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cassie sky Sep 2012
This cave is my sanctuary; cold, damp, filled with minerals and creatures.
I sit cross legged peering out through the crescent shaped doorway mama nature has created.  I have never been more at peace than I am when I’m here.  

The water crashes ******* the barnacle covered rocks beneath me.  The mist from the waves whirls its way up to sooth my aching skin.  The sea calls my name in the way that an angel calls you into the light.  
At first it’s just a delicate whisper.  The voice is so charming and playful that it begins to lure me in. As i begin to drift further, letting the voice carry my thoughts, the waves pound harder and the symphony the sea has written me rapidly grows in volume and intensity.  

The tension becomes so strong that the sky starts to erupt.  The clash of the clouds creates a prismatic light sequence leaving the sky looking magnificently iridescent. I sit unstirred, reveling in it's beauty.

The sea is now agonizingly screaming for me to succumb to its cool paradise.

For a while I just sit and enjoy the elegance of the symphony.  Once the sky starts to lower its darkened veil, I know it is time to go.  
I stand up with more certainty than I had ever felt before.  
I slowly take three steps forward, embracing the feeling of the dirt in between my toes.  
Two long strides, and then I leap.  The thick foggy air caresses my body as it swiftly careens downward.  

The symphony ends with a splash.
Jeremy Betts Feb 2018
What in the actual **** are we doin?
Shootin one another equals out to a no win
Showin only that we are capable of goin
Where we've already been, it's been provin
That even good men can watch sin turn into addiction
Jonsen for a fix 'n looking for a substance to mix in
To distort your perception of the mess you're in
Crossing that line between wishin straight into non fiction
And once you do that you've gone way beyond fixin
But don't nobody listen to reason, we witnessin treason
As the agonizingly slow killing season eliminates believin
So we turn on our kin and every non-citizen with different skin
And every US born citizen with a different complexion or opinion
We lack the discipline to avoid the tail spin
That we've gotten ourselves in, onboard this doomed zeppelin
A people forsaken so that the one percent can rake in a few more billion
This creates a toxin, affecting everyone from grandparents to children
Shortenin' the distance to your coffin
A foundation of sand, yeah, we all know how that'll end
I gotta question, who pays the dividend?
When push comes to shove, and it will, who gets the win?
When all the frustration of an entire nation comes to a head and his orange *** is on another vacation
What's it going to take to tip the scale in our direction?
Maybe its to late to take any kind of action
At least any that will bring some sort of satisfaction
Only living a fraction of your life and the rest through a corporation
No line, no separation, just a part of the consumer relation
And they don't want you to awaken and realize what's been taken
That's the reason for conspiracy, call it a theory to add complication and feed the confusion
Make the equation so impossible you raise fear to an elevation where you can strike with no confirmation
The laceration that severed any credibility will be our damnation
This great nation of ours quickly turned into the greatest abomination
Almost as if we set up and executed or own assassination
A goal of global ******* has always led to a civilizations extinction
History has proven to repeat itself and over and over again...we miss the lesson
So let it sink in...if this is our new direction we're destin to lose the beacon
No hope of a better tomorrow to believe in
If only it was as simple as leavin but it's not, this won't even stop if we destroy the villainous demon
So what do we do?...I have no ******* clue but this boat is sinkin'
Lydia Samantha Aug 2011
I am a ***** of the very worst kind
Not of *** and promiscuity
A ***** of my own
Creation
You come up on my radar
Latch
Seek
Destroy
And you will never know
Each and every one of my
Dead lovers
Never loved me back
Tear them up
Spit them out
Abandoned
Just like me
But I hurt
I feel emotion
Like clods of dirt
Inside my chest
Rip it open
Scream at each
Small thing
Wrong thing
I want only this
That I can never have
Curses
Plagues
Dead
Ex-lovers
Stars in their eyes
That look past my
Efforts
Hints
Advances
I am invisible
Invincible
Or so I like to think
The invisible *****
You never saw me coming
Till I cry these three tears
Drop
Drop
Drop
Two from the right
One from the left
Just like the rest
So many to name
That wouldn’t even know my
Hurt
Abandonment
What have you done to me?
Nothing
It is I
Only I
Want so desperately
To touch
To be touched
3 little tears come from
Within this cold hard
Clenched fist
Wetting my palm
Trying to escape
Flung at your calm
Silent face.
I want to be empty
I want to not feel this
Gift.
Emotion.
In the pit of my stomach
Back of my throat
Behind these eyes
Sick
And they fall
One
Two
Three
The time it takes to
Break
Die
Latch
Seek
Destroy
I am on a rampage
To eat each man up
Bone by bone
Flesh and blood
Thoughts and loves
Till I spew it all back out
To every person I meet
I am a ***** of the very worst kind
I’ve been everywhere
Nowhere
Inside everyone
No One
You cannot pay for me.
I’m too cheap.
You do not want me
I am curse
Brought on by
Liars
Abusers
Molesters
I am the product of
A past
Mistakes
And I want you to
Make me better
But I become
Worse
Liken me please
To those on the street
Full of disease
Because I am worth
Nothing
Of your time
Energy
Nothing
And I expect
Nothing more
Than this
Agonizingly
Painful
You
Are just like
Everyone else
That I never wanted you
To be
So much more than
Dead
Ex-lovers
Death from their lips
In long streams of wire
Attached at my wrists
Ankles
Binding me
Cutting deep
Blood
Red
Stains like my shirt
Cutting me
Scarring me
Until I feel so much
Nothing
And uncountable tears
Flood cities
Destroy taverns
Come knocking
Breaking free
Again
And again
And again
And you are
The same
As those
Starry-eyed, wire binding
Dead
Ex-Lovers
So much alive
Reminding me of every
Failure
Each scar on my wrist
In the form of a name
And now you join the rest
In this shallow unmarked grave
You are alone
With them
And I will
Consume this hurt
Like a breakfast
Of nails and tacks
Each bite will puncture
The last remaining composure
Till I am nothing once again
Radar
Radar
Detecting
Latch
Seek
Destroy
All over again
The very worst kind
Lappel du vide Feb 2014
this night was different;
there were more moments spent looking back then forward,
panic always pulsating in the crook of our throat
like some giant, out of breath beast
waiting in the hollow sweat, and gnarled tree branches
reflecting black against the slightly purple sky.

it was too quiet to mask our
echoing footsteps;
boot on pavement
no rain to soften the blow.

we made it in thirty minutes to the gas station,
where we unzipped our jackets
and let the lace show out of our drooping shirts
blinking like a warning sign
to the drugged up cashier,
words mumbling over his body,
strings mixed up.

men entered and i saw that look
that i always see
in men who look at me;
its hungry, a type of lusting mouth with no
feeling,
**** trusted more than his heart.

the kind of look that says,
“i want you feeling my biceps in the back of
my truck,
and i want to feel your tightness all over me,”
the only problem is i play along,
pretending to be seductive
and then leaving with an agonizingly frozen stare, and
a quickened pace
just to show them who's actually in control.

a pack of Newports exchanged over the counter,
another lighter;
this time with a green and red flower on it;
dahlias of the night.
exoskeletons of black jackets and tights
like some shadow riding vagabonds,
inside guts made out of
swallowed cigarette smoke
and bravery.

we smoked and walked,
watching as headlights flickered toward our slim frames,
and men leaned out from trucks
with salivating mouths like dogs,
inviting us to their burning desire
in the cold, shrinking night.

under the layer of skin
that tells the girl beside me that it would be stupid
to heed to their invitations,
i admit to myself
that all i want is for a stranger to wrap around me
and kiss my smoke stained lips
with a different fury,
so i can whisper a fake name in the depths of their ears,
and show them that i will kiss
better than all the women that have
wrapped themselves in
their limp bedsheets,
and leave them wanting more as i disappear into the night,
leaving nothing but a longing burn
on the tips of their tongues.

but i don't give into my fierce desires,
and we simply turn around,
smoke five more cigarettes,
and climb up the fence
to **** her hand,
and run across the raging freeway
like the Klamath itself.
The shadow moves above my eyes.
I'm blindfolded from sight, handcuffed from touch. The warm feeling of these lips upon my skin - *******, nibbling, biting from this excessive ****** lust and the crude tongue, playing a lecherous percussion of the forbidden dance on my ***** and ******* all this a tantalizing damnation, then this weapon I've been wanting, needing, craving is punched into me, pulling back and forth from *****-lovers lane. It lingers, simmers, agonizingly feeding my sexually crazed desires. I feel as if I'm crawling, brushing, climaxing my ****** and all that is around me. I let out a slow, mournful growl as I'm drawn to a constellated galaxy of ******* rush. Then I  release myself through the milky-way returning to Earth, back in the beige-walled room. The blindfold is now off: free to sight, free to touch. I take a deep breath, look down upon my *** - I want to see him, the Mozart of my ****** pleasure; but instead I find her sitting there ******* her finger,wearing nothing but a smirk.
EXPLICIT CONTENT
karen dannette Feb 2013
My pain is like a dripping faucet
abused and mistreated
My overall condition, worsening drip by drip by drip.
Filling up the sink of life and drowning slowly,
agonizingly.

Choices made with haste and without true understanding of the possible result of the bitterness and pain I was causing.
The loss of the only child you carried in your womb, protected and loved by you, tenderly and with intent.
Mistakes so numerous, an exact moment of loss not known.
Immature woman given young child to raise in this world
of temptation, sin and emotional turbulence.......

-SIN OF THE FLESH CHOSEN OVER A GODLY LIFE-

My beautiful boy with a heart full of hope and abundance
damaged with a change of plans in my travels, unfairly and unjust.
Causing his vehicle to careen down an empty highway of bitterness and isolation.
Fortifying walls around his heart full of abundance of trust and love
Now cold and distant from the mother that shielded him from pain with strain and exertion.

My voice beckons him from across the canyon
To PLEASE allow me to make things ok again between us.
But, alas, only the echo of my own voice is rocketing in the distance
Emptiness and hopelessness, I strain to hear anything at all, no emotion allowed to return to me.  Not even an angry voice.
Beating myself with a metal chain, ****** and in complete desperation, standing on piercing nails with ripped off limbs.....

-OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER-  
FOR EVER??  
NO MORE CHANCES.  
FORGOTTEN, WATCHING IN DESPAIR AS HIS LIFE GOES ON WITHOUT ME
SO EASILY, HE MAKES IT APPEAR.

Regret is like an ancient building ruining the value of its neighbors
decrepit and broken down,
Depraved, isolated and abandoned with recklessness.
So ugly on the outside, no one dares try to re-enter the condemnation of the door.
No one believes it can ever be restored to its original beauty and inspiration.

Hopeful and optimistic for a reunion of remembrance and forgiveness.
Determined with purpose, willing to risk looking shamed and unlovable.
No more self-respect because of hasty, decisions and instant gratification.
Still holding my breath.  Could this be the time I call and he finally comes around?
Grasping to clutch, once again, the blessed unconditional love and trust of my only son.

Negligent and selfish, unintentional life choices of a mother
Difficult to completely accept responsibility for injuries sustained by my misjudgment.
Finally, after years of scripture and study,
Understanding the agony and misery
God must have felt to watch Jesus' beaten and prodded,

GOD SACRIFICED HIS ONLY SON
............THE ONLY WAY TO SHIELD US FROM THE UNIMAGINABLE PAIN AND MISERY
OF AN  ETERNITY  IN HELL ALONE AND UNWANTED
FINALLY RENEWED WITH FORGIVENESS!!!
AFTER WE HAD SINNED AGAINST HIM SINCE THE GARDEN OF EDEN FOR THOUSANDS OF YEARS.

Almost insane from the self-inflicted abuse,
Survival instincts start to make me want to give up and continue my bad choices to numb the memory of him.
Yet, still begging to have him love me again, even if it was for a single minute.
Dreaming of a loving hug from son to mother in earnest and heartfelt.  Willing to settle ANY emotion at all reciprocated.
Hoping he never makes a mistake that causes such irreparable intensity, empty and unwanted.

After 12 years of comforting and soothing and protection,
Everything lost, no more memory at all of mother needed...
No thought of how important he made me feel at one time.
Only father standing proud in picture next to child
                Lovingly smiling at him with adoration.

He respects him and loves him as much as he condemns and disregards me.
               He only speaks or thinks of me with disdain and total detachment
And.. Only when absolutely unavoidable and by force, it appears.
What kind of hell on earth is this?  
           My own tears drown my hope and regret now defines me with each effort of possible reconciliation that is tossed away like an unwanted thing.  

Drip, drip, drip.
My heart is ripped into a million pieces, by my own hand.  
Never to be needed again
If forgiveness will never be possible, tell me now.
                 Please have mercy, while I grieve the loss of my only son.  Yet he lives.
addiction  ad·dic·tion (ə-dĭk'shən)
n.
Habitual psychological and physiological dependence on a substance or practice beyond one's voluntary control causing regret and devastation to loved ones..
sometimes, irreparable.
Priya Patel Sep 2013
Time trickles by
agonizingly slow
tick tock tick tock
frustrations grow
They are playing the waiting game

Stung by fate
life's little trick
the sweetest boy
so very sick
Tick tock tick tock, time is just a game

Hands aged with fears
bound tight; she prays
fingers shivering
a grandmother softly says
God keep him safe and end this waiting game

Friends and family
kneel down in faith
praying together
In God's love they bathe
Knowing soon that time is almost here

Fate is fate
and we are all bound by destiny
but in my heart of hearts
I pray that he will be
your happy, healthy grandson once again

*to Wanda, you and your grandson are in our prayers
Äŧül Apr 2014
The high priestess issued a religious order against us both,
We were punished for being dearly in love with each other,
They apprehended and executed the two of us lovers mercilessly.

Our heads dropped down to the floor in a pool of blood,
The bodies of ours tossed about so very much agonizingly,
For my heart heard our connecting string break into two pieces.

I was made to watch as the axe was felled on your neck,
What I failed to do for all my lifetime with you was happening,
Tears were jerking down my cheeks relentlessly refusing to stop.

I felt that I saw your soul taking-off from the body,
She appeared smiling and beckoning my soul too,
Soon my head was severed from my body too.

My soul joined yours and then on we are hosted by the temple,
Now they have started worshipping love in our form & face,
Fabled is our story of love & entirely unknown to all of them,
Our souls still brew the **hot coffee of love behind those altars.
And today we have met again in this birth & totally fell again for each other.
My HP Poem #605
©Atul Kaushal
heather leather Dec 2015
i light matches on non flammable things and start fires i
cannot extinguish, i start all consuming love and then tear it apart
viciously and tiredly and try to put back the pieces of my heart
in this sacred chest at the bottom of wherever my skeleton ends
because that is where it belongs, alone and protected
you were a cigarette i denied myself the pleasure of smoking you
were an old record player that i would dance to by myself
at 2 am just because and you were strawberry hill wine in the
middle of the park that tasted agonizingly sweet on my tongue
and scorched my throat into believing this was happiness
i still whisper your name whenever i drive by your house in prayer
that i will never see you again, you are still a ghost in the corner
of my mind and i have a feeling you will always be

(h.l.)
ghost by halsey
Lunar Jun 2016
time with him went by
5 centimeters per second:
from the games that kids play,
to the words that adults say,
from the cherry blossoms falling from the tree,
to the rain agonizingly dripping on me,
from the way our feet danced without a care,
to the way our hands are grasped pairs,
from the way i fell in love with you.
and to the way we parted
when we didn't want to.
my movie review/abstract of the japanese animated movie with the same title
Jadson Jaxon Jan 2014
For it is this love, that I feel,
Sleepless nights, restless days, letting play the reel
Of film that shows how my life does look and feel.

Oh for when I see this form Adonis may it not be similar to,
But Aphrodite has something up her sleeve, a thing or two
About how this network of unrequited love will just end up sad and blue.

I do wish you the best of luck in everything you love,
Sadly I can't wish you to love me, to the heavens above.
It is now that I should try to let go of this dove.

To this dove that I loved endearingly,
To this dove that was close to me adoringly,
To this dove that I will bid farewell agonizingly.

I just keep on holding on
To this love that will dawn upon
Me the finality of this feeling that will be gone.

But it's you why I keep on hoping
That our love is just in the making.
I hope I won't be forever longing.
Alexsandra Danae Sep 2013
It's cold and it's empty, this
hollowed out feeling of pleasure...
I focus on the rush of desire -
desire for the sensations alone...
The sweet friction in my center,
the pounding force of what is
you, merely a tool for my cravings'
fulfillment; an object for nothing
but my physical satisfaction;
a satiating of my burning lust...
You're worthless to me outside
this externally needful task...
Not my heart, neither my soul,
have even the smallest holding
pocket, cradling some sort
of love or care for you...
Tell me, please, why we do
this to ourselves, over and
over, again and again...?
Are we honestly contented by
the passionless movements of
our graceless pieces and parts?
Is this animalistic ritual
the solution for what we so
desperately search for; that for
which we agonizingly struggle,
crawling down confused, tangled
paths, looking without knowing
exactly what we seek,
despairing, sickly, exhausted, and
so pathetic; so pitifully weak??
Are we satisfied with *******?
Just *******: could that be
the answer to the question
that, from existence becoming,
the human being has been,
from the depths of the soul,
constantly, repetitively screaming?
I cannot bring myself to
believe such a notion could hold
a sand grain's worth of truth, but
you seem to have accepted
this joyless, hope-crushing idea,
and as for myself, I know
I'll only continue ignoring that
which my heart keeps urgently
speaking with a driving,
whispering voice, from my
inner-most recesses, and
continue on with the oblivious
dance of this pretending; this
charades game all the world
eagerly strives to play...
I will bottle the juices of
my self-deceiving, self-depriving
fruits, borne of my guilt, my
denial birthed shame...
Yes, of course! I'm absolutely
satisfied with the act of
mere *******! Feelings of
wholeness sweep and flutter,
butterflying the insides
of my body's unseen puzzle pieces,
and I'm simply overflowing
with this ever so peaceful calm...
Lies, fiction, deception, robed
by willfully grasped ignorance,
keeps us marching, two-by-two,
silently miserable husks, just
living until it's time to lay
in another void-like place, this
one our grave, lonely and cold...
And now it doesn't seem like
there's anything left, for
any one of us, to say...
I just wrote this poem, and I'm uncertain that it's wholly just right. For now, however, it will suffice.  Sunday, 15 September 2013 4:50 AM
Doug Collins Dec 2011
A different kind of cold settled
in them as they poured through the door
into the bleak grandiosity of the lobby.

A group of grievers:
Her ashen husband and their two daughters, 12 and 20,
Her two sisters dressed in black fleece
and Her mother with freshly bruised knees.

The night was agonizingly short once they arrived.
Prayer and hope for rehabilitation
between questions about resuscitation.
Her mother clung to the cruel Almighty
While Her husband clenched his fists at the chaplain.

A Stroke of an instant induced a transformation of lives
as Hers ended beneath the blinding fluorescence.
Margaret Sites Dec 2010
When you look up at the ceiling,
As you lay in your bed,
What is it that you see?
Do you see the cracked and peeling paint,
The water damage stains,
The tarnishes of time and neglect?
What is it that you see as you stare upon your ceiling?
It has been days since your gaze left the above.
What are you looking for?
Are you looking for that one little area,
That is still pure in its color?
That is free of spoil and coated in care?
You lay there, motionless, staring.
Searching, in your own creation,
Agonizingly probing your aged canvas,
In fear that that's all you'll ever see.
Ever know.
But you search, and you search,
You scan every inch of that ceiling,
In hopes of a small, blank slate of plaster,
In which to smother yourself in.
In which to call home.
_

'10
Lunar Jan 2018
Light streams through the window,
Beckoning her to come out of the dim.
A spotlight on her blank canvas;
She was yearning to see him.

Oil, water and paint blend
With her blood, sweat and tears,
Slowly and agonizingly dripping
From her brush, brows and ears.

Then there he is, tall and bright;
A sun-kissed face dressed in a golden vase.
She painted his image in sunflowers:
He's her masterpiece no one can recreate.
to Sel.
Keep painting for them with love,
the same way they paint you with life.
I wrote this after the image of Van Gogh
painting his Sunflower series in my head!
Mikaila Jun 2014
I think that even if I hit the gas and drove until I saw ocean, I would still fail to outrun missing you.
It's a maddening, moving sensation,
Like my skin is just a little bit ahead of me wherever I go,
Tugging, burning.
It keeps me up nights, trying to sit still, trying to soothe a soul that wants
Out.
It's a constant, tearing tension,
Like the breath before the ****** of a thriller movie,
When everything is silent but each hair straining through the skin on the back of your neck knows that carnage is coming, and the waiting is worse than the fright of a sudden death.
Missing you feels like that.
Like a scrape you just can't leave alone, because it itches and burns and turns pink at the edges,
And every time it starts to heal, something knocks against it and tears it open again and you've stained another favorite shirt with a gauche trickle of blood.
Missing you is like an illness.
I choke awake with it in the middle of the night, double over in pain, sleepy and confused but still panicked.
And like an illness the pain becomes a ritual.
I understand when it is coming, I understand when to brace myself,
And as it hits me I understand precisely what is happening-
The science of the sheen of sweat on my brow, of my quickening breaths,
Of the roller coaster drop my stomach takes, leaving the rest of me agonizingly behind.
Even when I'm slapped awake by your absence from a cruel, happy dream,
Still I have learned to place myself within the reality you've forced on me within seconds.
Seconds count- the damage is minimized, the storm is compressed.
Still, there are days when I feel like a cancer patient, or perhaps a schizophrenic-
For you are a sickness of the mind before you're ever in my blood,
Although sometimes it does boil in my veins, trying to find a way out of my skin and
To the soles of your feet.
There are days when I am in my car, and the thought of you is so loud and solid that it's like a separate person in my head, screaming.
Those are the days-
And if I am to be honest, every day I drive through our town, knowing that I may only be a sharp corner from seeing you, is one of "those days"-
That I feel hunted, stalked.
I feel like prey, as if I will be killed at any moment,
And as I am always always learning, the anticipation is worse than what I fear.
When I drive in this town I try everything to drown that girl out,
The one in my head who screams your name, who asks me questions I can't answer because
You never answered them.
And the louder she gets, the harder I grip the steering wheel,
Grinding my nails against the stitches in the leather with a scrape I feel to my bones.
My foot sinks onto the gas pedal and I try to quell my urge to run,
Knowing there is no safe speed that can pull me away from loving you,
But it always takes a bit longer than it should.
60. 70. 80.
On those winding back roads,
And then I take my deep breaths, try to slow my heart, clench my jaw and slow down,
Defeated-
You are still there.
You are in my head like a fever.
On the worst days, my vision blurs with the tension of the questions that rage behind my eyes, refusing to escape as tears or screams.
Why? Why? Why?
I know it is useless to ask myself, and downright masochistic to ask you,
And so I lock the girl who loves you to distraction up
In a windowless corner of my mind
And listen to the echoes of her fists pounding on the walls
All day and
All night.
You are inside of me.
I can't escape missing you because it is married to my blood,
To my heartbeat,
To the ache that has burrowed between every bone and joint of mine since you left and refuses to abate.
You are gone, and I don't understand why,
And that is the knowledge that I cannot hide from,
Cannot run from,
Cannot quiet inside my mind.
That is the thought that corners my soul against the underside of my skin
So that at odd hours of the night and punishing moments of the day
It struggles frantically, fighting for a way out.
There is no way out.
That is why I hate missing you.
Daniel Handschuh Oct 2015
A bird glides gracefully whilst the discolored leaves are aflutter
   In the wind that rocks the cold rotted wood of the window's shutter;
   All while the obstructive trees cause the wind’s speech to stutter.
   Yet she still howls with an intense pressure on me chest; I can barely utter
   My feelings toward this heavy air of eeriness about me—
   Nearly as heavy as the insignificance in the noose of the tree—
   A decomposed mutilation of all that is good, hung for all to see—
   A shriveled neck and half-dissolved eyes that still long to be free—
   The blood long lost, the body now pale—why does it stress?
   Why is life in its eyes, why does it shrug off Death’s caress?
   And as the sun is fully blotted by the black clouds, unfatigued,
   A hot stench like the enhancement of rotten fruit—yet I am intrigued—
   Descends upon me with the force of a vise equipped with knives—
   ‘Tis the horror of what only the spirits of the dead can contrive.
  
   And visions—horrible visions!—overwhelm me and present terrors:—!
   Rain steadily falls and patters incessantly upon an accursed Earth;
   Surrounding the hanging man are graves—and so begins the second birth:—!
   The tombstones crack and crumble into hundreds of jagged stones;
   An earthquake manifests quickly, and violently rattled my bones
   And remorselessly disembowels the Earth of the trees’ roots;
   Suddenly far more prominent is the awful stench of the fruits;
   An unsettling revelation is brought to my undivided attention:
   The tombstones’ collapse and the earthquake are not in relation,
   But the earthquake is a result of monsters unleashing their power.
   And the tombstones—but what of the tombstones’ fall?
   Startled, I see that replacing the hanging man is a voodoo doll,
   Dancing with its tiny limbs and smiling nonstop, locking its black eyes
   On my horrified self; I cringe and tremble in this demonic guise.
   A screeching note erupts from its unmoving mouth; it hovers in the air
   While I am frightfully dehumanized by the doll’s inexorable stare.
   While the screech lingers, the wet soil of the graves shifts quietly,
   The noise of splitting, wet dirt drowned out by the screech of cruelty.
   As it becomes clear the voodoo doll’s dance is one of conjuring,
   ’Tis revealed to me that the tombstones fell because of remembering:
   The dead do not believe they should be remembered, reflected upon...
   The second birth’s process is agonizingly long as I become wan.
   But before I nearly faint—and leave the visions—I receive an unwanted help:
   The doll’s gesticulations are directed toward me; even so, she raises Hell.
   My mind is frightfully clear to see all before me, and the dizziness has left.
   Oh, why these visions? Why with this horrible curse I am blessed?
  
   I am met with the most terrifying sight of all; my heart quickens.
   As the rain falls harder and begins to puddle, my blood thickens
   And very nearly ceases to flow as I watch the dead come to life.
   Gnarled fingers, some broken and some missing, ignore Death’s inflicted strife.
   Fingers—disjointed, protruding in random directions, treelike;
   Grime under the fingernails—fingernails, chipped or long spikes;
   Hardly any flesh on the old, ***** bones; muscles dripping off.
   Bodies, mutilated by natural decomposition, burst with raging coughs
   From the eviscerated Earth, black with age, red with dried blood.
   The dead, limping and holding what organs they still have, slip in the mud,
   Fall, fill their empty ribcages with it, and scream as limbs are torn away;
   Scream, as they are free from the grave, the path that led them astray.
  
   Oh, the feelings of dread that are eroding my scarred mind!
   What awful horrors have I stumbled upon, what did I find?
   One undead woman is staring at me with unfortunately soulless eyes;
   A few long hairs messily fall from her shriveled head, infested with flies,
   And her eyes—oh, her eyes!—are as small as raisins, wrinkly and white;
   They hover in her sockets, the skull only half-covered—pure fright!—
   With dead skin. Why is her toothless skull grinning mischievously?
   Is she enjoying my terror that leaves my trembling grievously?
   Abruptly, the still, deformed grotesquerie releases a sickening gurgle
   And violently shakes, as if under some overwhelming mental struggle.
   Her jaw falls open, unattended from the necessary muscles’ absence,
   And screaming laughter flows out of her agape mouth; malevolence
   Seeps from it in the form of pitchy black smoke and tightens the air.
   And all the while is still her unfailing, gut-wrenching stare!
   Her chest, dilapidated from the Earth's engulfment of her, explodes—
   A black skeletal hand, emerging from the body that was its abode—
   A demon, a black skeleton, blood gushing from its mouth, fire in its eyes—
   And tattered wings spread as the screamer takes to the hellish skies.
   It hovers around the dancing voodoo doll, circling her,
   Worshipping the smiling thing that was sewn with maleficence and fear.
  
   “But what are these things?” I ask as the undead congregate.
   “Is this how horrible life will be beyond Hell’s gates?”
   But it is made revealed to me that the people are eternal
   Inhabitants of Hell—Hell inside me; the spiritual realm is internal.
   “Why do they gather around the doll and bow in submission?”
   But, to my dismay, there is no answer to this deathly war of attrition.
  
   “Vultures!” I hear, a thunderous, wicked voice from up above.
   “You do not know what you are to believe, or what to love!”
   The dead dance in slow, uncoordinated movements, circling
   The doll. Even the shadows ominously flicker, no longer lurking.
   The black demon floats and gestures to the moaning dead,
   Beckoning them to rise from their permanent deathbeds
   To chant and flail their measly arms in worship of the voodoo.
   What have I done to be cast into this dangerous world askew?
   “You are a vulture, searching helplessly for something to feast
   “When the desperate hunger is turning you into the demons’ beast.
   “And when the food is gone, you search for your next dying idol.
   “For you, the inevitable conquest for falsities will never be final.”
  
[][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][]
  
   The room of a once peaceful dwelling is a victim of an apocalypse:—
   ‘Tis as if it has mutated into the imagery of a drug’s dangerous trip:—
   The walls are bent in, threatening to collapse under the pressure;
   Books are shredded, shelves are upturned, and obliterated is the dresser;
   Blood drips from numerous cracks in the ceiling and paints the walls.
   ‘Tis many moments of being awestruck before I realize the mirror calls.
   Vision is blurry, a hollow ringing sings, and my surroundings fade.
   My legs of jelly drag my heavy body into the dark hall’s shade.
  
   I yell at the sight in the cracked mirror, but my voice is painfully missing.
   It appears as if my entire face is losing its grip and is slowly slipping.
   Gravity’s grappling hooks have taken a strong hold and are pulling.
   The entirety of my eyes is almost visible from the disturbing lack of coverage.
   My jaw refuses to rise back up, as if the muscles have lost their leverage.
   It adds to the terror—how unsightly I am! How revolting!
   I am no longer human but an otherworldly, disgusting being!
   A scream that is not my own bursts from my agape mouth and shatters the mirror.
   It deafens my ears like a knife; I feel the fiery tearing of my vocal cords.
   “Vulture,” I vaguely hear but clearly curl my dry, thin lips to.
   “Go, find your food, find your idol, bathe in what you think is true.”
   Violently, desperately, crashing into walls with wild, uncontrollable limbs,
   I purposelessly search for the spirit that will welcome my immovable sins.
Yes, it's gory and has some disturbing elements in it, but I use these to instill certain emotions into the readers. On other forums, I'm known for how frankly I put my words, so if you enjoyed this, expect me to post more without being afraid to say anything.
Emily Jones Nov 2012
It came like a sudden darkness, storming up and snuffing out the already fading light of dawn,
When I found myself floating, above the ground suspended on the backs of blue clouds that kissed the purple sky like a clinging lover
Chasing the movement of birds before my eyes I turned to stare down at the blackness beneath my toxic cloud of color, at the puke green sea covered in the orange foam of soda where what looked like the remnants of my breakfast that morning road the frothy waves.

Pink,
Pink
Pepto-Bismol stained whales attacked the early air blowing bubbles filled with what looked like Oreo cream screaming happily the music of contentment
A cry a loud mewling filled the acid induced happiness of the moment, yowling agonizingly, as if possessed by the spirit of pain itself.
Thumping, Screeching clash and the ***** of nails had me blinking away from my floating tea party within the sky and looking rather questionably to the hunky dream boat pouring me a fresh glass of tea,
His smile plastered by the very gods themselves didn't waver, and in my dreamlike stupor I thought nothing of it
But the terrified yowling, hissing, strange purr-mewl didn't stop.

The sky no longer a pleasant purple faded to a nasty shade of plum conjuring two disembodied chillingly green slated eyes
Frantic with irrational fear I panicked falling off my blue cloud to plummet towards the angry green sea below
Falling, Falling ever faster staring up at the sinister glowing ambient green eyes, whilst hearing that terrifying screeching yowl, from the Cheshire maw
Slamming awake with the tingling sensation of a ghostly belly flop, I find myself still staring up at those eerie green eyes.

This time surrounded by a flowing mane of toffee fur and speckled with tan zigzagging stripes of inky black,
Buddy, with his demanding meow of attention, insistently pawing my forehead with the command of a gentle rub,
Plucking my wings, and crippling me with a cuteness that only he can have.
A silly poem about a lovable cat and what he interrupts on a daily basis.
Mackenzie Leigh Oct 2011
It was September when you closed your eyes.

The trees were verdant and fat,
Their boughs abuzz with the fluttering of birds;
The warmth of pre-autumnal breezes, pale and whispering:
“Alive, alive,” as the breath in your lungs.

I rarely contemplated your absence
Not for lack of trying, I assure you
It’s just hard to miss something you never really had
Not altogether impossible, but difficult, nonetheless

I could not miss you as my tongue
Could miss the taste of sugar sweet;
As my hand
Could miss the hand of a lover fair;
As my mind
Could miss the dulcet caress of poetry
Poignant and soft;
But I could miss you still, blood of my blood
As your presence should grace my thoughts faintly
Like some spectral invader---
A sometimes patriarch beguiled.

I dreamed of you the day mother informed me
Your eyes had finally opened.

The trees had worn thin by the time of my visitation
I could see them rapping between your blinds,
Scratching the glass in a hallowed colloquial,
The language of arboreal appendages fading:
“Alive, alive,” but just barely.

It was October.

Your days and dreams and dalliances
Compartmentalized into a series of sterile routines:
The steady drip of morphine
Into your veins;
The turning of your body,
In bed,
At the passing of each half day;
The fluids vacuumed,
From the hole in your throat,
At a quarter till every hour.

Your body became a clock, defected
Feebly measured in the perfunctory gasp
Of your heart’s meticulous monitor

It was just a week shy of November, and you were waning.

Haunted by those seventy-one years,
Long-lived, painfully slow,
Taunting you from the fraying end,
Of an agonizingly short rope---
Seventy-one years, and all it took
For the months to drop, skittering away,
Was the blink of a bloodshot eye.

It was October, but it should have been September.

That ruddy, porous grin,
The bullfrog blues of your grandfather’s smile,
Now made far and few between
By your unabashed lassitude,
By your hesitance to meet the gaze of another,
By your impatience at the sound of voices,
Talking about you like you weren't there.

You were a big guy, I noticed
I never realized how much so until I saw you
Laid up and sprawled unnaturally upon a hospital bed
Little more than an invalid,
Unable to lift a finger, even to catch
The choking, viscous saliva that would dribble,
Infantile and unbidden down your chin;
Unable to speak.

The catatonia fooled you, unbeknownst,
It pried the words from your swollen mouth
With skeletal, sable fingers,
Leaving penitent ghosts in their wake
So that your lips were moving, muttering,
Pressed with the phantom vocalizations
Of what half-formed apologies needled their way into your mind;
Of what no sounds produced
You even tried to tell me you loved me---
Though the affections never quite came to fruition,
I felt your taciturn ruminations, regardless.

I suppose that was a start.
You were near an end.
But it was a start, nevertheless.

Inhabiting the mere space of a windowpane
Inside of yourself as you were,
Your eyes remained outgoing:
At times they contained boredom,
At others longing or contempt,
And within those murky depths, I swear I recognized
The unshakeable, abject face of terror.

So much change for so little provocation:
The leaves outside, they rustled;
Cars continued their coming and going on distant highways;
The soothing azure of the day dampened,
Corroded by the cold, unrelenting hand of a changing season;
Gradually, the sun rose and fell.

It rose and fell:
(Your chest) rose and fell.
(Your face) rose and fell.
(Our hearts) rose and fell.
It always stayed the same.

And in your vacant, unwavering gaze,
Always something different:
The deathly vestige of repentance,
Folded between the window’s shade;
The laughing, lilting silhouette,
Of days forever passing;
And you, unmoving,
In that hospital bed,
A sharp juxtaposition to your caretakers
And their mock celebration:
“Alive, alive!”

But those saintly visitations of shadow and climate
Rapping against the window,
Waltzing across the far wall of your antiseptic prison,
They bespoke celebrations of their own,
Callous facts you knew all too well:

“It’s October, Tom. Autumn is here.
And you shouldn’t be.”
Trayc Plaja Sep 2013
So many things unsaid
Pretending its just fine.
Wonderful you are.
At least to me.
Anger boils throughout time wondering if it was all just a game.
Silly game we played called friendship.
Where did it go?
Where do we go from here?
Nowhere. That time has passed, I have begun to accept it.
No longer agonizingly painful.
Almost completely forgotten, what we once were.
Never going to let it happen to me again.
This thing called love.
Nameless Dec 2013
ice water shot through through my veins
that's almost as cold as the barren landscape of my mind.
one by one every single cell in my body,
becomes numb to the point of insanity.
arms no longer move.
head unable to be lifted.
so you stare at the agonizingly white ceiling,
and try to keep your eyes open long enough
to see something with any sort of meaning.
something my brain can hold on to
for fear of losing the humanity that's left.
so I paint your blue eyes with the will I still have;
trying so hard to capture the light
that the sun himself injected straight into them.
and by fate or by chance,
I can sometimes get the color of them
exactly right.
the one and only shade
of any color
that returns some feeling
back to me.
All the poems about anxiety--
Never had I understood them until now
I'd warn my relatives and friends
I'm horribly stressed and agonizingly anxious--
And of course they'd nod and tell me
To calm down, it'd be alright
That I was overreacting
It was such a fixable plight

For years I've heard of the pain
Being alone, in an ableist world
**** it up! Don't you know?
You're life's so fortunate!
Some are beaten, some are starving,
Some are trapped in their lifeless bodies
You? You sit there, like a child,
Clasping your arms
Until red, raw bruises surface
Why on earth?
You're older now! Take care of yourself!


So this is what the anxious experienced.
With this, they solemnly dealt.
So much of this I've heard about
Read and dreaded the talk
But now…
The fool I was, to never pay heed,
To never once ask if a friend is all right,
All fine,—of course not!
Still they’d ask for the sake of mine,
And never could I grant the slightest help for good return

Somedays I’ll watch people jest
Even with the severity of anxiety
Perhaps they’re coping,
But many fellows don’t manage the same
Now the public’s ignorance
Runs dry my bottle of patience
I won’t live until they know
The expense of their deplorable actions
Rocky G Jan 2013
I'm hung on the same shelf
Night after night, that shelf
That old, dusty shelf
My strings bundled up
So I can't leave this retched place
But in the morning you come for me
Untie my strings, and drag me away
The floor is cold under my feet
The lights burn my eyes
The cheering crowds hurt my ears
Then...the curtains open
And so the show begins
Master pulls my strings
I jump, dance, wave, kick myself and fall
But does anyone hear my cries for help?
They can't over their laughter
The humility is hurtful
The strings agonizingly painful
At war with the puppet master
But once again have failed
The curtains close
And I'm back on that old, dusty shelf
Dylan Whisman Jun 2018
When you flick the lever does it strain you? Does it stave you?
So agonizingly close to the truth?
Cynical is the nature.
Mame to ****,
fool not fill,
mind over will.
To quarter intrinsically,
Stutter intellectually,
Engrosse enternally.
Oh untimely vapire!
Vibrent like the moon
how you steal from the heavens,
iluminating the path of shadows!
You! Sending mankind to the gallows!
Oh promises you gave were shallow!
Every like
every follow,
will this only end in sorrow?
Paige Nixon Oct 2014
I want love.

Hand holding, eye smoldering, heart folding love.

I want someone to fall in love with my nose, the embarrassing pimple that grows, the stuttering word that flows clumsily out of my butterfly-filled mouth.

Fall in love with my bare face, the way my hair is never in place, the sound of my heartbeat as it loves to race when I breathe in your deoxygenated air as your lips dance eagerly across mine.

Take me to the future where your favorite song will be my jagged laugh, not the sound of my keys as they type “lol” on my mouth’s behalf.

I mean, take me back to the past back when relationships would actually last, so that I can yell at you on the park, as opposed to typing “I HATE YOU” exclamation mark.

Fall in love with the touch of my soft palm, the way that I get angry but always remain calm; and I’ll fall in love with your precious words, as we soar through the sky like love birds.

Imagine us flying, standing on the porch crying, being exceedingly scared of losing the only one that’s ever cared.

Fall in love with my voice rather than the arrangement of my sentences sculpted into emotionless bodies on a screen.

Tell me that you hate my profile picture because the lifeless image captures not the breathtaking beauty of my flawless imperfections.

Substitute your ****** with a dagger and pierce me in the eye agonizingly slow. Stare into my soul as you go in for the ****, to verify that your choice still remains at execution.  

I want to kiss the creases of your brow as they spill emotion all over your anxious face as we sing our first “I love you”.

I want you to wipe my tears away as we split paths and wave at our hearts as they whisper their final goodbyes.

And when I look back on our amazing journey, I want to remember you and your words better than my inbox ever will.
P.D.C.N.
Paige Nixon Oct 2014
I’m tired of watching.

Gaping at this cinematic reality as it slowly sinks into my sensitive skin like hot rocks on a not-so-relaxing Sunday morning.

Disappointment after disappointment, I tap my foot with impatience, awaiting a ship that never docks, yet instead, tantalizes me as it nears the harbor but changes its course midway.

I’m limp, dangling over the wishing well in my bathroom that swallows as I heave; attempting to rid my body of all my pathetic hopes and expectations and watch as they are flushed down the toilet.

You are a dagger and I have closed my eyes, preparing myself to die; allowing my flesh to surround your malicious blade as you pierce agonizingly through my shattering heart.

I am (or was) a majestic sailboat and you are a bulwark placed dangerously in my path, resulting in a complete wreckage causing my sail to sink miserably to the bottom of the ocean.

Tired of seeing.

Watching each face blossom with happiness as my stems overflow with jealousy; I stare at the reflection of my forlorn face, painfully plucking each of my withering petals and allowing them to fall to the ground in defeat.

Feeling my chakras disintegrate as my large intestine absorbs my heart that melted at the sight of your hands entwined with ones that aren’t mine.

I’m suffocating, gasping for air as I hug myself until I am strangling my waist, searching for that comforting lungful of compassion.

Tired of noticing.

Releasing my last breath, I let go. Allowing my body to be consumed by the numbness that started at my heart as it froze.
-P. D. C. N.
Pauline Morris Apr 2016
Sadly this woman with the biggest heart
Has to rip out her most loving thoughts
She must turn cold
For over her, people just rolled

She alway knew they would
But she still did what she could
She so desperately wanted to belive
That everyone that was truly in need
Would appreciate what she did
She had the faith of a little kid
She believed there was good in most everyone
But now with all of that, she was done

There finally was that last straw
Finally a line she had to draw
This decision was agonizingly painful
After this, she didn't know what she would live for, would she be able

The pain of this was greater then all that had came before
This killing of her own soul hurt so much more
Than what any human monster had inflicted
With this her heart would truly be restricted

She took the broken pieces of her being
Ground them to dust as tears down her checks kept steaming
She knew with this final self inflicted act
There would be no coming back

There would be no more love, no hope
If not for drugs, how would she cope

With one last sigh
One last cry
She pounded what made her, her to dust
She felt no other way out, it was a must
The chain that bound her to helping others just turned to rust
It broke and fell away
She wondered why on this earth would she now stay

For with all the good she had tried to spread into this wicked place
She sincerely thought it would be returned when difficulties she faced
Only to find
No other human would act as kind

Every single person she tured to
Only replied "what can I do"
"I would help, but I must put myself first"
Her loving heart made her feel so utterly cursed

So she decided that was it
No longer with the afflicted would she sit
No longer would she put others before herself
They could all fall off the ******* shelf

This decision was not freeing
It was gonna **** her completely, her fragile soul, her being
It was gonna break the ties that held her to this life
But when she need help, no one was there to end the strife

Now this woman with the biggest heart
Has to rip out her most loving thoughts
Now she is as cold and heartless as the rest
But look really hard, there is still the stain of tears upon her breast
Mikaila Oct 2013
You are adrift.
Like a brilliant green leaf that forsakes its branch and floats on the air,
Intricate and carefree.
The winds change, and you travel the world.
You flit from flower to sky, twist and dance.
You don't know where you're going.
You don't need to.
And me...
Well, I'm a river.
I press the ground.
I know where I am, and I know where I will be.
Nothing stops my course unless it is
Catastrophic,
Cataclysmic.
Nothing sways or bends me
Unless it is a force of Nature.
I am heavy- I bore into the earth,
Carve a path agonizingly deep and slow,
But I rush along it even though I know it leads to more of the same.
Many things pass me,
Many things touch me.
But when they touch, they stay.
They are swallowed up inside me,
Drowned at the bottom of my passion,
Swept into me and carried forevermore.
For although it takes a lightning strike to change my course,
It takes only the lightest caress to change my anatomy
And make me new.
My bones are in the riverbed,
Cold and clear, my veins rush and eddy, stretching their fingers to tangle in the treeroots,
And if you but touch me for a moment,
You are in my blood.
You scare me, because we are different.
I feel the wind when it picks up,
It kisses my face and I kiss back,
But I always stand my ground,
Even when I might desire the freedom of surrender.
It is my way:
I am a river.
Seeing you wheeling in the sky,
I am afraid.
If you follow an errant gust or passing draft
Far away from me
And over the green hills,
I cannot yank my skeleton from the ground
And uproot my veins from their stranglehold on the dirt
To follow you in your flight.
I can only watch, gouged into the soil,
As you float closer and farther away,
Land upon my rushing pulse and leave ripples that reverberate
Long after you have peeled away to investigate some new breeze.
You spin away again, here and gone,
Close and distant,
And I remain, here in the ground, pounding with the pulse of permanence.
Priya Patel Jul 2013
Months has drifted by

achingly slow

agonizingly so

and yet I remember

each moment

clearer now then even then

Distances toll

The hurt and pain

frustrations bleeding stain

You left me then

in a world unknown

Masked goodbyes

and feeling alone

Weaknesses suddenly

peering from dark corners

That is life, part of love

acknowledging, accepting

understanding, forgiving...

I am still drowning

from all the little things left unsaid

Like I love everything about you

all of you, exactly the way you are

So many life altering moments

in both our lives since then

So many times I wanted to hold you

and whisper I love you again and again

So many times

I just wanted to hold your hand

Here we are again

just a few days more

and all my words

will come out tumbling;

no more fumbling

Just you and I

sharing our love together
Amara Jan 2016
Time creeps by here
Lazily waving goodbye, dear
And it slides agonizingly near
Before moving on to the next year
Amara Pendergraft 2016
Cazandra Leia Oh Dec 2012
a child's first memory ,
light falling through crib bars ;
recollected scents ,
the rain and city streets ;
pain of unforgotten loss ,
sting of remembered humiliation ;
cruel forgetfulness of old age ,
whilst ancient memories stand out within ,
agonizingly clear precision ;
yet nearest of incidents ,
are lost beyond recall .
selective memory is a self defence mechanism ,
hiding away those incidents which are too painful to recall .
am i ee Feb 2016
losing things...
misplacing life

stuffed animals
a ring
articles of clothing
books
a memory
a name

all small deaths
reminders of
the impermanence
we exist within

the losing
grows

first crushes
early loves
dear animals
friendships

years pass
loss hastens

deaths come
quickly
unexpectedly
slowly
agonizingly

ever surreal
when they do come

using the small losses
as practice for the larger ones

over and over
letting go
breathing in
breathing out

all remains perfect
as it is
as it unfolds

in eternal harmony
with
the Tao
Ryan Bowdish Mar 2013
I'm clinging constantly to consciousness
For some reason tonight it seems like I can't
Seem to shake that feeling like
The world is all falling apart
While I am wasting away my life
Seconds thundering in my mind
Like droplets from a broken pipe
The roof caves in from water damage...

All I do these days is work, does that sound about right?
Am I hitting a little too close to home here for those of us who can't sleep at night?
I stress until my tears are shed until my eyes are bled until my lungs are dead
People around us are turning to thieves day after day, taking countries by storm
Hopping trains, eight-week vacations, nine hundred thousand dollar sensations!
It's aching, it's agonizingly tiring and ironic because my mind is still screaming
Full speed ahead, she said, the book read, but I still fell sore into my cold bed
Because I can't convince myself to stop caring, but I just can't summon what it takes to be angry anymore.

As our founding fathers said before us,
"Nothing's gonna change my world."
Attempts to quell
sorrow's raging drake,
We met again hoping peace would follow,
But pain crept in still whilst you're awake,
Leaving you once again agonizingly hollow,
With slumber eyes I then wake to see,
My lover reject and doubting me,
However I know with sorrow you do not agree,
And somewhere in there you wish to be free,
Of suffering's grip that's tight on your heart,
I want to help rid you of this pain,
But hopeless once more I know not where to start,
Right now I can but remind you again,
That I love you and hoping it pierces that heart,
Times may come of these rancid pains,
But I beg you beloved not to buckle and fall apart,
For if you don't fight sorrow's rancid rain,
And don't push it all away with an iron guard,
We'll find ourselves in tears, hate and pain,
Where we'll have to restart,
Taking repeated trips down memory lane,
Hearing battles of pain and peace's bards,
Go head to head forever in vain,
So I ask you again my lover so true,
Don't give up, don't give in til our time is due,
Fight that pain fight rain when you're feeling blue,
And remember nothing but these words for you,
What is it you ask?Nothing old yet not new,
These three words that is 'I Love You'.
Hearing sharp words
Of those around me
Love is absent
Lust omnipresent
Out of sympathy
We become hollow beings

Sweet lies fill the ears
Only tasting of resentment
Under strain
Loveless we remain,
Simply self consumed

We became so material
Imperialistic
So agonizingly emotionless
Hollow souls cherish possessions

For possessions take the place of emotions
Only lavish fabrics or precious metals
Really fill the void in people anymore

Love, outweighs possessions
Outweighs them by a thousand
Vicariousness the victor,
Endlessly
Greg Berlin Mar 2013
what a magnificent dance we dance
around around around
always close but never touching
you in that dark red dress
--the one you
know that I love--
auburn hair flowing elegantly as
you turn and spin around me
and I
graceless
try my best to avoid
feet and eye contact
struggling only to keep up
blurs of red
sting at my vision
the corners of my eye
never stopping
never slowing down
spinning and twirling
around around around
enough to make a man dizzy
and you know it

who knows when
the song will end
or what will come on
in its absence
all I see
is these tinges of dark red
in my vision
an elegance I'm
not sure I've witnessed
in a long time
the dance continues
around around around
so agonizingly close
until you spin away from me
once again
Soma Mukherjee Jul 2011
Life, a journey, a saga, and all the fuss
Of spotlight hogger's and the anonymous
Masters and puppets, tortoises and rabbits
People driven by wants and habits

Sweet thorns and dangerous flowers
The agonizingly slow seconds and fast paced hours

Unbelievable adventurous path
Few taking the walk, living it
Others spending time doing all the math

Some will's some wont's
Arguing the do's and don’ts
Shying away when times call
All but speculating rise and fall

To say nothing exists without its opposite
Good and bad, traditional or fad
Have you taken a dip in tranquil pool?
Are you sane enough to call others mad?

Destiny, fate, chance or choice
Listening or ignoring the inner voice

Careless whispers, raves and rants
The hidden agendas, a knowing glance
A friend’s betrayal, a foe's dance

Crayons, tree houses, kite flying and puddles
Reminiscing blissful past, entangled in present hurdles
Amazing paradoxes, shifting paradigms of thoughts,
Parallel truths and the lucrative lies bought

While most will forever be solving
All the how's, what's and when's
The ebb and flow of life will go on
With all its odds and even's

A path, a dance, an eternal hum or song
Will you be lost in the past or
There in the moments, in the chimes of life
Contented when the death rings its final Gong
Gess Charniga Nov 2013
I only wish I would meet you
Surrounded by daisies
Infinitely shining and spinning
Only your eyes keeping me caught
In one reality.

If I could just touch your hand
and shiver with elation.
Fingertips playfully mingling, unaware
of the rest of each other
for the moment,
and the universe would sigh
with warm relief.

Simply I want you to hold me
like you've never held a thing before me,
like you've never even known
what it is to hold something
before your hands reached round
to grip my weakened body.

Weak in all the best ways,
Exhausted from happiness,
my face pained from how often
you make it smile.
And I'll be as perfectly content
as a leaf on the breeze, swept up and falling,
falling fast in ecstasy.

And I'll be as agonizingly breakable,
as a thin glass ornament,
dangling helplessly,
catching all the light of the world,
prisms of color reflected in my eyes.

Everything about you will be gorgeous.
every hair, every discoloration,
every subtle expression
will be another reason I'll have
to love you unconditionally.

Without even the condition
that you love me back.
Without even the hope
that I will have you forever.
Without even the guarantee
that you won't cut me off and watch
when I shatter.
Jaclyn Jackomis Sep 2015
I wish everything was dfferent. That you had loved me and still did. That I didn't want to **** myself every second of the day. That my mother didn't say the wounding things she says. That my father had a backbone to tell her to stop. That you and I could talk. But everything in my life seems so...agonizingly hard.

— The End —