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Nyx Oct 2018
Photographs of naked bodies
Positioned across a bed
Seducing one other
By the gleam in our eyes
Dressed with the desirable color of red
Our lips dripping with pure lust
Forever but a mere inch away
Eternally unreachable
As pretend is what we like to play
Trace the outline of my body
Feel the softness of my skin
Dine upon the devils wishes
Give in to this lustful sin
Embrace the coldness of the night
Be intoxicated by our heat
Eyes glazed over from this dream
Slowly lose your willingness to fight
Taste the sweetness upon your tongue
Allow us to quench your thirst
But once you taste heaven gates
You will eternally be cursed
Drunken off the beating sound
Of our hearts within perfect synch
Pleasure induced by feeling Pain
Holding on tighter to that chain
Bruises and bite marks
Littering the skin
Relinquish your demons
Fall captive to that sinners grin
Harsh whispers in the dark
Lips pressed against your neck
Tempt me with such sins
my darling

My dear the night has only begun
Decipher what you truly want
As it seems our game of play is done
Both lost within an ecstatic dream
It appears that neither of us have won
Dirtied souls are all that are left
Without meaning or for reason
What have we done?
an echoing question
The devil replies with a taunting voice
My darling you have become undone
With a sly grin he walks away
Eroding into the dark of night
While the tainted souls
Together with their hands holding tight
A game that they were destined to lose
We have danced with the devil tonight
And it appears he has won.



~
It was a late night and the words were just coming to mind
So I ended up stringing this odd piece together
Axion Prelude Aug 2018
I don't possess the luxury to feel alive

This broken soul is daunted by mired ties

The shell that holds these withered bones and stinted cries

Stains rotten with guilt underneath
this tainted flesh; will ultimately be my surmise
George Krokos Mar 2018
Where there's a love that doesn't fade
there is also a light without any shade.
Where there's a purity without any taint
there is a place or someone very quaint.
_____
From "The Quatrains" ongoing writings since the early '90's.
Aleeza Nov 2017
tick, tick, tick
i am not counting the hours i've spent with my fingers between yours
i am tracing the maps on your arms
i am trying to find a way home

we do not know what time it is
maybe it's 2am and we both have things to do
maybe it's 3pm and we have places to be
maybe it's midnight and we really have to say goodbye

all i know is
the world is not on my shoulders anymore
and all there is now is the wonder in your smile
all i can see is how well we fit

in my years
i wanted to know what it was like
to be beautiful enough to haunt
and here you are beside me in the dusk
and you tell me that i have entangled myself in your thoughts

all this time
i have been been trying to find what all the poets and the artists create for
and i found you

tick, tick, tick
how long until you see
the cracks that taint me
the shadows that follow me around

how long until you decide not to stay
you distance yourself from the calamity of me
how long until i have to beg
to stay with me so we can be lost again
Firzaana Mohamed Jun 2017
your face so confused
my mind too amused
your eyes so empty
my words too petty
he wants to say something
i'm too afraid to listen
         whats wrong darling?
all his words expressed
were finishing my quest
for his wrongs said nothing
my wrongs said everything
he exclaimed HOW?

"just how can you get so much fire, get so much gold?

but still have a heart so unfathomably cold."

-fir.m
Ormond Apr 2015
.
*Her eyes faking yes, yet—
Her hands so far away, surmise,
That was the day I truly died—
Knowing a cipher compromised.
Jonathan Keeley Feb 2015
red
dried blood all over your hands
when will you stop trying to fight the man
we both know its just paint
Latreece Rose Jan 2015
His body was taint
craved desire yet lethal
mercy lost, tasteless.

****** lustful
he kissed my tender moist lips
and caressed my waist.

I was a ******
though I thought of *** often
and prayed for my prince.

The boy touched the girl
smooth and inappropriate
her tummy tickling.

I arrived home late
cannabis calming my thoughts
liquor my lover.

I smoked cigarettes
and thought about his soft touch
him an addiction.

He would say my name
murmur low “Evangeline”
and control my youth.

Wanna-be poet
eighteen and always failing
haikus a joy.

I write in my mind
the 5-7-5 a puzzle
sleepless nights my friend.

All artists are poor
embracing weirdness, difference
rebellious baby cubs.

I am a panda
elephant or an ant queen
maybe a mermaid.

Not so little now
but exploring earth and sea
born in the 90s.

The Holy Spirit,
it resides in my body,
my body its own.

God said, “Let us make”
stating he was not alone,
that God is of three.

He is the Father,
The Creator of mankind
and all creeping things.

Jesus is the Son,
born to humanly connect
and die for our sins.

The Holy Spirit,
it is our heavenly soul
and image of God.

And Lucifer fell
God saying to go away
his beauty erased.

Daddy told me “pray,
and beauty will not leave you
and love will remain”.

Mommy is gone, dead
her voice and whispers a corpse
her skull remaining.

A pencil took love
American love too good
and of much horror.

Not ****** and cruel
but psychological pain
of regret and doubt.

My love was fire
illicit and illegal,
robbery of trust.

As if in prison
I was a caged animal
howling to escape.

His tongue, it danced slow
waltzing a tango flapper
in the loud 2os.

He approves of tears,
mine an arousal of sight
and he enters me.

He is my neighbor
about thirty or forty
who likes to smoke ****.

He would lure me in,
asked if I liked poetry,
a warm, young poet.

He read me sonnets
while I decoded couplets
his breath on my face.

Like strong peppermint
or cinnamon or maple
I was like a treat.

Milk chocolate delight,
a chai tea latte invite,
vanilla frosting.

I could have said no,
pushed him away and ran home,
but I liked his house.

Wanna-be poet
wasting time on a high man
Europe to explore.

He was not Britain
Nor was he Italy or
Switzerland or France.

He could not be Greece
nor Ireland or Norway
or Sweden or Spain.

He was Nevada
or Wyoming or Kansas
even Nebraska.

California sun
Washington and Oregon rain,
west coast was he not.

He himself was taint
saying “my love, my dear love,
my Evangeline.”

“My Evangeline,
my poet, my lover…young,
oh Evangeline”.

I think of Jesus,
the Holy Spirit and God,
fallen Lucifer.

An angel so bright
He could not let go of pride
And I’m falling, too.

Asleep I fall to
a song behind his split tongue
agony inflamed.

So I write of this,
an affair of poetry
spectacular, no.

She wishes for death
haikus of religion
and of sweet taint love.

Oh Evangeline,
The Holy Spirit weeps, too
your tears its own tears.
Frank Ruland Oct 2014
just like the apple,
all things brown
more quickly as
you approach
the core
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