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Roxxanna Kurtz Feb 2015
You give me premature ventricular contractions.
---

You touch me like a melody;
playing my skin like a silent song.
With your finger prints across my ribs,
and lyrics pressed between our lips,
I can feel you in my blood.
Noandy Feb 2015
I say;

The drifting rain dissolves sea salt
Turning tears into dangled monsoon
Under the bleak ballad of dying dawn
Where I long for heat unbroken

You say;

The drifting rain drenches my tiptoe
Witching smiles into deranged equinox
Upon the downpour of ancient daybreak
Where I pray for old snow long sunk

All was as if the days faded
And morphed into younger sunset
It was as if mercy was drained
And no one preach as desired

The downpour stench though remains constant
Of rotting perfume of the rouge graphite
You drowsily drip from dowsing fingers, they lit
Into pages of burning, dancing melodious lads

As will, you may keep those imageries for you
And give up old stories as my slumber lyre
Whether it is about the burnt down marching boy
Or the bloodstained pianist from our ancient joy

For the bleak heart aesthetic
has affected a new kind of love
And the bleak heart aesthetic
would never let you feel so certain

So please keep your drifting rain of strings
During the downpour of the deranged equinox
When the snow goes black and slowly sunk
Into pages of firespit melodious lads
Caitlin Skye Feb 2015
There is a melody playing in my soul.
The kind that melts the heart with an intense euphoria:
Devoid of despondency and misery-
And it makes my heart sing.

Like our lungs need air,
And like the sun needs the universe,
*I need you.
Bursting out of me,
like waves,
crahing against a distant shore,
my voice cascades wildly;
trilling and thrilling,
as it enraptures
and captures
the emotion of the tale yet to come.
Warbling,
and wavering,
the story unfolds-
a love concrete,
a life complete,
while time doth fleet,
and flitter away.
My passionate notes startle
the birds nearby,
silencing thier meager attempts
at music.
I am no virtuoso,
no child prodigy;
but the raw power
of my heart unrestrained
will put feathered tails
to the north
at the sound of my soul unleashed.
I sing;
not a question
or doubt
in my mind-
there is no audience to impress,
no friends to shame me into awkward silence.
I sing,
because I must release the fluttering creation
caged inside my soul;
unaltered,
it must emerge to outshine the stars,
to chase away the shadows that linger
in a waking mind.
I might offend with my noise,
my off notes,
and slaughtered choruses,
my silly screeching
that grates upon the ears;
but I am merely a vessel
containing these words and emotions,
unfortunately unequipped to perform justice
to these thoughts trapped within.
I sing
to empty myself
of these creative burdens,
these ideas that have a life of thier own
straining and pushing
to escape the walls that hold them here inside.
I sing-
because I can.
I feel thee in dreams
In Reality,
Thee don't come
So I build Statues
But could not give Life

Who are thee?
As if thee are known to my birth and beyond
Saw thee at the sea Frenzy,
Thee at the mysteries of,
As if Touching fortune to write on for an unfortunate

I don't know thee name
Called thee as in the most desire
One day when I was traveling on a Train
Felt thee existence in a wide range of forms across the Edge
At Sunset over the horizon in Seclusion

Felt thee at the Harvest
In the Harvest Festival
Swinging in the air at the Yellow Barren Fields,
In the melody tune of a Cowboy's Flute

In the Huts,
Paths,
Stations
and the Meadows

Thee in my Mother's Words
In the prayers beneath the Banyan
Felt thee in the White Stork Feathers
Sometimes in the Sleepless Dreams
In my Words of Thirst

@Musfiq us shaleheen
As I Feel Thee/
Abigail B Jan 2015
The music plays,
The melody reverberates,
And the melancholy tune
Fills my mind.
The artist sings of
Lust, laughter, and loyalty
And I have trouble relating.

I have always said
And always believed
That I would never see
Or find
Or feel
The love in this world.

But as I sit here,
Notebook in hand,
Music in my ears,
And You in my mind,
I am no longer concerned,
And everything seems
Alright.

I have never been
An emotional person.
I have never been
Filled with a burning desire
To achieve a true passion
Or dreamed
Of something sensational.
I have never fallen
From such a great height
Only to be caught
By surprise.

Yet I can’t help
To think
Of what might be,
Of what could have been.
I can’t help
But think
Of You.

As my vessel lays still,
As my eyes shiver into
Peaceful relaxation,
My mind escapes
To a brighter time
Behind us
When we used to talk
And laugh
And create our own melody.


My mind,
It runs away from me
And plays its own song
Of regret and remorse
For my stupidity,
My hesitation
And misplaced lust.

I have never been
An emotional person
Yet here I am,
Writing out my words,
My torments,
My troubles,
In the most romanticized
Form of art.

I have never been
An emotional person
But I have never been
More
Emotional.
Brittle Bird Jan 2015
My hands weren’t sweating when I said it.
                    I will never write a love song.
It never seemed like anyone could see
past the pink
                swirly
                       fogging their eyes.

   How pathetic.

But cheerios get soggy
when I look away this long
and I wrote my first melody
because of your swirly eyes.

   They’re so much darker,
                 like rotted leaves.


And second,
                third,
(voice cracking, echoing)
      my fingertips
are splitting over these strings.

Fourth-
palpating vibrations killing the me
I’d thought furthest through.
I swear,
I wont crack as hard this time, but-

I can’t tie my shoelaces
without tearing flower petals,
so I walk around stumbling,

falling
into pretty girls.
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