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dancing in the deep down
dramatic, lulling lays
of Lana Del Rey—

a quill on its snow-white
then tainted-black ground
and a flooded, brimful head
on its space—

till the airhead wakes and
weeps and wails.
A late post here, gotta admit that I still feel frustrated and mad at myself that I am unable to write lots like some of my friends. They are able to write long, gorgeous pieces even from the simplest of words.
Jade Bartlett Jan 17
Sometimes,
I imagine I'm some
mourning starlet
who sings Lana Del Rey
at the club
every Saturday night.

A honeyed halo of stage light
tangles itself about
the curled labyrinth
of my hair,
sparkles gold against
my tearing irises.

My mouth parts
and the war cries begin.

In the moments that
the melody offers
my voice repose,
I pound shots to the beat
of the drummer's ramblings.

The crowd applauds
my tipsiness,
their hoots of praise
shaking at the depths
of my eardrums
like an intoxicated tambourine.

My neuroticism
fascinates these people,
I think.

Not in an
exploitive,
let's-glamourize-depression
kind of way,
but in an
it is a truth universally acknowledged
kind of way--in a
"*******, cuz I've been there too"
kind of way.

See,
within my little,
concocted fantasy
of stage light
and music
and *****,
the people don't judge me
the way they do
on the outside.

Here,
I am not
melodramatic or
overly sensitive or
disposable.

Here,
my war cries sound
a little less
like death and
a little more
like poetry.

Here,
they love me
in spite of the sadness.

Here,
we share a song--
here,
they sing with me.
Don't be a stranger--check out my blog!

jadefbartlett.wixsite.com/tickledpurple

(P.S. Use a computer to ensure an optimal reading experience)
Ceyhun Mahi Apr 2018
You used to be a lamp to nightly eyes,
       You are a star right now,
You used to be a rose so fine and nice,
        Where is that flower-brow?
You have become a woman, proud and pretty,
        Just like a crownless queen,
I cannot blame your growth and change and ties,
        You never had a vow.
A modified ruba'i. I had seen this form in a divan (collected poems) of an Ottoman poet once. I was inspired by Lana Del Rey and her older self as Lizzy Grant.
Jade Bartlett Feb 2018
You think the night

is beautiful,

with her endless

cascade of stars and

the way she wears the clouds

so seductively--

billowing wisps of froth

that adhere to her frame

like a silk negligee,

their mere existence

dependent solely upon

the curves of her body.



She's the girl next door;

the one who keeps you up at night,

the woman you want to undress.



You admire her

for her quiet,

for her stillness.



You worship her,

for she is the keeper

of both dreams and wishes



But I am afraid

you have mistaken her mournings

for loveliness.



What you thought were stars

are really tears,

molten pearls of silver

whose painful scorches

have blemished the

velveteen shadows

of the night.



And the clouds are not truly clouds

but ringlets of cigarette smoke

that arise from her

chapped, wine-stained lips,

imposing onto the air a heavy smog that

sputters throughout the blackness.



Sometimes,

she will sing,

her symphonies chaperoned by

the melancholy of Ursa Minor.



"I heard that you like 

the bad girls, honey. 

Is that true?"



The vibrato of her voice

ricochets off the

planes of the universe.

"A fine performance!"

they cheer.

(for someone who is

so unfathomably sad).



The Gods

say she is a warped record,

a label that is dictated,

not by her pitch,

but by her broken heart.



And you will listen

to her anyway;

for she will put you

to sleep with her lullabies

whose sorrow you have

failed to acknowledge--

a sorrow you have mistaken

for beauty.



But, then, perhaps you had known

of her sorrow all along.



Perhaps that was what

had captivated

you in the first place.



After all,

dark minds think alike.
"I heard that you like the bad girls, honey. Is that true?" --Lana Del Rey
Shelley-May Jan 2018
I don't want to continue.
I feel I lack the strength
For many reasons that weigh
Heavy on my chest.

Constricting my breathing of this life.
Ceyhun Mahi Jul 2017
Upon the waves there's being surfed,
And at cafes delights are served,
While the orange sun shares a ray,
At the end of the glowing day.

A summertime sadness and glee,
Is played alongside of the sea,
Who is rosy, pink as the sky,
As the beautiful waves pass by.
With some references to Lana Del Rey.
Katarina May 2017
Lace my waist
Until I can no longer breathe
My sweet darling
Your fevered skin burns
As sweet as the most sickly candy

And I hold my bones

And you softly, gently,
**** me a little more
Each time that your ***** blue lips
Graze my porcelain skin
And you stop breathing

Just for a while

And the snow drips in my throat
Even then,
I feel nothing.
Your narcotic dove, a hand on her neck
And her soul remains

Empty
Ana Jan 2017
I Remember how the party was clear as day
Sneaking out and looking to fade away
Lighting a cigarette with red wine
(Pabst Blue Ribbon on ice)
Sweet sixteen and she had arrive
Fixing her dress as she whispered hi, hi
Never knew how she made it so far
Teachers said she'd never make it out alive
There she was my new best friend
casual smoke filled the festive air
While she starts to laugh, holding her shaded lipstick in her other hand
Oh Ana, how I love those guys
Ceyhun Mahi Dec 2016
You used to be a silent night,
Who was off from success afar.
But now that you are shining bright,
You have become a famous star.
Ana Jul 2016
God I'm so crazy, baby, I'm sorry that I'm misbehaving
I'll be a good little girl don't you worry about it, just knock me down and kiss me more. I'm your  little cherry blossom, embosom, your little play toy
Kiss my innocence away
I'm raisin **** today
sorry 'bout it!
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