It's time to go
I see the light
It's bright as snow
It's so white.
With memories flashing back to me
As vivid as a lucid dream
The colors drunk and bold.
It's time for me to go
There was a time I was vivid.
When I repainted the colors of the rainbow.
Now is my time to go
But just so you know,
I will miss you so.
A man is lying sideways on a bed, his shoulder softly suffocating a pillow. He is confronted by the image of a lone G.I. at the mouth of the Mekong Delta, flanked by a Dutch colonel woman, pensively staring on. The man is now pointing his gun at the pillow, his aim obstructed by his own head. He is currently in matrimony with the dreams of yesterday, yet not as much so with his extremities.
"I wouldn't let it die if I were you," croons a voice from the impossible background, seeming to leap over the hurdles of inner commotion.
"Who's that? Whatever could you be?"
As forward as he was in his tone, he couldn't resist the dominated position he was in. Even less resistible was the pulling motion of the tunnel behind him. He is now falling back into the sun.
A chalky, sepia-washed room seen through an ailing CRT. Vantablack lines sprawl across my gnarled face in patterns, playing games with the sun that blares on through the rangy blinds.
Digital clock: 2:43
A cardinal red cigarette pack in my right hand, a turkey baster in the other, submerged deep within the sheet's motherly void. The simmering glow of the hallway dances like a pendulum; a vicious debutante, waiting to coerce me into life. I am enveloped by some capricious rhythm that has no origin, and no destination.
I'm coming to uncertain terms with this lucid halcyon.
Ink drips, from the pillow to my shoulder. I am currently a piece of fiction, held within a lissome frame. This is complete autonomy. Nothing is as it really was, only what it should've have been from the very start. A muted slur from beyond the window comes hurtling through my head. It starts to look like a tumor tree, having its branches, limbs, and spine torn to and fro in such a hideous manner. I've let something go to my head. The dream is broken, through no request of my own.
These are the kind of words
That no one sings.
This is a theme
we shouldn't repeat.
What we have is
Just a passing moment
Only a short poem
I hope you never see.
There's nothing beautiful about this
Nothing beautiful about sin..
But you make it look so heavenly.
Tainted so my broken heart bleeds
Symphonies in every beat.
Every word's a sword.
Is it suicide then
When I tattoo myself with my pen;
Write my pain into permanence.
My late nights spent stuck in bed;
Yearning for a warmth that you never send.
I watch the coming dawn from the safety
Of my covers I-I-I'm tired from a sleepless night.
Happy that None can see me cry when the sunrise greets the new days sky
And I'm not feeling right
Cause I been left alone
To face a world
If I called you'd answer right?
If I text you when the moon's high,
And the darkness has settled,
And my mind meddles
With the idea of you,
You'd reply right?
I told you I need you…
Is that too desperate?
But I understand your objections
Of who I am.
For I now know
Know why the caged bird sang...
And why he fell silent.
you’ll always be.
Colors suspend to saturate enclosed walls
a quick tuning occurs
adjustments towards expansion takes place
Grey skies, something's brewing up.
At home, come what may.
So do what you gotta do, love.
I guess we weren't here to stay.
July 3, 2019 - 13:34, Grey and Yellow Beads
My fat ***, craving for some Wintermelon Milktea, and my "To Infinity" playlist. Maybe you just didn't wore your bracelet that much?
the crystal faith you praise
is fractured with dysphoria
that two years from now you won't be able to distinguish my beauty
and we'll fall apart into
a open concept of bigger questions (hydroxide pause) and then my scenery
will be vivid and fluently spoken towards repeated
images and small - town secrets
of surprise but tomorrow isn't sunny,
has already begun
For those who already don't know my poetry is published on Border Grey Magazine. Please Check it out! http://greybordersmagazine.jigsy.com/issues
Begin the beguilement
Under neon banners
The clouded sentiment
Of pious tanners
The teardrop streets
Here, sleep cuts deep
Through lonesome commotion
You hear before you
The furrowed wind
Marches in blue
With knotted fins
Walls of turquoise
A bygone room
And marquee tombs
Writes on alabaster
A careful brass scope
On the charms of their hope
Slung on a wire
Singing of pain
Through a barbed-wire mane
I divide the sky into pieces
and I get my piece of blue
when the sun is crying that he can not see you,
a sheaf of unrelenting reveries
driven by my anxious soul
stop on my warm lips,
await your crying call
that is lost at the gate of my loneliness,
the yellow tulip from my glass vase
is wondering where the ants are that were keeping her company
in the garden where she lived her childhood,
the present becomes suffocating,
I prefer to escape again in vivid dreams,
spring kisses my cheeks
I am sinking in lust again
my eyes seek the love of dandelions,
I am flirting with the darkness that floods my room
and ****** my naked body,
my nightgown looks for the lost buttons,
ripped away by the craving of the stars...
my heart dances in the ocean of heavens
drops of love are falling
in a sublte way perceived only by me.
I love to dream with my eyes open:)