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Ackerrman Sep 18
Blood-rich, vibrant, swirling petals dance, swing
Around breezes, tremble petulantly,
Feeling power course: green heartfelt stems sing,
Wearing thorn-mail, blazon, nonchalantly.
Cruel thoughts drift timidly toward the wood,
Shady under-shadows conceal pollen,
Ash bees sing the Roses’ song- Ruby food
Feeding volcanic hearts, single chronons
Bounce between young cupid’s glass heart garden,
Dream half coloured mirage: Wood-Nirvana.
Water drips and sputters, flower haven
Calls from woodlands as Father to Maiden,
Calling gently to sail, meander home.
Rest safe in the halls of horticulture.
Eat my heart out
You practice non-attachment
Yet you  wouldn't want to do
Without water.
You let water own you like a lotus leaf
You allow it to hold you in its never ending cul-de-sac
Flowing between the total bliss of nirvana
And the joy of samsara.
You practice non-attachment to desire
Yet you're wanting
Desiring
Craving
Water. Ponds. Lakes. Streams. Seas
Your thirst is inextinguishable
Wild awake rain
And as you drink that unquenchable flood
Your lips are watering springs,
Sipping fountains of primordial tears.
Was the last straw
The final
Golden
Star
Put
Out too
Early for
The heavens to bear

Any longer

He and Amy
John and John
Freddie
Kurt
Chester

Bob

They
Crashed through
The

Gates of Hell
Back
To torment

The Walking
Dead
Amongst Us

I hear it
Everywhere
I am

So
*******
Haunted
Right now
I

Can't
Not
Write
Ghosts
M C Jul 31
Oops,
I've sprung a leak.
Eyes stare on in disbelief
while the soul seeps; loose fluids leave.
The high is passed the peak.
Senses ascend to heaven and hear Myself speak.
The body is numb.
Arriving
to find passion is gone.
Self-destruction to atone.
You found me
stuck staring
at rearview mirror reflections
of wintry, dusk intersections
of everything leaving me
all at once.
A forced exhale
of asphyxia caged
in collapsing lungs;
my mouth,
a fountain spring,
that coughed out
pools of blood.

I wish I saw myself
the way you saw me;
not a red traffic light
wounding speeding cars
on winding streets,
but an antique heirloom
priceless enough
you'd only wish
you could keep
in a heart-shaped box
you saw in dreams.

But, I'd cut my tongue,
paint my lips cherry shades
to blend with cells that'd stain
handkerchiefs you'd offer.
Make you believe
this isn't going to foster
because you are indecision,
unfinished watercolor landscapes
of summer forest fire skies,
a sun-kissed Pacific wanderer.
And I am true crime
untouched evidence of break-ins,
remains of faulty locks and lights.
I am mosaics misaligned;
static, seabed cracks
from forgotten fault lines.
Gaping fissures of sand,
and salt that won't let me stitch
frayed skin-deep fibres
barely holding me in.

Oceans would have to empty themselves
into whirring cyclones and high tides
for our selfish sense of touch to collide.
Ice caps would have to sink
deep enough to even bruise my skin.
And I wouldn't want to watch
more Shakespeare end
before it begins.

See, I am the one
with sharp edges,
but why
did you have to be the one
to clip my wings?


There is only an abyss
without a trampoline,
a safety net,
a bed of waterlilies,
I could fall in.
And I am so tired
of paradoxes
and ironies;
of always being wanted
by someone who doesn't even
want to be kept,
of always being mended
and then left
with more dislocations,
and fractures,
one after another
each taking longer to fix.

Now, in shapeless parcels,
without return addresses
sent out into the void
these words will echo
of love
I never intended to borrow,
and shadows
of false hope
you never thought yourself
capable of
giving away.
Leiah Jul 22
When its Monday and the sun’s out
Did you think of novocaine and the stench of bleach
Did the ceiling feel closer with every breath of your punctured lungs
Did you have to force your heart to remember how to beat
Did wildfires spread between the cracks of your ribs?
once the burning had faded—did you know the feeling?
Is it something that you would’ve once called pain

Was pain anything more than a syllable; a roll of the tongue
To you, did poison taste saccharine sweet?
Were you afraid to heal; is blood your ink?  
do you find yourself infatuated by tragedy
Is your burden only more fuel for your art

With every inhale were you left emasculated;
Did you feel less alive despite the euphoria; despite the peace of mind
numb from glue and gasoline in ignition

Did you ever feel like a fallen star?
Did you ever talk too fast because you knew
no one was listening anyway
Was it hard to make everyone happy when
They gave you not even a second glance
Was it hard to love someone to the point where they could
only let you down

Tell me
Is it better to burn out than to fade away
Is it better to be immortalized?
Nigdaw Jun 20
Member of the 27 club, too young to die
Too fast to live, only lent to us
A break in the clouds that let some light in,
Original flash of inspiration jumping
From my radio to shout, music isn't dead
Too soon to leave us only wanting more
Rama Krsna Jun 3
a curled black serpent ascends

her piercing eyes hell bent
on kissing
seven white lotus buds
placed along spine

with each peck
buds bloom in ecstasy,
reversing that
illusory mirror of duality
making dreamer and his dream one

nectar descends


© 2019
Pope Noir Apr 24
I saw a unicorn in Nirvana, dripped in all colors of the rainbow. It had me seeing different shapes and colors like I'm in a kaleidoscope dream. It gave me hope. I promised to give my days and the treasures of my mind. The bit of magic that lives within my soul.
About a muse of mine. She once made me feel eternal
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