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Rip me apart
and cart me off
to somewhere unknown

Cut through the top
plunge fingers deep
disgusting, wet, and slick

Rip out the innards
make hollow
for your own pleasure

it sits and waits
for the rest to come

The carving
the face always
comes out ****

At last
light the fire
and watch it glow

In the bright flames
of a dark night
they'll be left there

Until they're rotting
scrape up the remains
and dump the body
a Halloween inspired poem!

is it really a pumpkin?
Subliminal contact put me in a threshold
Buried by the weight
Began to contemplate
The chill begins to settle in
You can read it from starting from the beginning or end.
do not name that thing you wish to know
take such a weighted title
make a security blanket of that thing
sleep in a mirage and lie
down in bedsheets other than your own -
if you wake up in the morning after
covering up lies with that thing
you will not put your demons to rest
do not think if that thing feels safe
you love that thing recklessly -
it is in our nature to yearn
for that thing to have our back
infatuation being our downfall
lustful happenings disrupting
the consistency you want to name -
do not name that thing
because a title can never change character
and that thing is always
there are some days that I cannot fathom
the anguish another individual must feel
to openly hurt the ones he loves for attention
when we sit here (cowards)
denying our own reality to make ourselves
feel better lying down next to strangers
fading away my heartbeat ceases
until i can comprehend something other than
mistakes painted in opposition to the universe
or how i miss your touch most days
feathering blushing hues fading fast
in the sunlight these are the days
i miss you most when the memories i hold dear
pigment themselves vivid in my pastel routine
my easel is no longer in a home
my art is no longer stagnant on a wall
it is
crying right in front of me
walking away from me
in the distance now
those days i do not understand us
or what we have become
i reflect on how seasons transition flawlessly
without any form of communication
other than knowing of the passage of time
and that right now is time for change
(it is time)
she utters her existence with a cry for help
muffling her sorrow as she ages
fine wine overheating in the garden of evil
hourglass woman pouring herself out
white eyes most vulnerable to camera light
flashes of happiness escape outside sobriety
inside the territory of the boundaries set for her
she exists when we speak her name
water mixes with her blood
deluding illusions made by us
merlot no longer holds pigment
without her eyes to cry cups half empty
she lives when her name is written
meaning she will live forever
her pen a megaphone between fingers
screaming back to her roots
silent when she drinks midday
closing her door to trap her thoughts
paper being her platform
she is home when she can be loud again
Bhill Sep 10
After reaching the top and catching your breath you realize
You realize the view you are about to see could not be seen from below
What more do you need?

Brian Hill - #225
Get to the top...
i would have thought the universe spat in my face
while getting gas after leaving your place
caught up in a brief interval of violent downpour
living in the shadow of shelter built for me
clouds drool for several minutes afterwards
i am dry beneath manmade canopies
you are stretching across the sky
free from conformity
fondling with branches dangling loose
jealousy writhes in my sturdy upbringing
if it were not for my pact with the universe
i would have taken this as a sign to leave
how infatuated trees are with you
how the sky cries for you
how roots untangle themselves for you
but i understand that when sun showers occur
the universe is with me more than ever
tangling herself with my emotions
bright and weeping
all at once
colliding in ways that neglect to care for one another
you are too fearful of things you cannot see
unknown territory primarily causing you concern
i drive miles for you on a daily basis in the dark
but what is distance if you have the sky at your fingertips
grasping for what is left of your horizon
i am merely stuck admiring sunrises for the time being
until the storm passes in front of me
unfaltering repetition in your unsteady breath at night
beauty held inconsistently in consistent
inherently i understand that i am enough
but i wish i wasn't as easily disposable
as most people make me out to be
my time equating to nothing more than a block
hiding in corners to protect my back
fearful of concealed knives and sweet smiles
i wish for nothing more than visible venom
please conceal yourself clearly in a syringe
fill my veins with nothing more than permanence
a certain vacancy awaits your half-hearted arrival
during my downfalls into despair
crying alone under the eye of the moon
poison of my own choosing infiltrates my lungs
some nights my liver as well
weighing down what you toss in the air so freely
hoping for something concrete to return to your hands
but forgetting that gravity has its' own laws
no matter how much alteration we convince ourselves
we are capable of
prayer does not tie together loose ends
hope does not resolve hostility
i cannot mold myself to easily accept authentic feelings
anymore than you can do to reject that
of your own
tell me how you want me to love you
in the ways you cannot love yourself enough
pressing my ear closer to your mattress
restless under your pillowcase
my teeth become something disposable by morning
your mouth begs to be fed before sunrise
lips parting for stale air between lulls in our interactions
as if saying something could make me breathe easier
knowing i will respond before i simply can't
i am expectant in the ways you clear my lungs
before lying in the bed you've made for us
tell me again how you want me to love you
in the ways i cannot love myself
to fill a void made for no one in particular
folding corners of my blanket back over each other
there is safekeeping in barricading thread count
fingers numb from pressing us together for too long
losing my grip on what reality i have succumbed myself to
tell me again how i have done this to myself
in the ways of tolerating your recklessness
pillows becoming somewhat of a buffer
for noise that concerns the neighbor at night
what good will yelling do if your body constantly screams
shouting for someone who left awhile ago
slipping out of your window at night
tell me how you want me to leave
in the ways you cannot tell me to
too afraid to make noise in a silent ballet
tiptoeing around uncomfortable conversations
dancing over select words in exchange
with the rhythm of my accelerated heartbeat
Anastasia Aug 14
Cherry on top
Cherry on bottom
My heart is sinking
Straight to the bottom
The crickets say
They are ashamed of me
And the mosquitos take their aim at me
Cherries are crushed
No longer sweet
Rotten and bitter
False retreat
Writing at night
Gives me strange thoughts
Cherry on bottom
Cherry on top
At night
Is messing
With my mind
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