Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
I feel so

compelled

to bash your head in
with my love.

When you're dead,
I'll fashion a paintbrush
from a lock of your hair.

I'll paint you on the ceiling
in violent shades of burgundy.

I'll lick the bristles clean.

I'll paint my taste buds
with the vibrant flavors

of your love.

I'll craft a cradle from your bones,
and wrap it taught with your dermis.

Your

marrow

will seep out,

like the

love

from my heart.

I'll keep you.
Forever.
A shrine.
A memento.
A collectable.

A macabre reminder
of my

love.
You'll never leave
again.
Are like gems,
Learn where to hide them,
Or where to show them.
17/12/2021
Yes
You are my surrender to night
the days last exhale,
That dances into dreams..

You are the arch of day,
the warm rays of morning
the delight of new light...

a forest breeze
between the trees,

the bloom of laughter.
the evaporation of thoughts.

a beckoning gate, of which I step through-

Into your peaceful
And gentle presence.
I thought if I could swallow the stars
I’d be as beautiful as the evening sky
I tried one night    with fireflies
They burned my throat
Their legs striking at soft flesh
But my skin did not glow
No moon crawled from my eye sockets
I was left with corpses in my stomach
I soon learned I would only ever be
A cemetery
The first chore of consciousness is to
remember that it is darkness,
and that some of that darkness is bone.  
Its these molecules that grew tired from all the fuss of Gravity
and slowed,
and built a circular cathrdral and
from it cast long outreaches ******* more
but its not enough so there is skin, sailed between
and catching breath for the movement dreamed.
The day you walked in
Stood on my door
You were nineteen
I was twenty four.
A look at your face
Weakened my knees
In your sweet fairness
I experienced bliss.
Throbbed hard my heart
My body felt so light
That spelt the start
Of my love at first sight!
The day you walked in
There wasn't anymore
Happiness for nineteen
Peace for twenty four.
Dripping wet
December gets
It frets
The rains have overstepped

It’s not July
No not September
It’s been long August has slept

Winters just checked into December
Changing the air to mode, cold
But the rains have overstepped

Cold and wet December gets
Last it is, but never the least
Brings in joy and festivities

Within a day or maybe two
The rains will vanish in thin air
Pleasant weather and sunshine
December makes promises fair
1st December
a higher being is a higher power
a higher being is a higher source
a higher being is a higher source of a galaxy
a higher being is a source of a higher power
a galaxy is a source of a higher power
a galaxy is a source of a higher source
a universe is a higher source of a higher being

a source of a galaxy is a source of a universe
time is a strength of a universe
a universe is a strength of a universe
a universe is a strength of a higher power
a universe is a strength of a higher source
time is a strength of time
time is a strength of a higher being

time is a source of strength
a galaxy is a source of a galaxy
a galaxy is a source of a source
time is a strength of a strength
time is time’s strength
a higher being is a strength of a higher source
a higher source is a strength of a higher power
my writing is called philosophical writing. i only uses middle ages words,words from the renaissance for instance words liked gracious,extravaganza,etc... this poem is about the strength of a higher source and higher power. i don’t add capitalization’s on my writing.
It burned my palm when I caught your randomly floating wretched thoughts.
Next page