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Hope for more
Than individuality
Amongst the throng
Of arachnids
To be the organism
And know what meaning means

Power and fame
Provide the human ego
With fleeting satisfaction

Love is a connection
Outside ourselves
If real
Not man evolved lust

Energy between us is palpable
Passion amplifies
Yet we are all lonely
And yearning souls
Trapped in a shell of life
iamgone Feb 26
i am not a shell of a man
in fact
i'm looking for my shell
not having a body
means not feeling anything
and i find myself
missing the cold
Dante Rocío Feb 15
I’d like to see a god clustered on knees from a threshold
A god tossed placid, hoisted with the bed on moraine bruises
used to be gifts for mortals.
Then hair of immortal chestnut must fade, under
promises of cobwebs to lay instead
Blood or no blood, that’s how an outcast ever stays;
rags of dark silk hanging on shoulders barely like a river betrayed,
sick taps on the door that’ll shut,
there will be no milk for the dark where the face can be found.

See a daffodil as a lip turns into a petal
I bite, tatter, then soothe, and water with salt, start again
See the petal munch the gold that god in my eyes and hairs has dull,
and with that bud in violet space placed catch me lash;
How to keep heart in chest yet sane outside of ****** of purple?
How to make love to you without falling into the perverse?
Just “paper bone” on tongue all over.

I chose to witness a human and a dragon trespass a boundary
where two souls throbbingly mingling meant more than the surface shaking,
than physiognomy waging.
As theatre, a flesh, heart salved, split, the boy’s ****** was glimpsed
unhideable to the beast with every life scar licked.
I choked and drowned on my own breath.
Get that undeemable oneiric into the light;
that’s how my essence bare put on everything
becomes water and fights as you see
for its burning to exist.
Will you dare to take it into fingers as it lives and gives?
The world’s only curiosity store.

The envisioner,
that as you who’d know sole what form a tux on stage lets me be,
clapping underneath you’re the one who’s ever been into those eyes’ rites.
That as a snowflake falling,
a shell of antiquity left in a blue coastless plain;
I was born as a too big honour, for effervescence,
clasp me in your palms as you won’t last till my forever,
like I, try not to have your ocean heartbroken when
that shell speaks in your robbed memoir, pain out of that place.

Asking how to break the barrier between our bodies,
How to be my flame and still my ashtray?

hand in your body.
to last.
It’s you. It’s me.
It’s us.
After Reinaeiry’s “It’s You It’s Me It’s Us”,
Philip Matthews “Made To Always Worship At One Station”
and one human that deserves a heart of her own
Of passion beyond human body and own conscience that finds a hold in one beautifully broken human.

All my loves for the Valentines my dear.
rotting rose petals
dry and stiff, unsupple
breathless babies breath
pain so unheard and subtle
suffocated, all blue with disgrace

the rose sheds its skin
petals with a green tinge
they’re bent into seashell shapes
it could form the most
fragile and tender, delicate locket
yeah, i can see it, could sell it
cos who else would stock it?
i just hope “blue with disgrace” came across as a clear alternative to “blue in the face”
For them
Intelligence is intelligence
For them
Memory is intelligence
For them
Energy is intelligence
For them
Consciousness is intelligence
O Lord
Teach them
The difference between yolk and shell
Hammad Jan 2
It's never about How strong the cage is
Or how high the bars are;
I have seen people
Spending lifetime
In their 'own shell'
living in a way to
avoiding the word failure
in your epitaph,
for a foreseeable reward in heaven,
is like walking on eggshells
without ever breaking out of your own shell.
The fear of failure is worse than actual failure. Failure teaches you to pick yourself up, dust yourself off and have another shot.

The context seems rather relevant now with what has happened this year.
Here's to hoping you never give up and find the strength to start again.
Itunu Nov 2020
Are like a flame. And I am highly combustible household furniture.

And so you move close to me, and touch me.
And set me on fire.

Then all at once

You multiply and engulf me in your love, in you. All of you.

And we burn
A beautiful hot blaze, wrapped in desire and hunger

And we burn
Illuminating the room, the house, the street.

And we burn, your flames multiply and grow and we are tangled in heat and desperation.

And we ignore the: warning highly flammable sign

And dance till we’ve scorched through the floor,
Leaving burnt out embers

You consume me, all of me.

You search my heart, my soul, my body. A house, room to room

Stealing all my possessions,
All my highly flammable household furniture

And I let you.
I watch your flames dance to me and I feel your heat.

And I let you burn me. Enveloped in the pleasure of your flames I burn.

Hot. Desire. Hot.

Until you’ve burnt through it all.

Left my reflection a wobbling photo of grief.

Exhausted. No more oxygen to eat on.
Just C 0 2.

No more me and you.

And I’m just a shell. A frame.
Filled with burnt furniture

And black.
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