as a curse,
and would, rather than peace,
see ecstasy return me
into the breeze
as dirt.
Flip the switch.
begin again
with another face
another name.
look for similar
but never the same.
Your aptitude for scouting perfection
leaves targets out of sight.
Now I’m looking down a different barrel of abstraction
no time falsified
no idle hands clawing by
tracing the road maps
you never ventured.
With vanity bruised
ego dented
you circumnavigate fragility
searching for strength
trapped in a loop wondering
why fevers always run with a chill.
Lost May 2018
Your lips are spun with gold, they touch me in the softest spot, I cannot speak, you thread me in your love.

My eyes are filled with tears, I cannot breathe, your face is light, the heavenly will scream to me, they miss you dear.

For every angel falls, it loses hope, it gains the world, and gods will pine away, they miss your scented skin.

And every man will crave the silver touch, the kind of silk between your thighs, you taste like home.

Heart inside my throat, I swallow hard, my mind is caught within the web, within the strands of shinning hair.

Choke me ‘till I die, I’m just like them, a climb to heaven, drop to ****, my angel I must go and leave you in the dust.

For man can become ***, can climb the sky, can stand in stars, the moon his platter, sun you birth me in your perfect light.

Angel you have fallen, I have climbed, for heavens replace purity, they see the world as balanced in thine eyes.

In all my lives I live with you, I stand by you, I reach towards gods yet stood beside you in the past.

But now I see, the sky is clear, my path is here, a ladder of the galaxies, a chance to triumph, door to futures, key to worlds.

Man will fight and man will build, create a legacy, yes, rip apart the cry of femininity, he takes and builds his walls.

And I am he who sees his chance, who cries at last, my love, my angel, fragrant as you are, I leave your love behind.

I walk away, I climb the sky, I kiss your hair, your eyes, and see within your tears a world of emptiness and pain, but I am ***.
voodoo Apr 2018
What was it about omnipresence that appealed to me

so much that I destroyed myself -

one mountain at a time, one boundary at a time -

until the alarms stopped going off at breaches?

The magpies don't sing when they're sad, so what am I

when I laugh at myself for crying?

Who am I looking for when my pillows waft voiceless lullabies

from a bed half-empty? (half yours, half mine,

and I don't know which one's missing.)

What was it about hedonism that disgusted me

so much that my body rejected kindness -

every peace offering, every affectionate touch -

until it could no longer hold itself together?

Metaphors, like escaped prisoners, running for a life anywhere that isn't here,

anywhere that isn't me,

and I fold and break into myself

in muted, nondescript implosions.
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