"blindfolds" poems
Before I begin, allow me to explain,
I too loved.. once,
so think of me not as some cynic-
nor as a master in the ways of love-
but rather as a keen observer-
now, that may mean I have nothing to offer you-
no insider knowledge-
no secrets of love-
But I do know how to tell a true love story -
Interested?
Fantastic-
So let’s begin,
True love, if there is such a thing at all,
is like the thread that makes the cloth
you can’t tease it out-
you can’t extract meaning-
without ending up deeper in the web-
and it always remains-
hidden under layers -
In the end, that’s all you can really say about any
True love story-
They don’t generalize-
They don’t analyze-
They arent found-
They just… happen.
and that’s what makes them “true.”
But what is this coveted “love” -
the emotion?-
the act?-
the mentality?-
Love, is a constant state of illusionment-
A collective agreement amongst humans-
that it, whatever it may be, can be treated as an excuse
for recklessness, irrationality, and misplaced strife-
A quid pro quo between two individuals-
to agree that they are doing something-
anything-
other than mindlessly drudging through life-
Now that is not to say that what love creates is pointless-
I said before, I have felt the embrace of love
Love festers between individuals for so long
it has no option-
but to mould the physical to itself-
and alter our personalities-
Characterized by spontaneity-
by indulgence-
by risk-
to love is the most dangerous experience in existence-
the act of being fully vulnerable with another-
while promising not to hurt them the same-
Love is characterized by vulnerability-
and the constant fear of being hurt-
So you want to know how to write a true love story?
be honest-
dwell not on the “romantic” blindfolds that keep us irrationally seeking our partners-
dwell not on the on the memories of a love that blossomed-
reveal the core of love -
A true love story comes from gut instinct-
A true love story, comes from experience.
A true love story, if truly told, makes the stomach believe
So I said I loved once,
allow me to elaborate-
I too have felt the “butterfly stomach”
- where the insides of the lovestruck turn on their host and manifests the emotional significance of meeting “the one”
I too have spent the day daydreaming...
-Lost in the thought of “the one”, seeking brief breaks from reality in my mind between moments of utter normalcy
I too have melted into a puddle of emotion….
-lying next to “the one” as we slowly spill more and more of the secrets that bound us as individuals, joining a spirit much larger than ourselves-
I too have felt... invincible-
-to know that I’ve found something more significant than myself. Something that replaces the fear of the future.. and makes it something to look forward to.
Yes, I too have fallen in love.
and I did just that-
I fell.
..And that is my true love story-
Mar 7, 2014
Mar 7, 2014 at 2:12 AM UTC
Hurt me
Whips and blindfolds
Submission
Boarded up bedrooms
Leather
Fetishes
Being satisfied
Hard bulbous *** toys
Using flavored lubricants
Deep scratches
Red marks
Bruises
Rope burn
Pulling
Smacking
Biting
Smothering
Sitting
Licking
Pleasure
Apr 13, 2014
Apr 13, 2014 at 12:30 AM UTC
So, along comes Love, who brings Passion, and Desire. Love ends up tying me up, Passion blindfolds me, while Desire takes control. Now we are ready to role. These ladies forced my hand, no plans to console. Love keeps touching my heart, has a strong hold. Passion is a work of art; touches my soul. While Desire has her *** up, legs are spread apart; trying to take control. Love keeps on tempting me, such a tease. Passion keeps begging pretty "please", while she's on her knees. Desire won't listen, But she's dying to be pleased. They blowing my mind; I'm not talking a breeze. Loves so distracting, to busy multitasking. Passions is upset, didn't like my reactions. Desire is still her, looking for some action. Love, left with Forgiveness, and Passion left with the Compassion. Desire left me for much stronger attractions. It doesn't matter, all three, were just distractions. Rather post it on Hello Poetry, probably get better reactions!
May 6, 2014
May 6, 2014 at 3:00 PM UTC
(an ekphrastic poem based on the painting Nighthawks by Edward Hopper)
Four
solemn faces,
doused in gold,
like moths to flame,
seek warmth from the cold.
Darkness leers, but harsh light shields
these lonely creatures from their feelings untold.
One
diner desolate,
a waiter old,
and three weary visitors
are portrayed. The scene unfolds.
Most eat under the sunlight, unlike
these nighthawks who flocked from their households.
Some
loneliness darkens
hearts like blindfolds;
nighthawks’ hearts aren’t exceptions.
The woman red and bold,
the man in shadows, and another
man with a cigarette in his hold
are
isolated together.
They are controlled
and defined by solitude.
They don’t belong. No mold
fits them. They only have a
diner, each other, and lonesome souls unconsoled.
Jun 2, 2018
Jun 2, 2018 at 1:33 AM UTC
I wanna have ***
I want to make love
I want to be desired
Like a fire is to oxygen
I want someone to want me so badly they can't keep their hands off me
I want to have ***
all night long or til we pass out and then **** some more
I want to **** like there's no tomorrow and our lives depended on it.
I want to taste ***** and feel a woman's thighs wrapping face like a vice grip
I want to kiss and lick her *** and get lost in the moment
I want her to lick and **** me like I was a 3 star michillan resteraunt and she hadn't eaten for days
I want to make love
I want to lay on the couch cuddling in front the tv
Or laying on the bed spooning the whole day away
I want to look into a woman's eyes and see the love and and passion waiting to pounce on me.
I want to have ***
I want to ****
At the park at night or in my car late at night
I want to **** on a hike off the trail where no one can see (but might)
Or some public bathroom where we might get caught.
I want to have ***
I want to use toys, rope and blindfolds, candles and wax
To get as ***** as the moment takes us as we explore our bodies and sexuality
I want to have ***
Dec 8, 2020
Dec 8, 2020 at 4:58 PM UTC
I await him, naked, head bowed, kneeling
With leather and rope he binds me tightly
Deft hands’ feather touches send me reeling
Melting candles ready, burning brightly
He blindfolds me then gags me with a bit
And through the darkness, slowly I am led
To a place where in pleasure I shall sit
‘til ecstasy claims me upon the bed
He’s summoned the small death from me thrice now
Three rounds; it does not end with my pleasure
“You’ll take and like what I give you,” he growls
We’re done when he pleases —at his leisure
After all the teasing, pleasing, and pain
We collapse together —one, once again
Mar 1, 2021
Mar 1, 2021 at 5:53 AM UTC
Why can't I fly? Because, I am caged in the bowels of bitter, deceit.
Why can't I dance? Because, my body is bound to the gravity of unacceptable, honor.
Why, can't I sing? Because, my lungs are choked by this haute reservoir of insanity.
But, the Trapeze, artist...
The trapeze artist, climbs the ladder of awe, itself, and walks the silver lining of death.
Why can't I write? Because, my hands are bound in the filth of my past,
meddling with broken things.
Why can't I speak? Because, the honor I am bound to, is to live, life, behind closed windows.
Why can't I see? Because, the blindfolds that sheath my eyes from sin, are more sin than any satan incarnate.
But, the Trapeze, artist...
The trapeze artist, climbs the rungs of the narrow road, and walks over the pit of doom, to save itself.
There is no explanation for this act.
So, why can't I shout? Because, I am voiceless to the concerns of the audience.
Why can't I beg? Because, the world has no room for weakness, fear and more loss.
Why can't I scream? Because...
Because...
Because the Trapeze artist dropped off the high-strung ledge of wonders...
And plummeted into a darkness, that has robbed my audience, of all conscionable thought.
Because... the Trapeze artist, is dead.
Jul 4, 2016
Jul 4, 2016 at 12:42 PM UTC
What are we
but a speck in this universe
of granite, metal and a burning tail
Fiery wild passion
moving in a constant speed
As if we already knew
As if we planned
As if written
As if measured
Do we count in Fibonacci's
in blindfolds eternally spin in this limbo
indulging ourselves in the futility of a dog chasing its tail
are we just asleep in this journey
conversing in our dreams
decoding static noises in the other end of the radio
for flight directions
over shifting planes of time
Like the stars believed that fate is their religion
Or the cosmos just furtive of its secrets?
-Margaret Austin Go, Lost in Orbit
Feb 21, 2016
Feb 21, 2016 at 3:31 PM UTC
Every good thing shall happen...
like Friday nights and party rush
surprise calls from a long-time crush
auburn leaves and a cup of tea
cozy couch and a good movie
a sweet embrace, granted wishes
locked up hands, friendly kisses
perfect music, fireworks galore
passionate poetry, books in store
skinny-dipping, pineapple juice
mountaineering, romantic cruise
stick-it notes and scented letters
white rose petals and silver glitters
dusty slip-on and faded pantaloons
sweetened berries and tasty prunes
smooth raps and slow rock hits
magnetic charm and awesome wits
11:11 verses and chicken bones
starry night skies, pebbles and stones
a perfect score, crispy pizza crust
locks and highlights, passionate lust
skirts and pumps, pictures of us
Halloween treats and wedding fuss
hot cappuccino, jam and jelly
first paycheck, winning the lottery
chocolate mousse, ice cold drinks
ocean waves, seductive winks
silk and laces, laughs after cries
cool car drifting and belly butterflies
left hand scribbles, messy hair buns
Oakley goggles and water guns
funny jokes, late night talks
rainy days, twilight walks
flickering lights, vintage cars
logs in swamps and monkey bars
a hopeful daybreak, latte aroma
fogged up glasses, squeaky veranda
carnation in bloom, warm summer breeze
slow ********** trimmed cypress trees
naughty kiddie play, blindfolds and tricks
mistletoe and acorns, fresh and fancy kicks
baked salmons and grilled corn
ending fights and a newborn
free-verse poetry, an orchestral song
a stranger's smile, a dancing throng
finishing a novel, Luna's glow
binding friendships, December snow
but the best thing for me, I'd like you to know
is to tell you finally that I Love You So.
May 12, 2013
May 12, 2013 at 11:41 PM UTC
I have fought sprouting
the common ardurous way
known by most Earthlings,
through mean suffering pain
that life is filled with.
I sought to sprout of pure joy
immense happiness only,
true love found grasped.
faintly,
that joyful way of sprouting
great wisdom
like a lovely butterfly
from rose bush traveling
to rose buds
flew by me
eluding my white
gardenia rose garden.
Or stealing what it could.
My wisdom now bleeds.
and many avoid me
like a bad owmen.
They wear blindfolds
drink heavily and do other
cruel things to themselves
seeking paradise blindly.
The wisdom of profound joy
that never arrives to stay.
Some asleep walk in their pain.
I won't ask you to walk with me
we all crawl, walk, run, or fly
following our own dreams
roads not taken weeping.
I wait for one traveler only
who would share any ride
To happier easier greener
serenity pastures.
Perhaps together learning
Not to bleed for wisdom,
and working out troubles
as they come along
One day at a time.
~~~~~~~~
By Karijinbba
All Rights reserved
2021
May 16, 2021
May 16, 2021 at 6:08 PM UTC
Never do you see my face
Secured from movement
Just feel my fingers touch
Tracing over your body
Then my kisses on skin
Just a brief moment away
Before ice cubes tease you
In places never before touched
Begging me to ravish you
But you know you're at my mercy
Feeling the handcuffs opened
You're free to reach out
But I whisper for you to wait
And when your eyes are free
They search for me, I am gone
Jun 19, 2015
Jun 19, 2015 at 1:21 PM UTC
White skin
Molded in black light
Crystal tears
Faded in dark wine -
Innocent fears
Crypted in a muddy dawn,
White, white veils
Of the black, black soul.
Soothing tired rays...
The ashes of canescent shadows
In black blankets
Of white memories, thoughtless days
Melodies, phantasms of whispers -
Too late, too soon...dispair.
They all appear in strange ways,
Mixed feelings in a maze
Drowned in a deep silence -
Deaf screams in a corner.
Transparence...
A black mind, the disorder.
A life between agony and death,
A death betweem sunrise and health,
Vision between a mirror and a trigger
Freedom between bars and linger
Dreams between blindfolds and handcuffs
Thirst hiding beneath a sea of cups
Hunger lieing in corners with bread bits
Perfect love dieing where it fits.
Black and white,
Silence and screams
Numbness, too many feelings...
Eyes wide open, but locked inside.
I've lost the key
To a true reality
Beyond these mesmerizing dawns
They're not true, they're not false...
There's no sun, there's no moon
Too late, then too soon
Trying to fake and not to see
There's no sunrise in the whole of me.
Aug 13, 2011
Aug 13, 2011 at 1:01 PM UTC
Other worlds have hopes,
for plants, for trees and
dogs walking by, panting
soaking in humidity like carp
above water.
Not ours.
Dead ends, parked cars supplanting
serenity with passion, desire
crammed into
row upon row of heartless
dwellings expunging sunglass-wearing
**** suckers
blocking their emptiness from the world
with reverse blindfolds.
I know their eyes still glare at me, scoffing at
them. Walking, I
walk past
their barricaded kennels, under-
construction housing
impersonating natural climes
with sushi and slushy shops.
People like them have admiss-
able drives, hankering after
freedom; they're indoctrinated
to believe admission is
monthly cable bills
wired in beneath concrete slabs
maintained compliance
through lines painted on grass
where overlords can tell livestock
what to do.
Bus chutes form
hillsides, beside lines of
trees which perfume these
feedlots
we call
cities.
**** oozes below streets
walked on, they stared at me
like cows, watching a ranch-hand
suspicion toward anything
beyond bistro fences.
"What the **** are you looking at,
you filthy animal?
Have you no idea which species your greed
feeds?
Do you know where this ends
for you?
Who's tazing your ***
who's making you sit there?"
Moo, mooo.
Mooooooooooooooooooo.
Receipts, a cudgel on each table,
more cudgels ring
from pockets
telling them what time it is,
where they're to be.
Sunday's almost over,
back to blocks of houses!
Graze on painted grass,
then die,
but not before you stare at me
with empty eyes,
you pathetic, miserable
creatures.
Jun 3, 2012
Jun 3, 2012 at 10:11 PM UTC
Soft shelter
I urge your preternatural
brigades of perspective
to ground my resignation
in some hypothetical
formation of inclined leisure
If I'm treading mere chance
in my hope then I urge you
not to simply humour me with
sly tomorrows assuring
optimism in the brittle molts
of days shrinking to reveal
solar aspirations
I'll turn my back
to the broken weather like
a naked sibling
There is nothing humourous
in humouring
though I've taken it
in self-destructive perpetuity
Tie me to the rack of realism
like Odysseus before the Sirens
I'll sigh and swallow
yet another new medication
one for soft shelter
in compounded sleep
where perspectives hide
and the chemicals of moods
long dismantled
congregate behind blindfolds of
destiny's clumsy executioners
May 24, 2014
May 24, 2014 at 10:40 PM UTC
I’m the captured poet of dream
a Ferris wheel author of
haunted Sioux transcendence-miracles
an alchemist of language
maybe the last poet of epiphanies
that dance like a silent water-tanka
the fire-rain-truth shouts inside of me
like a poet that navigates the overmind
a benevolent alien collective-mind
an indecipherable dialogue of
darling insomnia divinity and
fantasy-starved and sun-quilted
ambrosia, my lungs filled
with the promise of the cosmos
come to life in majestic verse
behind blindfolds of invisible offerings
resigned to the hypothetical
responsibility of mediumship.
Oct 18, 2014
Oct 18, 2014 at 2:50 PM UTC
A man standing tall; a madman in leather shoes.
With a wave of an unseen hand, with the aid of a pen,
The thoughts and minds of a species are forged.
The beasts teach by doing. The evolved teach by writing.
Yet a word only contains the truth one assigns to it.
So where does honor reside?
Where does that unconquerable and objective
Nobility rest its tired limbs?
Is it found in the ****** of lawlessness?
Or in the temperance of our betters?
Is all certainty lost to them?
With abandoned streets and crowded fears,
The evolved, so different from the beasts,
Look nervously for that that unseen hand.
That hand aided with a pen.
And still,
Safe amid the outer rim,
The beasts look on.
And the proud and evolved accept their blindfolds.
An existence where truth and falsehood ...
Where good and evil ...
Where freedom and imprisonment ...
... Are all just words written by an unseen hand.
Jan 13, 2011
Jan 13, 2011 at 8:14 PM UTC
They say that love blinds you;
That once you find “the one,”
They will be the only ones you see,
Whether it’s in a crowded room of familiar faces and strangers you’ve never met before
Or in a city with emotionless people wandering through the streets attempting to find their souls-
It’ll always be just the two of you.
Love hides all the darkness in the world,
All the evil and corruption going on around you,
But it also blinds you from seeing the truth.
You see, when you’re in love with someone,
You do whatever it takes to stay in love with that person.
You forget their flaws,
Erase all their mistakes and scars from their bodies.
You block out what others say about your relationship,
Becoming deaf to all the doubts and reprimanding of the adults that “know better.”
When you’re in love, you want to stay in love.
You want it to be just the two of you in this entirely chaotic world.
See, love makes a person blind.
It makes you walk through the Labyrinth without Ariadne’s ball of string to guide you.
It blindfolds you and refuses to hold your hand and direct you to the end.
It makes you want to do stupid things,
And it makes you want to jump off a cliff.
When you’re crazy and irrevocably in love,
You’ll go psychotic trying to make the other person happy.
You crave for their happiness so much that you forget to focus on your satisfactions.
But what happens if you’re so far in love that you’ve become accustomed to tunnel vision even when you’re far out of love?
You see, I know this girl.
She loves the idea of being in love.
She loves all the romance and the sweetness and all the attention when it comes to being in love.
She loves loving others so much that she forgot to love herself.
She’s so caught up in this idea that she almost forgot to get her head out of the clouds and place her feet on the earth for a minute.
See, I don’t believe in perfect.
There’s always something in this world that will corrupt beauty
And being close to perfect is never enough for society.
We’ve all been brought up in a universe of false hopes and harsh realities,
But we still crave for perfection,
We still want perfect.
She wants a perfect boy and a perfect life,
And it’s nice to know that someone out there is still dreaming and believing in the goodness of the world,
But deep in our veins, we know this dream is unreachable,
And I think it’s time for all of us to keep our feet on the ground and not let our heads get too caught up in the moment,
But we all know that might never happen either.
Oct 20, 2013
Oct 20, 2013 at 6:15 PM UTC
I think of you on days the odor of water makes me dry-heave.
Our photographs still throw me, offguard, into flashbulb memories. Every detail etched into my brain with a hot scalpel.
This isn’t an apology, this is a confession. I am not guilty in my eyes.
That was my hollow lava, this is what it crystallized into. Look at it, laugh at it, break it, keep it. My words were only meant to be beautiful in someone else’s eyes. In your eyes.
Drown my breath in a tub of sand, tell me everything that isn’t alright.
You can weave our veins into a dystopian novel, stamp it with 'fiction' and we can pretend it never happened.
The ordinary incinerated in your palms and I’m reeling from this hamartia.
Paint your carcinogens on my skin, carve them into my bones, punch them onto my eyes. Hold these hands one more time and feed me a blatant lie.
Feed me anything that’ll help me swallow these choked up cries.
I’ve wondered how the others were, how you were.
Was it art when you wrapped blindfolds around their necks?
What was it to them? How were they dying?
How am I dying?
Because I wake up in the odd hours, my chest feeling like it’s soaked in salt water,
and you’re standing at the edge of my bed,
with a mug of poison,
smiling,
telling me *it’s okay,
it’s just a bad dream,
here, I made some coffee.*
And I believe you.
Sep 13, 2015
Sep 13, 2015 at 9:22 AM UTC
Karma was child from a humble family whose dream had a spoonful of wishes. She never thought of a hen sitting on her plate for lunch until her body shaped to capture the focus of the community.
Her and hard work were inseparable, and motivation sparked from her deeds. This was short lived by blindfolds of moments. She then landed in a ditch of blessings which surpassed her baring as paper made solutions to all her faults and soonest laziness took her for a companion.
Yes, she had completely forgotten her path neither could she trace her background, for looks bought her a ticket to a lifestyle and rather failed to resist becoming stingy.
She learnt not the meaning of love for it carried no sense, and the she needed not to learn of true love, oh how could she for to her it was a monster that stole opportunities.
The caterpillar she was grew into a butterfly one seen by many and so touched by those whose hands could afford the beautiful colours of its petals. Souls fell apart over the turned beauty of the wings that went toxic. The meal that went bad before the harvest of a promised yield.
The love to taste of the night shinning sun evolved many to empty pockets and others to bundles of regret to disease and misfortune. It wasn’t her making nor desire, it was the glory of Gods carvings that alerted those near and far to come eco and share of visibility of a living being stationed as nature.
This beauty scorched mens eyes day in and day out as she melted souls and flowers faded in the sun. she glowed on gentle pockets, never invested any seeds for a tomorrow. Time wasn’t her ally, it brought a change in season as the clouds ushered in rain sprouted new and better yields that out competed the market of the former.
Clouds shrinked and a dark tomorrow was born, the wine tasted more bitter than old wine in a new bottle. Then the veterans got and adopted new medals at the cost of the old fades of the butterfly contests.
What was left was a story tale with a bunch of little and innocent ferries whose direction was unfolded but hope set from a single ray through the thickest forest.
Thomas Bron Mukama
#herdsmanofprogress
Feb 26, 2019
Feb 26, 2019 at 2:33 AM UTC
There is nothing to fear, but fear itself
there is nothing to fear, but fear itself
yet, my heart beats loudly in my chest
yet the feeling is as if I'll take my very last breath
I have to remind myself that hope strengthens
hope to survive this world is my motivation
and hope that I will survive is my determination
but to be trapped awfully in this world is my damnation.
I also have to remember that fear kills
fear is the blindfolds you shouldn't wear on a battlefield
because fear can get you or a partner of yours killed
and I would hate to let my partner or myself to leave the world like this
A bullet to the head because I refused to listen
to the command of halt and take cover that was given
to me before I ran out and blew my cover
I am an aimless child; life lessons is my mother
Although i sometimes get punked by my fears
I remind myself that hope strengthens and fear kills
what doesn't **** me only makes me stronger
and because I conquer these fears I live much longer
Because when danger calls and people start to fear
fear leads to panic, and no one thinks logically against fear
and demons smile, they dance, and come near
and unthinkable bad things happen whenever these beings are near
So in order to distrought the demons and drive them insane
I'll take heed in danger, think carefully, and stay perfectly sane
to conquer most of my fears,
is the name of the game
Apr 15, 2012
Apr 15, 2012 at 1:11 PM UTC
The kid has it all since that’s how it works.
Blindfolds cover the view of life and
Smiles seem to be everlasting.
Then the apartment needed a new couch.
Looking out windows and porches to
Watch the sunrise changes your view
Of how to buy your coasters, but couches
Take time to know. That’s the one.
My couch is white and green
With two stains from when
Nillie tried to eat pudding.
Feb 24, 2012
Feb 24, 2012 at 1:28 PM UTC
Drowning in the smell of transcendence,
I saw too many people,
from the days I don’t like,
the days I try to keep in the basement.
Between clutching toilets and empty talks,
I met everyone a second time,
and now I’m locked in a car alone.
I couldn’t breathe and was losing a war with my mind.
Trapped in this prison, listening to people’s voices.
It was a beauty of a sound,
like an orchestra from a muse,
with the crying face from abuse.
With my tears still hanging on the window,
you whispered soft sparks of fire through my ears,
when you asked me,
where were my tears,
and what were my fears.
The kind only a candle can hear.
The night we were ballroom dancing with blindfolds on,
every light was off and the curtains drawn.
Swaying into the dark, like an avenue of trees.
Your eyes were born in that tiny moment,
where you want to believe.
Your heart was born,
in a change of season,
where you gave me no reason,
but to leave.
You gave me the keys to your heart,
then changed the locks.
Our love was like a delicate dandelion,
and you blew away the seeds,
so they flew with their tiny parachutes,
into the wind of the past,
and to cling to a stranger’s boots,
so you could walk away from the start,
and peer at me through your window.
After your heavy breaths,
you told me,
you’d rather be part of my story,
than a work of art, in my worry.
Then I woke up at the Main Street Park.
Now up on my knees,
I glanced at one of the trees.
The words “I loved her”
carved into the wood.
Feb 12, 2013
Feb 12, 2013 at 3:34 PM UTC
We are living in an self-obsessed, self-serving nation
With citizens who only care about their own salvation
Is this what our heroes lost their lives for?
To see this nation crumble from wall to wall?
We have the freedom to choose but do we use it well?
We keep electing leaders who use lies to buy and sell
The system flawed founded on fallacy
They monopolize, advertise democracy
and yet our voices remain unheard
It's absurd, word for word
how we're lead by cheats and drug lords
I'm sick of seeing yellow people
wearing blindfolds on their eyes
reading yellow newspapers
believing yellow lies
Are you sure you're still thinking?
Maybe you're just one of them believing
the fairy tales they show us on TV
They profit from our own stupidity
conformity is what binds us to these chains
We have to recognize the fact that only one family reigns
We need to change lanes, start using our brains
and get rid of the ******* chains!
They're burning us slowly at the stake
Our lives they're prepared to take
This system was not built to defend us
but to rule us, brainwash and control us
So open your eyes and revolutionize
Assert your position, your freedom utilize!
Go forth and march at the gates
Fueled by fire, justice and rage
This generation should not take their ****
Stand against the norm and defy it
I'm sick of seeing yellow people
wearing blindfolds on their eyes
reading yellow newspapers
believing yellow lies
They won't let you go, They'll keep you in line
Because you let them **** you in the mind
They won't let you go, They'll keep you in line
Unless you stand up and open your mind
They won't let you win, They'll keep trapped
Because you keep taking their crap
They won't let you go, They'll keep you in line
Unless you stand up and open your mind
Jan 26, 2015
Jan 26, 2015 at 4:49 AM UTC
*The cinematography, the imagery,
Visualizations, animation,
Those slow takes as the rain falls over the window
Behind which a girl rests her head
Looking out with dreamy eyes
Eyes, holding watery stories of a beautiful past
The door slams shut and
Out she comes
With winged feet and summer skin
Living in her head, she walks down by
Looks up above and smiles at the sky
She closes her eyes and the camera it shoots
How the sunshine falls on her eyelashes
Down, a perfect zoom in
Onto her lips hazed with tiny particles of light air
He blindfolds her eyes
Walks her gently all the way
The coldness increases and the noise reduces
More
He takes his hands off her eyes
And up she stares
with lips apart and stunned feet
At the gazillion stars chilled and silver
Against a black night
He smiles
covering her up from behind
with warm hands.
The rest of the night.*
Dec 23, 2014
Dec 23, 2014 at 6:58 AM UTC
Cockroaches on cracked floors
***** fuzz amps and holes in boys
Dolly strung in girls hanging from a bulb
Sways on the cement I'm a troll
Wrestling with blindfolds back knives and lost homes
I curl on the couch
Red broken leather
Fall into a mouse trap
Half smoked dreams
Curling fingernails up my thighs
Half forgotten lullabies
Reaching for the sky
Don't fetch me
I'm still alive
Aug 7, 2010
Aug 7, 2010 at 6:27 AM UTC