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fatdogz 23h
Last Winter,
the coldest place to be
was perched upon that balcony,
testing the frigid air.
You could find me overlooking there.
Watching my breath linger, then fade,
the figures of people walking away.
Expanding with strides unbroken,
their anachronistic spots of motion.
Fervent still-lives swapping each second,
flashing, their haystack destinies beckon.
Each step they continue, each foot they shrink,
"tiny infinities" I like to think.
Again, my old listless demon calls,
and the day's porcelain sky begins its fall.
A thin coat, a chimeric chair,
you could find me overlooking there.
With hands loafing, catching snow,
I'm pretending I'm not below.
Written to unwind after a stressful day, thinking about willful ignorance and avoidance, and about how it's about time to grow up and stop doing all that.
something about you. something about october
the dried up leaves and the way everything feels quiet
in the middle of the day
like living inside of a vhs tape that hasn't been rewound
in a decade or two
makes me want to start visiting the cemetery
make friends with the forgotten
when we ended up walking the dogs there on accident
it felt like coming home
i'll bring my books and a bag of dried cherries, peanut butter
bars of dark chocolate wrapped in gold foil, sunflower seeds
the nightstand with the warped wooden drawer
that's always getting stuck
where i keep the half-melted birthday candles
and a box of matches, just in case
prop my pillow up against a headstone
read vonnegut until i fall asleep
grow closer to death until it doesn't scare me anymore
i used to think ghosts lived in mausoleums but now i know
they live inside of a twenty-four-year-old who watches
the same vampire movie every time it rains
just to feel safe inside the familiarity of the past
i'm still the twelve-year-old girl
just waiting for something to happen to her
i burn my skin in the shower just to feel less alone
Blue 5d
o' to look back                  
                  
upon this particular highway, marred

and battered                    
                  
but picturesque with all of its genuine

roadside charms                    
                  
of girls lost with their dancing flowers

within ruffian arms... or all those places

that change your character's wages
    
..... yeah... you know the ones...                    

we've all been there,                    
                  
driving along to that particular song

letting the breeze                    
                  
tickle those baby hairs just so,  

ohhhh—                  
                  
that ******* cool flow                  

ya, know?...yeah, you definitely know.

'highway hypnosis'                    
                  
is what we all called it whenever the

the haze                    
                  
grew and it Grew and it GREW    
    
The calming night skies              
              
together we'd ride                    
                  
it permeates,                
              
dissolving all those year's pains          
          
         ...  finally          
          
at last,          
          
it's now but an echo          
        
from my weirdly wandering        
      
             ....past.
.... a long drive of attempted absolution
In a world full of escape,
Too less to say, too much to ape

We are too quick to act
But no time to check fact

Is it about freedom or greed
Or just part of another breed?

Maybe its time to look back
Than forward

Introspect, even if they
Call you a coward

Till then, be in your own bubble
For outside is full of hateful rubble
Hammad Oct 7
Watch your step
at the crossroad of desires and greed
It's the place
Where many stumble  
and change their course...
Slime-God Oct 4
King of the goblins.
How contends your pallid throne?
Was it worth your dreams?
This one's about me :)
Henri Coetzee Sep 21
He placed his heart on the anvil
And picked up his hammer
He hesitated less than a second
Before he brought it down.

The first hit was bitterness
For life had not gone his way.
The second hit was cynicism
For no one ever cared beyond themselves.

The third and final hit was hatred
For love had betrayed him
And in its absence, he realized
Hate never broke his heart.

He returned his heart to his chest
And a bitter, hateful cynic said:
Emotions are for the weak
As a tear fell down his face.
A little poem I wrote a few weeks back
Slime-God Sep 18
Procrastination...
To sit upon my duty,
or finally act?
you ever get stuck doing nothing because it *feels* like something?
i am a sort of — uh well
do i remind of the winter solstice?
manufactured authenticity, painting
calculated legacies, circular stride
holding binoculars
and gazing from night to night
all the while i live
in my beautiful pinhole

sight, herald of wounds
rinse, rinse, rinse in red scrutiny;
scour down to my finest bones
and remember, and see.
do not ask me
who i am or who i've been
i am but here before you
on display.

carry me from the rack (careful!)
i want you to hold these edges
bring me close,
kiss with eyes blinding—
read the script, can you,
of straying photons?
it is where i am.

you nemesis of time,
carry on, won't you?
let the mark fill out my jigsaw
for this room is dark.
but please, no summer solstice
— it will burn.
it will burn
— the texture that is me.
a photo is but a scarred piece of film.
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