#crust
My boyfriend (Peter) and I went down to New Haven Harbor today.
Let’s face it, we’re surrounded by oceans,
and most of them are downright inhospitable.
I live near the ocean, (pointing) it’s right over there.
I love the ocean, tripping over whenever I’ve time to spare.
The way I’m fawning over it, you’d think I know it well.
But I really only love its edges and undulating swells.
It’s like a book that I’ve judged by its cover,
a beautiful stranger taken as a lover,
or a pie when I’ve only tasted the crust.
I love something, I suppose, I’ve barely even touched.
Peter says that black, inky “outer-space” is a low-viscosity liquid,
another, even vaster ocean that’s more dangerous and rarely visited.
The air that we breathe is an ocean - our own, vast, atmosphere -
in it swim creatures too small to see, but to the naked eye it looks clear.
It flows, eddies and swells - birds swoop in it so you can tell.
Of course, the ocean has issues - it's hardly news - corrosion, erosion, sharks and drowning - and the way the ocean lets the moon and air push it around.
What I love most is its motion, and how it reflects the sun and the moon.
Did I mention that hanging-out by the ocean makes for a pleasant afternoon?
Mar 22, 2023
Mar 22, 2023 at 10:35 AM UTC
she in
jade pink
how smooth
her face
that let
her wink
and about
face a
seldom act
of depravity
is being
a triad
but in
the mix
has her
wed to
vows untouched
Jun 2, 2018
Jun 2, 2018 at 8:01 AM UTC
Everyone has there daily struggles
But with depression it's more than doubled
I rise each day to face the sun
But a part of me just wants to run
To hide away and lock the door
Or **** someone and settle the score
The wounds inflected on me I can not hide
You can see them all plainly on every side
They are apart of me, inside and out
I've been prey to many, and my trophy head they mount
In their memory of victims, I'm another count
They did it slow, they took their time, in no hurry
Then sent me off to the ******* taxidermy
They cleaned me up and stuff in the saw dust
But all you see standing before you, is just my crust.
Feb 9, 2016
Feb 9, 2016 at 8:09 PM UTC
there's a killer on the loose
stalking my city streets
and my biggest fear
is that it might be me
every single night
i have another dream
i see their twisted faces frozen in their final screams
and every single day carries the horrid revelation
that my mind has seen through killer's eyes in my imagination
theres a killer on the loose and i dont know what to do
so many brand new corpses that i'm afraid for you
when i close my eyes and let the black invade my sight
drift away into the vast oblivion of night
i can see their faces tense and twisted up in fright
as someone dressed up in my clothes rapes them of their life
there's a killer on the loose
and now i know it's me
this face will be the last thing
your eyes will ever see
Feb 8, 2016
Feb 8, 2016 at 11:35 PM UTC
...i hear them howling cries of terror
in the vortex of my dreams
in the dark i feel them nearing
on the wind i hear the screams
there's something in the shadows
there's a monster in the deep
and i sense the presence of an evil
approaching in my sleep
in my sleep...
there's a terrible truth, i don't yet know
a sight i've yet to witness
but i feel it creeping through my mind like an ever-present sickness
my blood runs cold
my hair stands up
and i can feel the wicked
upon my flesh
within my soul
a sickly, black enigma...
UNEXPLAINED NIGHT TERRORS
something our subconscious knows
UNEXPLAINED NIGHT TERRORS
but is unable to show...
Feb 8, 2016
Feb 8, 2016 at 9:40 PM UTC
The anger is a boil on my thoughts
You in so much and in so many ways
You have to pretend now to win
All your wins are actually losses
When it first was an actualization
I watched love slowly slip away
The so far turned into the surely near
In the end - yeah , there was one
All the boiling water left a crust
Around the inside of the pan of pain
Apr 30, 2015
Apr 30, 2015 at 8:31 PM UTC
Blue is not sure where to find the propeller.
The motor boat sent to scotch the shimmer. The waves
break inside a jar, and the little pieces are swept up by the wind and made into mist.
The Jar is shaken, the titanic sinks,
and the seagulls peck at our eyes.
Covered in barnacles, the new-found fish men
wander onto the sand and get coated,
as in cornmeal,
ready to fry.
Infatuated and floundering
they wander
to water again.
Drinking death hand over fist,
they ring themselves out with simply a twist.
The fish flap their fins so forcefully;
trying to
be flying to
a sea called the sky.
With a crumbled-ed crust they say, “motherboat or bust”,
but the navigation of aviation is a compilation of great frustration
for fishes whose function
is on boats, wrapped up
in those silly greatcoats.
Yet they made it, or so they claim, and with only one flounder or flunder who had made a blunder to blame.
If only old skipper had been a bit quicker, he wouldn't have had such a queer story to claim.
Oct 25, 2014
Oct 25, 2014 at 2:10 PM UTC
It doesn't matter how so plain
Or rough the crust may be,
The kernel is what truly counts --
The part we cannot see.
A piece of land perceived as good
And ripe for human toil
May yet prove unproductive
Without the proper soil.
Can we appraise the saber
While still within its sheath,
Or comprehend the ocean
Unless we look beneath?
Sights we often fail to see
And thoughtlessly pass by
May be those that satisfy
The palate, not the eye.
Jun 24, 2014
Jun 24, 2014 at 7:57 PM UTC
I get the crust and the gristle of a thistle once a missile shooting out into the sky and I cry, wonder why. Never sure what I feel for the meal of a deal and then words more like air slip the breeze in my hair, butterflies in the skies killing what kept my alive. Oh too bad, well how sad, if the songs last lines din't matter it'd harm, it'd make the soul so very mad. Here I fall, there I stand like a robot dancing to the tunes. It's demand. Hear I laugh, hear I cry. I hear the screams and feel the burn, so why? Why unsure, of what's telling me my life is so impure. Threatened heart, from the strings that wrap it, tearing it apart. Feel the clench of a bundle of what you yourself have drench and so benched. And you threw to me the horror show, I never so have thought would reckon me to be. I, to be, it's master and it's longing family, here I cry. Hear "I" cry. For I exist in heart, but never, not in mind. There I stand once again as a memory of all that I pretend. If I tried, to be real, the pieces fall apart inside. So I hide, then I quiver and I shake as 'me' is inside. I can touch to the shelter covered in the unbelieving, underachieving to be who I know I am to be. Or at least what you see. I crush the old me and start anew, though I grew. I, immortal to myself have stomped the true. And I become something greater than simple little shrew. Do not lie! For I see with one eye, the look through me. What you see is a host, not the ghost, that lives on. "Awh, look at me. I'm so strong!" Laugh along. Child there. Where? Oops, forgot to care. Now I stare, towards the end that's never ending like this script. Never ending. Twist and bending. Don't kid me, I'm no kid. I'm the body of a youth, but I am dead. I've destroyed myself, if others didn't do a perfect job. Hold up stop! I'm letting go, a bubble that will pop. It will burst, destroying me, if it doesn't **** me first. Here I stand. Hear I cry. There I go. I have died.
May 6, 2014
May 6, 2014 at 1:09 PM UTC