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Bo Tansky Apr 20
Hey delirious
Don’t take yourself so seriously
The darkest hour is always before the dawn
The way-shower is here to help you along
So, please excuse me while I kiss this guy
Don’t ask me why
Don’t ask me why


Hey serious
Don’t take yourself so seriously
The darkest hour is always before the dawn
The way-shower is here to help you along
So, please excuse me while I kiss this guy
Don’t ask me why
Don’t ask me why

Touch down
Come down,
Get down
Bring down
The house
Give it a chance, baby
Make some romance, baby
Come back to me,  
Because for me
It isn’t over  

Doom and gloom
Just toil your head
While I wax poetic
You walk a plank
While you wax lyrical
I’m satirical
Somewhat hysterical
When it’s not for me
Not for me
Not for me

So, get down off your high horse
Learn to start a discourse
Say what you think
Don’t overthink
And don’t take yourself so seriously
It’s hilariously funny
Darling
Why do you take yourself so seriously?
Get down off your high horse
And learn to start a discourse

How are you ever going to be a writer?
When you can’t even see yourself
Reveal yourself
Be yourself
You seriously expect too much from yourself
Because you’re delirious

So, get down off your high horse
Learn to start a discourse
And excuse me while I kiss this guy
Don't ask me why
Don't ask me why

Continuous competition
Has left me without ammunition
And a lack of ambition
Without any friction

You’re so wound up
You need to wind down
Before you can make-up
Before you break up
Before you can bring down the house
Oh, did you think
You were the casual one
Quite a revelation, read
St John’s station
To learn it was you all along
So, let go of the reins
You might have something to gain

And get down off your high horse
Learn to start a discourse
And excuse me while I kiss this guy
Kiss this guy
Kiss this guy
Don't ask me why

Touch down
Come down,
Get down
Bring down
The house
Give it a chance, baby
Make some romance, baby
Come back to me,  
Because for me
It isn’t over  

Seriously
Deliriously
Deluded.
carminayasmin Sep 2018
These nights I pretend to myself
and whisper to myself that

its not only you but,
alas,
you are confused why it still pervades you.

But I am told that
God calls lying evil sin.
And through Eden,
God tried to say to the world -
that lust is demolishing.


( but who is god to say)
it’s all so beguiling
and delirious.
and god yes it’s demolishing,
when reality resurrects every day and I am
thrown  to watch it before me
even if I close my eyes
or bite my tongue till blood.

only the  false sins I whisper
will wipe the blood clean.
I don’t think god runs this place
who is he to judge
Girard Tournesol Oct 2018
A sea of white
Favors hallowed ground
Where dotted lines track snow angels
And souls are lost to release
A druid spell conjures delirious bliss
Tasting the snowflakes
Kissing the cold air
Hugging the entire sky
A great and simple magick stirs
Holding mitten hands
Warming nuzzle noses
And the smell of her hair in winter
As published in my book, Time Travelers, psalms of fern, v.2.
patty m Jan 2018
Through the Looking glass
Alice stands in all her splendor.
Her hair a curtain of silver rain,
her soft skin aglow in subliminal light.

A compelling fever rises
as Thomas tries different ways to pull
her up in memory
while writing himself into the tale.  
Poor Thomas delirious in his dilemma, he knows
this will be no easy seduction.  
How fiercely urgent his desire rises
as he longs to end our heroine's self-imposed abstinence.  

Hot April morning ambush,
and our intruder has beguiled our sweet Alice
with heated kisses sweeter than ripened fruit.  
A wildness stirs in the bloodstream.  
Now he slowly and lovingly explores her pristine body
as she shivers beneath his delicate strokes
until high trills rise to fevered pitch.

Pleated line of sky
muted corners softly come into focus.

Loathe to let her go,
passion stirs in his depths
slowly now he tastes her secrets,  shares her pleasure.

Tight buds of anticipation tenderly plucked,
his fingers find the stem, a measure of moisture;
Nimble fingered harmonies play pleasure symphonies
accompanied by soft echoes of youthful delight  
Warm and breathless, crystal rainbows paint the inside of her eyelids as she grows sleepy in afterglow.

Soon he's torn away, his pale poet's face conveying pain
received from this  now cool disconcerting beauty;
Though he touched folds and frills of every petal,
his chapter is immediately erased and the
original story reappears.  

She may have slipped down the rabbit hole,
but forever ladylike and pure is our sweet Alice.
thelemonpolice Jul 2018
You are you.
And I am me.
if I'm not enough
Please just leave me be
You'll always find
A lack within me
You'll always hate
What you can't be
And all these words
Relate to me
Relate to you
Like family
But you don't know
How much I do
Every day
all you see is you

And I wish I were simple
I wish I did less
I wish I could come home
And lie on my bed
But I have to be moving
It's a kind of stress
But I use it to motivate,
not get depressed
And I know explanations
Don't ever quite fit it
I am late, I am messy
For no obvious reasons
Maybe I can't pinpoint
Where I was in thought
Delirious messages
Translate too fast
I can think very clearly
I can't think at all
I have a million lists
Hanging on my wall
Priority one, two
How can you subject
My mind to choose
What I should do best
it's important to me
I'm passionate now
But it tires me greatly
I can't even bow
I can't accept praise
I'd rather your hate
But no that is wrong
I deserve something great
I keep telling myself
That the worst of it's over
But I think the worst part
Will continue moreover
Not specific things
A patient, a feeling
Collecting ideas
And thoughts
and breathing.
KCibot Jun 20
Verse 1:

I thought that
It'd be obvious
That you and I
Would be
Together

I knew it
From the very
Start

But maybe I'm
Delirious
Since I met you
I've been
Looking

Only
At The
Stars

Chorus:

But now that
Things got hard
We lost our way
Between what we
Said
And what we
Say

Let's go back
In time
Erase
This crime
And we'll
Pretend
That
We Just
Met

2nd Verse:

We were at the top
I thought that
We would never fall
The view was
Beautiful
From where we
Stood

Days and months and years
Would pass and
All would stay the same
Cause we would do
Everything
We could

Chorus
Last Verse
To Come
We only want to feel alive

To have our hearts race menacingly

To burn with delirious abandon

And that

Is where

I found

You
M Solav Sep 2018
​Explosion of the white tree,
A synapse in the damp air.
The fluid around the corsair,
Ambassador of the secret;
The perfume of a comet
Descends upon the wetland.

A goosebump stretches my hair;
Ripples forming across the sea
As nostril and flowers meet
Miles and miles without end.

The green flame always return
In a frenetic haze, a burst of fire,
As the solar waves caresses the earth
At welcomed glances, so soft a fur.

A last effort renewed forevermore;
Delirious poison continually brewed;
An elixir against the veil of dusk;
Cause and effect from dust to dust.

As the mind steps out back further,
It finds itself returned at the core,

Til all of Spring elapses.
Written in July, 2016.
Arianna Jun 12
I.

Humidity coats my limbs with desert rain
as June unfurls in jasmine mists
the stench of summer
about the fragrant bed
where I have tasted draughts of Eternal Slumber,
and drunk my fill of half-dead visions.


II.

Indigo night settles vulture-like
over the silver plains,
swallowing the horizon beneath its wings.

Delirious in the face of Death,
I trace life lines through the stars;
but no path presents itself from the torch-obscured darkness.

Thus, choking on the fuming heat,
I succumb once more to leaden sleep.


III.

Recollections seep from deep-sea marrow,
flooding eyes wide open behind their lids
with blurred impressions, vague distortions.

Bound up in turquoise silk of the Nile,
the slightness of a blink
sails Time and Space
from silken bower to moonwashed grave.

Leopard without spots,
I shed my myrrh-oiled skin upon the banks:
gossamer crumpling into lotus waves,
summoning surrender
slick and serpentine.

A persuasive lover, the River clings
effortlessly along my sinking frame,
dropping gently through the currents
to plumb the peace of still waters
and quiet, spellbound dreams.
A(nother) devastatingly hot day.

Daemonia Nymphe - "Dios Astrapaiou":
https://youtu.be/6zEXzwH8nIc
Gabriel burnS Oct 2017
Too good and yet true
Too beautiful
To taste
Without falling in daze
Without following
Delirious
An aroma trail of craving
On the back of my tongue
I’m getting equal measures
Of heaven and hell
Perfectly balanced

My eyes are my traitors
Plotting to open the gates
Sending stowaway warriors
Whom I never gave orders
To slip behind walls
Of thickest black pupils
In the Trojan horse
That my eager look is

And gazes are bridges
Unwillingly
Supporting the siege
Of epiphanies
You and me
Caught in our ambush
Completely surrounded by Us
Every time I hear of you--
I wonder what went wrong
that you would choose
another over me.

The cogwheels of my brain
would constantly rewind
to the very day we meet;
the nerves I had prior
and the brief good memories.

This bitter nostalgia
reminded me of
my foolish sense of hope
that I was the special one
among many others--

Only when I was told
that I was rejected
did I realise...
I was only a pitiful jester;
dancing and joking
for your fancy
on that very day.

I could not help thinking,
being rejected on a Christmas eve
is a terrible Christmas present,
and also the only Christmas present I had.

They say that it was not His will--
But they also did not know...
Perhaps it was His will
that I spend the dead morning of Christmas
soaking my pillow in tears
while nursing a overactive mind.

And yes, I saw you again on New Years Eve--
from afar, where everyone was celebrating
of their successful association with you
with delirious hopefulness and motivation...
Meanwhile, I was made to
welcome the New Year all alone
with tears in memory of your rejection.
Happy belated New Year.
So yes, I will not have stupid expectations and resolutions for 2019. I will be realistic.
amme Jun 2018
It was a couple of years ago I had an experience I couldn't explain but wouldn't deny.
It was almost like a daydream that took me back to the age of five.
I saw how I was pushed into society before I had developed the wings to fly.
To survive I had to split my soul into two to create a false personality of mine.
Ever since, the 10% I was suppose to give as tide has been occupied by the hatching seeds in the left side of my thin mind.
The experience brought me back to where I lied. I couldnt move and my heart was racing It felt like I was going to die.
At the end of what felt like a paralyzed panic attack I had a strange tingle in the lowest part of my spine.
The tingles slowly started to rise,
like two angels slithering their way up all thirty three steps of Jacob's ladder to open up the seventh seal. My gateway to heaven.
It was sensational. A euphoric feeling, I never felt that happy before. Everything that was holding me back, all the bad memories
and all the grudges I had been holding on to, did not matter anymore.
I started to think freely and act accordingly. I worked less and wrote more because money was not a priority.
The value of life became clear to me.
There I was, reborn with Christ oil.

I dwelt in that right hemisphere of my brain for three and a half months before I got thrown out of paradise for questioning myself again.
Of course I tried to force my way back but drugs only gives you a temporary pass.
Besides I can't let go of the lifestyle of the genie in my genes that likes to buy expensive jeans.
It's genius how they deceive us, or I'm just seriously delirious and my psychological awareness is just as meaningless as my nihilistic periods.
Who is really the genie; us?
I use religious ideology sometimes to explain my feelings.
Rick Warr Nov 2018
sometimes i’m shocked
by the smallness of my world
at times something happens
that spotlights my ignorance
and i don’t worry

because knowing all
will never be
and knowing that
just reminds me

how what we know
is ever
in philosophical doubt

and what we know, we don’t know
is massive, multiple and manifold

and what we don’t know, that we don’t know
that unfathomable black hole
really can’t matter

leaving me in a state
of delirious mysterious wonder
accepting happily
that there is much to ponder

but there is no hurry
so what me worry
written after listening to some over cognitive friends
I'm craving the gentle scent of your skin,
Which enraptures me with immense pleasure
Your robust legs make my heart race a marathon
Your boulder abs burn a warm sensation throughout my body
Even your rugged biceps that embrace me excite me tenfold

My face flushes rose red as I place my hands on your chest
Peering into your statuesque face, you gently pull me into an impassionate kiss, our bodies pressed
You slowly pull away to undress me with care as if handling a package with fragile contents
Your hands gently graze my bare skin, making me slightly tremble in arousal
We lock lips again and I undress you with care as well

Ravenous for each other, we descend into bed and fornicate with flaming desire
As the delirious day departs to nefarious night,
We fall into a satisfying slumber, all cuddled up



Melody
8/14/19
This piece celebrates the beauty of this exhilarating experience: fornication. Personally, this piece is a fantasy. My imagination got worked up after drinking a cup of tea. [blushes in embarrassment]
Poetria Mar 2016
Thought #1:
We all got together, the 12 of us.
We sat in a circle and remembered
the old days, the good days;
the only days.
We talked, we laughed, we cried.
We came back to life.

Thought #2:
We all got together, the 12 of us.
One of us left when it became a little too much, and locked herself in a room alone. I don't know what you guys found so funny. I wanted to know, and I didn't want to.

Thought #3:
We all got together, the 12 of us.
The circle was a gaping black hole,
or maybe my vision was blurring.
I left when the tears threatened to spill.
You followed me. She followed you.

1:26 A.M

Thought 4:
It wasn't a circle, it was an oval.
They weren't happy, they were delirious.

Thought 5:**
You followed me. She followed you.
I was sitting by the window.
She sat in front of me.
You stood there and watched me paint pictures on the glass.
You kissed me. I kissed you back.

Thought 6:
You kissed me.
I pulled away.
She kissed you.
It looked painful.

Thought 7:
She kissed you.
I went back to the circle.
Everybody was gone.
I sat alone in the middle of the room.

Thought 8:
She kissed you.
I waited.
You pulled away.
I smiled.
Everybody was gone.
We watched The Book Of Life.
We cried.

1:28 A.M

Thought 9:
We all got together, the 12 of us.
We all sat in an oval and
remembered the only days.
We talked, we laughed, we cried.  
For once, we all felt alive.

Thought 10:
We all got together, the 12 of us.
We were strangers.
We smiled and talked about life.
We laughed over silly jokes.
We ate pizza.
We said our goodbyes.

1:29 A.M

Thought #11:
We never got together, the 12 of us.
We forgot about each other.
We left all of it behind.
We focused on our new lives.

1:30 A.M
- - - - - - - -
- - - - - - - -
edited out some parts I hated
Iska Dec 2018
Dilated pupils,
crazed grins and white lies.
Don’t you see the chaos writhing beneath my skin?
Ragged breathing shivering spines the delusion that I am alive.
Screaming nerves hysterical laugh can’t you see it will out last
all that I am.
An uphill battle where I’m destined to die.
A whirlwind that rages within as I yank out my hair and peel back my skin.
Masochistic they say.
Delirious on pain.
Rolled eyes biting tongues
I wonder why the world demands I live life perfect and clean,
when all I want to do is make such a delicious mess.
Your life is too much you say?
Your trying to catch your breath?
I don’t want my life at all, when was the last time I even took a breath?
I can’t recall.
All I know is this compulsive urge.
Raw.
Enticing.
Undeniable.
I want to break things.
To feel them collide and shatter beneath my finger tips.
I want to tear at the walls until my nails crack and my fingers bleed.
I want this whirlwind,
this storm
to rage until it consumes the entire world around me.
So deliciously self destructive.
I want to bite and snarl and tear into my skin, making such a lovely MESS of myself.  
To tear out my hair and lash out at everything.
I want to know how it feels to explode.
Such reckless desire.
I want to open myself up to find a reason, ANY reason to stay alive.
And do you want to know the scariest part of all?
I want to NOT find a reason.
Pure insanity,
I know.
I want to peel my skin back, layer by layer, to make such a glorious MESS of myself, only to find it all for naught.
You see, there is a beauty,
in setting the world ablaze,
in shattering the ground that I stand upon,
and watching among the flames as it crumpled and falls,
entombing me.
Such a blissful nonsensical whimsical desire.
Such delicious delirium.
To watch myself go up in flames.
To ruin myself so completely.
So absolutely.
To witness the reckless beauty in breaking the world.
Of relishing in the madness and destruction that matches the chaos in my head.
I think we all dance upon the razors edge.
Some just dance a tad more recklessly then others.
Kara Rose Trojan Dec 2014
My Second Letter to Allen Ginsberg
Dear Allen,
Almost five years ago, I wrote you a letter, and in
That letter, I purged my drunkenly woeful cries
That seem so first-world now and naïve –
The things I grimed over with luxuries I didn’t
Realize that rubbed against my plump limbs
Like millions of felines poised at the
Tombs of pharaohs.

Oh, Allen, I’m so tired –
These politics, and poly ticks, so many ticks that
Annoy my tics. Allen! I smear your name so liberally
Against this paper like primer because the easiest way
To coerce someone into listening to you like
A mother
or predator
tugging or nibbling on your ear –
Swatches of velvet scalped from a ****’s coat
Are you and I talking to ourselves again?
Candid insanity : Smoky hesitance.

Dear Allen, I’m so tired –
Yes, I love wearing my ovaries on the outside like
Some Amazonian soapbox gem glistening from beneath
The iron boots of what the newspapers tell me while
I cough at them with the hurdled delicacies of alphabet soup.
Give vegetables a gender and call them onions, Allen.
Sullied scratch-hicks pinioned feet from slapping
Society’s last rung on the ladder.
Ignore the swerve of small-town eyes.
Scapulas, stirrups, pap smears, and cervical mucus – now do you know who we are?

That fingernail clipped too short, Allen. We’ve all got AIDs
And AIDs babies, haven’t you heard? Hemorrhaging from the political
****** and out – they haven’t reached the heart.  
Since when have old white men given a **** about some
13 year old’s birth control? I’m riding on the waves of the
Parachute game and I swear this abortion-issue is just a veil outside Tuskegee University
Being further shove over plaintive eyes, swollen and black.
Pay up and
shut up.

I still remember my first broken *****, Allen.
Can you tell me all about your first time?
The vasodilatation that made veins rub against skin,
Delirious brilliance : unfathomable electricity.
I made love during an LSD experience, Allen,
And I am not sorry. I see cosmic visions and
Manifest universal vibrations as if this entire world is
A dish reverberating with textiles and marbles, and
All are plundering the depths of the finished wine
Bottle roasting in the sink like Thanksgiving Turkey.
The patience is in the living. Time opens out to you.
The opening, between you and you, occupied,
zoned for an encounter,
given the histories of you and you—
And always, who is this you?
The start of you, each day,
a presence already—
Hey, you!

Ah, Allen, if you are not safe, then I am not safe.
And where is the safest place when that place
Must be someplace other than in the body?
Am I talking to myself again?
You are not sick, you are injured—
you ache for the rest of life.

Why is it that I have to explain to my students that
sometimes what I'm spouting is prescribed by a pedagogical pharmacy --
but all they want to know is "what do the symbols on the television mean?"
I am completely aghast against the ghosts of future goners --
I am legitimately licensed to speak, write, listen like some mothers --
I am constantly cajoling the complex creations blamed on burned-out educators --
I am following the flagrant, fired-up "*******"s tagging lockers --
Pay up and
shut up.

Yes, and it’s Hopeless. Allen.
Where did we get off leaping and bounding into
The dogpile for chump change jurisdiction, policing
The right and the left for inherent hypocrisies when
Poets are so frightful to turn that introspective judgment
Upon ourselves?
We didn’t see it coming and I heard the flies, Allen.
Mean crocodile tears. Flamingo mascara tracks
Up and down : up and down: bow – bow – bow – bow
Buoyant amongst the misguided ******* floating around
In the swirlpool of lackadaisical introspection.
What good is vague vocab within poetry?
Absolutely none.
Would you leave the porchlight on tonight?
Absolutely, baby.

Dear Allen, would you grow amongst the roots and dirt
At the knuckles of a slackjawed brush of Ever-Pondering Questions
Only to ask them time-and-time-and-time-and-time-again.
Or pinch your forehead with burrowed, furrowed concentration upon those
Feeble branches of progression towards something that recedes further
And further with as much promise as the loving hand
Attempts to guide a lover to the bed?

Allen, I wish to see this world feelingly through the vibrations of billions of bodies, rocking and sobbing, plotting and gnashing like the movement of a million snakes, like the curves collecting and riding the parachute-veil.

Ah, Allen! Say it ain’t so! Sanctified swerve town eyes.
And everything is melting while poets take the weather
Too personally
And all the Holden Caulfields of the world read all the
*******’s written on the walls and all the Invisible Men
Eat Yams and all the Zampanos are blind and blind
And blind and blind and blind and blind
Yet see as much as Gloucester, as much as Homer,
As much as Oedipus.

Oh, Allen, do you see this world feelingly
and wander around the desert?
Colored marbles vibrating on the curtailed parachute paradox.
Lamentation of a small town’s onion. Little do we know, Allen,
That what you cannot see, we cannot see, and we are bubbling
Over in the animal soup of the proud yet weary. I can see,
However, how the peeled back skulls of a million
Workboots and paystubs may never sully the burden
Of an existential angst in miniscule amounts.
Pay up and
shut up.  

My dearest Allen, there is always a question of how
The cigarettes became besmirched with wax to complement
What was once grass, and
What was once a garish night drenching doorknobs.
The night's yawn absorbs you as you lie down at the wrong angle
To the sun ready already to let go of your hand
As you stepped, quivering, on to
The shores of Lethe.
"welcome all,"
said the porcelain girl
i might as well of figured,
"it's the end of the world".

                            the leaves have consumed
                                      all the colour of trees
                             and the crown of creation
                                             is the matriarchy

"so, please hear me out,"
you know what I mean
when they whisper and shout
of the ghost in the stream

                                "dead in the dishwater".
                                         dark as her dreams
                        "dredged from the dillinger".
                                  drown in their screams

a shuffle of vines
their flowers in twine
head like a trumpet
more toxic than wine

                                            fingers bewitched
                                           fangs set to twitch
                                          at any disturbance
                                                  imp­ulses fixed

showered in doubt
he lets out a shout:
"fire all cylinders
into its mouth".

                                        jaw clamping down
                                    neck spinning around
                           as the struggle for freedom
                                drags him to the ground

ire of conviction
penance for three
digits he lost
to the teeth of a tree

                                             mind seeping out
                                   at the cost of his greed
                                          feeding the hunger
                                        the fervor, the need

delirious scorn
impossibly mourns
for any exception
"it may as well of warned,"

                                    them of the powerless
                                        thrashing with heed
                                       "gone like a pacifist".
                                            trapped in the sea

"oh welcome back,"
said the foliage freed
of the tactile sensation
that sprouts from its seed

                                          kept on consuming
                                      prescription exhaust
                                      the mental excursion
                                                     of sanity lost

"cowards with parachutes,"
"capsules and pills,"
eyes like a retinal scan
"searching for thrills".

                                           foraging, festering
                                        freelancing hallows
                                   cross breeding plants  
                            ‘til the metronome follows

powered by irony
clad in his wit
acts without judgement,
"like they give a ****".

                                          "emptying bottles,"
                            he whimpers and wallows
                                    and keeps losing track
                           of the number he swallows

sepia countryside
stowing their lives
his thoughts becomes nothing,
but, "fractals and knives".

                         with rainbows come ecstasy
                                              dour to the brim
                                      his state of exclusion
                                       lacks whimsy or vim

demanding them all back,
"what the hell's this?"
a handful of circlets
clasped to his wrist

                                           pattern of entropy
                                             has its own plans
                                  but some intrepid hero
                                  keeps swallowing them

"so welcome now,"
to the end of line
"i should've made assumptions,  
i'd be losing my mind".

                    "they wanna watch me dancin'
                                           like a marionette",
                          but ‘til they pull the skin off
                                       i'm filled with regret

if that was my first take,
"what was my name?"
can someone explain
all the smoke and the flame

                               "i can't understand you".
                                 your words are so thick
                    and the voices are whispering,
                                               "you don't exist"
OpenWorldView Apr 16
Death should be certain
for time to ensure renewal
by pulling life's curtain.

Be fearful of what lives forever
as hubris clouds its mind
and terror will be its only lever.

We are delirious to fathom creation
of a god without its creators flaws.
Beware of this eternal aberration.
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