"burnig" poems
Some sort of monster from the deep,
or the haunted darkness,
has taken its needle to me,
tying me to this surgeons table,
burnig in cold, cold metal,
stitching my filthy lips together,
digging its claws in to my lungs,
shattering my ribs and stealing oxygen,
Hands tensed, skin tearing on my knuckles,
I can't scream with my head in a vice,
constricting and getting smaller,
brain fluid will drip on your feet monster,
Thrashing about on the table,
like a fish out of water,
the cable ties around my hands and feet
finally pop and I'm free,
my tongue it taunts me though,
it wants to, but it can't speak,
Bones now burn to dust,
I crumble and it takes me,
stolen by the darkness
but i'm still scratching at the walls of insanity.
Jun 21, 2012
Jun 21, 2012 at 2:31 AM UTC
I turn my hart to stone
when my sister plays her harp
now we must be apart
now my hart is burnig free
watching my little family
Dec 2, 2013
Dec 2, 2013 at 1:04 PM UTC
To describe love with a star is overused.
But to describe you- it's perfect.
Burnig brightly, far away from everyone else.
Your timing is unpredictable, but the event is for sure.
You support life- my life.
And when you begin to deflate, you rise again (made of heavier stuff)
Until you reach lead, pumping through your veins.
After the biggest explosion you are so beautiful.
Only your core remains for those who survived to see.
And if you pull in too quickly, you make a black hole, devouring yourself.
I imagine on the other side of the black hole to be a new world, inside your head.
I'm floating through space and I don't know where
So I wonder if I am there?
Jun 2, 2014
Jun 2, 2014 at 6:09 PM UTC