"asymptote" poems
If I'm the last white cloud at sunset
You're the morning hue of the sky (orange-red).
If I'm the concentrated chaos in my eyes
You're the mirthful flash of your pearly whites.
If you're the cool blue pool in summertime
I'm the orange orange (which doesn't even rhyme).
We're poles apart, you and I
But once in a while we see eye to eye
And the space in which our gaze meets
Is as close as I'll be to infinity.
May 7, 2015
May 7, 2015 at 9:55 AM UTC
We've only got a week left to last you know,
Thank every deity that ever was or ever will be.
I've aced the class now I've gotta go!
Had a wake for Wellness, and Spanish is buried -Now a funeral for Chemistry!
Banish those 'noble' gases and all that higher math.
What's a word smith need with polarity, molarity, or stoichiometry?
Well at least now I can tell an asymptote from a hole in the graph.
The freshies have it next year, but us -We cheer and sing, "BETTER YOU THAN ME!"
May 15, 2014
May 15, 2014 at 1:21 PM UTC
A solid center presages
two generous edges
to shoulder the weight
of the curve: the bow
relinquishes tension
to the anchors of the
taut bow-string.
The wayfaring archer
tends to the curve,
notches the arrow,
selects the target,
gauges the wind,
surrenders --
*Riding like an arrow on the wind,
sure to find its mark in Breath,
and the end of Breath it portends.*
A reveler
abiding the flirt
of angle and arc,
finite and eternal,
arbiter of the holy
moment, the dance
linking death with life;
So unbearably
near the horizons,
desire yields its grip
to the coaxing
womb of the curve: tension
sighs into the space
between arrow-head
and its mark.
*And in the transmission of feeling
is the spirit of Life,
clinging - so gently - to free itself
of its own burdens.*
A sudden violence
voids archer and stag:
Continuity rushes forth
to meet the sacrifice.
The heart of the bow
resumes its tension.
And the curve
evaporates,
all but a trick
of Timing.
Dec 28, 2015
Dec 28, 2015 at 11:33 AM UTC
Life outlined by higher power
Just few friends, without a lover
Mind that doubts your every move
Talent that's not self-doubt-proof
Social anxiety that hinders your story
A lust for approval and unattainable glory
Afraid to talk, afraid to be seen
A picture of future that's but a dream
Nearing an asymptote of self-destruction
Unable to perform basic human functions
A coupe of rhymes, and just a "fine friend"
a crater in heart that requires a mend
What can you do? These are cards you were dealt
But where is the fire that your mind will melt?
Dec 8, 2021
Dec 8, 2021 at 4:32 PM UTC
Lean into me
eyes wild
I’ll watch lust
dance at the surface
when—
Lean into me
tear trails
etched in dust
I’ll hold on
until—
Lean into me
lips feverish
embrace must
last unbroken
but—
Lean into me
and feel
ourselves rust
as rain drips down
until—
Lean into me
for now
we can trust
we’ll never know
when—
until—
but—
—
Oct 25, 2012
Oct 25, 2012 at 11:52 PM UTC
I miss you,
every day a bit less
but I still do.
It's like an asymptote,
closer and closer to 0.
But never 0.
Jun 4, 2017
Jun 4, 2017 at 9:21 PM UTC
Inside of this lovely white envelope
There is a sweet little secret love note
It's in delicate lace, covered in hope
But two hearts are not to touch, asymptote
Sealed with glitter so love is not bitter
Perfumed with strawberry to stay merry
Words dressed to look pretty, all hearts jitter
Many burdens to carry, stay wary
Yet who gave this letter such powers?
Building love with beauty and elegance
Love's not a tower to fill with flowers
Love is a humble shrine filled with romance
I will show you what love is meant to be
If you would close your eyes and trust in me
Jan 23, 2019
Jan 23, 2019 at 2:34 PM UTC
There was a message there for a second
But then state farm came in like a good neighbor and broke my train of thought
And that was beautiful in its’ own right
Like paint mixing to brown
As words only confuse everything
And emotions are like real gods
I bring you to the ends of our own expressible thought
on the edge of a cliff that cannot be crossed
a cliff and an asymptote
that is never perceived
Real Gods are in the pudding,
in relations between lines
in laws given and unbending
objective, quantifiable, and beyond my description
they are in the unending study and toil of the labors of love
a thought
but not in religion
unless you think about it like that
which you are always free to do
because sometimes the only way to show the inexpressibility
of life, nature and all is
is in raptures of revelation
Sep 7, 2014
Sep 7, 2014 at 6:34 PM UTC
We seem to never get the timing right
when I look at you
you look at away
when you see me
I hide away
does this mean that we can never meet half-way?
When I'm in deep slumber
you're alive and kicking
Your talkativeness fill up
the bubbling silence in our talks
Do you think of me like I think of you?
or am I just a passing thought?
Do I frustrate you like you frustrate me?
or am I just
your friend?
Feb 7, 2015
Feb 7, 2015 at 12:31 AM UTC
I am the asymptote.
You are the curve.
This is the closest, and
farthest I'll ever be. With you
my life has been more than a system
of following rules and norms.
No matter how close or far we become,
you'll be charted in my mind forever --
Pictures, messages, letters, drawings, gifts, glances, smiles, laughter, and
memories. I'll always cherish
this part of my life, and
I'll never forget you, and
this imaginary us.
I am the asymptote; you are the curve.
One day, maybe,
we'll bend the rules, and
defy gravity.
Come with me, and
let's head towards infinity
Feb 18, 2016
Feb 18, 2016 at 2:30 PM UTC
since i decided that the chain was too short
and the anchor i had attached myself to
was pulling me under
it's been Three Months since I've sharply inhaled and
let go of the rope
and stood slack-jawed
and in awe
at the calm with which you watched it suddenly go limp in your relaxed palms,
and then shrugged,
and retreated.
Three Months since I've turned my head toward the horizon
and rubbed the tension of staring at a backward-moving object
from my weary neck.
Three Months of my infatuation worming its way back into more isolated parts of my mind,
and festering in my body,
becoming quiet--
like the absence of a laugh track
while the film keeps playing.
And I feel like I am still holding my breath.
It's different now because I finally see the pattern.
Breathe easily,
breathe excitedly,
gasp,
hold your breath,
feel it abruptly leave your body as you deflate
find your breath again,
have it stolen from you once more
The question is: what will lure my lungs back into blissful submission again? And how much time am I left with to enjoy my returned sanity?
And if you came back,
I think it would feel like a falling dream.
I think I am in the falling dream.
I am grasping and flailing and fearing the crash,
everything becoming a quickening blur of
irrational analysis and false epiphanies,
an asymptote approaching demise...
until
i wake up
(and realize that I never really was falling).
Only to have the ground snatched from under my feet once again
but instead of down, I will go up.
(and then down again)
I wish I wasn't familiar with this pattern.
Oct 8, 2013
Oct 8, 2013 at 5:46 PM UTC
I will leave us a mistake unmade.
You were my first taste of dawns met with playful banter,
and I was your first shot at being left in the cold.
I broke your heart for all the wrong reasons, darling,
and I can never tell you the truth of why I put the light in your eyes
and left you gutted, raw.
You will always be an asymptote I will slip dangerously close to,
but the heartstrings binding us weave no tapestry of a future in romance.
I cannot love you.
Oct 1, 2013
Oct 1, 2013 at 12:14 PM UTC
We began as strangers,
soft collisions in the quiet—
a glance,
a laugh,
a brush of air between us.
I traced the curve of something
that almost was,
afraid to name it,
afraid to break it.
So I held my heart in silence,
loving you where you’d never see.
Every moment pulled me closer—
yet you stayed just far enough
that I could never touch you,
never know if you ever turned toward me.
And maybe it was just me—
the only one who fell,
the only one who waited
for a sign that never came.
And some nights,
when the world is quiet,
it crushes me—
the thought that you must have known,
that you must have felt
the tremor of my heart
and still chose the silence.
My heart broke
not from rejection,
but from the way
we both turned away,
pretending not to see
what hung between us.
Now we are strangers again,
but strangers with memories—
memories that stalk me
like a shadow with teeth,
gnawing at the quiet,
reminding me
that we were once
so close—
and maybe,
somewhere,
still are.
And in the dark,
I hate that a part of me
is still waiting for you.
Sep 18, 2025
Sep 18, 2025 at 5:54 PM UTC
The universe is cruel.
No debate on that.
As it plots existences
one by one
in the continuum of its being
We yearn closely for meaning
as we come close to concepts
love, truth, reality
We are but lines
plotted by it
existing through space-time
moving without knowing
and yet with direction
as per instructed by it
As movement goes
little did we know
there are lines similar
almost perfect
to one another
moving past this part of the plane
yearning to be with each other
*but alas,
the universe is cruel in so many ways*
these lines were plotted in curvature
and yet ever so gently
it moved closely
so near to being one like many
but to dismay has disruptions
wrong plots, slopes, instances
to a state where points never touch
the universe plots and plots
and yet never in its
right mind
cooperated
Jan 8, 2016
Jan 8, 2016 at 8:49 AM UTC
I can’t sleep.
My brain, it won’t shut off.
Circles and lines
Thread together to create
Color, light -
Light, streaming like dust through my open window
In the purple air.
How foolish I am
To think dreams live with the stars.
I check the clock
Five minutes have been lost.
Most people think that sadness grows
Like a patch of dandelions floating away
Or a shadow with the setting sun.
They’re wrong,
Of course,
Because they do not understand.
It is not their fault
But that does not make them any less
Ignorant.
Sadness just is.
Settling quietly, and, when you finally notice
It’s all encompassing.
It is the sky, the sea.
I check the clock
Five minutes have been lost.
I am an asymptote.
Stretching out a hand to humanity
Almost, I can feel their acceptance
Brush by my eager fingertips
But the fallacy of hope is dangerous
And I am left untouched.
A magnet that can’t help
But repel itself.
And my fingers are ungloved
And turn blue in this cold place
As I am left to stand alone
Waiting.
I check the clock
Five minutes have been lost.
I look into a mirror made of sand
My face crumbling away with my breath –
The bits of grain become a desert,
A sea of beige
I am left to be lost in.
I do not know what I look like
Past my skin.
This not knowing, it should scare me, but
Somewhere, in a place I do not like,
I relish the confusion.
How sad you must think me
For enjoying
Not knowing
Who I am.
I check the clock
Five minutes have been lost.
Fear is something I pretend
I have never felt
With my line smiles and hollow talk –
Black, caustic acid dripping from my teeth
As I judge.
Who sits in my court?
I don’t know –
Everyone perhaps,
Or the people that remind me of myself.
I check the clock
Five minutes have been lost.
I feel the ground beneath my feet
As I walk to my future,
A dark tunnel,
Lighting my way with matches –
I don’t know if I’ll reach the end or run out first.
The ground, it is cold, and shifts
Until I am falling without the pinpricks of fire
To highlight my blind spots,
The matches scattered in the midnight air.
I check the clock
Five minutes have been lost.
I breathe in loneliness
Until my lungs ache
With stolen air.
Until my arms,
Laced with blue rivers,
Are touched by Moses.
Until my iron heart beats,
Rusting away.
Loneliness is like skin,
Layering my bones, my muscles –
A coat for thin membranes that knit together
A stomach, a womb, a liver.
Everyone needs skin
So that they do not fall apart
Their soft parts leaking onto the granulated floor
Until they become nothing more than water.
I have mine.
I shut my eyes
I do not dream.
Nov 4, 2013
Nov 4, 2013 at 10:36 PM UTC
I am stretched out
in an effort to stretch out a moment.
To stretch out a feeling;
to elongate a sensation of lingering longing.
You can be the thief stealing the blood pumped between heart beats.
You can be the queen of unfulfilled destinies.
The one to slay the tyrant king and bring peace.
You can be the promise of everything.
I feel ya strutter.
(Don't you dare stutter on my name.)
I feel your presence in sporadic bursts of **** near unbearable pain.
(I can take it. (I can't take it.))
Neural connector fireworks igniting in my brain.
Sear my flesh.
You're the worst and the best.
Watch how the blood gushes right out of my chest,
and get wet.
I can take the pressure.
I am a pressure ******
I don't participate in anticipating the release.
I get off on the anxiety.
(Don't ever let me go.)
Let the pressure build and grow forever upwards,
like an asymptote.
Eternally rising down and falling up;
our figures are irrational.
I can feel your digits all over me,
but this plane has no ejector's seat.
I've been flying this thing manually,
and now it's crashing into you.
Jul 28, 2015
Jul 28, 2015 at 1:39 AM UTC
when I turn my head and look at things
sideways
Consider the edge of light and dark
mathmatically an asymptote approaching
infinity vis a vis the starlight
I see on a clear night, so real and clearly now,
is the past, actually, someday when it crossed
milions of light years,
to be in my telescope,
The closest I can be to now,
is a memory when I percept it.
On a daylight, I think might,
my real no matter how fast or hard I try to
be in it,
is a past forever.
Jul 8, 2015
Jul 8, 2015 at 9:20 PM UTC
you tell me i am young and foolish but you are just as young and foolish for falling for me the way you have. we walk across a barbed wire tightrope and i know it's so ******* dangerous but the way you taste makes me forget my name. your lips beckon me without saying a word and your eyes are so mesmerizing i lose my train of thought when i look into them and all i can think about is kissing you. i never meant for any of this to happen and the lying and sneaking around won't last forever but you make me feel like i'll live a thousand more years. we love while cradling a time bomb and no one knows how many hours, days, years there are left on it. one day it will go off and we will perish together, or one of us will cut the wire and your timeline will no longer be the asymptote to mine.
Feb 14, 2016
Feb 14, 2016 at 10:49 PM UTC
What are you doing right now?
Take a step outside yourself to analyze the value of it.
Supersede the meaning of the thing that you think you currently need.
Pick up that instrument.
Open that word document.
Pick up that pen and turn to a blank page.
Action and passion keeps the ennui away.
What are you up to right now?
What are you doing today?
Punch laziness in the face and stay in that place of outpouring.
Streams of consciousness leaking out from outer space.
I've been bitten by something suddenly.
It's time to create.
Shower that page.
Crowd that silent place with echoes of notes.
Paint every blank surface with earnest strokes of rage.
Climb that asymptote.
If you dig deep,
you'll pull up something.
Even in sleep,
there's no such thing as nothing.
Art for art's own sake.
Because progress takes so many steps.
Oblivion can wait.
It's time to create.
Jun 2, 2015
Jun 2, 2015 at 1:32 AM UTC
Under the light of the moon, i stare at the stars, wondering if i could be one of them if i died- if i could be immortal. If I could live up as someone who was looked upon- someone who was aware of my existence. It's such a calm night, hearing my favorite songs playing and the curtains swaying by the wind.
It somehow feels magical- like a hidden power. The moon sees me whenever i'm not around a lot of people- sometimes, i think the moon knows all my secrets. I stare at it and wonder if you're looking at it too. I hope you do. I really hope you do.
My love for you is like of an asymptote- a line waiting to be intersected, hoping to be a red string brought by fate.
I wish we could happen- but we can't, because you didn't know... and i couldn't tell you.
So under the light of the moon- i hoped alot. We couldn't happen but it's not yet the end.
We were under the same sky atleast.. That's what I needed, and that's what we will ever be.
So I hope you remember me, not just that someone who walked past you, the one you caught staring at you, and the one you were really annoyed to... because if you only knew..
Your happiness was mine too.
It wasn't an underestatement. Those three words were not enough to explain how i felt for you. Nobody knew.
So if ever you looked up at the midnight sky- I hope you think of me, not just that someone who would creep behind just to catch a glimpse of you..
. . . . but as the girl who would have given the world to know.
Mar 3, 2019
Mar 3, 2019 at 12:19 AM UTC
my life resembles an asymptote
it never touches or reaches its dreams
and that is the sole reason for it's existence
Mar 11, 2019
Mar 11, 2019 at 6:13 AM UTC