kelia Feb 16
you are so lovely in your wicked ways
you are heavy
i can feel it, so can the room

everyone is waiting for that pause
the one you find yourself existing in

you are so lovely in your wicked ways
finding the quirks
the imbalanced romanticism in their dialect

'yeah, i’m a southern boy'
the kind you swore you’d stay away from

you spent too many nights with knights at rogue water
underage but over your limit

oh boy, that patagonia
slinging country song quarters into the jukebox

take me home!

you are so lovely, even in your wicked ways

do you like country music?
he turns left for the freeway
do you know how to drive stick shift?

you are so lovely, even in your wicked ways
i didn’t fold her laundry
she left my XXL t-shirts without wrinkles
pink, without wrinkles

you are so lovely in your wicked ways
he mixes a couple of drinks for you
reaches to grab your hand from across the bar
seared by the tea-light candle

i waltzed out of that bar like i had him
he is small and beautiful with a temper
i could love him all while hating him

i’m just a gal whose nose bled
after falling into his bed (more than once)
more than once
Vyiirt'aan Nov 2017
The cutting wind
I walk amongst puffs of white
Dwindling in the air
Ever so harmonious
The scenery so luscious
A frozen idyll

Yet I wander
With a frozen coat
The fur spiked
Silver traces
In an air so frigid
In the world so cold

Beads of scarlet red
Velvet drops that descend
On a sherbet of ice
A blanket of frost
Puncturing the thin veil
And tainting the ground

An endless stream
Gushing down the faucet
The metallic tones
Intrude my palate
I heave my nose
Waiting until it ceases
You leave me spluttering,
dizzy, disorientated.
You came out of nowhere,
you took me by surprise.
I tried to stop you,
tried to smother you,
tried to cover you up,
but I couldn't breathe,
I couldn't speak, couldn't scream for help.
I was choking.
you made one thought consume my body;
'please just... stop.'
And eventually you did,
and I never want to see you again -
it's bad enough that I still have your mess to clean up.
I hate you,
I hate you like a nosebleed.
kelia May 2016
we find ourselves crumpled like paper
my nosebleed acts like glue
you smell and taste like pixie dust
my eyes roll around the room

ascending towards heaven
i grip your ribs like handrails

you stop me short -
'i'm going to...'

and like a napkin under the dinner table
i’m falling off your lap

you'll remember me when you need to clean up
when you need to wipe your hands
Jeffrey Pua Feb 2015
Get me a dictionary.
Poetry
     Is sorcery to me
          Sometimes.*

© 2015 J.S.P.
Draft. Making sense out of palindromes.
Duke Thompson Aug 2014
I told you to read Big Sur
maybe once gone someone will listen
will you hear the sound of the crashing waves
like I did
how Jack did
or just laugh at bloated blackened burned corpse
all maggots, flies and half truths
about the instability of our college foursome
wistful lost thoughts of shirtless circus
too old now to justify  

it is never enough or is that just me maybe missing the point
all joy seemingly escaped how i long for simpler times when
we knew each other and didnt have to yell to be heard
but every new wet hole holds the cure, for a minute
does it not
or so you say informing me now of the latest last cum fuck
is that enough
does it make you whole
would it make me whole too or translucent like
metaphysical sieve
yet i am losing my great big dharma spectre
and did you ever really have one
or did you just study and play at great booming philosophies
pretending with big yelling words as if louder equals absolute reality
that is how they taught you is it not

whilst sleeping we coined you the new buddha
you tell me as if i am to jump joyfully at this
did you sufficiently whet your beak young buck
as tired heads are tilted back sardonically surveying your scene
are you trying to convince me or yourself honey?
Ferrin McGinness Apr 2014
i have a nosebleed
and i breathe steam
seamlessly from this black hole,
sucking life-air away
from those who actually
deserve
to live.

why this blood-red mud
frightens my friends
i'll never know-
it's me! so real!
me, the drinkable.
me, so easily consumable.
me, in a manipulative form.

my clay brain, melted,
sliding through my nose,
it brings the dirty
little piece
of scum that i am
out into the light

where everyone can see it.

— The End —