"defiling" poems
Graffiti, Graffiti, Graffiti
Being bled onto
The landscapes between thighs
Incarcerating women's wombs
Justifying men's genes
Foreigners appropriating
Women's and men's sexualities
Losing the power to be
When changing our roles' long overdue
Gendering our words and attitudes
Man, who taught you to be a chauvinist!
Woman, who taught you to be a *********
Don't put your god in gendered bigotry
Do man's emotions feminize him?
When will women freely carry torches!
What gender do you assign this voice?
What gender do you assign this words?
Will the masses even understand these choices?
Don't worry, my sexuality won't infect you
Criminalizing sexuality
Placing it front and center, implying that's all I am
Graffiti, Graffiti, Graffiti
Being bled onto
The landscapes between thighs
Graffiti, defiling the masses not high classes
Because men and women of society
Full of stride, take pride, in their gendered hyde
Graffiti, defiling the masses not high classes
Ignored hoods, barrios, countrysides, ghettos, projects
Devouring women's and men's bodies
Younger and younger people falling to HIV/AIDS and STDS
Vaginas receiving the violence, wombs bringing misery
LGBT youth ****** into fire
Lost males (in mental chains) ****** to assert their manhoods
Graffiti, Graffiti, Graffiti
Full of dangerous chemicals, being sprayed onto
The landscapes between thighs
Attempting to legislate our stories, without warrant
Jan 29, 2013
Jan 29, 2013 at 10:06 PM UTC
Wake Up Wretched World,
I assert my Indigenous heritage
I self identify
With the ancestors of my continent
Identity afraid to articulate
Culture, unknowingly belonging to me
Cycle of shame now shattered
Product of love, hatred, lust, and desire
europeans plundering my mother Latin America
In chaos and violence, my skin's pigment
Has been engineered through the mestizaje
Of my Indigenous forefathers
How could I not forget my lineage
When the historical legacy of modernization
Has been to massacre the consciousness
Of where my people really come from
Erasing indigenous pride
Making Paisano and Indio
Synonymous with poverty and alienation
Insulting the humbleness
State of hunger you've left us in
Original lineage within me disturbed
So you push me to ambiguity and embarrassment
Not white, not indigenous?
Pure indigenous brothers and sisters silenced
Not an exploitable consumerist market, not in your campaigns
Not benefactors of your philanthropic development tactics
Bodies too costly to abuse, no reason to bring them
Into the neoliberal multinational corporate circuit
Constantly driving them off productive land
Because they choose to assert their identity
Live in collective communes, not owing you nothing
Waiting for them to make barren lands productive
So you can take those lands too
Not capturing an obscure history, these are not colonial times
This is the legacy of the european presence entering mother Latin America
21st century still defiling Indigenous cultures to civilize and modernize
Mar 14, 2013
Mar 14, 2013 at 10:26 PM UTC
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Infinity's Mirror by Nat Lipstadt
Two mirrors, set in opposition observe created notional blending,
a reflecting pool of bonding's of unglued, contrary compositions.
Mirror to mirror, his imagery, fuses to Sylvia's images, hers,
faintly recollected, now living face, face to face, with his past insurrections, alters his future visions.
From cold water lake she's drawn, impaled by refracting regrets,
retrieved, drawing her words upon him, an awakening slap to drink,
beloved, tragic magic, infinitely captive. But this old man's tiddlywinks, land-locked words, blunted instruments, needy for release & salvation, are neither silvered or exacting, just stains on a dulled, tarnished brass spittoon, except for the brunt'd bunting of lines across his roughened terrain'd face, black and white, pen and ink etched illustration of howling agitation.
His words worn down, hardened, red faced, purloined speckled pellets, damp to roll on down her rutted, almost ancient, tear streak paths, disbelieved superstitions, sacrificed for one of her living morsels of words.
Man, here to her, pledges allegiance, audaciously defiling her poetic sanctity, a visage endless repeated, delivers her shiny poem-poised countenance, even though no forgiveness from time can a mirror afford for either, from her words, confession born, terrible truths beyond, beyond the finite.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Mirror by Sylvia Plath
I am silver and exact. I have no preconceptions.
What ever you see I swallow immediately
Just as it is, unmisted by love or dislike.
I am not cruel, only truthful---
The eye of a little god, four-cornered.
Most of the time I meditate on the opposite wall.
It is pink, with speckles. I have looked at it so long
I think it is a part of my heart. But it flickers.
Faces and darkness separate us over and over.
Now I am a lake. A woman bends over me,
Searching my reaches for what she really is.
Then she turns to those liars, the candles or the moon.
I see her back, and reflect it faithfully.
She rewards me with tears and an agitation of hands.
I am important to her. She comes and goes.
Each morning it is her face that replaces the darkness.
In me she has drowned a young girl, and in me an old woman
Rises toward her day after day, like a terrible fish.
Apr 25, 2016
Apr 25, 2016 at 4:17 PM UTC
You look better
When you're smiling
Doors of ivory hide unease
Your smile looks better
When your spiraling
Down down chutes of self appease
And I look better
When you're defiling
All the things that live to please.
Sep 3, 2011
Sep 3, 2011 at 1:11 PM UTC
Love is dead, I know.
I was the one who unleashed the arrow,
And left us a deadly hallow.
I cough out poisonous words,
Thought I'd tame you with injections,
But,
A python you turned out to be.
One, who never kneels.
Your fangs fill my throat with lies,
You choke me with your "cuddles".
I've always yearned for power,
And dignity,
But I'm transparent in your slavery.
I was a bright star,
Now I'm nothing but a scar.
But we'll be making love like savages,
I'll absorb the venom off your kiss,
I'll let you allure me into your darkness,
I'll pretend I'm alive for one lethal bliss,
I'll sacrifice my thrones for your filthy roses,
To make love like savages.
Barefoot crossing a path of swords,
Skin on skin with devil's hell fires,
Mud blood running through my viens,
defiling my mind,
And turn it into madness.
A madness,
Where you're the god of all gods.
Jan 28, 2019
Jan 28, 2019 at 4:29 PM UTC
The glaring orange and red vermillion rays stretched over the mountain top and city skyline in the humbling spectacle of nature’s dawn...
Lifting away the frightful, cold and deathly nuances of the city by night...
The dull glaze of the concrete motorways,
Spun and circled around the growing organism of steel suburbia...
Filled with a meandering stream of colourful cars
Feats of engineering beauty
The blaring noise of traffic drowned out the natural stillness of nature’s beauty...
In the peak rush hour of a Cape Town mourning....
To the left of me...
Stood the deathly profile of a street urchin...
The little lady...
Body thin and frail, hands out-stretched in a sinewy leather grasp...
Warn and tattered rags for clothes...
Burnt and ***** face....
Yet still able to muster a look of hope....
I lifted my fingers to my mouth
And let out a shrill and deafening whistle
Drowned away by hooting and the hum of the engines, spurting noxious fumes,
Defiling the air....
She turned with a vigorous jolt
Raised eyebrows and a head turning smile...
I ushered her towards me with my outstretched hand, well manicured nails
Not a wrinkle of hardship characterising the clean skin
In the burning rays of yet another hopeful morning...
At least for me.
As her body was moving, all I could see were her eyes...
They pierced me, danced for and contorted the world around me....
A hazelnut brown painting, embedded in a small circular hole in the skull...
A gateway to the emotions
Connecting everyone, regardless of age, race or even stature...
As I gazed, captivated.
I saw compassion, longing, loss, warmth and passion in her eyes – the whole spectrum of humanity
In two small but infinitely deep pools
Cascading into a never ending abyss of emotions
Of pain, suffering, a little joy and infinite hurt....
Then I blinked...
And all those emotions, those connections and our future...
Were gone in the simple gesture of a fluttering eyelash
As she looked the other way...
The car lurched forward yet again...
With the flash of a green light and safety of movement
To the other side of the intersection
My hand still outstretched holding the crumpled buffalo note
My contribution to a severely needing hand
Lost with the bustle of life continuing, and leaving behind all too weak to keep up....
She began to scurry away, back to her pavement
I looked back...
The little lady gone.
Lost forever
Sep 8, 2012
Sep 8, 2012 at 6:15 PM UTC
The wind is beautiful this morning
Awesome and soothing before my body
relaxing like the sights of the water lilies
embalmed with nature's aura
marinaded in the helms of the valley
defiling the sanctuary of my mind
I let this beauty envelope my very being
as I hang on to the very last straw grasping for air
like a desperate baby clutching on to a candy
Holding on to the very notes from unsung pipes
gliding through the very surface of the sun
dancing to the beats of these symphony
this orchestra, peace for my troubled heart
beauty for my broken soul
I let myself swim in the parfum inhaling every essence
as I watch the wonders heal my soul
I beheld the tranquil touch my heart yearned for
as I let peace conquer my anxiety
Feb 6, 2022
Feb 6, 2022 at 3:50 PM UTC
I stare at the eyes
of the man with no face,
his fingers like tendrils
that weave mortal fates.
A long slender tongue,
which doesn't exist,
slides into my mouth
and I cannot resist.
A pitiful yelp,
and a desperate gasp,
serve only to feed
our vile attack.
Into my throat
we continue to ******
penetrating the mind
while defiling trust.
But I'm no longer me.
With a flick of my wrist,
I dispose of my corpse;
I no longer exist.
Dec 13, 2017
Dec 13, 2017 at 5:48 PM UTC
So, lighting up a cigarette
I expound on a blinking eye
that goes on and off
like this computer
and everything.
So, the last happy smoker
takes another puff
from his incense
that is considered weaponry
by many
and delights in the defiling
and healing power of smoke.
Dec 18, 2010
Dec 18, 2010 at 9:57 PM UTC
our relationship
is me wanting to cut off all my hair
because you Let me fall
asleep to you stroking
it,
.
our relationship is
ignored texts
&
read receipts
.
our relationship
is a horrible,
uneven mix of
realism and your romantic tomfoolery,
I don't know how I'll
ever
quit it
.
coffee and cigarettes
on the frosted sidewalk
classical music at 3 am
borrowed
and returned(?) sweaters
tedious and enthralling questions
mutual humor
under the breath
shared breath
streetlights and sunshine
appreciation for life and love
substance in emptiness
.
gossip
harrowing and defiling and
sneaking its way into every interaction,
judgments and standards and
I'm never
ever
good enough
to be like them, those
significant and aware and profound and charged girls
.
it's good for nothing and
I'm afraid
nothing will ever be as good
Apr 30, 2013
Apr 30, 2013 at 10:26 PM UTC
a writer writes his writ upon his therapist
becomes a terrorist upon an innocent blank canvas
and breathes deep of deep water
searching aimlessly through the murky abyss
for word choice or some voice that sank it's teeth
into calm waters, sinking calm into the universe
beneath stormy oceans, and coral reefs
and then it is lost forever
or at least
for the quotient of our time strung together
so the writer has to make the world smaller
less corners to hide behind on an island
without defiling a perfect balance between dreams
and silence
the writer risks every random revelry being revealed
inside of a blank pages first time
to quiet the world in their minds
and find calm sealed away in a place you'd rather be
but the longer you stay reality fades to grey
and you only see what could be satisfactory
some day
a writer experiences love like a story, but euphoric in ways
unexplained except by a blank white page.
which becomes a mistrustful mistress
and you begin to miss your healthy distrust
instead of a co-trust between love and the pen and the paper
a writer can feel only through the pen
so if a writer writes on your skin
you'll know they want to see you again
and you to see them
Oct 3, 2012
Oct 3, 2012 at 3:14 AM UTC
Anigh, is the darkling of the effrontery eagle, effaced, replaced; it's worship towards the devil. Gallons of blood, used as cover, ash and mud; defiling of ****** mother's. Gallizing men drowned in sweetness of drunkened friends. Gamins created by cankered loot, oil fills the pockets; diamonds make slaves to. Gangrels run kingdom's from their ancestral hand-me-downs, gaolers imprison innocents, whilst thy rulers throw ****** for babes at compounds. Innovators; mocking God's name. Mixing men with robotics, keeping the pure obscured, locking animals in a cage. Inorbing creation with cameras as eyes, like rats they scurry, hide; when the truth is knocking. Like a drunkard; This circular hell shalt rock as a ship, many planet's art approaching, none help shalt thou get.
©Brandon nagley
©lonesome poet's poetry
©prophetic poetry.
Word meanings:
Anigh: near.
Darkling: growing darkness.
effrontery: shameless.
Eagle: the united states.
Effaced: erased, forgotten.
Gallizing: add water plus sugar to make stronger wine from grape juice.
Gamins: neglected boy left to the streets.
Gangrel: vagrant, loose built person.
Gaoler: jailer.
Whilst:while.
Thy:your.
Inorb: encircle, surround.
Circular hell: earth.
Art:are.
Feb 11, 2017
Feb 11, 2017 at 1:49 PM UTC
You know they are goyim and
they realize the Jews
want them
as subjects.
Claiming birth right
to conquer.
Well Jew
ha-shem says
give you a chance
to mind your business,
or we can conquer you.
Jews still shaken
by the Holocaust.
Make comparisons with their non-supporters,
so as to make the world
viable for them.
Antisemitic attacks,
on their Arab neighbors,
labeled as hate crime-
-defiling international law;
because they are ha-shem.
Calling changed,
now they can intermingle .
Wish come true,
they are now more gentile
than Hebrew.
© S. Wesley Mcgranor
Feb 4, 2015
Feb 4, 2015 at 4:51 PM UTC
From atop mountains
Of debt
We tumble, like
The thrill of defeat
Dripping down
The quivering chin
Of blood-stained
America.
To quote a thunderstorm:
"All who question
The efficacy
Of God
Shall crumble
To an infinity
Of indecencies."
To quote a God:
"All who fall
Have not
Been pushed,
Those who rose
Were not all
Pulled.
**** the heathens.
Justified are those
Who avenge the treasons
Committed unto me."
Waves of
Iridescence
Cleanse our pallettes,
And we open wide
For the next forkful
Of fermented
Excrement.
Bloodied are our knees
As we receive
The sacrement,
Trapped like rats
Cast in cement.
To quote a slave:
"Bound by prior
Engagements,
Sacrificed to
Advertisement,
The seeds of men
Wither in the soil.
Blood weeps
From poisoned skies
While YES WE CAN
Opens eyes,
And seals fate
Within fine
Print."
Wolves in
Cheap disguises
Bate their breath
Behind red grins
And finalize
The list of
Who gets in,
While in the cold
Stand the masses,
Marinating
In their own
Molasses.
From atop Parnassus,
A silver-lined horse
Watches the madness,
And snarls and spits
In shamed defiance,
While Apollo
Holds court
To form the alliance
That will interrupt
The defiling of man.
To quote a soldier:
"Cold is the mud
That cradles
The valiant.
Swift is decay
In these
Transient days,
Where passive
Observers rot
In mass graves."
Designed by the rich,
Assembled by slaves,
Our system
Keeps churning,
Rejecting all
Who misbehave.
Reflected in
Concentric waves,
The faces of children
Contemplate age,
And what it means
To be forever
Enraged,
Engaged in endeavors
That are only dreams.
They can't be saved,
And neither can we.
So it seems,
And so it should be.
Jan 4, 2013
Jan 4, 2013 at 10:25 PM UTC
Defrauding the public isn't hard
When you're one of the Trumps.
The president is especially good
At duping his loyal chumps.
So, after Trump fired James Comey,
He fired AG Sessions.
Those two firings were just a part
Of the president's indiscretions.
Next came Matthew Whitaker--
A Donald Trump lackey--
As acting AG, and whose background
Was--let's say--a bit tacky.
Now AG Barr is there
To willingly play his part
And show how he and Trump are both
Connected heart to heart.
Barr's recent appointment has
Very clearly shown
That the president has managed
To get his Roy Cohn.
Keeping Congress from seeing the full
Mueller report, Barr
Acts LESS like a fair AG
And MORE like a czar.
Flouting the rule of law, Trump
And Barr, political hacks,
Can end up doing a lot of damage
Behind Americans' backs.
Now Barr has mentioned the word
"Spying." It never fails
That Trump's appointees tend to go
Completely off the rails.
Making Trump a victim only
Satisfies his base.
Trump and Barr don't care whether
Their actions are a disgrace.
Now the tinfoil-hat group can say
"All the acrimony
Toward Trump is a nasty plot."
What a bunch of baloney!
Our leadership has never been
So chaotic. Never!
Elections, they say, have consequences.
Boy do they ever!
-by Bob B (4-11-19)
Apr 11, 2019
Apr 11, 2019 at 1:49 PM UTC
There were once Lands of Right and Left
Where mutual loathing brought bloodshed.
They disagreed on numerous things
Such as which hand one should use to eat,
Which leg one should start with to walk,
Or which hand one should raise to talk.
There was literally no time for consensus
Since the clocks ran in opposite directions.
But one fateful day, all hell broke loose
When the Baron of Right made his own noose
By shaking the right hand of the Baron of Left,
Wreaking havoc with such unforgivable offense.
How dare you defy us with such heinous mockery,
We’ll pour our wrath for defiling our sanctity.
It was then that blood began to rain outside,
Where a red river scourged the streets, claiming lives.
Cries for peace were drowned by thunder,
Egos were too hurt to excuse the blunders.
If only, if only there were ears to listen.
If only, if only there were eyes for vision.
But when tongues have the power and run amok,
Not reined by reason and empathy locked,
Surely nothing good will come about,
Only disunity and violence shall sprout.
Nov 15, 2015
Nov 15, 2015 at 12:23 PM UTC
I find myself tormented at night
eyes bloodshot staring at the light
pupils drying out, attempting to remove your image so perfectly painted on my eyelids every evening
no matter how many tears rush out, your watermark isn't leaving
dreams destined for nightmarish turns
as the light dries and burns
the windows to my soul
that you seem to have taken hold
claimed stake
in the dreams I create
tainted every release I find in these sheets
with altered memories and distorted perceptions
I let my mind's projection
paint the perfect image of your essence
yet time and time again I fail to see my presence
I see the hands of a man
running along the skin that I once embraced so dearly
the image blurred at first, comes together so clearly
as you draw near to me
his hands defiling the trust
between us
as you utter his name in the same sacred tone
you used for mine in our home
I feel myself tormented at night, destroying the image of you all alone
only to find myself in the same struggle, when the moon comes around and the night draws silent
hoping and dreaming to remove you from my eyelids
Oct 15, 2013
Oct 15, 2013 at 11:09 PM UTC
I smell *** everywhere I go.
In the air,
On cafe counters,
At bus stops and on sidewalks.
I taste it in your coy smiles
and backward glances
while he wasn't looking.
Sand and salty skin,
lips with no teeth behind them.
Blood rushes and swollen parts.
I know I will ruin you
from the inside out.
This is how cancer feels.
Love isn't always soft as sighs,
slow and careful cobweb touches.
Sometimes it's mindfucks,
riding crops and hematoma.
Ask napolean about the pyramids
and you will hear the
words of a true ******
These words, just cockroach
legs swarming around the rotting
chicken bones underneath
your stained mattress,
ancient and ugly,
feeding,
defiling,
consuming.
This now we are sharing,
my now of writing,
your now of reading,
are they the same?
Another day alone
as I decay into
a great big
pile
of nothing
and
somewhere
out there
is a ****
that will
finally
make me
happy.
May 23, 2014
May 23, 2014 at 12:52 PM UTC
He wore a stripped shirt
that resembled the twist of serpants
though he smiled warmly his eyes were
steady on the dollars
placing labels and badges on all
the soldiers fighting to pay rent
and live in times so far from purpose
I kick back and watch him scribble
false notice
prescribing a pill to every effect from
this life
its left me purging
I hate the institutions
the corrupt unjust
sick ***** sedating my
passions and
numbing me up
smart went to another place
outside your local village where
the villians mix the chemical
perserves in your children's fillings
I cant help the way I percieve what
I have seen
I cant help that my fall from innocents
was rougher and obscene
I cant stop thinking of the misuse
of power and money mongers
I want to burn the kingdom
hoping it'd grow back to something better
misguided we walk off cliffs and to the slaughter
or we come back as our fathers paper back novel
excellence for me has fallen to resistence
because I simply cant stand this kind of exsistence
go ahead and direct me to another perscription
corrupt everything in my mind that makes me human
I'm ODD to the extreme !
I reject most of you and the latest thing
and now this man sits here
telling me I'm sick and spiraling
as he shakes hands with satan
defiling minds from eyes that only see green
and I pay my way to see this jackal conspiring?!
You can keep your advice your diagnoses and the dice
I'll leave you now to gamble with the rest of the villager's lives
Dec 13, 2012
Dec 13, 2012 at 9:13 PM UTC
Force feeding on two doses of clozapine.
Doc reclines in his chair;
I am restrained in mine.
"I am feeling fine, now,
feeling fine."
"It is time."
Doc persists," admit it for them...
you know what you did;
you know it was all real."
A film reel rewinds inside somewhere
adjacent to my cerebellum;
Front row seats to my favorite show-
I know not what to tell him?
It was all what I dreamt up on one of my.
Usual Sundays.
Savoring what lovely sensations-
'some' would insinuate are a sin.
It was me this time playing doctor,
operating on my imaginary friend.
This one pretends she does not like the licking
of a blade against her skin.
And when I decide to cut too deep
her safe word is always 'grin.'
But Doc: that was just how we liked to play?
She had been longing for a violent death:
I dreamt her up that way.
...
Before I could say what fun I had with the others.., teary-eyed on the other side of reinforced glass, resides my many made-up friend's mothers...
(Was it those two pills from before?)
In my final minutes ..
I have regained lucidity.
On death row for defiling those things
I thought only I could see.
A needle in my arm:
my death will serve as an apology.
...
I writhe, and before I black out, the lithe figure
of an old imaginary friend.. but if you WERE actually real..
A decade ago- I remember a incorporeal, corrupted, entity I allowed to fill my soul.
In place of the hole where apathy used to be.
The yearning for suicide was all mine;
Homicide was your wish-you resided within.
Broke my will and reality down day by day
by simply posing as my only friend.
Control/Desire imprisoned me.
Rewired my mind.
breaking me down into insanity.
but I am fighting now:
Thrashing with all the life left still inside of me.
She grins as I go.
musing to herself.
She takes me below.
" I had high hopes for this plaything...
my next toy is actually EAGER to **** "
...For someone who wanted to be dead,
you had such a hard time keeping still.
-
Feb 20, 2024
Feb 20, 2024 at 11:32 PM UTC
( hebrew translation) English version below this....
טארן שלנו לנבול להיות מודגש, פגם אף , ולא לטמא.
ידו של אלוהים ' החזיקה את המברשת; O ' זירת מהפנט.
כשאנחנו ועשינו להבחין במרחק אחד אחרת עם הגיבורה בהתגלמותה שלנו,
לנבול צנוע אנו להיות, הפשט הרחק גאווה ארצית.
שוב אני אגיד לך, שנאה שאף יכול להיכנס כאן,
נצטרך לעמוד באוויר פירת גביש ; נולד מחדש בנצח,
הצנצנת של האסט של עדן מאוחסן הדמעה של שלנו.
זן מלכת השער הצרה,אני אעמוד ליד השערים,
בלבוש המלאכי לנבול מחכה לך;
אני אהיה זוהר , שלא אאחר .
( English version )
Ourn tarn shalt be blazoned, none blemish, nor defiling.
God's hand' held the brush; O' the scene mesmerizing.
when we shalt descry one another with our eyne,
humble wilt we be, stripped away from earthly pride.
Once again I'll tell thee, none hate can enter here,
we'll stand aloft the crystal firth; reborn in eternity,
Heaven's jar's hast stored our tear's.
Enter in the narrow gate queen,
I'll stand beside the gates,
Angelic garb wilt await thee;
I will be glowing, do not be late.
©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Prophetic poetry
Jul 14, 2016
Jul 14, 2016 at 10:13 PM UTC
Hate inciting, fate deciding that I should break this silence.
Your claims beguiling, creating violence that negates uniting.
But that wave subsiding,
a flame's igniting that will change the tiding.
Remain in hiding,
I will break the chains of all this rage and violence.
Rearrange your sacred writings,
transcribing silence with striking rhyming. Shine so blinding it would redefine your findings
This. is writing.
I deny dividing! Mankind defiling and I aspire climbing higher,
I desire
I am fire
Firing wires
that defy dividence
Rise in silence
Uninvited fighting
by simply uniting
to clear the sky
of our tyrant Lightning.
Sep 9, 2015
Sep 9, 2015 at 7:23 PM UTC
I was for him
agape
abandonment in its purest form.
what of he never said
if sacrificing myself or him
the two of us, we never swam in pristine waters
the ripples
- as in feeble whispers -
always seemed to spoil the truth
in my eyes it was both.
your obedient student, dear teacher
I was needed
as you were by me
fawning, adoring,
caught in the waves
and never the flood had been so welcomed
and never drowning in it would feel more just
selfless
you yearned for my presence
I would ever accompany you
from afar
my dreams, hollow cave
you, forceful sea tide defiling the rock
once upon a time I was neither yours
nor mine to spoil
I belonged to my lonesome tears
as the scorching cold ate away my fierce apathy
for you I would have enjoyed every second
my eyes caught yours too many times
my feverish skin fewer
I regret so much
what your hand has never done
( eros )
Feb 13, 2020
Feb 13, 2020 at 4:15 AM UTC