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Angel Oct 22
That glass piece,
fitting so perfectly
into my palm.
Smooth, cold, round,
holding my hand tighter than any ex-lover before.
That ginger kiss upon my lips,
sending smoke to hug my lungs.

Those IV bags dripping of happiness,
shooting euphoria through my bloodstream.

Anything to keep me from feeling numb.
Anything to prolong my inevitable fall,
back to my own personal purgatory.
Jordan Gee Oct 2
MySelf to pieces split and cleaved,
o'er the grave he stood bereaved.
When salvation seemed so close at hand,
he saw confusion in the plan;
Two halves of One he must retrieve.

The Seven Lights he sought to find,
suspended east-ward in the sky.
When once or twice he, free of fear
spied his heart out chasing deer;
he knelt - trembling before the lie.

Breathing slowed - the flowing saddle
in which he rode, abreast Death's rattle.
The numbers upward, did he climb
from six to seven, eight to nine;
symbols of a timeless battle.

In purgatory now I wait
for Flame of Hell or Heaven's Gate.
Strange personalities within vibrations,
a Cosmic Gong to heal Death's Station;
I stand my ground - I forge my fate.

Wherefore art thou Chariot I ride,
that which I've been given, hidden by the sky?
A Sphere of Mirrors w/ no sides,
into my tear of fire doth collide;
A temperamental Horse I ride.
what it feels like to wake up
Jack Torrance Sep 30
The weight of the world,
has settled at last.
The world shifted on,
as I fell to the past.

I open my eyes,
but they do not obey.
I taste copper in my throat,
and the sweet scent of decay.

I can hear splashing,
so faint it’s a dream.
I can also hear breathing,
and I just want to scream.

My arms will not listen,
when I tell them to lift,
and something is scraping,
with small groaning shifts.

The breathing is closer,
and the breath is so foul.
It’s trying to speak,
but its voice is a growl.

I’m trying to scream,
but my voice is a squeak.
Then my blood runs cold,
as it finally speaks.

“Payment”, it growls,
in a gravely tone.
And then I feel its touch,
and shiver to the bone.

The shape shifts away,
and the weight is now gone.
I open my eyes,
and am blinded by the dawn.

I blink at the figure,
hunched over the oars,
and stare out at the water,
looking for shore.

I want to ask the question,
but then I see his hands.
There’s no doubting the decay,
of the limbo ferryman.
Jordan Gee Jul 31
sometimes i sit and text women messages free
of any ****** connotations.
other times i come across a chopped & *******,
slowed + reverbed out version of a neoSoul song that i love.
she’s blonde and has a dumb thicc *** and
she’s a woman of few words and she was born
under  a constellation of fire.

like i was.

her eyes are nearly unblinking
and they say less than her mouth
but i know
there is a sea
of symbol-sets
beneath those televised eyes.

how am i supposed to weave or write
when the joy is coming for my neck.
time is the measure of energy in motion

so i turn the dial wayyy down.

God is not a time-piece.
God is a flour mill -
shaped like an inside-out hourglass
in the background of XI Jinping’s latest video on
Tik Tok.
“Violent anarchists held a ‘Night of Rage’”
“Violent anarchists graffitied the Hatfield Courthouse.”
“Violent anarchists continue to attack law enforcement with lasers.”

gravity is ******* the feet and
hills are ******* the walking.
graveyards are a hard one for the memory
(if you believe your family is another pile of bones).
at least we have our three deaths to draw on and die.
1st when our last breath leaves us
2nd the last time someone speaks our name
3rd when Zuccman the Reptilian deletes our postumus, memorialized FB account.

where lies the heart of the enlightened without a mirror?
or when the three deaths are drawn and
it hangs suspended in purgatory like a
pack of Newports in the freezer?
or like a stylized hospital mask produced under
contentious labor practices and
shipped to America via air freight
passing over the Xinjiang province where crimes against humanity
are being committed on an industrial scale ----
rose Jul 7
it was a purgatory
sins were to be forgiven.
the island wanted them to
"remember and let go"
letting go was the final step

no, Jack, you never left the island
we never left...

we moved on.
based off the show "Lost"

"see ya in another life, brother"
Nigdaw Feb 26
I have spent my life so far
looking through a window
as the parade passes
searching for a door
some way in

to date this hasn't happened

stuck in purgatory
awaiting an official decision
of my fate

I patiently age
beyond recognition
having little of myself
left to give

I will know the sign
like an aneurysm in my brain
bursting to let my spectre escape
a change is  a-coming
but will I survive
my coming out
Like a serpent
  it tears through me;
  my body in turns
  and twists, as it pleases,
  as the warmth pools in pits
  in my stomach, my gut
  tells me to *****.
I feel detached.
Forever lost in a void,
  the empty space of a thought
  that I truly am alone. "Help!"
  I yell, over and over and over
  like a damsel in distress.

I am too tall, too dull.
my body is too far
  for me to reach and grip
  and curl up and pity
  who I used to be
  and who will I become,
  after the blue light of my phone
  dies down and falls
  down through the sewer hole
  in London Soho.
And all the while I stand,
  unforgiving of the past,
  erasing my name on documents
  but still looking back at Them.

I'm always gonna look back.
I'm never gonna escape Hell.
  and while Hell is Paradise
  and Paradise is Purgatory,
  and the choice is mine,
  but I will never be able to decide;
Is it better to die
  or to die and keep dying,
  until I am reborn and never
  seen again by the Neighbours
  next door
  who last saw me drinking coffee
  and reading a poem.
this sort of just happened
lua Dec 2019
where do the bad people go if hell isn't real?
will they linger on in a never ending limbo,
walking never ending roads to never ending nothingness?
will they cease to exist,
dissipate into thin air?
would they think back on their lives,
the crimes they've committed?
would they try to seek forgiveness,
for every ounce, every drop of blood or sweat or tears they've shed for their own selfishness?
would they be sorry for what they did?
or would they remain prideful and allow the maggots to eat away at their flesh?
maybe they'll remain on earth
to watch others go on with their lives
maybe they'll watch their families,
how they go on with their daily business without them
maybe they'll watch the lives of the people they've wronged,
how they smile knowing they're gone
maybe they'll rewatch their lives,
from the day they were born to the day they died
over and over and over again

and maybe that's the hell
maybe hell was within them
and they were hell itself.
some people just ****
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