#in-love
I needed pity,
but the only thing you could give me
was a solution
a smile, a laugh and
ridiculous facts about blood flow.
The best medication for a suffering soul.
Dec 9, 2014
Dec 9, 2014 at 12:30 PM UTC
I love you
I will love you when you’re good or when you’re bad and
When you are happy or sad
I will love you
Even when you’re mad or even
When I am
I will love you when you’re failing or frustrated
And if you’re falling apart I will
Keep every piece of you from hitting the ground
I will love you in our good times
I will love you more
In our bad ones
And I will still love you
Tomorrow or the next day or even the days after that
Because I love you now
And
I always and will always do
I never ever want to stop doing so, because
I love you
Dec 8, 2015
Dec 8, 2015 at 4:33 AM UTC
Hope to see you soon
Hope not to see you soon
What am I
What am I telling the moon?
Should keep it a secret, should keep this to myself
But how can I, how can I?
It can’t be helped
Am I willing to fight?
Are you worth the fight?
It’s not wrong I know, but it’s certainly not right
It’s getting dark, the moon will soon be here
with his Light, do I have the right to stare?
Maybe
when the stars begin to appear,
Little hopes will shine
Be it unclear
Maybe when this fire inside constantly burns
I’ll be that Light, and thy moon will make its turn
Dec 2, 2015
Dec 2, 2015 at 8:13 AM UTC
I’m measuring heartbeats and gauging miles across torn atlases and
each space between the intakes of breath while saying I miss you
feels like my lungs are freezing over or decaying or burning
I’ve been pacing around my room for so long that I think
my floorboards are starting to form fault lines
and some nights I miss you with the magnitude of an earthquake
I’m digging trenches in my chest because
my heart holds more use as a graveyard
and I’m burying your memories there
It’s midnight on the first day of autumn and I don’t know
if the thunder cracked again or it’s just my voice
begging and screaming at God to bring you back to me
except no one can hear prayers over the silence
that’s fallen over me since you left so I keep missing you
until heartbeats can keep up with distance
Sep 16, 2015
Sep 16, 2015 at 7:21 PM UTC
Mine Filipino rose
For thee I shalt;
Be tossed inside the
The Brazen Bull;
Until mine inside's art crisp.
Be impaled
On wood;
Mine head planted on a stick.
Be crucified
Mine hand's nailed;
Thorn's upon mine top.
A Lead Sprinkler
To sprinkle lava;
In mine throat lost.
An Iron Maiden
To taketh the metal;
Inside mine liver.
Coffin Torture
To let the crow's;
Pecketh at the splinter's.
A thumbscrew
To snap me as twigs;
As mercy I yelleth.
Rope torture
To leaveth me exposed;
To hell and the element's.
The Guillotine
As mine head falleth;
Into oldened basket.
The Rack
As mine shoulder's wilt bust;
Twisting mine bracket's.
Tongue Tearer
To knot mine tongue;
And rip it at the seam's.
The Rat Torture
As mine interior wouldst be ripped;
Rat's burrowing inside me, scream's.
The chair of torture
As edge's impale mine spine;
Hellion seating.
Cement Shoes
In the bottom of the sea;
Wherein noone canst heareth me.
Crocodile Shears
To gut me as a fish;
Reptilian grip's.
The Breaking Wheel
Wherein mine limb's art tied up to spokes, hammered by devil's;
I crack, Snapple, pop, as mine bones elongate, mine blood chokes.
Sitting on the Spanish Donkey
Mine carrion torn in twain;
As heaven canst feeleth mine pain, for thee I'd screameth again.
Saw Torture
As tis the razor's edge wouldst goeth through mine abdomen;
Evil bastard's shalt cut me, as I'm praying amen, just to DIETH.
Hanged, Drawn, and Quartered
It sais it all in the verse;
For thee I'd haveth all this done mine queen, for thee to liveth.......
©Brandon nagley
©Earl Jane dedication
©Lonesome poet's poetry
Aug 13, 2015
Aug 13, 2015 at 10:04 PM UTC
i
Her Bayanihan entity, maketh me Muni-muni in the dusk
Her Humaling for me is relishing, alleluia for her, wanderlust;
I wilt court her mine soon, so she shalt knoweth all is bona fide
I'll taketh her hand in courtship, pushing all the past hurt aside.
ii
I wilt Siping with her in the sugar, in the bowl she dip's her hand
I'll dip mine finger's as well deep inside, inside her mind of tan;
I'll draweth her name on cardboard, and use black marker to,
Like bairn's in yard's, with relic yarn, I'll connect to mine muse.
iii
And thus to be fused, from ourn electrical sensual Spark's
Naked in the world's view, just as actor's, playing the stage part;
Though tis no script, this page is written by ourn amorous desire
Indigenous bodie's, to light the torches, love HOTT, all sweet fire.
iv
Mango to be viscid, between me and her's succulent tang
Her arm's wrapped around mine neck, not letting go, she hang's;
She is Makisig in perfect perfection, wearing a domino mask
Ballroom style, she driveth me wild, her love tis free, not a task.
©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©あある じぇえん
Aug 8, 2015
Aug 8, 2015 at 6:49 PM UTC
My hands are pressed gently into his palms. His fingers are running over the gaps between my knuckles and are folding down and along each crease like a little boy bent over a desk in the back of the classroom concentrating on making a paper airplane out of yesterday’s homework. I half-expect someone to tap my shoulder and say, “Are you paying attention?” No, not really. I am focused on the way his lips are moving a fraction of a second out of time with the faint country song we hear playing from outside. I begin to sing too. Half way into the second verse, his eyes meet mine again. He takes my aircraft hands and leads me to the middle of the living room. The overhead fan gazes at us. I feel the paper airplanes inside of my chest swirl. We are swaying. My arms are draped over his tired shoulders and his are encircling my lower back. I see that his shoelace is untied. I am leaning my weight against his chest, balancing on my tiptoes. I do not tell him I can feel his heart beating. I look up at him again. He is already staring. I notice a subtle pink in his cheeks. I do not realize until now that my lips are only inches from his, the gap between them begging to be closed. So we close it. I fold into him like creased paper waiting to be flown. Someone opens the door. She says, “The song stopped playing. Are you even paying attention?” I speak up and say, “No, not really.”
Jul 10, 2015
Jul 10, 2015 at 12:26 PM UTC
Your eyes - rich chocolate-
each a world, stopped mid-rotation
to survey my expression.
Words fail us.
The air near bursting with
hunger.
We inhale thoughts without form,
gaze sliding over gaze
waiting and wishing.
Heavy sighs and sideways smiles-
your curls gently bounce
as you break contact.
Again you shine those
inquisitive beacons
on my stone face.
I see the earth's core beneath-
the tumult of the plates
colliding and cracking.
My marble facade crumbles
at desire's relentless reach.
I know you. From before.
We have loved.
But no more.
no more.
May 15, 2014
May 15, 2014 at 12:17 PM UTC