#marvingaye
Contemplating ************
I lie on my crookedly back
on a lumpy mattress
with curves in all the wrong places,
studying the ceiling’s hairline fractures
as though they were maps
(anywhere, but here)
speed bump city
crawling with untarred roads
leading nowhere, anyway.
hopelessness fills the spaces in between
alleys fermenting in their own neglect,
and cemeteries meet parks, overlapping
seeded with broken glass
where children once rehearsed futures.
junkie-slop spray-painted bridges
slump,
over lifeless, macroplastic
polluted rivers
which carry industrial excrement
bubbling, past jetty beams
surrendering to rot.
The city decomposes all around me,
above me, below my feet and yet
Worst of all,
death lives within me.
A cigarette hangs from my mouth
its ember a minor sunrise.
small things are big in a world of defeat...
my mind dances
with every deep inhalation,
as sparks perform their brief ballet
then vanish as if rehearsed.
Sirens stitch the distance.
Dogs growl at the invisible danger
lurking at every corner in this town.
Bins rattle like an embodiment of the anxious conscience.
Somewhere, an ambulance [tragically]
edits and prolongs a life.
Disharmony harbors inside these walls
all the same,
acting as conductor to the choir of braintot vices and the ever persistent
peace disruptor clock
(they never stop)
tick,
tock
tick,
tock...
small metronomes
with a destructive appetite.
My mindmaps catalogue the abandoned districts
of my own interior:
bridges never crossed,
letters unsent,
texts ghosted,
ambitions weathered down
to bottom of the can, faded graffiti.
Desire does not announce itself
with trumpets.
It arrives like municipal decay -
quiet,
inevitable,
functional.
inconveniently,
the ceiling does not answer.
the night does not intervene.
the city continues its indifferent pulse.
There are roads one repairs.
There are roads one avoids.
and there are roads
that circle back
around the neck, and back
to the body.
in an overflowing ashtray
i extinguish the cigarette.
the dancing is done.
and the all consuming room waits,
closing in.
Hmm.
I should **********
Feb 17
Feb 17, 2026 at 1:08 AM UTC
I've seen the glass of your eyes,
as the glow brightly of a reflecting despair,
Desires of a searching heart; still unfound
as we've gone a couple rounds
To a cost of pleasure, divided in equal parts;
we are the amount of a harmonic ****** found
Seeking multiplication; hopefully not by mistake,
and parasites at the most, feeding on each other's side
longing to kiss your face, and losing my tongue in that
secret place
To make the sweetest of love- a wright,
a maker ironically who messes up your make up,
So wrong of me in such a feeling that feels so right,
a cloud of the night, who covers your eyes to the atmosphere,
Whether we weather this together, it isn't a goal of mine,
to get you to any point of dryness
And with all these kisses made of wine; red lips of passion,
with all of the kisses that don't taste less of the finest
Our silhouettes will be animations of our character,
climbing into bed lastly; as the final step of foreplay's ladder
I'm a little old fashioned, wearing myself down,
and wrinkling time with the intentions of leaving lines on your
body matter
No matter;
we'd play prior movie scenes with a little more action,
holding onto a moment in a body's lens- let's capture
The best parts of ourselves, for the best never lasts too long,
so we'd try to get the catchy parts to reminisce on its chorus
Like every popular and trending love song,
but I'm spending too much time on my own words
Especially for someone who has been waiting for so long,
so we'd best play into our desires like playing that song,
_"baby, let's get it on"_
Aug 22, 2023
Aug 22, 2023 at 5:17 PM UTC