#reds
****** reds
Broken blues
Heaven I want
Hell I choose
A menagerie of scars maps surface of skin
Eternity mocking every sin
Dawn overtakes darkness each day
Shining light inside is conquered by dismay
My heart is armored to protect from getting hurt
Harbor of regret hidden under my shirt
The birdsong becoming constant serenade
Along with the stars
Notes soon will fade
Watching windows
Don't dare crack my door
Bones too delicate to endure elements anymore
An ocean of fears drowning head
Scared to face future
I crawl into a hole instead
These evenings cannot seem to escape the shadow on my heels
Could never explain how immense every single problem feels
Nov 15, 2024
Nov 15, 2024 at 7:10 AM UTC
DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, our reality is covering the stashes of our unrealistic fantasies:}
take me away wherever you say
I am prone to your plead and dismay
hold me tight under the bright
just where we are undercover out of the hideous sights
pull me another and linger on me and my covers
for what will you deprive me of your taste of winters
and your shine of summers
------ravenfeels
Apr 2, 2021
Apr 2, 2021 at 1:34 PM UTC
He skulks around late at night, all hollow
innocence to swallow, beast within burns
his fire - demonic Dorian Gray, an infinity
of void, reflecting through mirrors of lead
The blood is the lifeforce of the words, it flows
it's the rhythm that keeps on flowing, crimson --
Lifeforce within, flowing, like rivers in some
******* babylon, baby, pregnancy of the earth boom boom
vampire bite, what a fright, burned eyes boo boo --
trapped in this zoo, man - caged beast, man.
Every man is a caged beast, controlled and
tied up, flawed creature, bashing head against the bars
and poets? They are the most flawed of all, dreaming of
escape, no hope, scraping the claws against the wall.
Red crimson lifeforce flows, big bang bachelors
drinking in noir nights, feeling the fright of the
big girls against the ceilings, their dreaming lips
which siren lust and *** screaming in the night
siren. Bountiful **** *******
Sirens of *** burning in the night, hemp smoking in
the corner, drink more, smoke more, **** more, feel more -
red - red - red - red
blood / blood / blood
Give it in, keep it burning in your veins, through the heart
that brain, it needs something to keep on ticking
like the grandfather clock, tick tock tick tock
feed your **** red crimson moon, find a girl
treat her right, be tight with the devine
that feline moma won't wait around forever
so don't expect her too, just treat her right
be tight, and hold her in the night, out of sight
nebula dreams with your love, sozzled right.
Wasted and burnt by your eyes.
Seal her red within with your tears of divinity
and bleed for her too when you need to.
Red, like the colour of a rose,
or at least the bleeding of a moon.
Bada bing, bada boosh.
Jan 5, 2018
Jan 5, 2018 at 8:41 PM UTC
How did I end up here
in this gruesome clash,
threatened with a gun
by this human trash?
I don't know for sure
but for one I'm certain,
as the trigger pulls
down drops my curtain.
Back slams on the ground
now I'm left for dead,
blood spills from me
painting the concrete red.
As the pain numbs down
and my heartbeat slows,
all my lifelong dreams
leave my body cold.
Damn...is this the end?
Is this the end of me?
I wish someone was here
just to remember me...
and I wake up.
Sep 30, 2017
Sep 30, 2017 at 4:36 PM UTC
#[Infernal Dialectic of Ongoing Struggle]
Spoke Mao Zedong to Kim Jong Ill:
*We languish here in deep red hell—
Let us confer and analyze
What factors revolutionize
The contradictions still.*
Replied Lil’ Kim: *The running dogs
Beguiled by class and capital
Have overdrawn and overspent.
They bank on debt, and make lament
And flounder in their fogs…*
*Kim chee does stink, but tastes so good
Do have some more, oh comrade Mao.
Fermented cabbage goes so well
With Hennessey and blondes (in hell)
when* Juche’s in da hood!
The Fearless Leader (now a shade)
Responded thus: *Just give them time.
Our doctrines spread, their God is dead
Their sons shall sing ‘The East is Red’
Our party’s got it made.*
Ill Kim displayed a wicked grin:
*Our rocket-launches make them fear
They scold and cluck, and then they duck
While Hillary tries to pass the buck
I think we still could win…*
The Chairman thought and sipped some fire
in communistic reverie, and feeling very clever, he
Replied to Ill: *This place we’ll fill
with dead reactionaries still—
fifth columns to inspire.
Now let the thousand flowers bloom
And let one thousand thoughts contend.
Remember ** Remember ‘Nam?
We triumphed over Uncle Sam—
He’s limping toward his doom.*
A wizened ghost now drifted in
Because his name had been proclaimed
A wispy beard (as yet unseared)
Revealed the mastermind once feared:
Old Uncle ** Chi Minh !
** Ho—old friend! Draw near! Draw near,*
Spoke Mao: *In solidarity
We hail your work upon the earth
You showed them what a war is worth
You’re always welcome here.*
*Ill Kim and I were wondering
How best to make the forward leap—
conspiring how to **** their cow
and smoke their duck and drain their sow
while they are buying bling.
** Chi, old warrior, why the frown?
Upon your wisdom now we wait.
The forces red you bravely led
You staked your claim until they bled
And brought their nation down.*
Old uncle ** the sage revered,
did smolder with his cigarette.
Viet Cong thought is hard to grasp
It slithers like a jungle asp…
** paused and stroked his beard:
*You speak without the people’s light!
I criticize in strongest terms
Your revolutionary thought.
We need to ask our friend Pol ***
How best to steer this fight.
Such gradual change, a halfway measure
stalls the Bourgeoisie’s demise.
Our true Khmer Rouge was not a stooge
of Kapital. His fame was huge
for plundering their treasure.
True, he had to purge his nation
such is revolution, gents…
The traitor classes see the masses,
through reactionary glasses.
Death or re-education!
We ought to sow his rural seed
for pure agrarian reform.
The bodies in the rice can rot
to fertilize the harvest plot—
the people’s mouths to feed.*
When Pol *** heard his tactics lauded
he flew in to join the jabber:
*Take a tip from Kampuchea!
Listen well and I will teach ya!*
Kim and Mao applauded.
*City folk are useless eaters
glasses-wearing foes and cheaters!
let them slave – and always save
their corpses for the fertile grave
Until they love their leaders.
From the barrel power grows—
(I don’t mean kim chee barrel, boys).
Now learn my way.We’ll have our say
Their weakened states will wither away.*
The Red dictator rose.
Prepared to ramble on for hours
(the way Fidel so loves to do)
Pol Pot’s harangue now fired the gang
like rockets falling on Da Nang
emitting sparks in showers.
Hell is known for lack of stasis—
Sudden throes of quaking fire;
fitful flares from from Satan’s lairs
and constant similar affairs
the population faces…
Thus Saint Pol *** still naming names
along with Mao and Kim-Jong Il
while ** Chi screamed, and then blasphemed
were swept en masse, and unredeemed
into the surging flames.
Yet still they plotted in the blaze
with dialectic deviousness.
Philosophizing, strategizing
stinking sulphur brimstone rising;
ghosts in the yellow haze . . .
☭ END ☭
Sep 10, 2015
Sep 10, 2015 at 9:01 PM UTC
“I want to buy a pack of Marlboro reds and smoke them one by one.
Twenty little friends to calm my nerves.
Twenty times I’ll count which memories I’m burning away.
I’m dizzy from the nicotine, but thinking more clearly now.
There’s a sick satisfaction
in killing yourself slowly.
I want to understand the songs
about needing a smoke.”
1:34 p.m, Monday, March 9, 2015
- j.d
Apr 22, 2015
Apr 22, 2015 at 10:59 PM UTC
The sky’s a light carnelian’s shade
and, as the brightness starts to fade,
from carnelian to carmine he turns, too-
soft to vivid tones of the hue.
Looks into the ‘windows to my soul,’
(‘windows to one’s soul’ he called them)
The intensity nearly swallows me whole-
his windows a pair of solitary gems.
Eyes the colour that fire should be,
a fury to turn flames green with envy.
So as carnelian turns to carmine
and the heavens light up with his glow,
a firefly’s brightness is overshadowed,
but the yellow is whitened down in snow
A lone, saphhired rhododendron in full bloom
unaware of its death in a pluck so soon
The furious ball of rage sets
and us (three!) need to return
-a lingering gaze for a moment too long,
cheeks of crimson and burn!
For too long have we tarried,
our hours have wasted the day
Find no longer a reason
nor any excuse to stay
Peer over the edge a last time
(indecision, in control)
At the vast expanse of cerulean, sublime
(pause to contemplate my goal)
Tucks the blooming rhod’ between a lock and an ear,
breathes, “it looks prettier still here,”
for another second holds ( ) near
and in parting’s ‘sweet sorrow’ starts to disappear
A gunshot echoing, a resounding sound,
as he turns away from the mead’.
His body slowly hits the ground,
and I know I’ve killed him dead.
For the first time, a lamenting tear’s grace
rolls down one side of my face
and all I see is red.
A gunshot, a second time, lying in bed,
brow, hair, pillow- all soaked in red.
Jul 11, 2014
Jul 11, 2014 at 1:47 PM UTC
The Reds Rocked me into decimation
The Oranges Overcame my shriveled form
The Yellows Yearned to return to that saddened smile
The Greens Grew a seed of perhaps
The Blues Broke through the dried esteem
The Violets Veered me off the path again
Apr 27, 2014
Apr 27, 2014 at 2:00 AM UTC