Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
She always knew that Oz was a one-time voyage
lasting until the red shoes dancing on and on
cracks the golden road, wears it to dirt dreams,
her tired legs collapsing into poppies fields,
pills, her voice singing on and on in the fall
until hoarse, silent and invisible.
She sings because she’s a mom.
She sings because she loves her children.
She sings because she adores the *** affection
of the Tin Pan Alley clubs that pays her
with fifteen tens in a white envelope.
Oz, now means living faded dreams in a small car,
fostering your children with your big house ex,
crashing with your ascending star older daughter,
the one with your voice, the great movie star legs
and that spells her name with a bold, wonderful Z—
living enough in her party to feel the gold dust
as you rub elbows with the famous that confuse you/her.
You live on your repartee, your “difficultness”,
the hunger in your soul that craves to be fed.
So, across the pond you fly to be fed by those
who know you only as a flicker of revival,
who can accommodate you in studio style,
until the pills, drink, the failures resurface
and they shun you in gentle niceties and quips.
Judy you were meant to travel better roads.
The Walk of Fame is not the total of your successes
but the shame of repeating your failures
until you are undone, for every star nova’s as it fades.
I've watched the movies of my ages,
Even those that were before,
I've read books of teenage feelings,
I've read about leprechauns.

The world has become an endless series,
The scenes repeat in every lore,
There's no book that could surprise me,
The same stories in every store.

My eyes are saying they are full of seeing,
They are replete of colours,
Even my mouth is fed of disagreeing,
They both wish to remain closed.

While my eyelids are feignedly sleeping,
While my lips are firmly closed,
The darkness is calling and appealing,
But the movie colours shout.

The films keep shooting everywhere,
Like an ever writing Molière,
But do the plays interest me more,
Or not seeing them anymore?
As the man on screen aims
His rifle towards the zombie's head,
I picture myself holding the pistol
To mine.
Tighten my finger over the cold trigger.
The popcorn in my microwave
And dust on the shelves
Are all that hits my ear.

I'm fighting the zombie.
The sunken eyed ghoul that
Haunts my mirror.
Doesn't really mean anything. Just wanted to write about something.
Shristy Sep 13
I wish i could sing
I always wanted to sing you a song.
I wish i could sing about our journey, our downfalls and our fears
I wish i could hum a tune so sweet, so sweet that even for a minute i wish it would take away the bittersweet ache eveytime you think about us
I wish i could sing about how your presence give me a sweet melody that keep my mind calm.
I just want you to hear
the symphony of emotions i go through when im with you

I noticed people who sung and made music have their life easier when it comes to love
Always wondered if i would get the same happy ending as the heartbroken guy who got his girl back when he clambered up onto the stage in a bar to sing a little karaoke for her
Always wondered if there's something about writing and singing a song to someone
Will they make them love you little more?
Why do they sing for them, when they don't even know if they will get the ending as they desire?
Does it get easier for them to atleast remember you?
but I can only write cheesy poems.
for you.
about you.
about us.
but i know a poem is no song.
Even If I write with the rhythm of my heart
it won't be remembered as much as it would if it was a song
because it's only words on a page
which don't unfortunately serenade
Starry Aug 30
As all for of the sisters died
Under their parents control
Strict by religion
They one by one **** them selves
To free themselves
But now remain earth bound
In their house
That once was a prison.
Peace of Westphalia


1a. This course is not beyond immediate learning

1b. Unless you believe that what God wills takes time

2. And this means only that you would rather delay the recognition that His Will is so

3. The holy instant is this instant and every instant

4. The one you want it to be it is

5.The one you would not have it be is lost to you

6. You must decide when it is

7. Delay it not

8a. For beyond the past and future

8b. Where you will NOT find it

8c. It stands in shimmering readiness for your acceptance

9. Yet you cannot bring it into glad awareness while you do not want it, for it holds the whole release from littleness
Cyan Aug 18
Medicinal mumbo jumbo
bungles through me,
takes the thoughts that once I’d got
and crumbles them
with circus sounds and sharpest smells,
over some sweet experience,
to pop into my mouth
as I sit in the reclining chairs
of cranial cinema.
Liz Alvarez Aug 8
I imagine to romanticize my life
I fantisize my drive to work as quirky and cute
My cup of tea is the best thing I've ever tasted
Wearisome tasks are now so compelling to do
Now I start to picture things in such a charming and beautiful way.
Darkness and heterodox philosophies clouded my mind for so long,
I almost forgot to admire goods and breathing trinkets.
Waking up and peaking in, would be the bright sunshine through the blinds
And my frizzed hair all over my face.
Through triumphs and trebulations
This is a film
About a girl
Viewing her life
As a studio ghibli film
Keiri Jul 30
Crawling into my layer.
Hungry for more.
Go ahead, make your prayer.
And beg your God t'ill you're sore.

For my eyes are drenching.
And there's a hole in my chest.
I'll always be watching.
Waiting, lurking to **** you my guest.

Blood will be drooping and clench
Into the screams that are made.
Covered by my sweet revenge,
Please let them be fooled by my façade.

And my eyes twitching hard.
Sore dry and red.
As it all gets discard.
When I'm not being fed.

My fingers scratching my face.
My mouth drooling with war.
And a lady in white lace.
Who had been stolen from far.

The typical muddy nails.
The well timed rhymes.
The screams that prevail.
The horror mirrors the dark times.

Oh, it's that cinematic feel,
Of when Dracula emerges.
The devil and his deal.
The night got so gorgious.

And the taste of the brains.
That are reaching my troat.
No more personal gains.
No more original quotes.

It's that creepy nights cough,
And a horror be feared.
As the jumpscare was just bluff.
Yet I thrilled as they dared.

It's that creepy night upon my eyes.
Big swollen black eyes on both sides.
Oh I know this is goodbye.
That alone I have abide.

It's the zombie feel when your eyes want to shut.
You're forcing you through this movie with fright.
With the creep, the witch or the nut.
Say goodbye to your sleep tonight.

For you won't sleep for a while anymore.
Oh the joys of a horror, making your eyes sore.
Yeah, I srsly made a poem about not being able to sleep, due to a horror movie, therefor becoming the horror myself.... enjoy.
Carl D'Souza Jul 21
A parent in a supermarket aisle
slaps her toddler hard and
the child screams in pain and shock.

A teenager walking along a busy street
drops the wrapper of his chocolate-bar
on the footpath.

A woman in a cinema-theatre
in the middle of the movie
calls on her mobile-phone
her son to tell him about the movie,
disturbing the other movie-watchers.

A man walking his dog along a street
takes his dog off the leash and
the dog barks aggressively and lunges
at frightened pedestrians.
Next page