"crossfade" poems - Hello Poetry

My pain irks me, Sends me flying into my bed. Under the cover of darkness. As I cry myself awake, Unable to sleep. I ask myself.. Why? Why am I such a ***** up? Why do I make mistakes, Knowing my parents will be angry? My tears intensify, My claws take my skin, Leaving ****** marks... I scream in my head, Rocking to the beat of my music, That sings in my ear bud. Evanescence, Rascal Flatts. Plumb. Crossfade. I cannot find peace.. All I feel is that pain. That has ****** me over for, Five years. I'm only a teenager, I only can take so much. Until Its over. I've already tried once... What makes you think I'll try again? Dad, What makes you so ****** Taking it out on me, Because I don't listen? Why can't you and my step mom, Just realize.. That I'm only Seventeen.. And so it says, My title will always stay. Lone wolf forever.. I cant be perfect, It's just not my style. My life is so different, I cry even harder. Mistakes, Promises broken. Two faced liars.. God, Why aren't you here? I need you.. And I need you now.. As my pain intensifies, All I see is the cascading shadows. Watching my every move... My music doesn't help anymore..

0

Jul 15, 2014

Jul 15, 2014 at 11:29 PM UTC

julie-kirby

Pain that Never Leaves

My pain irks me, Sends me flying into my bed. Under the cover of darkness. As I cry myself awake, Unable to sleep. I ask myself.. Why? Why am I such a ***** up? Why do I make mistakes, Knowing my parents will be angry? My tears intensify, My claws take my skin, Leaving ****** marks... I scream in my head, Rocking to the beat of my music, That sings in my ear bud. Evanescence, Rascal Flatts. Plumb. Crossfade. I cannot find peace.. All I feel is that pain. That has ****** me over for, Five years. I'm only a teenager, I only can take so much. Until Its over. I've already tried once... What makes you think I'll try again? Dad, What makes you so ****** Taking it out on me, Because I don't listen? Why can't you and my step mom, Just realize.. That I'm only Seventeen.. And so it says, My title will always stay. Lone wolf forever.. I cant be perfect, It's just not my style. My life is so different, I cry even harder. Mistakes, Promises broken. Two faced liars.. God, Why aren't you here? I need you.. And I need you now.. As my pain intensifies, All I see is the cascading shadows. Watching my every move... My music doesn't help anymore..

54

I walk a path paved in penciled graffiti, Where outlined music notes Amuse my anecdotes, I walk with break beats in my blood, With brain waves pounding bass drums, I got liquid 808 fingertips And lips Malted with crossfade grins To spin surges of synergy Out of bottled up battles, Even my baby rattles Used to shake with rhythm. Wars Should pause for music. The power of harmonic symphony Just pimping me, Creeping up through cracked sidewalks, Wrapping shadows around legs, Up hips to necks As it grabs, Just pimping me, A dance floor ***** with Peace in and of mind, In circles of 32 Note by note, That lump of emotion In my throat Could choke, With neon freedom. Maybe it’s a pipe dream, That we could put down the guns And rave to the drums, That even silencers will be silent, And the smell of gunpowder Will squander for an hour, That there will be a day with no death, A day free of neurotic nail biting mothers Holding their breath, That their children will walk our land again, A day that suicide bombs Won’t detonate, That cries of loss and sadness Won’t resonate, A day that we won’t decimate, Our own race, The human race Maybe it’s a pipe dream, But that’s my pipe dream. I’ve spanned seas to see, That music brings harmony, I’ve danced along An African diplomat named Ife, Which means love, A Polish carpenter named Sebastian, Which means dignity, A Vietnamese banker named Ly, Which means Lion, And collectively, We, We're individuals, Smiling to that same pumping beat, That, Breakbeat, That brain wave pounding bass drum, That strum laced With a graceful hum, Making our race numb, There was no color, There was no history Because my history Won’t dictate me, Not that it's non-existent, Not that I’m resistant To believe that people hate Because of the past, But I understand personalities, And believe Everyone deserves a fair shot At being an individual Everyone deserves that music, Everyone deserves to have That path paved in penciled graffiti, Where outlined music notes, Amuse their anecdotes, Everyone deserves to feel Breakbeats in their blood, And brain waves pounding bass drums, Those liquid 808 fingertips And lips Malted with crossfade grins That spin surges of synergy, Everyone deserves what we have to offer, Everyone deserves, To dance to their own breakbeat Of peace

0

Jun 5, 2017

Jun 5, 2017 at 9:40 PM UTC

tyruslaws

penciled graffiti

I walk a path paved in penciled graffiti, Where outlined music notes Amuse my anecdotes, I walk with break beats in my blood, With brain waves pounding bass drums, I got liquid 808 fingertips And lips Malted with crossfade grins To spin surges of synergy Out of bottled up battles, Even my baby rattles Used to shake with rhythm. Wars Should pause for music. The power of harmonic symphony Just pimping me, Creeping up through cracked sidewalks, Wrapping shadows around legs, Up hips to necks As it grabs, Just pimping me, A dance floor ***** with Peace in and of mind, In circles of 32 Note by note, That lump of emotion In my throat Could choke, With neon freedom. Maybe it’s a pipe dream, That we could put down the guns And rave to the drums, That even silencers will be silent, And the smell of gunpowder Will squander for an hour, That there will be a day with no death, A day free of neurotic nail biting mothers Holding their breath, That their children will walk our land again, A day that suicide bombs Won’t detonate, That cries of loss and sadness Won’t resonate, A day that we won’t decimate, Our own race, The human race Maybe it’s a pipe dream, But that’s my pipe dream. I’ve spanned seas to see, That music brings harmony, I’ve danced along An African diplomat named Ife, Which means love, A Polish carpenter named Sebastian, Which means dignity, A Vietnamese banker named Ly, Which means Lion, And collectively, We, We're individuals, Smiling to that same pumping beat, That, Breakbeat, That brain wave pounding bass drum, That strum laced With a graceful hum, Making our race numb, There was no color, There was no history Because my history Won’t dictate me, Not that it's non-existent, Not that I’m resistant To believe that people hate Because of the past, But I understand personalities, And believe Everyone deserves a fair shot At being an individual Everyone deserves that music, Everyone deserves to have That path paved in penciled graffiti, Where outlined music notes, Amuse their anecdotes, Everyone deserves to feel Breakbeats in their blood, And brain waves pounding bass drums, Those liquid 808 fingertips And lips Malted with crossfade grins That spin surges of synergy, Everyone deserves what we have to offer, Everyone deserves, To dance to their own breakbeat Of peace

97

Catch me a bus to the mental Joint cause this one is burnt and my high is already way past the fade I’m beginning to fall in love with my stupid head, my utter innocence, and the thought that maybe, just maybe, it’s ok to feel dead. Please, do not let me touch reality at least not until I’ve relived my dreams of the last, no the first kiss, repaired my past so I won’t regret the thing that was, us and forget how to feel lonely, again. Feed me shots like its Saturday night, instead of Monday at 3pm Let me drink before I come into myself and remember the reason I chose to become a full-time alcoholic Don’t leave me alone with my sober self cause walls become murals of memories I long to forget of you, of us, in this bar, on that table, of 3am shuffles and noontime romances and the more the scenes mix the less I have to pretend not to see. I’m scratching initials into bar-tops, in the hope the M.J. and D.G. really do share one heart, and that is tiny fantasy comes true before my next drink. I’ve decided not to live in the now because the last heartbreak was the last time I’ve give my heart permission to ache. But that’s just marker one of my twelve step plan. I want to drown out everything my BS degree taught me in the BA of Political suicides. Somewhere, there exist a combination of depressants, uppers, hallucinogens, and narcotics that make existence seem pleasant. But this isn’t it. This is the combination that makes me forget about war and genocide and condenses the whole of human experience into the hazy exchange of hushed compliments and hasty fluids. This is the combination that makes me forget the year we were happy, or was that the year we were sad? Either way, it’s doing its job. Let me count the days since you left, because I don’t remember the nights. A whiskey aftershave, if I remember to shave, and Mary Jane’s premium cologne are what get me from 7am till 2 am when I pass out again. Someday I’ll stop drowning in a little of this and some of that, one day I’ll start loving, no start liking, maybe accept people again. but today, I’m going to crossfade fast and thank God for the drugs that make today, at the very least, bearable

0

Dec 11, 2015

Dec 11, 2015 at 10:29 AM UTC

n-schlegel

Sticking the Habit

Catch me a bus to the mental Joint cause this one is burnt and my high is already way past the fade I’m beginning to fall in love with my stupid head, my utter innocence, and the thought that maybe, just maybe, it’s ok to feel dead. Please, do not let me touch reality at least not until I’ve relived my dreams of the last, no the first kiss, repaired my past so I won’t regret the thing that was, us and forget how to feel lonely, again. Feed me shots like its Saturday night, instead of Monday at 3pm Let me drink before I come into myself and remember the reason I chose to become a full-time alcoholic Don’t leave me alone with my sober self cause walls become murals of memories I long to forget of you, of us, in this bar, on that table, of 3am shuffles and noontime romances and the more the scenes mix the less I have to pretend not to see. I’m scratching initials into bar-tops, in the hope the M.J. and D.G. really do share one heart, and that is tiny fantasy comes true before my next drink. I’ve decided not to live in the now because the last heartbreak was the last time I’ve give my heart permission to ache. But that’s just marker one of my twelve step plan. I want to drown out everything my BS degree taught me in the BA of Political suicides. Somewhere, there exist a combination of depressants, uppers, hallucinogens, and narcotics that make existence seem pleasant. But this isn’t it. This is the combination that makes me forget about war and genocide and condenses the whole of human experience into the hazy exchange of hushed compliments and hasty fluids. This is the combination that makes me forget the year we were happy, or was that the year we were sad? Either way, it’s doing its job. Let me count the days since you left, because I don’t remember the nights. A whiskey aftershave, if I remember to shave, and Mary Jane’s premium cologne are what get me from 7am till 2 am when I pass out again. Someday I’ll stop drowning in a little of this and some of that, one day I’ll start loving, no start liking, maybe accept people again. but today, I’m going to crossfade fast and thank God for the drugs that make today, at the very least, bearable

46

the rest of the lights before you slid into erasures. we have become everything the city is in its precocity; from the wind that gallops, the dog howling into a crossfade, even underneath the already dead lampposts that give in to the velocity of such departure, a divisible line. a border I cannot cross. I dip my body into the thick dark and become bendable light through the crevice of doors. the gnawing silence, your leitmotif. something the wind is still all beautiful things passing and I become nothing more but a dank memory in the muck of forgetting – whatever it was, that I conversed with, stars their dereliction, all across the flagrant void, I am beating with more life than ever, dancing around your leftover moon.

0

Mar 9, 2016

Mar 9, 2016 at 11:15 PM UTC

windsor-i-guadalupe-jr

Borders

the rest of the lights before you slid into erasures. we have become everything the city is in its precocity; from the wind that gallops, the dog howling into a crossfade, even underneath the already dead lampposts that give in to the velocity of such departure, a divisible line. a border I cannot cross. I dip my body into the thick dark and become bendable light through the crevice of doors. the gnawing silence, your leitmotif. something the wind is still all beautiful things passing and I become nothing more but a dank memory in the muck of forgetting – whatever it was, that I conversed with, stars their dereliction, all across the flagrant void, I am beating with more life than ever, dancing around your leftover moon.

18