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Third Eye Candy Oct 2012
however i choose
to abuse these loose reigns
to gain whatever gallops may overtake
to overrun the rampant jade
in summer's plum, my teeth in no shade
but the plump flesh
of a ****** day; brightly at heel
of my toes, bejeweled
in ocean spray
fresh cut lawns with diamond dew, disarranged
sprinkler cast before midday
to cheat the sun,  a sip or two -
and slake the thirst
of emeralds
i would soon delight
to cantor through.
to roam
with eyes too wide
to choose
a culdesac ... to dread-
or view. Perhaps
a glance at crates
and crude cadavers of a life
removed -
from every thing i worship twice !
while prancing, ever-prancing -
through
the manicure
that has ' no cure '
for Nature's way
of tending too the over-groped
and fussy plucked,
some Charter barks
you have to do; What Art dispels
what man has framed ?
what power drapes
the Land more true ? A dozen Elves ?
Prayer in school ?
what genius
never fails to ask -
the question that reveals the fruit ?
or listens .... to the loamy grass ?

a very
few, if any who -
would
do
the same; the
mortgage and a
landscape, paid;
' in-full.'  [ The first ]

with love, the glade ?

The Earth
is all i know,
would do
for nothing,
all...  Spite all -
we do.
however we blockade
or stake
the acreage
we have papers prove-
belong to every
dispossessed
with keys to doors
that lead to
rooms -
that seldom have the sun
inside the red Redwood
the old thing died
too raise your roof
under god's blue
sky.

To shelter
men from other
men,
who covet what
you keep in
them.

a 1000 yrs of Life, undone  
to build our vapid
ornaments.
a forgery
of hearths; and hardly worth
the vasty parlors
lost.

we parcel, carve
and auction
off
our petty Lots of
*******...

the empty ones we polish
while our homeless
remain home-
less

the echoes of a simpler time
too weak to even haunt them.

our shame intact, we slash
and burn, for coffers have
no conscience.

our charity is scarcely more than earplugs
for a blindness; a band-aid for an Apathy
a thimble and
a wine list
etched inside the hollow
just below the milk of kindness
that soured
in a palsy hand
that brought a drop
and spilled it.


However
I have chosen more
than fiberglass and
fountains
my habit is to wander off
the beaten path
to mountains.
To slopes
of avid avalanche
and quiet shouts
of Silence -
that echo and return
as if to soothe
my withers'
finally...

an
ache
to meadowlark and leap
for leagues without a harness
without
a gate to keep
the lush pavilions
at a distance

nothing
to contain
the gift
and no one
there to
name
it.

nothing but the wind to kiss
and no books to
explain
it.
Look into my eyes..
If you can see. .
You can see that there's no lies.
I stand true I have a strong spine
I tell you the Truth I have nothing to hide.  
Like at earlier points in my life I wish I would die.
I locked the pain inside
If it wasn't for God I would not have survived
Dysfunctional brain cells
I held them captive disarranged my mind needed help..
So I prayed
Prayed for freedom..
God I needed to see him
Cause for to long my pops death plaque like a demon..
I would see pistols flame while dreaming .
I cried  tears of rain like it was monsoon season
I was hurt didn't really allow love to love ..
I embraced partially like a half hug...
I would write lines of sorrows.
Stuck in the past and was afraid of tomorrow..
Picture me then..
Stayed to myself I didn't have many friends.
The word trust to me sounded ugly..
I never would of thought that I would write so lovely..
For my God who today I know loves me..
Third Eye Candy Nov 2012
mark of cain in my hemoglobin, i'm more open to repast on brains.
to dine on flesh enmeshed in baseball parks and homes restrained
by greed of the same. and the cry of the people takes great pains
to refine the message of a blank stare. a blemish, stark with catacombs
disarranged in harm honey. the ogre of pine. the amber pane
where we bleed. we name nameless, by the by,
to the finish.
but not
alone.

up your petticoat with my blind cleaver. my Occam razor to your stain.
a fine mess express in hateful art and boneless jade
we feed on the frame of our reference. skylarking harmonious curves dismayed
by their own mind. they confess it. at the statefair. replenished, they knish in falderal
disengaged from honesty. the poker blind. where the eye staid.
where we need. we need most ... tell ya why.....
to diminish
but not
atone.

and so it goes. i erode the continent. sneaky pete in the crease of all strange.
itchy feet. maimed in false lies of the ripple. made fake
to real love. unclaimed. a gangly part of broken promises made
we retreat at last. with our last mimes. we undress. with savoir faire. distinguished in our dashery
ill fated. calamity's bark. hard to define. where the mind misbehaved.
we're complete most where the hole resides...
to imprison
but not
hold.
Robert Zanfad Mar 2012
Eat
fresh tilled soil revealed phalanges of innocents
disarranged,
like chewed chicken bones, pointing or reaching
mixed with lost tree leaves that steel tines stirred in;
twigs snapped from limbs by some storm long forgotten,
skeletons left behind after picking the cotton

the Farmer sows afresh earth’s next crop rotation
seeds of winter wheat for bread we’ll be eating;
or grasses and sorghum for new cattle pasture
laid in shallow furrows with prayers for cover
a swaying anthem of living,
our losses forgiven by a harvest of summer
we arose high in delusion
a projection of tranquillity
for once in this disarranged existance
I thought that I could breath
but it was just a mass of lies
a masquerade of misfortune
an impression on impressible minds
for now we fall entwined
screaming towards certain desolation
like an earthquake during a firestorm
descending into spiritlessness
spiralling downward apart
as this ghastly specter shatters in my mind
forever spellbound

© 2011 joshua deathdealer
Helen Aug 2014
so colourful
so iridescent
so artfully
arranged
so insightful
so righteous
so incandescently
deranged
so articulate
so devoted
so incomparably
emotive
so particular
so insightful
so inevitably
disarranged
so empty
so full
so
strange
so bored, so very very bored...
Third Eye Candy Mar 2013
Mark of Cain in my hemoglobin, i'm more open to repast on brains.
to dine on flesh enmeshed in baseball parks and homes restrained
by greed of the same. and the cry of the people takes great pains
to refine the message of a blank stare. a blemish, stark with catacombs
disarranged in harm honey. the ogre of pine. the amber pane
where we bleed. we name nameless, by the by,
to the finish.
but not
alone.

up your petticoat with my blind cleaver. my Occam razor to your stain.
a fine mess express in hateful art and boneless jade
we feed on the frame of our reference. skylarking harmonious curves dismayed
by their own mind. they confess it. at the statefair. replenished, they knish in falderal
disengaged from honesty. the poker blind. where the eye staid.
where we need. we need most ... tell ya why.....
to diminish
but not
atone.

and so it goes. i erode the continent. sneaky pete in the crease of all strange.
itchy feet. maimed in false lies of the ripple. made fake
to real love. unclaimed. a gangly part of broken promises made
we retreat at last. with our last mimes. we undress. with savoir faire. distinguished in our dashery
ill fated. calamity's bark. hard to define. where the mind misbehaved.
we're complete most where the hole resides...
to imprison
but not
hold.
Ella Snyder Jul 2013
We were ledge-sitters.

We understood why birds perch themselves on penthouse patio rails

And why airplanes sigh with breaths of relief when they are defying gravity.

We would hold the crooked hems of our dresses while we climbed metal stairs like mountains.

The urge for heightened perception of depths, distances, and the disarranged built in us like skyscrapers we hung ourselves over.
R Guildenstern Oct 2012
A time will come for wants and needs
for things we thought by summer trees
when things were odd,but odd to us
is strange and changed and disarranged
the thought of right was surely wrong
yet wrong right now can still belong
and time it still falls from the face
where hands they glide by gentle pace
concealed by a sneer that waits
a centaur, it minds the gates
with children's teeth around his waist
and golden locks down by his face
return once more while still awake
the gray, the old, with ernest hate
to strip the bloom from garden napes
and prune the vines in oddly shapes
to laugh, to cry, to sing once more
and soak in waters they once adored
bethany Sep 2010
Sometimes I don't know if I should cry my eyes out, cut my wrists, or cut my eyes out so I never have to see you again.
Sometimes I just can't hold it in.
The pain I feel is real.
I love you enough to let you hurt me over and over...
Again, I need a friend.
Sometimes you say I am selfish and snappy.
Those are the times when you can't even make me happy.
I don't see why you don't understand when I tell you it hurts.
You just keep on and find a way to make it worse.
I don't even know,
who lied to who first?
You seem to know just fine,
you like seeing my face rubbed in dirt.
How many times will I ask myself why?
I know I'm disarranged and you're no better.
Sometimes I can't see
how we are ever happy together.
It's deeper than you.
And me.
There is no looking up.
We are covered distilled in concrete and glass,
we have to pick at each other just to see.
Maybe one day we'll recognize each others pain.
And stop ripping and tearing, layers from our skin.
Yuvraj Jha Oct 2013
At the hour of the dawn
When the sailors have gone
And the ship is standing
To be taken

And the cold singing breeze
Sings its changes to the seas
And the song will never
Be forsaken

But the change that has come
Will never stay here at home
And the sailors will leave
In the morning

And the girls will just cry
When the songs have passed them by
And the breeze’ll cease to try
To be pleasing

And the curvy horns of time
Will surely always deny
That there were branches to
The girls’ soft feelings

And the trees will just swing
Every morning again
Waiting for the change
To be coming

But the old men will rot
And young be forgot
And nothing will change
In the end

The same hour shall strike
Everyday every night
And nature’ll be whimpering
And moaning

Calling to proceed
To pay some more heed
To the pain of the innocent
That’re falling

The swift sea has changed
And the feeling disarranged
And songs no more mean
The same meanings

Like a hound that moves
As it looks at the moon
And the moon pretty
Just keeps smiling

And the hound then howls
Its deep lamenting growls
To night and its forgotten
Promises

And at the side of the dawn
When the pirates are alone
With their smiles and their scars
And their singing

And their cheer shall be heard
To the wind and the birds
And the air in celebration
Cheering

For nothing is lost
When happiness the cost
And happiness the prize
In winning.

The girls will dance again
To the tune of the rain
And their dresses shall flow
Like silver

With soft shining eyes
And their innocent surprise
And their bodies moving
And swaying

Like gods they shall rush
Away from the hush
And remember the dawn
With laughter

Once that the hound
And the pirates have calmed
And the girls have ceased
Their chatter

And tired they shall sleep
On their beds in a heap
Free from all thoughts
Of slumber

And the wind and the dawn
Shall pass on and on
And wait again for the
Cheering

When the pirates shall return
And surprise everyone
With their smiles and their scars
And their singing
[That’s it!]
Third Eye Candy May 2014
yes.
we have the avenue and the fortress,yes.

we are genuine. we thunder the spark of a long darkness
but alarm heaven from the porch of our peachlight.
the pit, asking why we bother
as we shackle the sun to our gross harness.

come.

come and be clean and be witness.
be the few. the proud. the serene.
join me in the fathoms of the lost found
and jungle your monkeys
in the branches of a drowning
dowry.

i suggest you move.

i plot, you prove.  indeed, i will it so -
but you must leave now.
your demons are quite proud, and no one
has the stick
to stave them off now.... now that you love
them so.

So
my voice, choose.
let your game prove game-less
and be twice removed.
shed your dark god
and trod upon the soft drench
of my deluge.
swirl the sun of it
so the fire burns like ablution
in the rendered fat
of your angels.

Use them.

or be disarranged
by them.
brooke Apr 2016
I want to tell him that I
love everything from a distance
but can cross oceans in seconds




that the people before him sopped
through my fingers like wet sand,
were ever flat and disarranged, empty
men with waterless words and exigent
appetites for my body--(that this is where
i learned the only way to please a man was
to give him myself)

I'm still undoing the knots, unraveling the little girls
coiled in lies, and taking mallets to the plaster molds
I built up around myself, mannequins for different men
and if there is anything I am confused
about it is him, his I-could-nevers, his frightening
absolutes, the ways in which he vows he can never change

you think you want me but at the back of your mind you want
something else


I don't want you--not like that. Not  as if
your worth was based on how quick you jump into the fray for my sake.  How many times you make me smile or say your name--however
you are soaked in rosemary and oil, folded up out of my notebook
into a thousand paper cranes--no, not even like that.

How do I tell you that I see your soul? Your threadbare spirits peeking out and the willowy fibers unraveled in your wake, that you are more than your mothers many marriages, more than the women you did not
want to have-- and deserving of a lasting love that transcends your mistakes and leaves your mirrors remarkably clean, did you know you can be clean?

How do I tell you that the broken do not fix the broken, how I cannot share the blueprint for healing but the burden if he asks--are we in the same book? The same chapter? I once heard that two people must grow in a similar direction at the same pace--are we on the same boat? The same road?  On the torrent seas, will you hold your own?

I realize I cannot come at you with such brazen artillery, that the paths I choose have no gates and are often unmarked, not even the grass gives way, nor the trees and twigs their secrets--and the journey is wholly faith, an expedition I have not fully taken but is presently on its way. When I tell you what falls first and where my priorities settle, I speak down the pike of the ways I hope to be and the woman that waits in whole.




So when he tells me I am confusing for the hundredth time and I sink somewhere off the Atlantic with the weight of my own thoughts, I am quiet.  His words are ever resounding but do not fill me up--just the glimmering hope that we will somehow

meet
in the



Middle
I've been trying to write this for a month.


I had so many titles for this:

Therefore, my beloved
Grace to the humble
The Work it Takes

(c) Brooke Otto 2016
We lived on a tiny spit of land
That they called the Harkness Light,
It sat on a reef, a mile of sand
And it beamed out through the night,
There was just myself, and my darling wife
By the name of Jennifer,
But when I went up to tend the light,
He was below, with her.

I was supposed to be on my own
But he brought the cutter out,
Every time that they feared a storm
He’d come, and put her about,
Tie her up to the wooden dock
When the tide was on the rise,
And burst on in to our tiny room
With a wild look in his eyes.

‘I’ve come to be of assistance, Joe,
There’s a storm front coming in,’
‘I think we can manage it ourselves,’
I’d say, with a touch of vim,
I never could trust those smiling eyes
Or that set of perfect teeth,
He made me think of a circling shark
Like the ones beyond the reef.

But Jennifer always welcomed him
With one of her gracious smiles,
She hadn’t a frown for anyone
And her smile would beam for miles,
‘It’s lovely to have some company,’
She’d say, when a storm was nigh,
And cold, black angry thunderheads
Had filled the darkening sky.

He wasn’t of any assistance, he
Would sit and drink our tea,
While I would climb to the light alone
He wasn’t much use to me,
I began to suspect his visits there
Were more to do with her,
I knew that he was attracted to
My darling Jennifer.

It came to a head one night when I
Came down to find them hushed,
With Jennifer disarranged, and when
I looked at her, she blushed,
I knew that I had to do something
But what? It chilled my blood,
That one of these days she’d slip away
And I’d lose my wife for good.

I said, ‘I need your assistance, Chris,
To change the carbon arc,
We’d better get up on top or else
All they will see is dark.
I followed him up the winding stair
But carried a bar of lead,
And when we arrived at the topmost stair
I hit him, over the head.

It doesn’t take much to truss a man
When he’s out, stone cold for the count,
I tied his back to the outer rail
And facing the light, its mount,
And then I plastered his eyelids wide
So he couldn’t take his sight
Away from that glaring carbon arc
That made up the Harkness Light.

‘What do you think you’re doing?’ Chris
Had screamed on his coming to,
I said, ‘I’m protecting Jennifer
From the leery eyes of you.
You shouldn’t come on to another’s wife
For you know, it’s just not right,
I’ll do whatever I have to do
If it makes you see the light.’

That light burnt into his very brain
As he cursed, and cried, and swore,
His eyes could never survive the pain
Of a million candle power,
I went below and I said to her
‘Go up and set him free,
You’ll have to gentle him down the stair,
I don’t think he can see.’

It seems that I bet on a loser
For she left me anyway,
‘How could you be so cruel,’ she said,
As she left, the following day,
I heard they’re living together now
But I’m comforted at night,
That when she strips off her clothes for him
All he sees is the Harkness Light.

David Lewis Paget
Pauline Morris Apr 2017
I stand here covered in all my sin
(But what am I to do)
Please just take a look again
(I'm right in front of you)
No way I can make amends
(please open your eyes wide)
Wish you could feel where I've been
(anger is only my disguise)
Under the weight of this pain
(my angry words I threw)
The things I did were not sane
(the distance between us grew)
At times I'm still disarranged
(Fighting , I'm only human too)

I'm so very sorry, I know what I did was wrong
I'm so very sorry, I know I can be  headstrong
I hope you forgive me, but either way we must both carry on
If I'm not in your life's journey, may you feel my love is strong

©Pauline Russell
#I'mOnlyHumanToo #sin #sorry
Kelsey Jul 2018
If we were the last people on earth
Nothing would change.

I would still wake up
To your sunkissed skin
Dancing down your back
As your warmth embraces me

I would still kiss your lips
Say "good morning, my sweet prince"
And wrap these lanky arms
Around a promised tranquility

I would still examine your nakedness
A form only I can admire
Every crevasse of deep desire
Melts my heart of iron, how easily

I would still laugh with you
As we dance in strange places
My hands glued to your every move
As we are one, separated as two

I would still lose myself
In the candid way you live
A fly on the wall I hope to be
To catch every smile painted with glee

I would still wrestle with you
As I puff out my chest
To hear your giggled breath
I am not strong, but with you I am strength

I would still find myself
In the darkness of your eyes
When the world is disarranged 
My home will never change

We would still fall asleep
Just a little too late
But you'll see me in the morning
And I'll see you in my dreams

Because if we were the last people on earth
I know, nothing would ever change
Essuman Gideon Feb 2015
cant even sleep,I've got thoughts running through ma head, like a whole streak of, disarranged bits
can't even think straight ,thinking so hard to even write this lyrics
unusual of me even with inspiration
feel like am writing my own story but emptying ma soul
it's like am living the lives of other people with ma self gazing from afar

locked up ,but i Django,in the jungle of my cross puzzled mind
like a twisted crown of thorns of Jesus ,suppressing my salvation
mi casa es su casa ,but am treated like a mutating tenant.

The world crumpling ,rumbling in ma mind ,high tidal waves
washing every happy memory i can find
don't mess with me cos you get smoked out by my troubles
loki divine ,misinterpreted,interlocked,inter-coined.
soulless lyrics only the dead can decipher

knowledge of the so called wise men is stupidity before God
so you see the world is ruled by stupid precepts ,so i free my mind
we don't make mistakes,but  i say we took and mistook opportunities
okay i feel like am writing a story ,no but an advice ,not love ,
neither hate ,not fiction or non fiction but i think its your to decide
Lavendar My Love Dec 2017
Who is worthy of interruption
Might I ask
Or is that another question you have no clue how to even begin to process
To understand
Too lazy to answer
so you murmur
"I don't know man"
Now a decade,
nearly two,
later;
You're reactions haven't changed
And I ask you yet another,
You become all disarranged.
"Cause that's just life"
That's all you ever answer
"And if you believe it's not fair, than go talk to your wife"
As is she's some kind of necromancer
A woman fueled of power
who has the key to numb your pain
Take that pain and devour;
But you and I know you are just a man
with lustful thoughts
and dreams thats rots
and one who never
I'm sent back
burning in ice
I glide on my skin
drinking venom
from these fangs
Oozing in the dark
Cast from broad daylight
Why even bother?
I puke out this wine
disarranged, how divine!
scattered thoughts

© Cyrille Octaviano, 2017
Torin May 2016
If not for my eyes
Grown accustomed to being lost in the woods
Entrenched in the subtle darkness that is always collapsing
Without color I see gray figures in the night
But I can't imagine their faces
If not for my eyes
I would have never seen you
If not for my ears
The noise of bitter cries and longing screams
The disarranged voice of love not speaking louder than the din
Without music I can still hear melodies
But the key would keep on changing
If not for my ears
You could not speak to me
If not for my nose
The stench of life and its rotting carcass
The odeous wind of putrid odor that finds me even in fields
within the stink I still smell your perfume
But the aroma is gone to soon
If not for my nose
I could not have smelt you
If not for my tongue
Often times abrubt and razor wire
The bitter flavor of the most sour and hateful food
Only wanting of sugar and honey
But going without
If not for my tongue
I go my life without your taste
If not for my skin
These hands which hold broken glass
These frayed out nerve endings too many times feeling pain
But desirious of pleasure
Carnal knowledge
And stimulation
If not for my skin
I never would have felt you
I like to think I have everything I'll ever need
bobby bielik Mar 2015
The assembly of words come stepping in the still vagueness of thinking, “Is there something you want to say“ “Something words need saying?”

At times you wait seeming to ask permission “Shall I come along?  Shall I wait here again for you?”
A word slips not sorely but given away, a gift, a challenge, a burden born to itself.

It feels beautiful… waiting. Then it comes another and another like raindrops they begin to flow. Disarranged, compelled, brought to a meaning or question. You resist judgement. You embrace a distant muse rumbling uncomfortable within you
.
Then if you should venture to stray. In an utter silent doom; the likes of being at the bottom of a well overtakes you. Apologetically amusingly as a slight smile words return pleasingly again. The ebb and flow rushing in and out, back again and again in a hurried parlay. Exchanges are made, substituted, let go. Only on paper or by spoken word is the muse emancipated so freely.

So large the mind of it, so softly the sound, as wisps kindly drift into wandering fingers tapping keys in a dance split and crossed over. In hindsight by a little chance you acknowledge grace is blessed whatever you caught in the master mind of transcending lift. You've risen above the fray, above the plain of earth and have fallen deeply in love with the unified thought of mindfulness.

Writing is accelerating, distressing, bashful, and proud, playful and dangerous but always leaves you like a kiss.


BB2015
Alexander Miller Aug 2019
Suffocation. Loss of breath Numbness to every step. Depression at its best.
Back to hell again. Where my mind welcomes my sin. My brain has always been my  the hell I’m living.  Isolation. Yet you’re the only thing worth seeing. Vibration. Of a frequency worth believing. You are the worth of my life. Let me pick up the notebook and drop the knife. Figures of desolation. Yet when I look at you you’re my only inspiration. Living isn’t for the weak. I see that phrase living in me.  Combination of mental instabilities. Colliding with my purpose. Always questioning if I'm worth it.  My breath slows as it colliding within your sweat. Yet loving you has freshened my scars. Thinking of losing you tears me apart. Our love is complicated. Yet underneath the desaturated makeup I see a soul damaged by the fragrance. The smell of trauma emerging throughout the pavement. Seeing me aid your struggle gives me hope for my struggle.  Disarranged and unfit. And as we scrape our knees you are the one to help me sit.  Bandage my wound just as I did to you. I lost myself looking at the reflection of you.
Flat line. The thought of losing you. Tears a bind directly through my heart tearing apart the spine. And as I am left disassembled., Society walks over our pieces like we are just a doll.
Sprawled out broken. Damaged and misspoken. Lost to them. But never Forgotten
Sara Kate Phelps Feb 2017
I don’t really know who you are.
Kids use you like a monkey bar.
You let them bask in your cool shade.
All of this without being paid.
A tree, unappreciated.
To this dull life, you are fated.
Unknown, unloved, longing for change.
You are limited in your range.

Dear tree, I now know who you are.
Your love shines as bright as a star.
They'll try to shake you; don't be swayed.
If you fall, I will be dismayed.
Give up? I'll be devastated.
Be more than you're estimated.
While although they might call you strange,
do not become disarranged.

Dear tree, you are big, strong, and tall.
Do not let them be your downfall.
Take a walk until you find a tree you identify with, and then write a poem using the tree as a metaphor for yourself or your life.
I wanna reinvent meetings,
with the proper composure
and bright sense of humor,
nothing can be awkward
and sad at 24;
and everyone for the rest of
the year will hope for more
meetings, classes and more
get-together meetups
that includes me
but hell no. . .

I am engrossed in all
the events, conversations and
relationships I’ve had
that didn’t end ell.
I am one with
the common strangers,
the hidden prostesters,
the loners,
the all assuming and
over analyzing
disarranged bedroom
clothes’ owner
engaged in a deadlock with
how well things aren’t
doing good.

My playlists are stockpiled
and it is too much for
only two ears to listen alone,
the music seems to be distant
no matter how straightforward
it is for people
because no one ever
speaks of loneliness
and keeping it is
supposed to be the only
way there is.

The contradiction
of the help
I get from others
is that it always has been the help
I didn’t really needed
and as for how
The Wonder Years’
song goes:

“I’m sorry I don’t
laugh at the
right times...”
Travis Green Aug 2021
Time to settle down
And hang around my babelicious Daddy
Let him lean his head back in my lap
Caress his stressed shoulders, his temples
The heavy workload flowing through his chest
Relax his abs as I speak caringly to him
Feed him a mouthwatering crescent-shaped
Apple fritter, observe him as he licks
The sweetness off his lips, requesting me
To feed him some more as he places
His hands on my sonorous, rose-revered thighs

He is my desirous flowery heart
My lucent lover so magictastical
Like a streaming moonbeam
His arms like lyrical leaves
His limbs like supreme stems
His wantable existence like
An immeasurable and delectable flower
I relish the moments I spend with my man
Satisfying his every command
Tending to him when is drained
Disarranged brain, out of sync

I’ll be with him wherever he journeys
Penning our rememberable memories
In our journal, our lives intertwined
Like the stars and moon, like the seas
And waves, like two redbirds in fervor
The lambency of lights that fence
In his velvet beauty, his eyes so consuming
The lids so lovingly moving, his eyebrows
Like a festooned bloom that births
To brilliantasitc deepnesses
Anton Angelino Oct 2019
Writing your future into existence is no easy task,
but if you cooperate make sure that you do it right,

it’s three in the morning,
and I’m still at my window,
papers are disarranged all over my room,
it’s not like I love you,
maybe I miss you a tiny bit,
remember our unfinished love story?

but one day you received a letter with a red stamp on it,
your lines were the best,
you got such a huge chance,
to change the world,
in slow dance,

and if you never left me we could have written the best poem ever,
if you never left the town we could have made a masterpiece,
when my pen ran out of ink you were doing all the work for me,
and when my head was empty you were giving me new clues,
you blessed me with blues,
now all we have is ooze,

now it’s seven pm,
and I went straight to the beach,
our sweet romance never made it to the news,
long ago when I loved you,
and I missed you even harder,
when we were writing the best love story,

but one day you received five stars all the way from heaven,
your lines shined so bright,
they outshined NYC lights,
you changed my world,
in free dance,

and if you never left me we could have written the best poem ever,
if you never left the town we could have made a masterpiece,
when my teardrops went dry you made me drop waterfalls,
and when I grasped hope you made it escape like steam,
I clearly recall it all,
I remember every line,

we could have made a revolution,
but you ****** it up.
Poem #6 off my first poem collection titled ‘Feels like Roswell’. This one is very special to me. It was meant for an unreleased project of mine - I made an early version of this poem all the way back in March. I’ve decided to rework it just because it’s close to my heart and I’m happy it’s out after all this time.
Jade Lima Jul 2018
Been running away for most of my life,
Always turning back to feeling the blade of the knife.
Getting older is making me grow colder.
No one to turn to but my own lonely shoulder.
But somehow none of it seems that bad.
Maybe it is and that's why nothing ever lasts.
I don't know where i'm going but i hope i get there soon.
Maybe if i'm lucky i'll find a hand to hold onto.
But i can never hold onto the same shoes.
And maybe that's why i'm always searching for clues.
But i'm finding that i'm running out of hope to continue.
And lately i've been mostly numb.
To death will i succumb?
I always feel like it follows me around.
Maybe that's why i feel safer in a crowd.
But what is life if you have no real connections?
I guess i need to figure out a way to change the direction.
Maybe it's all about the perception.
But until i find a way to feel better about my disarranged life.
I'll try my best to have hope and get rid of this strife.
Travis Green Aug 2022
Your dashing strapping smashingness
Tajes me into the delectably magnetic midnight
In the wickedly whirling waves
Of your slammingly ingratiating sensation
Your handsomeness incinerates my gayness
Makes me disarranged and crazy high
In the wildness of your virileness

So alive and hypnotized by
Your highly adrenalizing and mesmerizing paradise
You render my sensual feminine center speechless
When you present to me your magical moist machine
Swing it like an extraordinary slinky toy
Thick, velvety, and sumptuous
Enjoyable milk-chocolate hotness
Extra ****** and hypnotic
Your contagious, salacious, and cognac maple lips

Make me lust for your superabundant crunkalicious drugs
Make me a snowbird over your smoking, showstopping seductiveness
So turned on by your broad-ranging, game-changing invitingness
You stand facing my way, breathtaking nakedness
Mister beardalicious gripping pleasure treasure
Stroking your thickness with both hands
Motioning for me to take over
And without hesitation, I get down on my knees
And please your heavy edible popsicle
Embrace your titillating captivation
So inebriated in amorousness

I kiss your fresh, entrancing, and branch brown flesh
Luxuriate in your greatly flavorsome foundation
Direct my mouth around the slick tip
In my mind-blowingly primal nature
I take down your ultra thugness
Polish your ****, marvel at your remarkable sauce
Give you the highest level of delectation

Do whatever to satisfy your desires
Serve you my mouth and throat
Tell me how far you want me to go
Where do I begin and end
Can I stretch out the limits of time
Take you out of your mind for awhile
Lionize your vital force
Feel your big fat knapsack bounce on my tongue

Speak the scintillating and picturesque language of seduction
Let it stream across my supple salubrious skin
Let me enthrall your tallness
Kiss your blooming tattooed neck
Lick your silky shimmery ears
Give you all of my fieriness
Make your resplendent skin tingle

Be at the head of your flex
Caressing your strong, passionate, and relentless canvas
I open my mouth wide and take you in more
Feel your engorgement traverse down my throat
I take a gander into your tantalizing dark chocolate brandy eyes
Drown into your enchantingness
So unbelievably blitzed on your bangingly blazing hot bulge

Inch by inch, I drench your dreams
I swallow your mean-slinging grandness
Hear you moan hard as I delve deeper
Into your hypnotic homeland
Move to the wild and impassioned cadence
Of your warm and alluring manfulness

Taste your debonairness drifting into my system
So effectively prodigious and thrilling
So harmonious and state-of-the-art grandiosity
I **** you madly and faster
Feel you grasp my luscious lascivious briskets
Gorge on my torrid points
Push my head forward more into your allurement
Pour out effervescent love liquor
On my stunning plump lips
Caroline Shank Nov 2020
I am tumbling downhill
like an Autumn leaf
disarranged from the
pack.  I am caught by
the wind of your disease.

I allow your sickness to
flourish in you.  I have
no choice.  Broken is
what you feel, sadness
is my experience.

I am crisp with failure.
A small dry vein
along the tip of today,
I owe you my apology.
You have not earned
it.  But still I cry.

You, who do not see
me, cannot capture the
desiccation of my
soul.


Caroline Shank

— The End —