III Dec 2018
Never more have I wished
     For paper thin walls

Plaster white only rivaled
     By your porcelain pale skin

If not only to serve
     As some grand, seeing canvas,

Littered with words of our
     Half drunken slurs

And cozy expressions of love
     In a night yearning to stretch longer,

For if those walls could tell the tales
     Of our exploits through and through,

I'd trace them up, cut them out,
     And frame my adoration for you.
Wynn H Sep 2018
The wallet's dry
& the bank's floors
           are cracked like
the sahara desert plain,
as tumbleweed rolls on by...

[a distant 80's tune playing sumwhere]

I'm on the road to nowhere,
getting suckt down
by dry dusty quicksand.
as a lizard scurries off
               in the distance
leaving dissapearing tracks
on the fading sand...

Stuck in hotel namaqua
I can check out anytime I want,
but i can never leave...

Dust on the ceiling
Black label on ice,
evry1 seems to be prisoners here
of their own device.
No-ones got enuff money
to give some good advice,
Just put ur head down
tell the captain to get more ice,
Busy ******* over the receptionist
to show me the way [out],
A free pass is all i need
to **** this beast
they continuosly feed

10.11.2009
Madelynn Nieves Sep 2018
White walls
In a hotel room
Sharing everything
Blind faith
Collapsing in passion
Attempting to escape
Lies
Life
Finding our place
Between the shadows
Of inescapable disaster
Forbidden thoughts
Invade my present tense
As the weather changes
And the summer
Gives way to fall
I fall
Slipping back
Into a mindset
Where I feel you
Throughout my being
My better mind, fleeing
Shadow Dragon Aug 2018
You left me in the dark
just for me to know
I was in the shadow too.

After all I'm not surprised
I recognize
you must carry on.

Now that the thunder starts
I might let you know
that you could have done better.

I said things I shouldn't
and didn't say other things
that I should have.

I don't know if I feel relieved
or sad in a way that makes me
go to the heartbreak hotel.
Gray Jun 2018
I climbed into my car and bid farewell,
For i was off to go to some old hotel.
After several hours of nonstop driving,
I became closer and closer to arriving.
Even though the trip fueled my boiling frustration,
I finally reached my desired destination.
I got into my room, and jumped into my freshly cleaned bed.
Yet for some reason my mind has some built up dread.
Deep deep down i know there’s something i simply cannot deny,
Which is at some point i’ll have to man up and say goodbye.
Mari May 2018
We check
into a hotel room:
"Let's talk"

                     doesn't come into it
                when leaving work
           before the light does means:
      "Let's get out of here."  


Emerging
                             from The Underground

         buffing my fingertips along the red brick,
              I reflect: no wonder
                   we tear our clothes.

              The door clicks:
         "Come in."

     There were guns behind the curtains
          but I saw
               a chance at
                                                             fre­edom


so I ran.
I suppose it's about love at all costs. Love for yourself.
It was today I know I had
reglown a sparkle dimmed
dimmed a frightened dormouse
the frightened dormouse
wearing a mane has begun
the trick to become a lion

practising the self like arpeggios
slipping up on that one note
that one note which rings true
like a fact then the next
slips like a truth which is
history slips like a truth
called history and written in books
which are called true

I sat polished skin like wooden floor
knowing you were thinking
of me and knowing you were
thinking of me maybe willingly made
me glow like the way if you gaze into
a painting long enough the colours glaze
the eyes phosphorescently

Meandering through texts which
give all the answers and none
and take away much more
after the explosion of
letters and words and
noise and traditional orders
of words de-institutionalised
word orders which roam
maverick released from
the prisons the asylums
the phantoms of meaning
phantoms that beat the
old drums again and again
till even the ground aches and
rumbles and trembles with
trepidation we are not so
brave as the ground


I wrote a very long poem on 17th March 2017 after I got back from the bar feeling full of energy to write something (the bar is mentioned in later part of poem). It's in a total stream of consciousness and forced myself not to use punctuation. I edited a couple of things out on here but apart from that left it mostly intact (but separating it into sections so it's digestible). It's a bit of a mad one as I just let my mind ramble.
anya May 2018
i sometimes wonder how many stories of love there are that are hidden behind locked doors.

behind locked doors, under blankets, above messy bed sheets,

or behind locked doors, alone on living rooms, bleeding through paper.
—it is all the same.
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