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Abimael Kercado Oct 2015
I want to feel your skin creating friction within me.
By skin to skin, creating light from fire in our hearts.
Melting **** and creating hopes.
Lets us ignite on fire to make our frightful day... Brighter...
Retouched, old me was drunk. Now Im not.
Tommy Randell Oct 2017
Constellations and Galaxies by the billion
Every pinprick and sequin in the night sky
Pulling the eye, stretching the mind
To find meaning and reason
Down the curved avenues of Time
Seeking out just one past or future message
Into the eye of the storm of our lives.

Up out of a cold sheet of dazzling emptiness
A stray movement like a shadow, white on white
Becomes an image, an idea, made of light on light
Out of the present of our next best guess
Blurred and clumsy but in lines clean and tight
Words and stories out of ourselves no less
Becoming a Poem, becoming something that can thrive.

+tmy+ 21st October 2017
Wolf Dec 2018
Sometimes
I just don’t know
Sometimes
I just don’t get it
A fluid line of ink on a page
Stops abruptly near the edge
Unsure of where to continue
What to continue
Pooling into a dark stain
On a once praised piece of work
Arianna Dec 2018
Blood in a bottle
I imbibe, fade as the thoughts
Stir and come alive.
Donall Dempsey Sep 2018
CREATING YOU

The seconds flock
about me

nibbling at the Who I Am
time devouring my existence.

My dreams walk around
*****.

A sky lies asleep
in a window.

My shadow crawls
up the walls

as if it longed
to escape  me.

The mirror shows a stranger
wearing my face.

In the candle's flicker I
live frame by frame

in a black and white
celluloid  world.

I can only touch you
with language

hold you
with words

create you time
and time again

as you come alive
walk about in my sentences.

As long as I write
you are living.

I dreading the final
full stop.

I see you
walk away

into an ellipsis'
footsteps

you fading into
its dot dot dot

on the snow drift
of a page
D A W N May 2018
i remember the way your hair shined through the sunny day
studying the way your eyes flutter every time you stutter
the words you cant say
i remember how pleasing your voice was beneath my ears
i remember being with you
washed away my fears
do you remember the days where we used to lay in the shade?
forming figures in the clouds
having long conversations for hours
nights where we stayed up late
getting into ****** debates about who's right or wrong,
picking out the right song to play over and over again.
remember how we fought over ****** stuff?
and even though times get rough, we'd just laugh it all up
do you remember when we met in September?
in english class where the hours didn't last
and that's where it happened so fast
creating memories that we thought would remain
but all we created
was pain
and that was the last day i saw you.
sitting on the bench
with another girl
my heart clenched
cheeks tear-drenched
my pride craving for revenge.
listen darling,
i just want you to remember
from the beginning of september
remember the long-lasting splendor
the last moments of us being together
because i remembered
and dare i keep it in my heart forever.
first poem i wrote way back 2016
Elizabeth Zenk Jul 2018
Wistful tears melt down my cheeks.
Nostalgic of our time together.
I kept myself together for a year, and now without the pitiful distractions, I have to look at myself, alone.
Debilitating heartache
Bleakening one’s self.
Pining to both relive and forget the past.
Everything is still so crystal clear,
so picturesque in nature.
The smells, the sights, the feelings.
How could I have let it slip away from me like that?
Did he ever speak of me?
Ever talk about me?
Or did he just forget the joyous days we spent together under the heat of moment’s madness?
Am I the only one homesick for not my house, but for the person that broke me?
My lip twitches as sentimental recollections start to overflow and spill, creating a puddle of emptiness, longing, and heartbreak.
Watching the clock tick down seconds I've wasted
waiting for you.
Matt Sol Jan 26
Of splintered miles
and distant plumes
of prayers left idle
down mossy smith
To look back on the
lies of my kin...

A defiled fender
and dissonance
a street light flickers
down mossy smith
nosipho khanyile Jul 2018
our destination is the journey
edged with culture
curved with meticulous attention
infested with corruption
fumigated with potential
waiting to reveal itself to the world
taking time to perfect itself
because like fine wine
we don't age, we mature
into something so different
refreshing the norms
creating a new era of dimensions
a relentless spirit
perfectly flawed
oh blooming flower
a tree known by its fruits
a shackled continent
waiting for the chains of judgement
to break
freeing the truth
this is africa
Mak Jul 2014
cameras flash
                                                           ­                                       lights blare
mother smiles
heart aches
                            stomach rumbles
                                                         ­   agent is pleased
skinny skinny skinny
                                                          ­                                          must be skinny
                                                         must be pretty
                                                          ­                                      must be perfect
must be good enough
                                                       not enough
                                                      neve­r enough
                                                     **** **** ****
why do people
                                                          ­                                           even like me
                                                     **** model
                                                     **** girl
                                                        hate­ me
        cutting carving creating
                                                        ­                                              scars
             ­                                            drink drank drunk
drip drip
                                                       hoping I'll
                                                            ­                                              just
bleed
        ­                      out.
Sebastian Macias Sep 2018
The artist must become a whole
Completely obsessed with their art
Obsessed with who they are
Truly, who they are
Without hesitation
Infatuated about how they create
The art that makes them be,
What it makes them live for
From how they take their coffee
To every moment of a good ****
Reading in peace at dawn,
Picking fruit from a grocery store
The truest of artists are always lost
Lost in their own mind
Unconcerned with the lashing of
Society's moral tongue
Pushing themselves out to sea
Creating only to be alive from within
Where it all counts,
And it all has some value
A presence
presenting
a continuous torment
torturing
incessantly
until, even with cessation
only a tenuous self
is present
leaving only the resin

The maniacal
manifestation
is an infestation
festering around in my head
Its existence,
a creation
created at inception,
hacking my brain
Forever a trap
creating a
maniac

Acrimonious
to all mankind
Not acting
like a man
Not one word
that's kind
Committing crimes
and getting oneself
committed
A deviation
creating a deviant
Shifted values
due to a devalued
self

An esoteric
essence
seemingly sentenced
on this journey
by judge and jury,
not by one's peers
because the many
not able
to peer
into this individuality
The duplicity
of duality
that is my reality

Challenging myself
to a dual
One in which
I both
win and lose
But in the end
not breaking even
or coming out ahead
Always ending
further back
instead

Its back breaking
and always aching
Pain from which
not capable of
faking
Effort I’m taking
Of myself making
Time for a new king
For kinsmanship
is aloof
And this man’s ship
has sailed away
Sipping a port
at a shipping port
And yet
slipping away

Deeper still
In the depth
of still water
Sinking
into the abyss
Lost and gone
But not missed
Is this the end
of our fable?
Or will our “hero”
enable himself
and in the end
be able
Deciding who to be?
Cain or Abel?
For the hurricane
is hurrying along
Its aim always the same
Constant pain
A payment he feels
for the displaced
placement
which just in case
is placed
same place
he went

Ink in the face
A disgrace
When suddenly
encased in his brain
are racing thoughts
of a plan
he’s ace’n

A label of insanity
given by those
who claim sanity
when the reality
is their thoughts are free
and optimize
a sanitized
and homogenized
batter
And in the end
it doesn’t matter

Offering suggestions
in which they
feel threatened
Pathways congested
and protested
Testing them
Even worse,
bested
A problem beset
upon them
Time to steady
the flock
Roll n’ Rock
Inoculations we’re getting
Start the injections

“It’s been an honor”
Mounting my Lipizzaner
A disarmer
A charmer
The armor
‘mi amor’
Leaving me
wanting more
But as they keep score
the task is daunting
A life that’s haunting
with such splendid decor
-
Yet, can’t take any more
Their taunting
is leaving me sore
So to the atmosphere
I open that door
and flying up above
I soar

Forever more
Feel pain no more...
Written: August 17, 2018

All rights reserved.
Becca Lansman Jul 2018
My body and mind are at war
two beings occupying the same skin

the diverged desire firing bullets into the heart
creating a cacophony of chaos within me

One--
******* the jar of peanut butter
hidden by the blanket of dark sky
hugging the fridge like a newborn
caressing the chocolate bar wrapper

Two--
crouched over
crying in the shower
pinching my skin until bright pink, hot
with anger

trying to resurrect myself into someone more holy
trying to starve
out the monster within

only to find myself back on the bathroom tile singing gospel songs into the toilet bowl.

a cyclical strom
that will not stop raging

like a perverted lover
always, somehow
dragging you back home.
Matt Sol Jan 29
Of splintered miles    
and distant plumes      
of prayers left idle        
down mossy smith      
To look back on the
lies of my kin...

A defiled fender
and dissonance
a street light flickers
down mossy smith

The masquerade
Mossy smith is a road I used to live off of and its a rite of passage I never took when running away from home
Daisy Marrow Jun 2014
You lay in a field of flowers counting each bird that passes overhead.
You've erased concern and decided to live for the moment because you always would say, "we might be dead by tomorrow."
Flowers grew from your heart and bloomed across your lungs,
creating a garden that sang the most beautiful hymns,
while my garden was withering.
Each breath you took was never wasted,
but I couldn't help but count mine like they were birds passing overhead.
Every night you would view the stars and moon with pure amazement as if it was your first time seeing them.
You gave all your love to me and each kiss was coined in my pocket.
You fell in love with me every night and I fell for all your hymns.
Soon enough the world would pass us by but I wouldn't blink because I could live off your touch for the rest of my time.
You showed me there is more in life than just one color,
but instead, the world is a whole painting with colors that can't be described.
You showed me just how beautiful the world was.
You taught me how to grow beauty from my eyes but lately, I've been dreaming and falling for stars.
Imagining what it'd be like slow dancing with the planets, getting lost in constellations.
But I'm just not ready to go yet however I do not control time.
You showed me that dying can be beautiful.
That we'll be okay because when we leave we all become one with the earth and one with nature.
So love, love me until time runs out,
until I become one with nature.

And many years later as time starts to fly by and you slowly start to watch your clock tick down, you'll know where to find me, my love.
I'll be up with stars.
Somewhere lost in the cosmos.
I'll be spinning with the planets dreaming about what it would feel like to be able to walk on flowers again.
2014
punk rock hippy Jul 2014
I want to hit it hard, not romanticize about the blood ya feel me?
As you read that first line,
when you cross over to the second,
your nose will start to bleed just before my fist connects with your face.
I often dream about it, being feared.
The only reason that you're on the ground is because I put you there.
Quite frankly I'm fearful of myself.
My throat still holds the ache of the alcohol going down.
I swear to you I'm doing better.
I swear.

I can't swear in this house hold so I will talk so quickly creating run on sentences without punctuation or breath because I'm panicking over nothing in particular.

******.

Add some shakes to your vocabulary and you've got it right.
My medication puts stray dogs under my finger nails, that's ok because dogs are happiness.
That's supposed to mean I'm happy.

I made myself write this, its horrifyingly scattered just like my head.

That's not right.
That's wrong.
Something is terribly wrong so I must fix it.

That's what I do,
I fix.
I'll just look at this as art.
Some persons trash is another ones treasure.

I'm too scared to write anymore.


This is garbage.
Eva Aloezos Jul 2018
Tonight,
I was a Red Queen
starring in my own circus

Dazzling in authentic velvet
being looked upon,
but more importantly looking

Sitting on a mighty pedestal of white winter smoke

Gazing down on my misunderstood subjects,

Wielding a rosary, I never once believed in
stepped in water, that caused me no spiritual awakening
Sneaking through the haunting open corriders

they should know how empty the life of monarchy is

please let them see” much of this life is fake

they must see* there is much to live for, but also lots to die for

However, all this was an herb induced thought

Which stemmed from a memory of myself, a child of merely four years

Creating little soap operas, with the cards from a card deck

Mumbling to myself on the bathroom floor, wise beyond my years
Lizzy Feb 2016
I'm smarter than
Most people i know,
But i've been cursed
With the ability to
Feel.

I have a multitude of thoughts
Being triggered every second.
Each with their own
Unique emotion.

I feel each one vividly,
And with amazing depth
Creating a storm in my head
Impossible to ignore.

My storm of emotions
Grows so strong,
It prevents the simultaneous thoughts
From being articulated
Or understood.

I can confuse myself,
And break my own heart
Because of the complexity
Of my mind.
An astounding talent, really.

My dad says I'm smart,
Too smart for my own good.
And he's probably right.

What good is a brain,
When your heart makes all the decisions?
King Panda Jan 2016
I walk through campus wearing
black leggings and those faded, leather
boots. I’m even wearing an
infinity scarf I bought full price at
Anthropologie and a pair of tiger-striped
cat eye sunglasses. ****, I look good.

On top of it, I’m smoking a Parliament
menthol, my red-lined lips whipping
smoke into the dead air, creating
a grey cloud that some would call cancerous and
others, ****.

But no one notices me, and, candidly, I
am okay with that because I notice me, and
I am a big red dance button that demands to
be pushed. So, I push myself and
groove down the brown brick road all the way
to classroom 114 in the science building.
JayceeJellies Feb 2015
"QUIT."
"QUIT."
"QUIT!"

Is all that I can think!

Quit stomping!
You're creating unwanted anxiety.
Why are you walking so harshly!?
Are you, maybe, angry?
I don't want to know.
Jeff Stier Sep 2018
In this life
we are sculpted down
to bone
burned to cinders
and our ash
tossed without regret
into the four winds

I wish I could live.
Be a man.
Find comfort in the sun.

But every cell in my body
revolts against time
cries out against the sun
speaks in tongues
for the sole purpose
of creating an outrage
against God.

Oh Lord!
How did you make us thus?
And why?
Above all
why?

We are made metal
and in the end
alloy with the sun.

Our breath is drawn
to fuel that fire
bring life to a boil
and
if luck prevails
to wake each morning
in comfort
and with a smile.

Perhaps the last sweet smile.
RBWhite Aug 2018
Will I make you see?
Will you belong to me?
Rest in my embrace,
Feel my need for change,
And I'll be your only place...
Where you'll rest in sleep,
When you come to me,
I'll be whatever you need,
I'll be the fall, catching you from the depths of despair,It won't matter, for whatever it takes,
I'll be there,
I'll be the sadness,the kiss in your tears, mending every fear,
Is my promise to make,
I'll be there,
In the light and the dark,
The warrior of your love, creating truth with my sword,
And I swear, you'll be okay,
Because I'll be there.
Originally written to be a song...
Jenay Jarvis Feb 2013
I sat shirtless
in a familiar setting,
with familiar hands
tracing along the ridges-

that wrapped across the shorelines
of my backbones-

creating melodies of
ecstasy ribbing thoroughly under translucent
films of erected skin,

All the while-
what I heard in the doorway
in that afternoon sun
was clearer
and more divine
than the immaculate prayers
of selfless Saints;

When you said
**"I can see where they cut the wings".
Rex Verum Regem Jul 2018
Do you know what makes us great!?
Do you know the delphian feeling!?

I have walked on the sun and slept on the moon
Letting out my own flares
Creating my own current

We have been burnt and suffocated
Leaving ash in our wake
Multitude, overflowing; adrift, washing away

Do you know what makes us great!?
The ability the see the lights potential and make it shine seen through all the sky’s as a dying star
We are capable
Yet we long for more

Do you know the delphian feeling!?
Our ability to achieve and go beyond, encouraging greed, deception, betrayal
The Light!!
A two headed sword
Cementing history
Creating mystery
Certify Victory

The light beautiful and bright
Yet dark and mysterious.

Rex Verum Regem
TFK
Johnnie Woods Aug 2018
There are five widely known senses.
Sight, hearing, touch, smell and taste.
We've got some minor ones as well, such as balance, temperature and many more.
However, people fail to realise that there's also the sixth major sense. Thoughts themselves.

   If we look closely, all these five senses have the same base. Specified cells in eye react to energy of light, cells of ear recieve energy in form of air's vibrations, skin cells pick up energy of mechanical changes, and so tasting and hearing depend on translation of certain substances' chemical energy.
   These cells in different organs differ in their structure and the way they appear, however, if we stop looking at them in such small scale, we can see that ALL of the cells or organs responsible for any sense translate the energy.
   So, a light enters the eye, certain wavelenght of certain energy stimulates the eye's rod or cone cells with a certain intensity. Then the energy of light is translated to energy of electrical impulse, which goes straight to the brain, creating the sensation of sight.
   If it comes to smell, a certain particle enters the nose, binds to a smell receptor cell, and the chemical energy of this particle is, again, translated to energy of electrical impulse, which goes straight to the brain, creating the sensation of smell.

   Now, let's move to the crucial part. The sense of thoughts.
   During the creation of thought, pathways in our brain that collect memories(and many more known or unknown pathways) connect. First, there's this spark of electricity, that moves all along the neuron and releases a dose of neurotransmitters(amount of different NTs is equiavlent to strength of this spark, basically resulting in "creating" various thoughts).
Then, chemical energy of NEUROTRANSMITTER is translated to energy of electrical impulse, which happens in the brain, creating the sensation of thought.
   Therefore the 'sense of thoughts' reacts to and is stimulated by neurotransmitters themselves, with receptors on neurons' membrane being receptors of the stimulus. So, kind of like smell, the stimulus is chemical, compared to sight, where it's electromagnetic wave; anyways the result in all of these is electric impulse in neurons (hence the idea of "thoughts" as a sense, due to the same basic layout; transfer of energy).
   The 'smell particle' connects to receptor and is translated to a certain amount of neurotransmitters/certain strenght of neuronal impulse. SO, again, we can see that when the first outer layer of this communication is cut off, we're left only with the neurotransmitters and impulses themselves. Anyway, the transduction of energy remains.

   If it comes to "sense of thoughts" the receptor lies within us, whereas in sight or smell or touch it's external. However, does it matter if it's on the surface of skin or under it if it all comes down to neurons of our brain?
   When you lie in a dark, silent room, without any external stimuli, you still retain your thoughts, colorful, vivid or complex. All the magic of the brain - still happens. So, how isn't it a separate, full-fledged sense?
s Nov 2018
Egg
you sit on my back
like a chicken on an egg
with a mocking flap,
shuffle and a wiggle
tucked and stacked -
chuckle and a giggle.
both - joke and cuddle
- die as they're written down
but could I risk to memory -
that near perfect winter warmth ?
--

as I sit to study
our curiosities -
creating patterns & poems
of contradicting absurdities;
listening to the jugalbandi
of predictability & tease,
instigating the battle
between curiosity & belief,
logging how we manoeuver differences
with a pursued kind of ease -
love sits quiet,
amused but revealed,
its appetite appeased -
with a wholesome kind of meal.
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