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I miss you immensely
your lack, is a coldness that makes
my skin lonely, it begs to be
touched, to feel warm again

But i'm not cold, i'm just bored
of the normies, they aren't like you
don't excite me, or delight me
their ideas are old, decrepit, stale
and they're stuck chasing tails

I know you share my wonder
the thrill of finding what's under
the intricate tapestry of life's majesty
the universe undone, knot by single knot
How boring are those,
who do not wonder
whose minds no more sing, and chase things

Only you know, what I mean
when I stare into the void,
and know not
if its without, or within
Ayesha Jul 2021
What is this new-found lust for madness
Marching hand in hand with my blood?
Does Moon know it is shrouded
In the sky’s black love
When it is?
Last night, I tossed a rope up towards Jupiter
Tossed and tossed
Till the hook, like a talon,
Took hold of the peachy pearl
I climbed then
Clumsily up the sky—
Up and up I went
And watched the dusty city,
Its flickering lights, and glorious glamour
All beneath me
Oblivious in its slumber

I ruled it all
The yonder, the earth, and beyond

Then the gusts came and kissed me a storm
Have you forgotten your place
Little human?

And the rope wavered
Harshly so, as a dead man tied to a bough
I feared that Jupiter
Would flutter out of my grip
And send me plummeting
To the pitiless land
Where I am from—

But climbed on I did
Through all the havoc
Such was my desperation to soar
And the moon tusked
When I dared try kissing its light
A laugh so pure
I forgot the numb of my hands
Keeping me there
Where only the clouds are known to roam
Forgot the small, small
World below
And slipped I then
Out of the short-lived ecstasy

I was a child lost in a lake
My limbs moved and moved, immobile
Down and down did I fly
As winds above me rushed
Darkness was the blood of a lamb
And clotted
I whirled around myself
Till I did no more

What is this new-found lust for madness
Marching hand in hand with my blood?
I fear I will drag myself to my altar
And spill whole all
That is known of me
Till I am one in the silent night
Kissing my sick Moon to sleep—
Swaying to the faint sounds
Of the orchestra of winds
A dead dove tied to Jupiter
Far, far in the black
What is this new-found lust for madness
Marching hand in hand with my blood
Begging for war—
Jenny Gordon Mar 2019
Shaken in a real sense by L.E.L. ie Letitia Elizabeth Landon/Mrs. Mclean's fate:  immensely popular


I'd boyfriends, even kissed until that sense
Of ecstasy was buried sans avail
With gradeschool's innocence, but never'd scale
The actual height of love 'til Nigel thence
Took me in hand to teach my soul from whence
It sprung, though all in vain; where TyKlee'd hail
Me at my mother's tomb to steal in frail
Excuse my shattered heart betrayed fr'intents.
And now that Les taught me French kissing fer
Sheer moments of keen passion, none yet "knew"
Lo, me:  I'm still a ******.  Thieves in tour
Stole off, what? bits and pieces.  Naught e'er woo
But they are false, yea, scoundrels.  Love is poor.
I, as a violet, fade with silver dew.

... in her own lifetime and since forgotten, while artists by definition are forever worth more dead than alive, the price she paid to attain that fame stirred this.
NOTE:  They all have this idea that the term signifies a desire to be despoiled, whereas it actually means a person who's saving themself for one and one only.
Here, check this out for taste:  []
Jenny Gordon Mar 2019
Keats swooned over a world that never was, except in dreams, and I've no use for that.


In lieu of aught we know:  blue skies t'avail
Sans blot of clouds 'til puddles mirror thence
Heavn's eye...take up the chalice to drink hence
That fragrant draught which yields as if to scale
More heady visions than we've drunk, t'exhale
Like sailors on the faerie seas, pretense
Our dainty meat; as lovers swoon for sense
Oer plighted troth, not as we know; sans bail.
Go into raptures likeas Keats would stir
And Byron knew to write, as Shelley drew
Up in his Ode, faint cuz ye know in tour
What minstrels sang in ballads, weaving to
Effect those silken strands to snare souls fer
The Devil's heights.  Cuz what we have won't do.

NOTE:  Who knows of L.E.L. ie Letitia Elizabeth Landon?  I prefer reality though it's far too shallow.
Nis Dec 2018
Lluvia sobre paragüas mojados,
sed de semilla de amor;
la caída del otoño
resuena en la profundidad de la nada
y soy yo
pero no hay nadie.


Rain on wet umbrellas,
thirst for seed of love;
Fall's fall
echoes in the depth of nothingness
and it's me
but there is noone.
It doesn't sound too good in English I think, but that's just my opinion.
eF Dec 2018
I wish that I could go back,
Erase the pain I felt.
Everyday seems like a mission,
With the cards that I’ve been dealt.
We all live in pain baby,
Just admit it for yourself.
Despite my current attitude,
That’s hanging on the shelf.
Um yeah.
Jenny Gordon Nov 2018
...say--whatever, nor how to say "ghastly" with another word.


O how the gutter drools in morning's pale
And ghastly eye, leaves fluttring down from hence
In lonely ones or twos, so yellow, whence
Look how November lays a carpet, hale
Aye golden, thick and musty, whose detail
Glows dimly under grey racks' twilight, dense
Calm is't? mair bitter than our souls fr'intents
Like, while Death stares us in the face sans bail.
Trees' naked boughs stretch upward as winds stir
The fallen with a careless hand.  We do
Not look, but with faint shivring as it were,
Pull sweaters closer, hang up lights to woo
Warm feelings as the strands blink through this poor
Light, and rain weeps sans consolation, blue.

*lifts brows inquisitively* Hmm?  Was there something else to add?  I forget what....
Nis Jul 2018
Mi corazón y el océano son polos opuestos,
por eso en mi corazón lo siento.
Me llora cada noche por no verme,
me grita con tormentas su añoranza.

Yo también añoro al océano
y de mis ojos surgen lágrimas saladas,
sal de océano.
Mi corazón se rompe y él lo sabe,
el océano lo sabe todo.
Sabe su soledad y sabe la mía
y sabe que estamos destinados a encontrarnos.


My heart and the ocean are opposing polea,
that's why in my heart I feel it.
It cries me each night to see me,
it cries with storms its longing.

I long the ocean too
and from my eyes salty tears emerge,
ocean's salt.
My heart breaks and it knows it,
the ocean knows it all.
It knows its loneliness and it knows mine
and it knows we are destined to meet.
Something in between the dysphoria caused by the beach and my closeness to suicide by drowning in the ocean.
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