John Keats
John Keats
John
Please put your scarf on.

I'm forced to believe what I look like isn't beautiful
Skin is in
and bones are too
also, If your over a size 2 you're fat
Being tall is a must,
lighter skin is a plus
and long hair is a bonus.
Magazines, television, radios;
the media tells me what I should look like.
But, what is the "media"?
The media is an idea
and everyone seems to want to be a part of it.
They promote dangerous actions
Bulimia, anorexia, weaves and make up;
just without words
The people behind the media should be revealed,
they are probably fighting with themselves to look like what they advertise.

It's a fall down the stairs
the deliberate action of miss guided steps
rotates the axis of body and form
That crashes fast the nightmare.
I agonize to the pits decay
the frolicking thoughts
there displayed
against the window frame
the sheared glass
Where drips the red dye of life.
Crimson seeds populate the fragile
delicate balance of pain
To the nightly screams that draw
Fills one sore to the unenlightened refrain.
Ticking its seconds
awaiting some external cure
Bordering upon a fancy
Lusting deaths mask to sweep and bind
The lonely hour
The desperate sigh.
Raging inside
begging between the ******
and some hope for light
encouraged in the sinking
that choking plea
strangling the inconsistencies
I court the dark riders course
hoofs pounding nearer
the hearts remorse
Fades the gasp
Of suicide.

Alisdaire O'Caoimph

read by some.
lived by all.

a quiet life of faith.
executions in the name of religion.

a mother holding a folded flag.
friendly fire.

tears that stream for a dead child.
weeping because of guilt.

dying in a hospital bed.
a visitor you haven’t seen in years.

finding renewal in the arms of a lover.
finding a lover in the arms of a friend.

twenty-three seconds left in the game.    
a ticking clock echoing in a widow’s home.

granite steps and marble columns.
protesting from a grand stage.

being imprisoned by loneliness.
living alone to recognize freedom.

accepting that you are different.
desiring to be different.

anything.
everything.

© 2010 C.T. Bailey

That's all there is.

Empty bottles. Cigarette butts.
Invisible stains of passion
And the scent of you
all over my body
to remind me
Of one night-
and that's all there is.

Pink and blue
laced with memories of you
coming full circle
to where we were
but everything is so
Different from what I remember.
Warm earth turns to cold, gunmetal steel
the boy I once knew
Is a new man
that I'm trying to know again.
that boy on the shore
has grown up.

And I guess I've been
chasing memories all this time
and this would be the last time
I would bleed for them.

It really takes losing everything
you've ever wanted
to be finally free.

Soreness in my limbs.
That's all there is.
fleeting as it is, a memory
waiting to be wrought anew.
It is enough for now.
And maybe enough for the nights to come.
One night was all there was.
One night that is only,
truly ours.

down we sink
down we go
i don't want to leave
but down we must go
we will drown in tears
of broken souls
down we sink
down we go

I am a City.
Vivid.
Strong.
Taking all the footsteps,
One by one,
Tire tracks burning my face,
And all the nothing people
Will soon take me to be.

I think of all my pitted surfaces
Broken again and again,
Hastely mended each time
So they could only break me again.

I feel the fire,
Trembeling rock,
And jets of water pounding against my pores.
The nothing I will soon be is fast approaching.

I slowly fall,
Unnoticed and uncared for.

Bit by bit,

THUMP.

A crew to fix me.

THUMP.

A little glue here and there.

THUMP.

Some cement should make it alright.

They walk by ,
Seeing me fall apart
They tell me to pull myself together,
And I give them a small nod.

But I cant anymore.
All the cracks have gone too deep this time,
For a little glue to fix me.

But I have to.
I’ve done it for a while now
Haven’t I?

We welcome the girl,
alone it would seem,
like a seed in the updraught,
whole worlds lie beneath.

Here is the girl,
A mind pregnant with dreams,
as she crosses the bridges,
connecting the streams.

There lands a girl,
ghouls taunt, ghouls tease,
"let go of this love, girl,
be rid of these dreams."

Come see the girl,
speaking tounges through machines,
white draped over candy,
embracing the terminal dream.

Heres lies the girl,
most wouldn't believe,
the ghouls taunts a mere whisper now,
dream easy, love freely... my sweet.

A darkened scar across my eye
a lightning  crack against the sky
this morbid creature standing by
this place where horror tends to cling

What God has cursed you with this frame?
your crippled form,  your branches lame
but let him speak and he'll proclaim
"I'm far more tame in spring"