Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Zoe Mae Jul 2021
Last I night I slept on your ceiling
It was the most ghastly feeling
to be looking down and watch you roll around with some other human being
Now when I'm in my own bed
I look up and see you instead
But I know you'd never sleep on my ceiling
Eyestrain my dull mind
as I wander through the village.
Wandering through memory, listening.

I pause and feel gravity, feeling it
as a loss of control
and for a moment this thrills me
as I lean back
and fall into it; I return home

and fall asleep, to dream
of simple human connection.

I enter a house, brought there by
a friend to make new acquaintances.
The ambience is party-like, lighthearted
but quite excitable. A mash of bootleg pop
pipes out the walls, I recall
elements of Diving Faces by Liquid Child
interspersed with strange rāga leads.
My friend and I relax, lying side-by-side
as if resting. Tentative kiss, and I kiss back
before waking to that

fading sensation. I lay there for a time, hoping
this vivid hypnopompia
would just go on.
Didn't want to lose, a moment
I wrote, what strange fate cast some satisfaction was real enough.
-elixir- Sep 2020
Hops and giggles echo in my mind
as I tread towards my inner self,
I take off my clothes that once
hid me.
I become the source of childish giggles,
as I run around the eternal fire of youth
that flush the wilted lilies with life
once again.
My hair's entwined with the scent of jasmines
that cleanses my lungs of the storms,
that once posed as my inevitable
natural calamity.
aush g Apr 2020
nodus tollens- the realization that the "it" of your life doesn’t make sense to you anymore

you call me your butterfly;
your little butterfly child
with my weak bones,
weak skin
and a weak heart.

you call me your butterfly
and my head fills with honey; you say you love me.
you call me your butterfly
and suddenly i can’t help but melting
when you look into my eyes.
you call me your butterfly
and suddenly i want you to be mine
till our wings become soft and dissipate in the warm winds.
you call me your butterfly
and say we are going to fly around the world
to see the black sky paradises
and the nightshade blues.
and all of the other hues.
you say that even in death
our love will last forever.
you said that when you called me your butterfly child.

tell me i’m yours when we are all alone
and maybe i’ll tell you you’re mine.
tell me you love me when i rest my head on your chest.
and maybe i’ll tell you i love you too
tell me you need me when you run your hands through my hair
while we lay in bed for the last time
and maybe i’ll need you just as much.
tell me you want me when you look into my eyes
and maybe i’ll tell you i want you just as much.

butterflies don’t say maybe
and neither do i.
i’ll call you mine when we are alone.
i’ll tell you i love you when i rest my head on your chest;
feeling every one of your heartbeats and breaths.
i’ll tell you i need you when you play with my hair;
the smell of you lingers in my hair
as i lay in bed dreaming of all of our time together.
i’ll tell you i want you when i look into your eyes;
for when i look into your eyes
the wind stops blowing
the sun stops shining
and my mind stops thinking.

if you have to fly away that’s okay
if know we promised to stay
but sometimes is rains when it’s not supposed to
and sometimes we pull flowers out of the ground
just to see them die and change
so i understand if the wind is going to blow you in a different direction
but don’t forget about the days where we chased the sun
and ended up talking to the moon
and don’t forget about the picture-perfect memories
where our smiles looked so big
that no one would have guessed that we were not happy
and don’t forget about all the nights we laid awake
talking about the plans we had for ourselves
and the plans we made together
and don’t forget about every shock
that you felt when my skin brushed up against yours.

you are my butterfly.
eventually, we will come together and fly.
for now, you can visit the black sky paradise
and the nightshade blues
and i’ll come one day
and be with
‘Not allowed to speak.
Not allowed to die.
Now allowed to be angry.
Not allowed to desire.
Are we allowed to at least remember? “

--Dedicated to a truth teller- Dr. WL.L

I. Tears
Isn’t the voice too fragile to alarm?
the breaths within that death room, countless,
cornered. Surrounded. Lost.

Armful of mystique shrouded in gloom.
Can we all hear the drops?
diamonds tears clink and bounces. 

The fatal seashores wrapped cries.
Where an uninhabited hero lost his life.
Tragedy that the height you fell from was meteoric.

II­. Truth
He expected a thunderstorm.
He had no other choice

Excep­t that isolated island- away from the maddening world.
Except tho­se wild thorns

He was nurtured and became a solo star
He was like a diamond among the stones

Paranoid by his determination
Why fatherly fate sent him to such a hell like mission.

III. Wonders

The winds chanted a loud symphony of sorrow.
Where Dr.WL. L with a conscience, uninhabited hero …
Who would reject the sample-evil has triumphed over the good
Why the truth sunk into dead sea swirls?

He was hopeless and looked down upon.
Stormy roars, over a babble of voices.
One truth teller doctor passed away.
Thousands of eyes full of tears.

Tranquil island, berried a brave soul
Shouting for the devotion
Smashing the majestic power
Who shall turn an isolated island into a beautiful heaven?
Dedication to a truth teller who discovered Coronavirus at late December, 2019, and been unfairly treated.
svdgrl Dec 2019
Succulents and decor,
Meticulous cleaning, more friends.
Swiping crazy on tinder,
Online shopping, expensive skincare
Ruminating on what was once there sitting,
In suspended reality.
Where were the parents? That child is
dead now.
Locked in a haze, trying to forget
What a let down we’ve become.
That’s just how it can be.
****, that really blows.
What you thought was flush,
could just be bust.
Watching Disney + shows,
Toes the color of a mood.
Brooding about the future,
And saving the cash.
Cooking up and meal prep,
A meditation streak
you’re scared to break.
Excessive napping and
rubbing ten out on Sunday.
Dealing with small men,
eating like a champion,
taking a bath with an enemy
then do it again.
Avoiding all your frequents,
Picking up your phone calls,
singing Doja lyrics in a commute.
Drinking away the anxiety,
Staring at the tv,
Covered in twenty Sherpa-
You’re gone and I want to stay high
But I’m settled in an empty room
with self care books
I hope this time it’s a womb and
not a coffin.
Colm Sep 2019
You bade me come
Like blades of grass and shields of rye

Like wind in mountain meadows past
Like sun and moon and sky

Your hand outstretched a breath from mine
Midst mire known to sink

I reached
And took you in with a sight so deep

You bade me come alive
This one started with a sound, which lead to a sight, which lead to a question, and ultimately brought me here. THAT is how this came to be.
Marco Carlos Aug 2019
I feel trapped in my own mind sometimes,
A mind of four walls.
These four walls mock me,
making a cell of 176 mm length and a width of 145 mm.
I’ve grown to see it change.

At first it was a collage with the upmost potential,
With plenty of space to be filled.
As years went, the cell learned,
Like a bucket collecting rain drops,
Under a cracked ceiling,
One idea after the other entered.
I can only hear the echoes of my own voice here,
No one else can hear the screams,
laughs and everything in between.
No one can help save me,
nor join me,
in this cell.
I feel it observing me from the deepest hallows,
of my subconscious,
Grinning at me and my meagre existence.

I greet the sun, through the barred window,
Every once and a while.
For those moment’s I am not imprisoned,
I am free as the wind and the birds that glide upon it.
But always,
The bucket over-flows,
I drown to awake.
It can’t be escaped and
With every attempt to,
It always find a way,
To tame, subjugate and leave me in submission.

I realise I am the door that separates me from my desires
and ambitions.
The concrete and steel, are figments of ones own
Somewhere within, there is a key.
When found, I shall take it and run,
never to return,
to this cell of mine.
A journey through my conscious, if you will.
Next page