Poetic T Dec 2017
Within a casket of echoes
does the mirage of
      truth become stained
into a conciseness of delusions.
                 But still they are slaves..

Altercations of past inclinations
that merit, reflection of
                          misguided minds.
But with no morals they digress,
      standing on illusions of nothingness.

Where another doesn't tread,
                      fed to others delusions
of negativities prompting lies upon
lie with no merit only golden goblets
drinking upon the weakness of others.
his words are black and red and vomit green
his train of thought's route's picturesque --
but utterly obscene
i know nothing's drawn him to me
beyond pairs of scarlet cheeks and 34Ds

the opportunist strikes; sniffing out and scouting
the internal court case of "when the moment's right"
vs "who else could possibly want me?"

innocence and uncharted thighs
the rarity of a body that might not say 'no'
and maybe i'm a cock-tease for leaping to my senses
but quite frankly, he'll always be a toad
shoutout to Those Dudes™ whose come-ons i almost can't reject because it simultaneously makes my skin crawl and is mildly gratifying. welcome to adolescence and not being used to sexual attention because you grew up unattractive and bordering on obese
Hal Jul 2017
Do not confuse attention with affection my dear, that boy would just as soon leave you as he would hold your hand.
-you think love is acknowledgement, and that is why your heart aches so immensely
Saint Audrey Mar 2017
I used to use a magic mirror to self validate
but it took me far too long
to find that the self hate
had found its orgins elsewhere
Somewhere not so skin deep
And so it makes it quite a struggle
to search out soulfull sleep

But after all the praise was gone
I finally came to admit
Perfection had long since taken me
and was walking in my skin

It was my skin that became
all the home i had to live in

To wit
I ended up on the edge of my own identity
selling my last shred of dignity for some quick fix
A few creepy half glances
I was blind to second chances

Ignorant out of will or spite
either way, i wasnt right


In the subconscious
ignorance may be bliss
but I was too ham fisted
And once I added a slice of lonliness
It cut right through the seam
To find the corpse of happiness

And i near missed it

Or at least i thought i did

Its like an old adage i heard once
You dont know what youve lost till youve had to replace it and you cant find the basics anywhere inside you,
so with nothing left to define
you just give up and go back to hide

Or something like that
Yeah, it's pretty much my thoughts about self image
Luminosity Cat Nov 2016
A moonlit era of unspoken passion that faintly echoes into day
collapse into an eclipse as burning bridges lay.

Misguided trust of secrets echoed while the moon was at bay
rips into the mindless flesh and terror soul as burning bridges lay.

They foretold the truth that should unfold as they speak  their say
scared little child as truth unfolds and burning bridge lay.
Here is to the people who can't keep their mouth shut, and hurts you with the truth.
Joel Hayward Apr 2016
A caliph trembles at the sound of aircraft
like a dachshund beaten too much while
his pack snap and bite and cock their legs
to pee on a better world

Their state is a chewed thighbone
covered in flies yet they mint coins
in gold and silver and praise God as they
throw effeminate teenagers off rooftops

A Turkish fisherman with a large shoe
stuffs cash into a pregnant pocket
and crams frightened souls into the shoe
which sinks on the horizon like the sun

Assassins have the crescent moon
in their left hands dirty pictures
on their phones and tight vests
leaking lava

She searched for tips on eyeliner
the day she erupted as a volcano
leaving her sheer blouse to mourn
at home on the ironing board

The world has become as mad
as Napoleon in stiletto heels
cross-legged on the back
of a tortoise singing Hey Jude
(c) Copyright J S A Hayward 2016
M G Hsieh Mar 2016
i am a passenger
free to roam on the east sides
of redundancy and table manners

flower markets thrive on dawn skies
arranged as tourist spots
the baker's fair selling eggshells
cracked on cobblestone soup
meatpies sold out too soon
appleseeds scattered for birds

i sweep them all up
and see patterns grow on my skin

let it not be said i did not try, i did not do
for too soon the the heat covers the shade as well
and not even the acacia can go without thirst

fill my cup with honeydew milk
and add bittergourd and salt

i can let philistine warriors come from the backroads
and enter the frontlines
if only to join you
hazel Nov 2015
Voices rang in her head as if trying to communicate that something had been lacking for such a substantial time that she no longer saw it as lacking but as the normality that it served in her life.
She became accustomed to the constant lacking of sustainability that it served as nothing but a blanket of sheer comfort to her being.
Uncertainty was the one certain correlation between holding on and feeling fulfillment because it was the only common trait anyone had ever presented at the doorstep of truth she held so dearly to her heart.
She became fixed on it - searching for the ability to communicate emotion and more so the constant question of whether or not her invested time had been to them what it was to her ever longing, love struck, wanderlust soul.
Was she a fool or was she holding onto the parts of those around her that even they failed to recognize exist?
Foolish or foreseeing?
She had yet to decipher the difference and had but the slightest clue as to if she ever would, and that served as comfort to her misguided heart.
Written July 2015
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