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"catatonically" poems
City lamps in clusters of concrete On 18th and Sherman street The cars pass by scanning me Each unsound engine roaring Darting pupils I feel it on my externals On my lips and phalanges Intruding glances cascading over my silhouette Deja-vu-like resemblances, strange Sunken cheeks look bizarre and blotchy as the socket drains something toxic to the veins that's permeated the future in an instant, like a comet, encandescent and shimmering like a scale, the awareness fades Like some dreary mirage I remember those little band aids Vintage carnival tickets discarded on the scratchy ground.. Blue-violet bruises The paradox of pleasure A vague creature in it's discomfort sitting in defiance and quivering my sentences It reminded me of those incandescent bugs that smush into Chryslers With a curled lip, bulging eyes and ******* up tongue... Antennaes intertwined like Twizzlers Making peace with all that's stung as the windshield wipers turn on Some black tar-smack-oil- ****** My generation consists of inheriting environmental destruction and mal-parenting Global warming. Animal extinction. Polluting the oceans. Deforestation. Biting shards off night-time to suffice for the daily pangs Shuffling the dregs of karma to grow roots and vines all about the room It's not Winter yet Under this morning dew I envision it in my mind A crystal ball vision contorting into smoke I caught it in my breath Catatonically hanging A turtle with it's legs bending toward the sky Searching for my tribe and a pulse on this Earth in sentient souls
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Aug 12, 2017
Aug 12, 2017 at 8:18 PM UTC
Twizzlers
City lamps in clusters of concrete On 18th and Sherman street The cars pass by scanning me Each unsound engine roaring Darting pupils I feel it on my externals On my lips and phalanges Intruding glances cascading over my silhouette Deja-vu-like resemblances, strange Sunken cheeks look bizarre and blotchy as the socket drains something toxic to the veins that's permeated the future in an instant, like a comet, encandescent and shimmering like a scale, the awareness fades Like some dreary mirage I remember those little band aids Vintage carnival tickets discarded on the scratchy ground.. Blue-violet bruises The paradox of pleasure A vague creature in it's discomfort sitting in defiance and quivering my sentences It reminded me of those incandescent bugs that smush into Chryslers With a curled lip, bulging eyes and ******* up tongue... Antennaes intertwined like Twizzlers Making peace with all that's stung as the windshield wipers turn on Some black tar-smack-oil- ****** My generation consists of inheriting environmental destruction and mal-parenting Global warming. Animal extinction. Polluting the oceans. Deforestation. Biting shards off night-time to suffice for the daily pangs Shuffling the dregs of karma to grow roots and vines all about the room It's not Winter yet Under this morning dew I envision it in my mind A crystal ball vision contorting into smoke I caught it in my breath Catatonically hanging A turtle with it's legs bending toward the sky Searching for my tribe and a pulse on this Earth in sentient souls
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roaring fiery flames fill the empty void inviting colors of ambers and golds ablaze the room animates   different atmospheres of coziness sitting back in retrospection   flickering fire entertains with each crackling octave creating peacefulness and calm. whilst the flames aglow playing Chopin sipping cognac burning scented candle of pine and rosemary watching the felines and canine congregating together harmoniously mesmerized by flames coruscating shadows on the walls flames succumb catatonically    embers retire for the night.~~lorilynn copyright*lorilynn 2010
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Nov 30, 2010
Nov 30, 2010 at 6:23 AM UTC
ROARING FIRE
Let your flames lick my skin, Eat me away until I’m nothing. Just ash lost in the wind, Riding it’s current, catatonically. Floating on the breaths, Words left unsaid- regrets. Boil me in your grip So I can quietly slip, As smoke, through your Choking fingertips. -SLuR
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Feb 20, 2017
Feb 20, 2017 at 12:50 PM UTC
Burn me.
I swallowed Charybdis somehow... I was in the Dire Strait(s) of Messyna, Doing my Odyssey thing (such is life) And I just swallowed Charybdis. The funny thing is this Maelstrom, it fits Within me just fine It's even vaguely useful (drank that Scylla's blood like wine) But there's still a sensation I have of...mild annihilation Of everything that was mine. But it all still seems fine I may be filled with a vacuum of violent wailing waves that's coated my heart with rime But it'll melt with time. (I imagine.) But one thing does now worry me Moving forward, my journey Leads to that pesky island. Helios's; the Island of the Sun! (Yes he's quite a brilliant one) Now that might warm my blood And it might tame the waves Transform the vacuum to a tender sea Giving more control to me Less reckless and more truly free... Live as who I was born to be... But also-- Charybdis might just like... eat all the Sun's special cows or whatever and either he will never rise again or I'll get speared with a lightning bolt Which both would **** So I'm stuck Imprisoned by Charybdis (ironically) I sit here a bit catatonically As I lock up Charybdis Wondering how the hell (Hades?) This monster fits within. and wondering who swallowed who.
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May 6, 2017
May 6, 2017 at 8:35 PM UTC
Charybdis-Hell-Hades?
My body aches. The spaces between my bones feel like they're filled with glue. My chest is tight. When I breathe in, it reminds me that I need to sleep more and dream less. I consider the kindness of the ground below me as I stand, sipping at chai tea and staring catatonically at the only light in the room. I consider the kindness of the walls as my eyes move to your things on the table. I folded your shirt, but before doing so, held it to my face. It smelt of your skin. I don't want to forget you. Promise you won't forget me? The light spotlights these things, so I take a picture. This is what I need to do. The picture is warm and reminds me of sunrise. I close my eyes and feel orange and yellow. The scratch of your unshaved face on my cheek. On your way out the door, you tell me that you might die today, and that you love me. My stomach churns. I hope you know that if these are the last words you say to me, I won't ever be okay. I try and slip into sleep. But "four more days" creeps into me, wraps around my heart and squeezes it tightly until my eyes fill with tears. I'm sobbing now. Clasping my hand over my mouth to muffle the sound. I can feel each day like a rope around me. Tomorrow, around my neck. Thursday has my arms and legs. Immobilizing me. Friday, my lungs. I'm weak. Tossing and turning. When will I see you again? How many more seconds until then? Twenty seven days between. Twenty seven days left lonely. I'm hoping twenty seven days isn't enough time for you to change your mind. God knows twenty seven lifetimes wouldn't change mine.
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Sep 16, 2014
Sep 16, 2014 at 8:50 AM UTC
The Things I Do For You
My body aches. The spaces between my bones feel like they're filled with glue. My chest is tight. When I breathe in, it reminds me that I need to sleep more and dream less. I consider the kindness of the ground below me as I stand, sipping at chai tea and staring catatonically at the only light in the room. I consider the kindness of the walls as my eyes move to your things on the table. I folded your shirt, but before doing so, held it to my face. It smelt of your skin. I don't want to forget you. Promise you won't forget me? The light spotlights these things, so I take a picture. This is what I need to do. The picture is warm and reminds me of sunrise. I close my eyes and feel orange and yellow. The scratch of your unshaved face on my cheek. On your way out the door, you tell me that you might die today, and that you love me. My stomach churns. I hope you know that if these are the last words you say to me, I won't ever be okay. I try and slip into sleep. But "four more days" creeps into me, wraps around my heart and squeezes it tightly until my eyes fill with tears. I'm sobbing now. Clasping my hand over my mouth to muffle the sound. I can feel each day like a rope around me. Tomorrow, around my neck. Thursday has my arms and legs. Immobilizing me. Friday, my lungs. I'm weak. Tossing and turning. When will I see you again? How many more seconds until then? Twenty seven days between. Twenty seven days left lonely. I'm hoping twenty seven days isn't enough time for you to change your mind. God knows twenty seven lifetimes wouldn't change mine.
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