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September Roses Sep 2018
Come see me
9 PM this Friday
In a park near you!

Come watch me eat ḋ̸̻̺̗͙̤͕̦͂̄̓̽̊̋͗i̴̡̛̙̯̗̠͇͉̼̲̻̅̊̃̍̆͞r̸͚̼̣͔̜̟̬̰͂̽̆̿̏͋̓̕͟͡͞t̄̍̈̃̆̕͘­͗ by the mouthful at the swing set.
Come see me scream till your ears b̨̩̫͕̘̊͊̉̾͛̍́̀͞l̤̺̫̰̘͎͉̓̅̌͐̀͜͢ͅe̡̙͚̟̯͙͕̖̾͌̽͐̀͊̓̌̒͜ḝ̰̙̱̯̻̘̈́͗̌̀͞͞­̬̥d̨̡̟̪̟̗̼͍͓̓́̈̍̊̇̿͋̅͢͞ as I slide down the biggest slides.
Enjoy my one man play reenacting the Silence of the Lambs!
(Your ķ͖̠͙̫̗̣͒̊͆̾̎̽̃̈͘ǐ̷̧̛͍̦̟̜͙̥͎̔̄̽̾͢d̡̡̮̗̜̻̱̮̼̊͒̈́̓̔̊̊͒͌͜s̤͉̈̆̓͗̾̓̅͢­̴̲̜̖̻ will love that one)

Stand and applaud as I attempt dangerouse ş̵͇̲̗͒͋͐̅̚͝ͅt̸̨͙̣̰̬̩̱̥̝͒̓̀̓̏̏̓͘͠ų̷̢̨̥͓͕̉́͑̿̕͢͝ņ̸͓̱͚͈̭̣̬̘̀͑͗͊̆ͅ­t̶̨͇̝̻͍͉̼̎̓͟͠͝͠s̴̡̧̗̹̰̩̘͇̤̈́̽͛̊͐͟ off the jungle gym that I have only seen In Hollywood movies!

Watch me .
p̝̞̖̳̪̮̫͙̅̋̉̄͐͆̔̆̔̿ę̺͔̘̭̺̲̫̐̅̀̿̓͢͟ẽ̷̗͔͍̬͔͗̇͊͛̽̓͘͜͜l̟̇̔̂͗̓́͠͡͝­̧̬͎̗͙̫͎͟ off my s̷̫̰̜̤̠̿̆̎͋̕͟͜͠k̴̢͔͔̳̬̻͗͑̀̌͂͐̔͑̊ͅi̷͓͖͉͚͚̠̝̙̝͌͊̄̀̏͊̑͝͡ͅṋ̻͙̇̽̈́͋̄̔͡­̧̩̜, and use my wet muscles as lubricant to make the roundabout go faster!

Watch me dunk your neighbors dogs s̴̢̨̘͎͉̪̪̦͚̄͋̃͛̊̆̀̓͘̕ȩ̧͎͈̀̀͒͋́̐͟͠v̸̦͚̠͕̏̂̎̔̀̊͆͢͝͞e̡̳̠̺̠̟͇͂͛͗͋̍͑͢­ŗ̢̦͎̮͉͕͍̊̐̓̂͛̽̒̄͒͗e̗̩͚͖̫͋̄͟͡͠͞ḍ̴̢̲͔͖̣̪̾͌͗̀̒̄̄͞ head in the basketball hoop!
For the f̫̺̰̜̘̺̩̳̝̖̒̊̃͒̀̇͐̓͡ṵ̸̩͙̼̮͓̦͋̓͆̈̕͟͠ǹ̻̰̣̼͙̰̀͐̎͛̀̈́͞ of it!                  

Have you ever seen a rat with no              
    f̵̢̣̘̦̱͚̟̟̱̀̏́͐́̍̄̚i̵̢̢͎̺̘͚̿͒̐̈́̀̓̌̚n̛͙̟̦̟͕̩͒̌̍͑g̢̰͕̤̝͑̏̅̆̕e͐­̸̡̢͈̥͓͉̊̋͑̀r̛̩͔̻̩̮̱͆̒̽͆͋̚ṡ̸̛̛͎͕̯̳̻͙̏͘͝?             
     
Would you l̨̛̦̟͎͇̲̼̦̱̠̓̀́̇̏̀į̧͎̭̫͓̮̫̮̌͆̎̐̀̽̎͌̚k̴̭̼̥̱͖̃̽̎͒͋̅́͠e̹̟͆͑̅̅͌͗̀̀͟͠­͖̩̱̰̬̯ to?!

Come one come all,                                  
to something, entirely new!        

Enjoy something.... .
.
R̴̛͕̺̝̜͔̈́͋͑͒̎͆̏̓̒͜Ā͙̻͚̗͌́̃͂̊̈͗̚͞ͅW̶̙̻̰͙̹̲̗̆͋̈̇̓͜
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.!
.
.
I̵̖̬̘͔̻̹̜̫͊̂͌̓̽ a̴̧̢̱͇͚̭̹̞̅͂̄̌͒͝͠m̧̗̜͍̥͙̦͈͍̐̉̔͛̍͒̌ t̸̮̪̹̺̥͈͈̯͂̔͊̅͢͞ḩ̶̧̮̠̺͉̱͈̣͛̾̊̚̚̚ḙ̴̫̬͕͍͔̯̝̐̾͑͆͘ͅ ĉ̳̝̟̙̦̏́̈͆̊́͑̽͡i̜̮͔͕͓̐̑̇̂̎͑͑r̻̝̩͔̫̮̩̽͑̍̈́̈́͛͌̕c̶̰̱̥͚͕̻͗͊̂̊͗̑̏͌̚͜ļ̶̨̯̪̲̣̑̒͛̿̎̓̾͢͢͠ȩ̧̩͇̻̦̩͓̱̿̃̊̇̐̀͗̔̚ ą̨̦͔̼̘̘̔̉̓͒̃̐̎̍̕n͓͚͖̠̭͉̱̦̋̊́̋̀̅̕d̢̥̖̯͈̠̜̑̈̇͊̾̆̈͟͝ t̷̨̧̡̙̤̮̞̮͕̔͗́̾͒ḩ̵̙͇͈́̄͐̊̓̀̈́͒̌̎͢e̸̡̘̠͔̪͂̎̓̏͑̈́͘ c̶̨̧̟̱̜̘̊̌́̀͘͞ǐ̴̲̫̙̼̟̮̎̔̀̑̂̽͜͠͡ͅr̯̟͙̩̋̊͐͂̇͟c̵̬̫̲̰̱͔̯͓̘̀̃̅͊̀͋͘͜͡l̛̪̯̬̙̙̠̗̐̉͌̃̒̔̔͘͢ͅě̜̘̫̗̰̇̏̌̊̒́̕̕͟͝ͅ į̛̟͇̜̰͓̤͆̐̊̓͗͌̚ŝ̨̨̛̭̠̐̈̌̑̇̌͢͠͞ ṃ̶̯͎̲̝͎̥̽̿̔̈̀̚͞ẻ̛̻̙̪͚̣̘̺̮͛́̽͘͟
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might remove this soon
It's a little tame
He still lives with demons
that once held him tenderly
when no one would
be able to find the words
to say that fill the glass
as it is tipped back
and slowly emptied
of the liquor that stirs
memories from the headwind
that blew the lovers' hair back
on the drive through autumn
windy, windy mountain paths
as another Queen song plays
on the radio and the raindrops
on the windshield tap along
with fingertips against the steering wheel
to Freddy Mercury and shared heartbeats.

The truth is he is lying
there like an open wound
as he begins to measure self-worth
with texting tempo and memories
of last summer being too hot
to cuddle with one another
though it was more than enough
to hold feet under the thin sheets
that remember the glass
once again filling with words
as another drink is emptied
and his head burst through clouds
leaving him to hydroplane
through windy, windy mountain paths
as the raindrops on the windshield
applaud with the demons
that beckon tenderly for his return.
Megan Sherman Jul 2018
In age of old, in time that pass like tides,
When Prometheus lived and Lo! He strived,
As thirsting for Heaven, he climbed its hills, and trees,
Clenching at the Sun, its spark he seize.

The leaves, they warmed, turn bright and evergreen,
As Prometheus, he to fierce fire wean,
Swell lips sip lightning, of the nascent noon,
And divine heat from his hand duly shone,
To Roses, who sing, uprise and sweet rebel,
In bloom to conquer, vanquish concrete ****.

A wish for fire, fulfilled, angered Zeus,
He thought the fire be given, not to choose,
That excellence with fire, laurel his,
"A crime against the Gods Prometheus did."
For glory of the light from Heaven sent,
The hour of his favour now gone, spent.

Smite down the hero, tear ambition down,
Old Zeus, but young ambition wears your crown,
For daring, striving why not badge of God?
The Promethean vision all time hath applaud,
It art of upper world, belong in sky,
Praise Prometheus as fire goes roving by.

Mind gilded by the golden, whirling thread,
You seize from Heaven, through the Earth now spread,
Bringing hope to hearts, life to the dead,
As for forgiveness of the Gods you plead,
For an uncriminal act and sublime deed,
The arrogance of Zeus? Need not to feed.

There was a time
within me
I wanted to be
an actor
beaming
on stage
or a screen
big or small
no matter to me
after all
The exposure is nice
I guess
and all that kind of stuff
but that’s not what drew me to it
Just being an actor
was enough

I enjoy performing
and have a memory
for lines
One of those people
who can quote
a whole movie
It plays in my head
can fast forward
and rewind

But it’s easy to recite
the work of another
One who already
searched within
and discovered
what to emote
the affect
and such
To replay like a puppet
That’s not saying much
Could I nail
the scene
and get the feeling right?
When other actors work with me
maybe they might
get inspired
to the point
they become lost in the scene
We’re reliving
the story
A fantastic team
When the director yells
“Cut!”
all applaud and cheer
Tears in the eyes of some
touching memories
they hold near

The performance
The “art”
that’s what matters most
A singer belting out a song
or a comic
at a roast
The thought of it now
gets me giddy
and inspired
but yet
here I sit
In my chair
I am mired

Never took that step
Overcoming
all that fear
My doubts and insecurities
Worry how much others care
That fear
of failure
or that I wouldn’t
“measure up”
A deer frozen
in headlights
I am forever stuck

And as the time continues on
The days, and months and years roll by
Which is the greater loss?
If I failed
or never tried?
Written: August 8, 2018

All rights reserved.
Andra Aug 2018
to make a scene,
even if you're not on stage...
it really is your style.
i applaud you.

bravos!
bravos!

i thought
i was the actor and
you the director
or more like the puppeteer
and i would
drag Myself,
the puppet
along and dance
dance to your poorly written songs
and recite your pathetic soliloquies

amusing
how you are trying so hard
and all i can think is
that this might be the interval
and some lunatic got on stage
wishing he could be part of all this.

but i am really enjoying my ice cream, you know?
My Eyes, to confiscate those Notes on-board
My Ears, to abduct those shrill Tunes a-light
My Hands, to guide the Maestro of the Word
My Tongue, to speak of their Meaning's Delight
My Mind, to sprinkle the Seeds of their Songs
My Heart, to skip Jolly Tunes with a Jig
My Spirit, to sponge my Past Living Wrongs
My Soul, to sing your Legacy so big
My Hands, to applaud the Kingdom's New Band
My Chest, to parallel Vibes to your Beat
My Legs, to absorb that Brilliant New Dance
My Feet, to seal this Friendship with your Creed.
These Parts sum; Three Sick Sires and a Dame
And how my Laurels want to know their Name.
#emutemusic
Chrissy Feb 11
I'm shutting the blinds
because it's the end of this theatrical
I'm drawing the curtains because this is your final act
and I shall not applaud for an encore
I'm not going back
Mystic904 Oct 2017
In love with the forgiving trait of God
Falling for the immense light of His boat
The world isn't for me, nor is it's applaud
Soothes the sinning souls, that one Quranic quote

Polluted image indicates not downfall
Unity unshakable if kept intact
Recitations, revive in the great hall
Then will spread the message of the compact

If melodious young voices be raised
Absorbing the love, ignoring the hate
In the court of Allah, shall then be praised
Returning back home is never that late

The pillar of hope, all of us be bound
For the sake, placing my head on the ground
Nat Lipstadt Mar 14
“Who will judge, as many trudge
through mud, mucking up the rug,
a coating of clay formed by God on a particular day.
Yet talent is ingrained, whether sane or insane,
and verse is treasure or a curse, unrehearsed, dispersed for all to see,
will they applaud or disparage, this marriage of mind and rhyme,
by design aligned, a sign of the times...”

ms. patty m*

~~~
once again a thunderbolt command hits between the eyes, on-right
the precise spot where the head aches with desire to fulfill the write!
but to what can I add to this encompassing question already
better answered by the questioner?

who will judge indeed!

all the time and far too often,
the flotsam rises to the surface, when better left ignored,
while the jetsam jets nowhere, buried deep though breathing yet,
on unseen sea bottom of ignorance,
luck of the draw by one who designs, who aligns,
a capricious starscape in the firmament
as well as
the infirmity & ignominy of caskets lying quiet in sea trenches

that the answer herein contained, a supposition,
a poor poets speculation, a soul’s lactation,
the very question is a cyclone bomb by competents
who are blinded+bound+blessed by
incomprehension

the only judge and jury is
your forefingers tip,
if it tremble a-slight
when caressing the key called send,
your cellular fiber
has adjudged worthy,
and no dare disagree

talent and distinction
randomly and irrationally distributed,
but the courageous caress of a send key pressed,
is all that is needed
to impress the only judge and jury
that
authorized you
in advance to
love yourself insanely well enough
to write
and
to send for
a request for sentencing
Thursday March 14, 2019 10:51am

N.B. as I said,
patty m asked and answered it bestie better
Julian Oct 2016
Afflatus screams in mellifluous moonlight by a placid pond
Disturbed slightly by a miracle on ice deloused at a heavy price
Pantechnicons swarm as ghosts maraud around the outskirts of the forest
Suddenly the resurrected memories of renegades become conscientious
Angels swarm with fluttered wings invisible to the albatross of opprobrium
They concert themselves with chirpy dreams, itinerant crumples of amnesia creams
Marigolds are miracles at the most opportune time to be called a hysteria
Asserting the divinity of trinkets applauded that litter history with euphoria
Flinch my core, drunk on the travesty of stodgy moralism unfurled zero kelvin cold
But Salt Lake City towers above my contemplations and UFOs make themselves known
Every city this big is well in eternity and maternity very well known
Shelter not from husbandry, for Babylon is no longer idolatry
Stemwinders and poltroons with prisons crooned
Tyrannosaurus Rex still terrorizes aliens and humans alike on a stranded dark side of the moon
Pink is the ****** of Mayweather and Mayflower, so rigid in rock-a-by-baby tunes
Now is "Never" but TV time "When The Music’s Over" is Bang Bane rather than Boom
Hostage tickets of English hecklers proclaiming my royalty serenade the forest green
I hear their laments of the rumors ballyhoo obscene
Imagine a forest bright, trepidation of unlikely marauders of Viking spite
Spates of jinx own the tanks, sharks (jaws of these aliens in time "Thriller") evanesce as fluttered cameras blink
Marigolds are really miracles as euphoria that plangent has never been so bold
It owned the night and owed nothing of fright to hear aliens chirp ******* penetrated so tight
To hear the orchestra of God’s minions applaud my albatross receding in plight
The swiftest musketeer aims his gun at an AIMed pun
The renegade blackmail is the rut of a guttural wedding of a none and a nun
How sad that she waits, as a ragamuffin of eternal wraiths
That speak to her dreams specifically as a barnacle waif
Genius eludes the moment of sinking eternity and Van Gogh alpenglow
Cracked screens reap grime and grim preachers that reap what they sow
Accentuated stature of imposture clutters legends urbane with glowing silt
Rigmarole of laughingstock circus with the strangest 25-year old days of a dead man Wilt
It was the steward of a day too strange to forget
It was the Newark of a Jersey of Gretzky #99, a hard-won bet
Histrionic of history, an underappreciated music is a well-worn divinity
The best music ever is the best music of time-traveled complicity
Sadly lost on inferior ears is the plangent flow of sonorous pantheons
Lost on an island of good taste in a world that prizes prosaic mellow eons
Rather than delicate paeans with hummingbird simplicity
I resent how rare my taste is in an olfactory of waste
How rare a smell is that yegg harder to lambaste
Don’t gibber the jibe of jive-talking stalk
The scarecrow in Back to the Future is a ******* heckler hawk
Rarefied abduction of stolen keys of NYPD sprees
To drivel the wharf of piedmont rifts in Heaven’s eternal leaves
Time to step back from the sidewinder missive
Time to ***** the gravy epistle so dismissive
Non-linear experiments in time and memory crave recognition
Finally I learn that house arrest is a Home Alone good enough for a virtual reality prison
kha Jun 2018
He gave swerves to uncategorized happiness, with spins that ******* back into his despondencies. He was never given a chance to applaud himself for being a second-long happy or get back to the spotlight where he did belong to his whole **** life. He's properly beautiful when he dances, or when he's proud of his weakest points. Him singing, even the most heard songs will sound re-engaging as if he owns it. Our eyes pace head-on against our cars' contraries. Every scar I had given to my wrists soothe when we wrap our sinful hands in an ill-starred manner.

Love, for him, is altruistically pouring around like sudden downpours on a midsummer day; he had everything to offer yet nothing for himself. He invests a lot with what he wins back. He's the grandeur of a boring ensemble of actors yet still believes he's the subpar star when in reality, no such star existed like it. No one would ever dare to leave him with a river to bleed, or cherry wine bottles with teary send-offs.
Anyone who does that will rest assured have a slot in his own obscenities - oh, how I wish **** would be a lot better than that.

I wasn't briefed for safe keeping such recherchés, that I had to jilt. A handful will be curious, why my decision is a ****-up; or rather, why am I a **** up. But I would say people with better anything deserve his still-endearing dissonances. And all I have are lyrics while he gives song compositions. All he ever needs are happy mornings who hugs him back so right. Behind their curtains are joy-tinted windows with episodes of cuddles and husky 'Good morning's'. I am not that person, so I had left him in his most heightened situation yet - loving me. In a bed full of my inconsistencies, he was sleeping beside his hard-to-swallow Ecstasies.
j.s.
Lawrence Hall Aug 2018
Avuncular in his style, jolly and loud
An epiphany with an entourage
Of functionaries who survey the crowd
For any lack of enthusiasm

Applaud they must, wearing upon command
Cheap slogan tees averring that their school
Is like totally awesome and ‘way cool
They leap and bounce and cheer as they are told

Chanting a theme, this year’s predictable theme
Desperately cute, a motivational meme -
Oh, those childish, subservient creatures!
The worst part is that they are the
                                                             ­      teachers
Sehar Aug 2018
art
As your tapestries collapse and crumble inside

Watch the bloodied paint flake off your heart

Don’t brush away the ink pooling in your eyes

Stand aside as they applaud your art
a million thoughts inside my head
I feel things I'll never show
a thousand things I never said
a thousand things you'll never know.
em Jan 8
there is nothing i can say.
i am no longer a child, or a young adult,
i have no mass of anger, nor am i looking for a way out.
i have realized, along with my newfound silence,
that every single person is in pain.
their pain is specific to them, though.
i have listened to people talk endlessly,
hearing themselves, yet they never really say anything.
their words attempt to reach anyone, yet they evaporate
right off the tongue.
their eyes flick around, compelling yet merely like wallpaper,
to hide what rots and has cracked beneath.
their souls are infrared but empty, they have nothing to give
because they cannot receive.
i have listened to complete, stubborn silence from
many people.
and without words, without language, they communicate in
the most raw, animalistic way.
they cry, they shake, they scream.
they bruise themselves and wish silently for an end
and these people without words,
say everything.
i have realised, many times over.
this condition.
many things can make us tired,
but our own beating hearts are sure to be
a final point of fatigue.
it is incompatible, incomprehensible our place in the universe
overwhelming how little we know, how little we are capable of knowing.
we can feel we are bright but only in comparison,
and as a reality our blood is *****, our skin is pocked, our legs tire, our eyes glaze thick with age, and we do not die with our hair.
everything we consider of importance is material, decomposing.
we conduct our own destruction and applaud ourselves for our fatigue.
we scream, we cry, we shake,
we talk and talk and our teeth rot and our minds collapse inwards.
perhaps our suffering lies not inside of ourselves and our exhaustion,
but in all that we can see we are not.
A righteous man was condemned to die.
For admitting he was the Son of God.
He was nailed to a cross while the crowd stood by.
They laughed with approving applaud.
He only did good and hurt no one.
The leaders jealousies knew no bound.
But, the fact remained he was still the Son.
He freely let his blood drip to the ground.
God, the father turned away his face.
He could not look upon the world's sin.
From that act mankind received Grace.
His kingdom was now open to men.
To have God's forgiveness we must accept, Jesus.
He died for our sins alone.
He makes us complete, our missing pieces,
and makes us much stronger than stone.
Our faith in him is more precious than gold.
It binds more dense than steel.
By his blood we live our lives bold.
to accomplish our Father's will.
God's will is that all be saved.
That we repent of our evil ways.
When you do, in his blood you'll be bathed.
Knowing real love the rest of your days.
Your days will never end my friend.
We will live for eternity somewhere.
Jesus, is trustworthy in him depend.
Do you really want to go down there?
Jesus was and is God, in human flesh on earth.
Man killed Jesus but God raised him from the dead and he now sits at God's right hand as Lord and Savior of mankind. No man could take his life he willingly gave up his life only to take it back again.
ryn Nov 2018
Him
I have depression.

I suspect I’ve had it for a long time.
It’s only recently I accepted it.

Having this,
is like have an insufferable house guest that just wouldn’t leave.
He was never invited.
I don’t even know why he’s even here.

He’s very persuasive.
He tells me things and shows me what I perceive to be my true value.
I know he likes it here and I’ve had him for so long that I have found strange comfort having him around.

At times, he may slip away without
me even knowing.
But at times, he’d show up.
He’d make a grand entrance.
He’d fuss.

But I’d still wouldn’t realise.

These days,
people know I’m not alone.
People know of him.
People read and watch videos of him.
I applaud them for trying to understand him.
And our relationship.

But it saddens me and it fuels him when the aids don’t do him any justice.
They just allow people to think they know better.
They think they’ve been educated and can start to administer help.
They assume that you’re not heeding their advice.
They think you don’t even try.

But again I applaud them...
For trying so very hard.

This is me and I have a house guest that I’m sincerely trying to manage.



I have depression.
Napolis Nov 2018
Under a

Cimmaron sky

afternoon

window seal

you sit.


there is

a breaking

of sighs

in your eyes.


something

remembered

or perhaps

something

lost,


that just lies

or flees

outside your

grasp.


runaway dreams

that now

scatter like

broken birds

of flight

across your eyes.


and what

is to become

of this

moment,


and the gentle

tilt of

your head

and the

bending grace

of your smile.


I am certain

love will

bring you

home again,


to familiar

places and

dancing sunlight

as it streaks

through your

gypsy hair.


and I

will applaud

you after

this day is

done,


nothing ventured

nothing gained.


but this

moment lost.


Sometimes it is

almost unbearable.

to sit with

this empty

view.


something remembered

something lost

from you.
Athanasius Dec 2018
I miss the quiet of unrequited love;
Quaint love that wasn't quite love,
Less like love and more of ****.
Just trust in faith, trust, and pixie dust
To guide your hand to this wonderous Wonderland,
A Neverland you'll never have
Where the only truth is fixation on imagination.
Sensual sensation and internal infatuation
In combination with pain and frustration of waiting for nothing;
I hate it.
But I love it, I laud it, applaud it,
The freedom, the fleeting feeling of being love drunk till kingdom come.
The beating drum of a beating heart that will be beaten down but will come around,
For in the game of love for two where only a single player plays,
There is no winner in the end, the joy comes from the chase.
Let your feelings run free in the fields of your imagination
Amaris Sep 2018
Mom and Dad, I really have to thank you
After all, I did learn a lot over the years
Like how nothing you told me was true
And that you caused all of my fears

Sticks and stones may break my bones
But words should never hurt me
I wasn't hit, nothing was thrown
You just made me feel like I was crazy

Do you know what you did was wrong?
Your expectations, consequences, all flawed
I try to channel my resentment into song
But you miss the point and just applaud
Aaron Elswick Dec 2018
Got lost and stopped by the grotto
struck deals with villains,
and though I'm in my feelings
kneeling and *******
I payed to be ripped off
cadences dip, lost the lotto

Watery graves appealing strange
the solution is lame
the parade's an insane path to follow
Radical urchin burden
grifting the current
mechanisms infected
luring fevers to wallow in, ad absurdum
fathom futility in survival
famine imbibes a stifled echo of revival
in my head

I'm just playing dead for my recital

better informed to the abhorrence I'm entitled

feathered in form alluring sword alarm from Michael

clever to wars imparted forcible and vital, to the era

but staring in awe before the cycle

Bearing a maw beneath the throes along the final.

Bury me after my heart
and guard informal notions of the lauded
if calluses lift the filthy and applaud it

whittle the simply to the too intense or lawless
for a history glistening through a rose of sickly fondness
I won't ask if you were listening to all this
but I must admit
I don't think I can trust you

to be honest...
This is actually kind of a rough draft, and something I may expand on later. There's a lot I cut and plan to add later with more specific wording, but I wanted to have at least the brief version up, in case I changed my mind about really drilling this out.
Napolis Dec 2018
We left

our shades

of innocence

at the door,


we have

lived more

than enough

to bleed

and weep

openly in

front of

each others

eyes.


scares exposed

open wounds

oozing regret

and yet

celebrating

our struggles

and will

to survive.


and in

the shadow

of everything

is your

angel heart,


and gentle

laughter and

appreciation

of life

and love,


and I have

come to applaud

you so,

in the

echoes of

still shadows,


and dance

in the thunder

and tear open

your ****** dress.


your view of

me is pure

and I do not

find that

often in

this place ,

this black

shaped world

that surrounds

us.


to be still

and open

and seeking nothing

but to dance in

your smile.


and kiss

*****

without end,


to never want

to wake

from this

dream of

you and I

this morning.
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