Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
topacio 1d
your love was actually
just attention disguised.
& my reciprocation
was just the need
to feel admired.

your compassion
was just
little gifts of generosity
with an agenda,
and my acceptance
was just
a mere hope of
your possible change.
When I first caught glimpse
of that jimmy-rigged
thirst trap insta-photo
with your
bobbled head
leaning alongside
the lowest base note
piano keys
I considered you a
Madame Blavatsky
invoking with the guileless eyes of
a deceased Peter Tork
or the once-was heat
of
a David Cassidy
Also deceased
And I couldn’t help but notice
that your flame, if you will,
as his flame before you
was
OUT
Like the last embers of a campground fire in
Yosemite National Park.

That image read
more like David’s blousy
troll
twin brother
that lived in a basement somewhere
in the San Fernando Valley
and shoveled out
coal as if he was Cinderella.
Never to be allowed near a stringed instrument,
Nor a mic.
Nor an amp.
Not even the littlest sister’s Cowsills like
Tambourine.

Somewhere in the Dakota
in NYC
Westside
The witches try to concur.
Rosemary screamed
in a chocolate mouse stupor
“This is no teen dream of 1974!”
“What about the 60s?”
a naked old witch encircling her bed
inquired tentatively.

I know of  a tarot reader
Who warns of the malignant energies of a certain
Kimi Hendrix,
Jimi’s little brother
who plays the
banjo
and
masterbates excessively
and is not
a virtuoso.
Stay away from him.
He’s an imposter.
!

You could very well be absolutely mad
Which would explain
the kooky flirty-fishing
cultish
eyeball thing
but what’s the success rate
after all this
photography, I reckon?
Who would eat the bait
anyhow?
“You’d be surprised,” sneers another witch.
“Shaddup” snaps Castevet.

Once there was
this art dealer
also in NYC
who used to pass by you
heading south on
West Broadway
And if you stood on the sidewalk
Talking to whomever,
say,
for another
five minutes
Or
Let’s just say “eventually,”
not giving it a
specific time
His girlfriend would follow.
They were together you see?
She wasn’t late.
And that was way more than
one hundred paces.

It would appear
that in just one year’s time
or perhaps just a couple of months
Trapped in your household
With audio and visual stimulation of all permutations
keyboards
delivery services
and realtime isolation
Within a mise en abysme
of
trap upon trap upon trap
you’ve become perhaps
madder still.
Mercury in the lining
of the top-hat
mad.
“And who hasn’t?” asks that naked witch again.
I’d add that you’ve put on a few
Which a lot of people have done lately
No judgement
But I doubt you are baking a lot of
bread

And you look much older than you should.

So I wonder
How do you get to that vibratory chi
when you’re walled off like this?
Once you get to some of the real good good
you will look
so much better.
This quandary engages me
enough to indulge
a whirligig
into which I can incorporate
if I want to,
Courbet’s L’origin du monde,
the envy soaked
diamantine scowl of a
*****
and perpetually ignored roadie,
Vampires
And street-level prostitution.
It’s a crisis!

I would have thought
that you could just
draw it all
straight to you
Without actual fleshly contact
Seep it
through the stucco’d walls
Or down from
the ceiling,
quickly and upon demand.
Sub-molecularly.
No traffic and clean air make haste.
But no.
That’s not working right now is it?
Magician Reversed.
Avreen May 3
We stood on the flowerbeds
rooted in my ripe, velvet spine
We danced in waves of milky lilac,
the world was yours and mine.

For once, my mind was serene
although I heard a tiny whisper.
A whistle-blower distorted and mild;
I think you drowned her in the river,

Striking tapestries unscroll from your lips,
blindly shedding colours as the leaves fall
Lies were tucked snug under your tongue,
so was I, (it gets chilly after all),

You liked to pace ahead,
in a rush to build a promised fort.
I trudge behind you, stitching our skin-
a needle too dull, a thread too short

Thumbs hooked in my sunken stomach;
a snack for every time I strolled astray
but you were laced around my throat,
and so my hunger seemed to stay,

I drank from your stretched-out palms;
I waited for the day that it quenches me.
But a blade of grass in that barren patch,
is all that I will ever be

We went for these walks so often,
(I might as well have walked in all fours)
we danced in waves of milky lilac,
the world was only ever yours

                               a.r.
Meysa Apr 25
you tiptoe around them
as though they are museums
paintbrush in hand to dust their
egos
veil in hand to clothe their
insecurities
but tell me,
how do the exhibitionists serve you?
- the exhibitionist is a person who behaves in extravagant ways intended to attract attention, often a narcissist.
MeanAileen Mar 2017
YOU
YOU hurt me in ways
like no one else before,
cutting me deep-
right down to the core.

YOU beat me up
without lifting a hand,
reminding me exactly
where I stand.

YOU love to **** with me
building my hopes-
making me the ****
of all of your jokes.

YOU shove your money
and life in my face,
finding it funny
that my life's a disgrace.

YOU give me your love
just to rip it away-
an unworthy pawn
in the game you play.

YOU think that I'm ugly
I'm well aware,
to all the others
I just don't compare.

YOU treat me like I'm
a worthless ****,
barely good enough
for you to ****.

YOU boldly look me
straight in the eyes
and feed me so many
******* lies.

But please don't stop,
I love it this way!
Choking on every
cruel word you say....

For I am too spineless
to ever stand tall,
and I'd rather feel pain
then nothing at all.
I'm a sucker for punishment, I guess....
MeanAileen May 2018
This is not a love poem, my dear,
no....this is a poem of defeat.
To let you know you have won this war...
I give up....you have me beat.
I can no longer fight for your heart
while scraping my own from the floor.
I can't ask you to feel something you won't,
and I can't handle hurting much more.
Your will of disdain is so very strong,
it's one I just can not break.
I thought I was worthy, but I was wrong...
was dreaming, but now I'm awake.
I've been running a race I just can't win,
chasing what will never be mine.
And at some point I fell, head over heels...
now I'm just running on borrowed time.
I think I thought there was something more,
a real connection between you and I.
And I guess I thought you felt it too...
I swore I saw that same spark in your eye.
But I'm just a fool and you a joker,
roles we both play well.
So where does our charade go from here?
My guess would be straight to Hell...
Just a poem...
MeanAileen Sep 2019
~~
When that day is upon us
and we've run out of time,
when you tell me goodbye
and steal my sunshine...
After you break my heart
without a second thought,
leaving me in tears-
my stomach in a knot...
After you scar me with words
and call me a mistake,
after you shatter my world
leaving me to forsake...
After you walk out of my life
without ever looking back
on what we could've been
or on everything I lack...
Once you've used me all up,
after your final apogee...
I wonder, my dear,
will you still think of me?
~~~
Will you ever reminisce
on the moments we shared,
remembering me fondly
as one for which you cared?
Or will I haunt your dreams
at night as you rest,
plagued by emotions
you denied and repressed?
Will you be glad that I'm gone
and just let me disappear,
or will you yearn for my touch
and wish I was near?
Will a smile cross your face
when you picture my own,
or will it please you to know
that I'll be hurting alone?
Will you regret that night
when we first met,
or will it go down in history
as one you can't forget?
Will it break your heart too
as it will surely break mine,
when that day is upon us
and we've run out of time?
~~
It breaks my heart knowing there is no forever for us...
MeanAileen Jul 2018
It must be so nice
to be cold as ice
and live with a heart of stone.
No need to think twice
in a fools paradise
when your head is so overblown.

Existing so high
you can touch the sky
from your pillar of ivory and gold.
Everyday you lie
just to pacify
an ego which can't be controlled.

You don't play fair
nor do you care
who's heart you might break next.
Another sordid affair
caught in your snare,
treating women like they are objects.

You made love a joke
with vows you broke,
that golden ring is sure to rust.
One day you'll choke
on fallacies you spoke,
then your empire to fall to dust.

And looking down on all
like you're 12 feet tall
does not make you the bigger man.
Laughing as they fall,
watching them crawl,
forgetting where your own life began.

Just keep living in excess,
desperate to impress,
surround yourself with cool ****.
Cause what you possess
when dead from stress
in purgatory, won't matter one bit.
Ya...
Laura Apr 23
At first glance the pools of your eyes looked so deep
I lived, for a while, in fear of drowning
It wasn’t until I lay bleeding
After summoning the courage to jump
Into those still, clear waters
That I realised how wrong I had been
vonny Apr 13
the Terror was tall, the opposite of me

she growled out harsh, menacing truths

and spit at me with contempt

"nobody cares or gives any concern

towards your golden sadness trailing down your cheek

towards the frill and layers of emotion pouring from your pen

stop crying

stop writing."

she left me gritting my teeth and clenching my palms

but no tears would come

no words would come

the Terror had taken my weapon of sanity and destroyed it

which shattered me into ****** pieces on the ground
this was about fear that was instilled in me by one of my friends at the time, who was a narcissist.
Next page