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I S A A C Apr 5
lock and key on my arm
plenty of snakes i have charmed
my disarming eyes
my unbridled rage
my mystery they cannot gauge

pearl on pearl too
give myself some room
grow into, trust my moves
sailing smooth
I S A A C Jan 2022
I refuse to diffuse myself
I refuse to refuse myself of these bubbling feelings
you brought me to a boil
you tried to be my character foil
scrub and rub myself clean of your imprinted kisses
but my mind is still tattooed by all your smooth moves
I was too naive and you were too cool
made me question my reality, made me lessen my sexuality
walking the line for someone again like the fool
LC Apr 2021
than sweet moments suspended in time
like thick, dark, smooth molasses
resisting the strong pull of gravity
as it flows from a shiny silver spoon.
#escapril day 26!
Ken Pepiton Mar 2021
Beardless man in my mirror,
asks me who I think I am.

I look your way and wonder what you
would say,
were it your face sending questions
the window to my soul.

I'd say I am a bold-faced liar who learned
not to lie through the hair on my face.
My bald face says, for centuries now, what
a bald head says now, "I know how to wield
a blade this sharp, without cutting myself,
be ware."

Yeah, cowboyninjaquickdrawhero…
maybe I have played the role,
mirror neuronical sharper than any two-edge,

but I feel honed when I shave, ready to shine
my steely glare on the fool that questions
the reason for my faith in my blade,
and so I don't
look as old as Noam Chomsky,
that's why I shaved.
- The face communicates
See, I got this nerve, CNX,
it hooks under that fattest art-
ery in my chest,
where all true riches rest, lazy-like,
easy livin'

thinkin' some poor soul got tricked again,
whaddaya gno?
Gwan, say so, man, watcha know f'show?
Got a light?

Gotta charisma authorized poet's license?
Have you ever known what's

Perhaps you should talk to someone.
And if I looked as old as Noam Chomsky,
they would know I lack the will to use the blade,
and maybe wonder
if I lost the knack.

Then I grin and watch'em see the apple in m'eye.
Been burnin' brush and the beard was itchin'
Eve K Aug 2020
2AM. Anxiety rings
Insomnia with it, it brings
I wish to sleep, close my beaten
Eyes. My thoughts quieten, Retreat in
To the place where I no longer have to think
All the experiences of today and my past interlink
My subconscious taking over with pictures they slink
down into dreamworld I hope I'd go This time I think
But unfortunately, That's not the way it is.
So I lie awake in my bed.
in my
This is getting ridiculous.... This is the 4th night in the row where I can't sleep...... 4th night in a row of 3 hours sleep... I just... want some unassisted sleep please....
In the distance
On the highways
I hear the trucks
Silently unmask
Everyday challenges

Socially distant
Carrier of loads
For smooth
Driving force
Early morning observations
Amanda Kay Burke Apr 2020
Shadow coveted by dancing demons dark
Yearning to reunite with hell
As quietness leaves its damning mark
Satan calls
He knows me well

Under the smooth canopy of night
While black air shelters evil
Red blinking eyes the solitary light
At depth of awakened upheaval

Do not fear the monsters plaguing sleep
Alive as you walk through the day
So you can ignore the wickedness deep
But there's no running away
This is open to interpretation. I would love to hear what it brings to your mind.  Personally I wrote it about addiction.
Velvel Ben David Apr 2020
The silence sang to me like no song could.
I stooped. I was half alive, I was alone, I was searching for relaxation.
I was looking for freedom from the nervous, shaking bundle of stick my body had to offer me.
But that’s alright, I tell myself. There’s no use being indignant.
“Your grandfather’s died” I heard through the phone.
I grieved him years before his passing.

Relief came over me as I awaited grief in silence.

What was more alarming was the manic girl in the corner with burn marks up her arms running treadmill, spinning bike pedals faster than light, with no care for how she exhausted herself.
The slap of her feet hitting the floor and her gasping.

More alarming yet was the woman in blue hospital pajamas chanting in a yell “nurse, nurse!” all day and night, after she had beaten her head senseless against a steel wall. I grieve her loss of cognitive choice

I had no time to prepare to grieve either the manic girl or the woman in blue.
In loss and in love, grieving is a process that starts from the beginning and can carry on past the end.

I can choose to endure.
Pain has neither the choice to cease nor exist.

Pain is stronger than me because pain doesn’t wince at the sight of me. My grandfather’s strength lives beyond the grave.
I won’t grieve what carries on.

The silence sang to me like no song could.
Anastasia Apr 2020
milk and honey
on your lips
your perfume
sweet and soft
a milky bath
soak it in
dripping from my skin
taste it on your tongue
warm in my arms
sticky and smooth
like the way you make me feel
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