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AJ James Aug 2016
Daydreams about my future
consumed my fifteen year old mind,
if only I was informed that eight years later,
I'd still be daydreaming about my future.

Daydreams about my future
consisted of joy and freedom
if only I was informed that eight years later,
I'd still be restrained and joyless.

Daydreams about my future
so misleading to think I would be successful
eight years later and I still question if this
pain will ever cease to exist.

Daydreams about my future,
a world full of fairness that celebrates brightness
not this mess of confused individuality where
anonymity is the new frontier.

Daydreams about my future,
gave me hope that one day I would find the acceptance
I so desperately craved
Eight years later and I'm still hungry.

Daydreams about my future,
reprieve from the torment from my peers.
who would have known, that eight years later
my peers would still misunderstand me.

Daydreams about my future,
the place I withdraw and hide in.
Eight years later and I'm still stuck
in daydreams about my future.

Daydreams about my future,
a hopeless concept my young mind created
to pretend that reality is nonexistent
Eight years later and my reality is still choking the life from me.

Daydreams about my future,
the only thing that keeps me going,
eight years later and I'm still relying on a lie
to get me through this life until it's time to die

Daydreams about my future,
who would have known that I would be so naive to stay here
Eight years later, my twenty-three year old mind has
disappointed my fifteen year old self.

Daydreams about my future,
are all I have left.
Eight years later and I'm still here,
daydreaming about my future.
Daydreams of you haunt me at night, the frightening sight of me holding you tight.
Breathing heavy, sweating, looking for a lip to bite.
It might be nightmarish to stare into your cold eyes, but cold stares don't lie,
they might **** and I might die, but for sure I won't cry.
These daydreams scream obscene obscenities torturing my memories,
sending me to limbos with no souls, and no way out.
I shout into silence and silence then pouts. I fear this dreaded destination,
this nation of introspective meditation. Just face it, there's no face to save it,
no place for shelter, this helterskelter is inescapable. Incapable but breakable,
for sake's sake the will is shakable. These daydreams I swear, scare themselves,
like label less books upon empty shelves. Let the faded pages delve deep into the depth of my id and ego,
let us see how far the rabbit hole goes, maybe to wonder the underland who truly knows?
Daydreams of you haunt me at night, untucked and cold I sleep in fright.
Maybe this notion of holding you tight, will send into motion
heavy breathing, sweating, and a lip to bite.
Now hurry off to bed, for this lullaby is dead, goodnight to thoughts and the whispers in your head.
Madisen Kuhn Jan 2015
i hate that i’m lying in bed
with a cup of tea
and can see myself in the future
in our bed
with a cup of tea
and you lying next to me

and i hate that i can see myself turning out the light
and laying my head to rest
on your chest

i hate that i can see us sitting at a little round kitchen table
next to the window
you in your black rimmed glasses
scrolling through your phone
me with my hair ******* and one knee draw up to my chest,
eating a bowl of oatmeal as the sun creeps its way
into the middle of the sky

i hate that i can see us side by side
brushing our teeth in a cramped bathroom
in front of a foggy mirror,
listening to music as we get ready for the day

i hate that i can see us walking out the front door,
i hate that i can see us kissing goodbye

because i’m lying in bed
with a cup of tea
thinking about all of this,
thinking about you

yet i’ve already kissed you
goodbye.
I hateth th' song of th' grass outside;
and t'eir blades t'at swing about my feet
like fire. How unfeeling all of which are-
did t'ey really think I wouldst ever be tantalised
by t'eir sickly magic? Such a gross one-
demanding, rapacious, parasitic!
Even I am fed up with t'eir proposals,
and ideas t'at t'ey fervently throw
in th' hope t'at t'ey canst corrupt my dreams,
my feelings-ah, yes, my sincere feelings,
and secure, t'ough imaginary, dreams.
Oh, and my comfortable desire as well!
My rosy desire-which at times canst tiringly
petrify me-ah, unbelievable, is it not? Th' fact
t'at I am so satiatingly, and daringly, petrified
by my own desire-and reproved by th' one
whom I am astonished at, praise, and admire;
How pitiful I am! How horrific and tragic!
I hath knitted my sorry without caution,
I was too immersed in vivid glances
and disguises and mock admiration.
Perhaps it hath been my mistake!
Eyes t'at blindly saw,
ears t'at wrongly judged!
Lies t'at I forsook,
tensions t'at I undertook!
Oh, how credulous I am-to vice!
Mock me, detest me, strangle me!
Stop my sullen heart from breathing-
as I hath, I hath spurned my darling-
oh, I hath lost my love!
How sorrowful, tearful-and painful!
And how I hath lost my breath; for cannot I stop
my feet from swimming and tapping
in t'is fraudulent air, gothic and transient
With poems t'at no matter how mad,
but nearly as thoughtful and eloquent,
I shalt still remain doleful and sad,
for my love for him is indeedst thorough-
and imminent; No matter how absurd he fancies
I am, and how he looketh at me oftentimes
with twigs of governing dexterity;
but most of all, shame.
I hath no shape now.
I hath lost, and raked away,
my elaborate conscience;
I hath corrupted my conciseness,
I hath wounded my sanguinity,
originality, and thoughts even, of my poetic
soul-of my poetic bluntness and sometimes
rigid, creativity.
I am an utter failure.
I am a mad creature; I am maddened by love,
I am frightened by virtue, I despise and reject
truth. I hath no sibling in t'is world of humanity,
ah-yes, no more sibling, indeedst,
neither any more puzzles of fate
t'at I ought to host, and solve;
I deserve nothing but fading and fading away
and give up my soul, my human soul-
to being a slave to disgrace
and cordial nothingness.
I belongst not, to t'is whole human world;
T'is is not my region, for I canst, here-
smell everything sacrificed for one another
and rings of delightful and blessed laughter
which I loathe, with all th' sonnets and auguries
of my laconic heart. Oh, I am misery!
I am evil, evil misery!
I, myself, equal tragedy; I am a devil,
a feminine and laurel-like devil-
just like how I look,
but tormented I am inside,
as a cursed being by nature and God Almighty
for never I shalt be bound to any love;
and engaged to any hands
in my left years and in th' afterlife outright.
I shalt have never any marriage within me,
any marriage worthy of talks, parties,
neither anything my wan heart desires;
like sweets with no sweetness,
or dances with no music.
No human love should ever
be properly conducted by me,
I am incapable of embodying
a unity, I am destined to be with me.
To be with me only-ah, as sad as it is,
as vague as how it sounds, or it might be.
O, and how I should love, emptiness!
Any loss should thus be romantic to me:
Just how death already is;
my husband is death,
and my chamber is his grave.
I shalt, night and day, sing to th' leaves
on his tomb,
ah-as t'ey are alive to me!
Yes, my darling reader! To me, t'ey are living souls,
t'ey open t'eir mouths and sing to me
Whenever I approach 'em with my red
bucket of flowers; lilies t'ey eat, ah-
how romantic t'ey look, with tongues
slithering joyfully over th' baked loaves I proffer!
T'eir smell of rotting flesh my hug,
meanwhile t'eir deadness my kisses!
T'eir greyness, and paleness-my cherry,
and t'eir red-blood heath my berry!
So glad shalt I becometh, and shimmer shalt my hair-
and be quenched my buoyant hunger-
beneath th' sun, with my hands, t'at hath
been aborted for long, robbed of whose divine functions
Laid in such epic, and abundant rejections
Brought into life again, and its surreal breath
But t'is time realistic, t'ough which happiness
shalt be mortal, as I perfectly, and tidily knoweth
and as I flippeth my head around
And duly openeth my eyes, I shalt again
be sitting in th' same impeccable nowhereness,
nowhere about th' dead lake, with its white-furred
swans, ghost-like at t'is hour of night-
Wherein for th' rest of my years should I dwell,
with no ability and desired tranquility
t'at canst once more guarantee
my security to escape.
T'ere's no door-yes, no door, indeedst,
to flee from th' gruesome trees,
t'eir putrid breath solitary and reeks of tears,
whilst t'eir tangled leaves smell strongly
of vulgarity and hate.
I hate as well-th' foliage amongst 'em,
grotesque and fiendish art whose dreamy visages,
with sticking tails wiping and squeaking
about my eyes, t'ough as I glance through
thy heavens, Lord, gleam like watery roses
before t'eir petals swell, fall, and die.
Oh-so creepy and melancholy t'ese feelings are,
but granted to me I knoweth not how,
as to why allowed not I am,
to becomest a more agreeable mistress
to a human-a human t'at even in solitude
breathes th' same air, and feels all th' same
indolent as me, by th' tedious,
ye' cathartic, morn.
Ah, and shalt I miss my lover once more
And t'is time even more persistently t'an before,
For every single of his breath is my sonnet,
and every word he utters my play.
He is th' salvation, and mere justification
I should not for ever forget,
just like how I should cherish
every sound second; every brand-new day.
My heart is deeply rooted in him;
no matter how defunct-
and defected it may seem,
as well as how futile, as t'is selfish world
hath-with anger and jealousy, deemed.
How I feel envy towards t'ose lucky ones,
with lovers and ringlets about t'eir palms,
so jealous t'at I cringe towards my own fate,
and my inability to escape which.
How unfair t'is world is sometimes-to me!
Ah, but I shalt argue further not;
I shalt make t'is exhaustive story short-
I am like a nasty kid trapped in th' dark,
without knowing in which way I should linger,
'fore making my way out and surpass her.
She is a curse-indeedst, a curse to me,
t'ough at th' moment she is a cure-but to him,
but she is all to forever remain a bad dream,
which he should but better quit,
she shalt subdue my light,
and so cheat him out of his wit.
She is an angel to him at night,
but at noon he sees her not,
she is an elegant, but mischievous auroch
with ineffectual, ye' doll-like and plastic auras
She is deceit, she is litter, she is mockery;
She hath all but an indignant, ****** beauty
She does not even hath a life, nor
a journey of destiny
She hath not any trace of warmth, or grace,
and most of th' time, at night
It is her agelessness t'at plays,
she ages but she falsely tricks him-my love,
into her lusted, exasperating eagerness;
t'ough colourless is her soul, now,
from committing too much of yon sin
She still knoweth not of her unkindness,
and thinks t'at everything canst be bought
by beauty, and t'at neither love nor passion
canst afford her any real happiness.

Ah, my love, I am hung about
by t'is prolific suspense;
My heart feels repugnant in its wait;
uncertain about everything thou hath said
As thou wert gentle but mean to me;
despite my kindness, ye' mistaken shortcomings
as I stood by th' railings th' other day, next to thee.
Ah, thee, please hear my apologies!
Oh, thee, my life and my midday sun,
a song t'at I sing-in my bed and on my pillow,
last week, yesterday, today, and tomorrow.
I am, however, to him forever a childlike prodigy-
shalt never he believeth in my tales,
ah, his faith is not in me,
but I in him.
How despicable!
But foolishly I still love him,
even over t'is overly weighing injustice
on my heart-
ah, still I love him, I love him!
I love him too badly and madly,
I love him too keenly, but wholly passionately.
I love him with all my heart and body!
Oh, Kozarev, I love thee!
I love thee only!
For love hath no more weight, neither justice
within it, if it is given not by thee;
I was born and raised to be thine,
as how thou wert created
and painted and crafted-by God Almighty,
to be mine. As I sit here I canst savagely feel, oh,
how painfully I feel-yon emptiness,
t'is insoluble, inseparable solitude
filled not with thy air, glancing at
th' deafening thunder, rusty rainbows
With thee not by my side.
I fallest asleep, as dusk preaches
and announces its arrival,
But asleep into a burdened nightmare,
too many fears and screams heightened in it,
ah, I am about to fallest from smart rocks
into th' boiling tides of fire beneath my feet.
I wake into th' imprudent smile of th' moon,
and her coquettish hands and feet
t'at conquer th' night so cold.
She is about to scold me away again,
'fore I slap her cheeks and send her back
to sleep, weeping.
I return to my wooden bench, and weep
all over again, as without thee still I am,
barefooted and thinly clothed amongst
th' dull stars at a killing cold night.
Th' rainbow is still th' rainbow,
but it is now filled with horror,
for I am not with thee, Kozarev!
Oh, Kozarev, th' darling of my heart,
th' mere, mere darling of my silent heart,
even th' heavens art still less handsome
t'an thy images-growing and fading
and growing and fading about me
Like a defiant chain, thou art my naughty prince,
but th' most decorous one, indeed;
thou art th' gift t'at I'th so heartily prayed for
and supplicated for-over what I should regard
as th' longest months of my life.
O, Kozarev, thou art my boy,
and which boy in th' world
who does not want to
play hide-and-seek in th' garden-
like we didst, last Monday?
Thou art my poem,
and thus worth all th' stories
within which. Thou art genial,
cautious, and beneficent. Thou art
vital-o, vital to me, my love!
I still blush with madness at th' remembrance
of thy voice, and giggle with joy and tears
over yon picture of thee; I canst ever forget thee
not, and sure as I am, t'at never in my life
I shalt be able to love, nor care for another;
thou art mine, Kozarev, thou art mine!
Thou art mine only, my sweet!
And ah, Kozarev, thou knoweth, my darling,
t'at the rainbow is longer beautiful
tonight; and as haughtiness surfaces again
from th' cynical undergrowth beneath,
I am afraid t'at t'eir fairness and brightness
shalt fade-just like thy love, which was back then
so glad and tender, but gets warmer not;
as we greet every inevitable day
and tend to t'eir needs,
like those obedient clouds
to th' appalling rain, in th' sky.

Ah, but nowest look-look at thee! Thy innocence,
t'at was but so delicate and sweet-
like t'ose bare, ye' green-clustered bushes yonder,
is now in exile, yes, deep exile, my love!
I congratulate thee on which, yes, I do!
I honestly do! For thy joy and gladness
doth mean everything to me,
'ven t'ough it means th' rudest,
th' eeriest of life; t'at I shalt'th ever seen!
But should I do so? T'at is a question
I canst stop questioning myself not.
Should I? Should I let thee go
and t'us myself suffer here
from th' absence
of my own true love-
and any ot'er future miracles
in my life?
I think not!
Ah, and not t'at there'd be
any ot'er mirages in my love,
for all hath been, and shalt always be-
united in thee! O, in thee, only, Kozarev!
For I am certain I love thee,
and so hysterically love thee only,
even amongst th' floods-ah, yes,
t'ese ambiguous piles of flooding pains,
disgusting as blood, but demure,
and clear as my own heartbeat;
I love and want thee only,
as how I dreameth of,
and careth for thee every night,
t'ough just in my dream,
and in life yet not!
Ah, Kozarev, I am thy star,
just like thou art mine-already,
I am fated and bound to thee,
and thou to me.
Thou art not an illusion,
neither a picture of my imagination.
Thou art real, Kozarev,
thou art real-and forever
shalt be real to me;
thou art th' blood,
t'at floweth through my veins,
thou art th' man,
t'at conquereth my heart-and hands,
thou art everything,
thou art more t'an my poem
and my delicate sonnet,
thou art more t'an my life
or my ever dearest friend.

Probably 'tis all neither a poem,
nor a matter of daydreams;
perhaps still I needst to find him,
t'ough it may bringst me anot'er curse,
and throwest me away
and into anot'er gloom.
Ah, Kozarev, thou-who shalt never
be reading t'is poem, much less write one
Unlike thou wert to me back t'en;
Thou art still as comely as th' sun;
Thou art still th' man t'at I want.
Even whenst all my age is done;
and my future days shalt be gone.
Meagan Castro Nov 2014
And let it flow
as the current streams from your lips
as your words paint the magnificent
your words branch into the images I see
The images I see infect my dreams
lingering into daydreams of places I wish to see
mountain top huts to drink tea
because the passion I feel to see and be
stems from the singular thought
that poured into a picture
and when I reached to grasp
I needed to be part of my steady wanderous day dream
Like an addict I feign for the sights I haven't yet seen
flowing heavily like the spring stream
exhilarating the  sense of exploration
celestial Mar 2014
i regret not
telling you

(how i felt)

because in
all   of  my
daydreams
you     said
everything
i wanted to
          hear.
fairydust Dec 2014
I want sunflowers
On my doorstep
And butterflies
In my hair

I want sand
Between my toes
And seashells
In my hand

I want raindrops
On my lips
And your breath
Against my skin

I want your fingers
Playing with my hair
And my knees
Going weak

I want the world
To stop
When you press
Your lips to mine

I want to see the sunset
In your arms
And the stars
To twinkle in your eyes

I want to be
The only girl you'll ever need
And for forever
To start with me
After months of not being able to write this came out. First post here I hope you guys like it :)
Arhat Kay Nov 2014
Faith is mythical
as lands devoured by sea,
as griffins and goblins,
in tangled daydreams.

By these muddy shores,
shipwrecks of hope.
treasures and tales,
unheard, untold.

Tyrant needs sustain,
their sadist chains hold
dreamers of blue, and gold.
I lie on my back at midnight
hearing the marvelous strange chime
of the clocks, and know it's mid-
night and in that instant the whole
world swims into sight for me
in the form of beautiful swarm-
ing m u t t a worlds-
everything is happening, shining
Buhudda-lands,
bhuti

blazing in faith, I know I'm
forever right & all's I got to
do (as I hear the ordinary
extant voices of ladies talking
in some kitchen at midnight
oilcloth cups of cocoa
cardore to mump the
rinnegain in his
darlin drain-) i will write
it, all the talk of the world
everywhere in this morning, leav-
ing open parentheses sections
for my own accompanying inner
thoughts-with roars of me
all brain-all world
roaring-vibrating-I put
it down, swiftly, 1,000 words
(of pages) compressed into one second
of time-I'll be long
robed & long gold haired in
the famous Greek afternoon
of some Greek City
Fame Immortal & they'll
have to find me where they find
the t h n u p f t of my
shroud bags flying
flag yagging Lucien
Midnight back in their
mouths-Gore Vidal'll
be amazed, annoyed-
my words'll be writ in gold
& preserved in libraries like
Finnegans Wake & Visions of Neal
Lady Narnia Jul 2016
Keep me in your arms
Cherish me, like you always do
Twirl my curls and stroke my hair
Kiss me on the fore head sweetly
I always want to be here

My cheek on your chest
Hearing the sound of your love
Thumping a beautiful tune to my ear
The beats gently reminds me
Just how much you truly care

Serenity surrounds me and I drift away
Escaping the world and falling into us
I see you in this little dream
Meeting my eyes, inspecting my soul
You're lost in me as I am lost in you

The air filled with a careful chill
I'm untouched for I am of fire
A flame kindled by your fiery heart
Of which burns of love, deep for me
Clad in armor, you kneel at my side

Oh dear and humble knight
I'm honored to be your lady
Like the wardrobe meets Narnia
We're dreams that cross paths
To a whole new world unlike any other

A place of splendor and awe
Radiating with gentle magic
That is what we are, my dear protector
Stay by my side a humble knight
And I will be your faithful lady

~Lady Narnia
Cweeta Cwumble May 2016
evening loneliness arrives at dawn
and knocks on the dusty windowpane

in the kitchen, i lie — with threadbare arms —
against the shabby wooden cupboard frame

this house is void of all electricity
except for the light bulbs, the fridge, the T.V.

and my steady-beating heart of rhythmic defeat
lying naked across the tear-stained sheets

if you come home and find that i am dead,
perhaps some ***** dishes fell on my head

but most likely, i'll be, in the living room gloom
with a half-drunk bottle of wine to consume

with emergency flares tied to both wrists,
i'll leave you a smile, a sigh, and a kiss
I don't even know...
Andrew Durst May 2018
My death will be liberating.

And I do not say that in the sense
that I am going to find a cliff
and take a good jump off.

No.

I am just trying to find a
clever way to tell you

that I do not know what is going
to happen next.

You see,

there is a
fine line
between
dreaming and
mortality

and

I am finding out for myself
that being in love
does not always
involve

being awake.

And for my sake
I fall in love with daydreams,
nightmares,
hazy realities
and

the hung-over idea

of not being enough.

It is all out of my hands.
                 It is all out of time.

And the only thing I have left to do,
now,


is decide.
Thank you to anyone that reads this.
Anne Mar 2018
Exotic petals of yellow,
Hot pink and leaves of green
A sunrise of baby blues
And clouds made of cream.


A lei of Hibiscus
Whiskey and Tequila too
A paradise of softheartedness
Where the sun will never set on you.

Lilac skies in the west
Clouds made with a dash of tangerine  
A Pink Flamingo guarding her nest
A sight straight out of daydreams.

The spirits sway  
In the shadows of the palm trees
So come on down and meet us by the Cay
And let all your fears fall away.


ad
Whimsical fancies,
Dreams on the back of your eyes:
Reality masked,
Only the daylight remains;
The blackest night is shattered.
Madhumita Apr 2015
It is time to wake up
from the languid daydreams
that once I treasured so.

The place that used to be a haven,
an escape from life’s banality,
now feels like a gilded cage.

The mind wanders, untethered,
through sunlit corridors of indolence
pushing to see how far it can go.

Tantalizing me with possibilities,
never reality, this limbo
is only good for the occasional vacation.
NaPoWriMo Day #26
Poetry form: Tercet
Jay Wasnothing May 2013
i think about you
when i go to fall asleep

you run circles in my mind
make me dizzy with giddy feelings of love and happiness

i imagine that you're laying beside me
close enough for me to hear your heartbeat

you're always smiling in these daydreams
the love you hold for me apparent in your eyes

but those are in my childish fantasies
not reality

in reality
you are the opposite

you stay stationary under my glance or gaze
and make me sick with horrible feelings of worry and dread

i see that you're walking far away from me
far enough for me to be unable to make out your shape

you're always frowning in the real world
the love you once held for me extinguished in your eyes

i yearn to see the you from my daydreams become true
i yearn to see the you from the real world become false

i dream of the day the you i fell in love with becomes real again
Copyright 2013
lea Nov 2014
Filter the perfect shade of the forenoon sun,
Not too bright, not too dull.
For with ease and carefree thoughts,
You let the sunbeam-drizzling fairies play
As the beauty reflected in your retinas.

Capture this scenic view:
Where the burnt chestnut colored oaks
And mudstained sweetheart sundress of yours
Dance in three-four beats of waltz.
The Crayola strokes of the skies
And the watercolor streaks of daydreams and nightmares
Paint the canvas of your disquited thoughts.
This is the peripheral view from your suncrashed irises and corners,
This is your world.

Let your knees down to your sore feet
Be engulfed by the chasms of the bewildered grass,
As the smile makes it way to your plump spring lips;
Callused fingers from guitar strings
Twirl and twist the blades,
Cutting through flesh
And green and red and blue and yellow,
All sorts of color came spilling from your playful bruise.

From this panoramic view of yours
Of a wonder wonderland,
Where the ticks of clock
Follow the sunflower throughout time and forever,
This is the beauty of that stem:
A key to escapism
To a well-dreamt lovely world.
Sophie Charlotte May 2015
Eyes burning like torches
Searching mine for that eureka moment that screamed I LOVE HER
That moment never came
we were reminded that our childhood daydreams were just that

**Daydreams.
Tyler Loeslein Jan 2013
Daydreams slip down from
her wandering mind, caught by
her soft scarf; they rest.
haiku
peaches Jan 2015
i held my head up,
propped up against false ideas,
and naive hopes.
I dreamt I came back to you.
everything repeated.
I found solace in the cold feeling of blood dripping from my fingertips,
stumbled upon comfort in a dark room with a light year between us.
and your love was only something I earned with compliancy,
and I continued to reach for fire knowing the burns would outweigh the warmth.
but if I am to pretend that I can cross a light year,
I will stride through dark bedroom after dark bedroom if it means I can find comfort
living in between your blows.
and if I am to pretend that what I consider living is of quality,
I will live in the light that comes before and after
your strikes bring darkness.
and if I live in my daydreams,
without end,
I will always split my skin to remind myself I bleed.
I will always reach for the flame to know that I burn.
I will always cross light years of nothingness to feel the comfort that hides in the dark.
I will live in the light years of nothingness,
I will come from nothingness,
I will be reborn from the ashes of what has burnt me.
my thoughts wander and meander
into wistful daydreams of days longs past

would I still be me, if my choices lead me down
other paths?

would I still be writing these words on a page,
if I was born into a different family?

then like an ice cold water to my face,
I awake to the reality of my life.
wistful dreams are nice to wonder about,
but I'd rather live in here and now.
ghost queen Feb 2019
you are may
i am december
kisses exchanged
during the bluing hour
child like
staring at you
in wonder and amazement
frosting night
falling snow
flakes in your auburn hair
i walk you home
in the cold frigid air
holding your hand
dreaming of you

you are rare
a beacon
a lighthouse
in a storm
in my daydreams
you are the pixie, the fairy inspiring me  
at night
you are the siren, i surrender to

a trifecta of youth, beauty, personality
you are refreshingly young
spring in my wintered life
preternaturally beautiful
perfection come to life
your femininity bewitching  
your youth intoxicating
your mannerism seducing
i would do anything for you

oozing sensuality
innocences
of a woman on the cusp
you hunger for sophistication
to be worldly-wise
seeking passage guidance
from an experienced traveller
the trade, the deal, is timeless
refined by evolution  

i am humbled
to have been chosen
the ultimate champion
of your ****** selection
in turn, you are my trophy
the spoils
of a never ending war

i know our time is short
the span of a bloom
a season at most
i know the outcome
seen the devastation
the problem is
we think we have time
https://www.nytimes.com/2009/11/24/arts/design/24wilson.html
I feel strong tonight

A hundred songs burst from me

In colorful bloom

The darkness holds fear no more

I laugh in the face of death 



Dreams cannot threaten

I fear no nightly phantom

Day will come with joy

But until then I will sleep

And rest my wearied body. 



My mind is awake

Thought after thought captures me

Musings, wonderings, 

Daydreams before I slumber;

Life is bright and wonderful. 



Yes, I feel strong tonight.
She Writes Jul 2018
There is too much regret
In unspoken words
The quiet thoughts
Whispered only to the moon

There is too much longing
In wishful thinking
Daydreams
Can quickly become a nightmare

There are too many tears
Spilled onto pillows
Over suffering and longing
From words unsaid
carminayasmin Apr 2018
I listen to them as they mouth your name;
and I see
how deluded,
how hypnotic,
how enchanted and consumed
they talk of your ways and,
how the stars in their pupils beam with a radiance of such pure awe.
Your words hang loose off the tops of their tounges and their lips drool in your glaze.
Your lazy features,  your so electric but so infuriating charm -
sends them mindless, locks them in your illusion.


So it’s then

I try to burn every
sheet of paper which ink prints your presence,
inside these desperate  shelves which fold upon each heartstring.

My ears attempt to block it out.
Instead they replay every song
that has ever left your lips.
And my eyes deceive me as they scatter
a particle of you on every surface of life I encounter.

My mind echoes every laugh you created in my streams.

Then I paint every colour you ever erupted within me,
in thick black.

As they mouth your name,
every trace of you with anyone but me,
causes my hands to pull through my gut,
and hammer down any of these ******* deceptive daydreams
that you have me  trapped me in.

And then so easily, one by one,
debris of my heart crumble like rain
down your window,
down each vein.
1 March 17:03
look at them all
Shang Nov 2014
Minutes to hours morph into days.
Enough is never quite too much.
Thoughts of geometric squares,
Half-lived inside half-empty cups.

All fingers point to
Methamphetamine.

Phosphorus-red eyes melt in
Hydrochloric fume. Each and
Every day stretch long, like
Three-neck flasks, lithium blues
Amphetamines. Synthesis of
Methylamine. Daydreams of
Iodine-crystallized monsters.

              
Nearly asleep, I plea:
Evaporate all that's left of me."
(C) Shang
Miho Asada May 2015
I can feel myself fading
My bones are hollow and I'm cold

I'm closer to the spirits in this state
I feel their sadness, their darkness surrounding me

Paranoid that people can hear my thoughts
I'm thinking so loud

Are these premonitions or simply daydreams?
How can you act so nonchalant after looking at me with that gaze?

I live inside my head, creating these scenarios
How do I keep track of what is real?
Seth Keplinger Jul 2018
I keep pretending I'm alone.
Even after losing my seat
to her new prince.

it's spellbinding,  
enough to make the ole' dog wince.

I still love the sad songs
her puppy dog eyes dispense.
it was never her truth, per usual;
per his glimpse,
into the future of my demise.
I pretend to appreciate the gent in the white coat.
A self diagnosis wouldn't compromise
my vulnerability.  
Don't, she won't, undermine my competency
it lends itself to my daily routine,
I self prescribe- a precisely perplexing potency
abide, at least you tried
an unprecedented golden rule.
This wasn't premeditated,
nor an act of repetition.
We've been classically conditioned, so
I implore and drool.  

I keep pretending it's a new found happiness.
it's for the canaries,
the relievers
and deveivers.
I believe it's for the ignorant
the boring
those of you chasing an
American Dream-
the people with white picket fences
and golden retrievers.
Beware of the conformist
they who did well on geometry tests
their smile so luminous  
like diamonds between her *******.


I'm a brittle leaf in autumns first frost
hanging on the edge of winters righteous freeze.
the shackled, the .22,
let it be me.  
I'm a warning sign, Cuba 1963;

I can barely sleep as it is
from this dusty room
I garner for clues inauspiciously
the obtuse path back to the life i once lived,
obstructed by the 4 seasons, the 4 reasons, the 4 walls,
the 4 grains in this whiskey.

Life outside of her box is a bargain.
Before the flies, where my heart lies;
her highfalutin jargon.
Coping with this void gives me nightmares.
joe shakes my daydreams
they fall from my dilated pupils
and anxiously I begin to slur.
I wish he'd stop cutting his pen through the air,
reminds me of my geometry teacher,
lecturing vicariously through a sorcerer
maybe the boring one's preacher?
everyone in this coffee house likes to stare.
Sarita Crandall Oct 2012
There are days,
Where I wish I could run away.
Away from that face.
What I would give to never see it again.

There are days,
Where I try to please her.
Her testy personality stands in the way of that.
What I would give to stay on her good side.

If she had a good side.
Nastaj'a Sep 2015
Behind the closed doors of her eyes she dreams, she lives
But like an open window her forehead shows what she tries to hide
It’s funny how even her body betrays her
How her mind has her wrapped around its little finger
How her smile somehow has something against her
How they try to destroy her when she is vulnerable
When she can’t see them coming
So she keeps her eyes open
Holding onto her memories like live videos
As she sits in her cage
And waits for her daydreams to save her
Jack May 2014
Powdered Sugar Daydreams

All time becomes invisible, ceasing to matter
as this place in all its magic and wonder
blooms upon the gardens of our imagination
playing like birds on a sky of opal blue, wandering streets of old

Where rising suns on aqua horizons shift,
singing of a new day which is happily part of the prior,
extending beyond any view offered along the rocky shoreline,
as we stroll on delta desires and riverboat reveries

Brick paved streets, uneven but smoothly polished greet us,
a sidewalk table, warm cuppa, green on white awning shade,
sweet treats beneath wings of powdered sugar and tender kisses
within the eyes of all passing, and we without a care

Music fills the square with harmony in our heart beats,
a three piece jazz ensemble plays melodic romance
while your hand, your fingers, tightly holding mine
and I feel your pulse tap out the rhythm of our days

Jasmine arbors bound by geranium breezes
invite us to be one, as love springs forth
in cool waters from passion’s fountain of forever
and we daydream together eternally
Sharing love at the Cafe Du Monde in New Orleans
Zajan Akia Mar 2014
Daydreams
you slip in
like spring
between
body and clothes

breathing cool air
on the spine

never face to face
closed off to
being close
Quinn May 2018
i love my dandelion daydreams
that grow on unmarked graves

i love dancing with their
seedsprout whiteheads in a
river of me

i love to toy with my
dandelion (daydreams) and

pretend that each one
is the hand of a corpse
taking its final

(maggot rodden)
grip of fresh air.
i tried to take a picture of a dandelion for 20 minutes but it wasn't pretty - so i wrote a poem instead :)
Jack Torrance Jul 2019
Sometimes I create daydreams,
with nothing omitted,
and if others could see,
then I would be committed.

Daydreams of the pain,
that I’d make you endure,
till you begged me to stop,
as you writhe on the floor.

Dreams of carving “bad mommy”,
into your forehead,
so that your always reminded,
even if I’m dead.

Dreams of hurting him,
for what he’s done to our son,
you never lifting a finger to stop,
not ******* one.

Using me like you did,
like I wasn’t even real,
like I wasn’t a person,
or a human that could feel.

Seven years we’re together,
raising your daughter as mine.
You say you never loved me,
you faked it the whole time?

You only stayed,
because you were pregnant with bub?
In seven ******* years,
you couldn’t find something to love?!

You didn’t want to be,
a single mom of two?!
So you cheated with him?!
Well **** him, and *******!

Now I know the truth,
I know how you got that raise,
it wasn’t just him,
you ****** the entire place.

All of that I could forgive,
but he treats our son like ****,
and you just let it happen,
and I’ll never forget.

He knows that I’ll **** him,
if he ever lays a hand,
but it’s coming to a head,
and I’m about to ******* stand.

He’s all I got left,
you took all the rest,
and he’s the reason I’m here,
why my heart beats in my chest.

I wanted our son,
the moment I knew he was conceived,
and when he was born healthy,
I was so ******* relieved.

So you better pray,
that he doesn’t hurt bub,
because I’m one step from insanity,
all I need is a shove.

You ruined my life,
so you better take care of our sons’,
because my daydreams are vivid,
and I’m dying to try one.
Tim Benjamin Apr 2014
To the girl sitting next to me in poetry club
I want to tell you that you look beautiful,
Beautiful like in the way the summer sun bends around the north pole because it refuses to set its constant and lasting
Just like the way my heart jumped the moment i saw you for the first time and it has refused to come down
Everytime since, when i see you, although i have never been much of a dreamer, i daydream about all the things i want to do to you like...
Make you smile... or blush
So that my daydreams will have the perfect backdrop of love to memorize your every freckle, and then i want to drink the smile i put on your face beause i know it is the only thing that can quench my thirst
I want to tell you that I want to learn ballet, just so i can catch you everytime you jump and make sure that ill never let you fall... unless it's for me...
I want to learn to draw
Because I want to draw my way into your life, van gogh my way into your past present and future, i want to spend my whole life with you, and on your dying day i want to roundhouse kick death for even thinking of taking you away from me
But most of all i want to make you... happy
Happy in a way that is unexplainable
Like why do birds suddenly appear everytime you are near
It would be to easy to say that just like me they long to be close to you
And i want it to be unexpected like when you fall asleep after a long day
Slowely at first and then it engulfs you completely
I want to tell you that I want you to be able to feel the sunlights warm caress even on the darkest of days
And on days when you can't see the stars in the night sky
I will cut stars out of my paper heart
Even though they always seem to rip when held in hands that aren't careful enough
and then I want to hang them from your ceiling
So you will always have something beautiful to look at
And if you would just notice me I promise that I can love you like that...
But instead when I finally noticed that you caught me staring at you about 15 minutes ago... I opened my mouth and instead of all the soliloquies that dance through my head whenever you saunter into a room all that came out was hi...... did you do the homework?
I think it was a good start.

— The End —