"distinctively" poems
Remember, that chaos first was a primordial deity,
Chaos; the nothingness from which all else sprang
headfirst and heartfelt,
half-naked and handsome,
hook, line and... halibut.
All of this,
every measurable moment,
every particle,
every object set forth in motion
sprang from a void so harmoniously
as if the absence of everything was kissed
sudden
by the presence of something.
Often depicted with wings, a bow, and a quiver of arrows,
Cupid, son of Venus - goddess of love,
son of Mercury - god of trade,
his story,
almost identical in Greek and in Roman
mythology,
his story, about a couple of gods
who seem so inherently human by nature,
jolted by jealousy,
dumbstruck by beauty,
hellbent on immortality,
his story has been hallmarked
as red hot velvet rose petal fine wine
and symmetrical hearts.
Wrapped in tin foil red ribbons
bitter-sweetly sugarcoated
dipped in thin layer of chocolate
taste-tested and lover approved.
Remember that scene in Hook
where Tinkerbell leaves her footprints on Peter's chest,
well that's you and that's me--
touch me where my heart beats
because I don't ever wanna be a lost boy.
I wanna grow up like a good bedtime story
with morals
and purpose,
I wanna have meaning.
You might say that Cupid found himself.
You might say that Psyche found her soul.
You might say that Tinkerbell was just faking it--
with the clapping.
Truth is, we can never know the whole story--
the complete truth.
Problem is, we think we can
and act like we do.
So the only time we mean what we say
is the first time we say it,
every utterance thereafter is just an attempt
at recreating a moment.
I love you
is a paraphrase
that deserves three separate ellipses
because there's a lot left unsaid.
I (distinctively remember shadow-boxing with)
love (against a star-dotted sky anchored to a
moonlight so vibrant it can only be compared to)
you (and your tidal waves).
And that's where I fell
headfirst and handsome.
I (was punched-drunk by a kiss so breathless
that it spiked my dopamine to a volume
that can only be described as) love
(in that every time my neurotransmitters feel) you
(they spin themselves dizzy and dance to your science).
There was a moment in the absence of everything
when I was kissed silent by the presence of something.
Hold me to your breastplate.
I don't ever wanna go back to the void.
02/09/2010
Feb 14, 2012
Feb 14, 2012 at 2:03 PM UTC
I can remember that first encounter. He was a man in his early thirties, bright eyes but with a dark grin and was smoking your cigars wearing a black hat and he was also carrying a guitar. He was here to show me how to strum an few chords.
I remember him distinctively saying...
"Guitar playing I am about to teach you is really the same as love making you know?"
I laughed and blankly said
"but how so?"
" Well... (grinning)
Each string has to be carefully plucked, and contains a different sensation and vibe if you mishandle the strings that final note will sound awful.
He was showing me how to re-tune and play a few chords which were C, D and G then pass me over the guitar back to me.
"Its your turn dear, and be really gentle"
While doing this and playing the first few chords of the guitar which was D I could feel him rub my shoulders and chest gently.
"Don't worry you can trust me, I was just loosening you up we can't have you feeling tense"
"Now, show me a G"
I begin to play the chord G while doing that he then grasped firmly on my other hand : I can feel a surge of heat from his hands firing up my fingers. This heat was making its way to my chest. He now caressed and circled around the chest and then higher up to my ***** I can feel his breath and his tongue swirling and stretching out to **** on my *******
"Okay ... final note play me a C"
I crouch down to the floor and begin to strum that final chord and can then feel him stretch his hands beneath my skirt I could feel the sensations further of his fingers strumming my ***** in the same rhythmic motions of his guitar previously.
"See what I said? music playing really is the same as love making"
"I nodded and said yeah I suppose"
A bit shaken and uncertain how to respond but he kept whispering into my ear and repeating that same line: while kissing me on my cheeks, stroking me up and down in circular motions in which I could feel a tense feeling of release and then silence again
Was that the final note?
Aug 24, 2014
Aug 24, 2014 at 3:08 PM UTC
I’ve been told by a friend to wait here.
As long as I stay here, you’ll be back past five o'clock.
I’ve waited—you came and opened the door.
It’s true; now I will dedicate my nine lives to you.
"She drinks her tea by midnight and lulls herself to sleep. You should waggle your tail and lie beside her. Every day except for Saturday." My friend laughed rigorously when she finished that statement.
“Why can’t I play with her every Saturday?” I asked her, trying to grasp her evading eyes.
"Just because," she shrugged and tried to climb the tree.
"Wait!" I hissed, but she’s nowhere to be found now.
I did everything she told me to do. Eat my food past lunch, play with my worn-out toy, and wait for her to be home.
At the exact moment the cruel sun rose and the light hit my body, I waggled my tail and lied beside her. Unfortunately, I forgot it was Saturday today.
I called her name, distinctively meowing in a weird manner. I cackled slightly; she wouldn’t understand. Biting slowly with her calloused hands and licking the side of her face, she still won’t wake up.
And I meowed until there was no sound left of me. My dear Celia, wake up, for you have to give me food now.
You still need to bathe me and play with me at the park. We’ll still wait for the night to come and watch TV.
Oh, Celia, I’d still spend my nine lives with you. Where have you been since I slept last night?
I’d still wait for you here at the table, near the window. Where the trees dance the delicacy of their sickening leaves. Oh, how we both hated the crispness of those brown leaves.
Oh, how you knew how much I hate autumn and how much I undoubtedly love the breeze of winter. The screeching of the winds and the snow falling onto the ground, where we both scrutinize its unique aspect. We were the same.
How you were covered in snowdrops, and you’d throw me inside the snowpack. I’ll hiss, and you’ll laugh.
"I told you not to play with her every Saturday," my friend whispered, almost with a faint cry. There was a hint of longing in her voice.
"You haven’t told me the answer, Ong."
"She grieves in her dreams, my friend. He visits every Saturday, spends a day with her, and goes home at exactly midnight. She’ll wake up tomorrow, bud," she answered in agony.
Who's he? " I turned to her, but she vanished once again.
Celia, I will love you for the rest of my nine lives. I’ll wait for you tomorrow. It’s okay to grieve for now.
I’d still wait for you here at the table, even though it’s autumn. We both got to accept that winter is already over.
It’s my first life with you in autumn.
Sep 9, 2023
Sep 9, 2023 at 3:10 AM UTC
We all have different handwriting.
There are people, graphologists, who dedicate their entire lives, to understanding handwriting. A singular letter formed, can let them see into a persons mind. It can bring to light a persons inner thoughts, emotions, views on the world && themselves. Despite the fact that several charts are created, identically, of the proper formation of each letter, no two people write the same way. We all see the same chart, && create something else entirely.
If that alone, does not show you how individual we all are, how each of us distinctively perceive the exact same thing, than I don't know what will.
Stop trying to be like everyone else,
when you were born to be you,
because you,
are something special.
Mar 11, 2016
Mar 11, 2016 at 10:42 PM UTC
I'm the black sheep
I'm the outcast
And I'm the reason people don't come over to the house
I kick and I buck
I don't fall in line
Nothing I do is good enough for this family of mine
I once blended in
But then I got rejected
Slowly turning my life
In a different direction
I am the black sheep of my family of seven
I'm unique
Special
Distinctively Distinct
I am the peculiar one
The unusual one
The idiosyncrasy of the group
I am the daughter that can not be accepted
So I live in rejection
Oct 11, 2015
Oct 11, 2015 at 2:29 PM UTC
Define success. What does it mean to you?
If you listen to the different responses you'll notice, everyone has a diverse perspective.
I see a world being devoured by society’s way of judging who possesses more or less money. How superficial is it to let the kind of car you drive or the clothes you wear define you.
Why are we overly concerned with what success looks like? What if you think you're already successful? Yes, you are successful right where you're standing. Would you believe me? Not many would. Most people are caught up in the pursuit of money to buy more stuff.
Since children we were brainwashed to believe this or that amounts to being "successful." What if the version of success for you is getting out of bed. Or climbing a steep mountain when you're afraid of heights. Do you see the full picture now?
Most conversations lead to “where do you work at?” as if it actually defines me. Granted, if I said I own Amazon, that individual would look at me quite distinctively. Whereas now, they have an opportunity to see what they can get from me. Versus someone that mentions they work at the local coffee shop.
**This is for my generation, for the sake of perception becoming tainted.
Keep your eyes and ears open, this world isn't what is used to be.**
Jan 11, 2017
Jan 11, 2017 at 5:40 PM UTC
Withered through these relinquished lips,
softly lays an embellished, embroidered, carcass.
Torn across flesh-like soil
caressing gently into this impermeable being,
you're only human.
So allowing in the presence of indigenous, oblique thoughts
slanting into the belly
never feeling so bare
the hunger deprives.
The nails of your eyes piercing into the forefront of mush you call a brain,
feeling the earth distinctively tremble with each step you chase closer to the ledge
Clutching onto the white knuckle breast
your hands pounding at your fingertips
its electric running through your veins
feeling it at the core
so helplessly, lost.
Your throat knots into one-thousand splinters
splicing relentlessly between your core
the wedge of your mortal body becomes noticeable to your soul
detaching,
jumping.
Slithering one step closer,
pull the rope
you leap
you rot
one more inch closer,
you can feel it
separating your surroundings from comfort ability
picking up between each breath
shaking at your own wake.
there you have it
at the brim of the edge
you've push yourself this close
whats one last jump out of this skin?
Aug 23, 2019
Aug 23, 2019 at 6:20 PM UTC
I want you…
I want you instinctually and primitively.
Spiritually and physically.
I want to give you portions of me that I’ve never shown anybody; that will become distinctively yours - recognizable only to you and you alone.
I want to submerge you in a realm of ******** gentleness that perpetuates an aggressive kindness, that stimulates, and soothes every aching, yearning, desire that flows through your body.
Continuously…
I’m telling you what you already knew, that I will always be there for you, and you will never again feel alone or abandoned.
I want to give you complete and total satisfaction.
I want you and every little idiosyncrasy that makes you unique, that others have critiqued, because they didn’t understand.
I want to show you that I can…
I want to dwell in the depths of your being. I want to unravel your complexity.
I want to give you vibrations in the form of a currant that arouses sensationally, at a frequency that makes you hum melodies of ecstasy uncontrollably as you call out for me.
I want to initiate an explosion of soft convulsions from the warmth of my mouth penetrating every inch of your body rhythmically.
I want the waters from the spring of your masculinity to drown me, and then I want you to save me.
I want to embrace you each night and wrap you in between soft warm thighs, and welcoming arms under moonlight, until your torso is wet, drenched with sweat, until each kiss drips from the tip of your lips, and I caress your back with my fingertips.
I want to make love to you the way an angel would if she could.
I want to show you heaven and ethereal visions without limita-tions or specifications.
I want to give you happiness and pleasure unparallel, unlike any-thing either of us has ever felt, seen, or could create in our dreams.
I want to protect you from harm beneath my wings. I want you to believe in me…
I want you to come into my life.
Sep 1, 2010
Sep 1, 2010 at 7:21 PM UTC
she posts her credentials
privately, to just you,
in the din of a currently popular
university barroom
and you dressed in your
pick up best,
plumes of all male grinning,
reeking in thinking -
oh yeah!
va va voom,
lucky
laughs and liquor,
cheap 3.2 Ohio beers on tap,
come super highway fast via
as my finger flick be wagging
to an attentive bartender
who recognizes,
a new venture worth
his investing in a newly forming
gene pool of the
collegial world of what you children
can google as
The Sixities
you see, she says,
she is minor famous,
had two minutes in a movie
called Woodstock,
instantly recalled distinctively,
which you honor with
a dozen roses rising of
very cool
and a few daisies of
wow
so young,
she's hitch hiking thru life,
karma, ying and yang, Sagittarius and
Hesse's Siddharta,
a little ****** break out back,
our lives have intersected in
Cleveland in 1969,
and there is no question unanswered,
your bed, is her bed,
this night
you puzzle yourself,
memory recycler,
why in 2015,
you celebrate a one stand,
a single strand
excavated from
the meta data of your brain
tonight,
from among a hundred lifetimes previous
*Why Woodstock Woman Wonder
and you do,
why, wonder,
have you stayed with me so long,
that your face is indelible tattooed,
easy extracted from ancient cells
risen by this
dawn's early light?*
are you pining old man,
are you dying old man,
trying to write it all down
before the insurance company
grumpily has to pay up?
this carefree woman, no,
young forever girl,
looking up to you
asking where can she crash tonight,
answered in a single guttural
exclamation sensation,
with me babe,
with me baby
fifty years later,
crashing you,
crashing with you,
with roses and daisies that never died
wonder where she is today,
a grandmother multiple,
or sleeping gone from an overdose
of stuff you occasionally fooled around with,
or are you spending another night
in your tripping life,
with another
one night man*
no answers given,
but it is, it was,
a single dot on the trail of dots and dashes,
the existential Camus moments of
of two ordinaries that intersected,
however briefly,
and you wonder,
not why, but if,
*Woodstock Woman,
do you remember me?
I need you to,
I want you to,
explain better
why we are crashing together
one more time*
~~~
August 20, 2015
5:32am
nyc
Aug 29, 2015
Aug 29, 2015 at 1:05 PM UTC
You were born with thunder rumbling from between your lips.
Your words were learned to be feared.
the promise of being trapped in the rain was too frightening for anyone to listen.
You were a flower that had begun to wilt,
covered by the shade of those towering above you,
and when they stole the last ray of light,
you learned to become your own sun.
Lightning shown in your golden-brown eyes.
Fierceness and a refusal to take any odds into consideration.
You struck hearts into beating again,
you struck minds into thinking again.
Your soul is a flood raging over hills. You are washing down every crevice of the world;
drowning and sweeping away things that will never measure to your strength.
You are a Californian wildfire.
Beautifully destructive and distinctively fearless.
You are crackling heat in valleys where thirst will never be quenched.
Don't be offended when they turn away,
some people just can't take the heat.
You have grown into a refusal to let the natural disasters inside of you sit still.
You have taken every ounce of nothingness that you felt and turned it into a brewing storm.
We will hear that thunder rolling from your lips this time.
Sonnets were written about your icy smile years before you were born.
Poets know the beauty of a powerful earthquake that could send cities crumbling,
Everyone knows the beauty of a powerful woman that can send worlds crumbling.
Nov 29, 2014
Nov 29, 2014 at 11:07 PM UTC
As I took a fresh breath,
I realized for how long I’d been holding.
I understood I’d gone into stealth,
Immersed in the depth of thinking,
Influenced by emotion, memories;
A glimpse of the future possibilities.
My chest had tensed and tightened.
I felt some kind of unusual pain.
My senses had intensely heightened,
By the idea of losing all I’d gained.
My stomach had been churning,
Digesting how I’d been hallucinating.
I’d heard that we as humans,
Never stop wanting.
How distinctively we stand in unison,
From other creatures wandering!
The reality we know of and imagine,
Shows how wild our minds run during famine.
As I test my tolerance of turmoil,
I also test my strength in giving;
In being so far from my mother’s soil,
Knowing what fuels my living and loving,
Will connect all the roads I now roam,
To just the one that leads me straight home.
Nov 4, 2015
Nov 4, 2015 at 3:35 AM UTC
I see you in the sky ,
Far, afar off.
I watch you from the earth,
Far, afar off.
Brightness enlightens the
vicinity from the grip of
elemental forces,
Enveloping the entire arena and
beyond like the mother hen
brooding her children out
of the reach of seducing eyes
of a roaming hawks in the
sky.
Your dome-shaped entity
distinctively standing aloof
like a magnificent rotunda
palatial in the Arabian oasis.
Thirty nights of illumination,
When we spreads our mats
to narrate tale under your
watchful eyes.
When elders recounts narrative
and ancient panorama of
yesteryears.
When we clap,
When we sing,
When we dance
In the womb of your greatness.
Thirty nights of total darkness,
When lanterns endlessly
searches for light to
extinguish darkness,
When the night-callers
terrorizes our quietness,
When the guardsmen work
like wild wolves to fish
out the sons of Belial,
When the night impels babies
to retire to their cradles,
When the wiles of darkness
inculcate an aura of fear into
our minds.
Prolong your circles and
brighten our hope.
You produces light,
You illuminates season.
Your neighbor reigns over
days,
While you control the affairs
of darkness.
Dec 21, 2018
Dec 21, 2018 at 11:26 PM UTC
Put the long boat in the deep waters of the mind the calm peaceful knowing all is glowing we glide not
Knowing where were going the subconscious will be our guide dividing the two worlds the quiet
Submersible is wild anything may be floating in these depths we have left shore far behind truly
We have entered unchartered waters there is no fixable Bering a lustiness takes over there is no helm
Just a pervading looseness not unsettling but truly uncharacteristic for the coconscious must always
Have a grip a grasp of what is where it is and every detail must be quantified now all senses are blown
A storm is brewing its far reaches unknown but there is softness that excludes fear the overriding
Thought is possibilities can be forged maximized eternalized thoughts are ghost like unknown entities
They were formally known but now remain a mystery dislodged from thought bases that are not solid
All is free association tantalizing in one sense then disconcerting in another what do I do with my mind
Surly it has jumped off the track I could be bewildered if I could get a hold on the situation free flowing
Unspoken but still distinctively saying volumes where is the slow button reams voluminous thoughts
Are spewing into nothingness being lost I can’t keep up the discernible is mixed with eons and theorems
Time and space is void of meaning the world here is elastic mass it convulses at will no parameters exist
The only thing constant is high velocity change being in one place is impossible all is jumbled who stirred
This caldron in my mind voice and pure thought are the same think it know it what burdensome lives we
Live when it is all a tattered sail on rough seas we behold nothing know nothing in the extreme
Romanticism blurts out sail for Trafalgar we are strangers in a plush gifted void try as we will there is
No simple answers but we are a simple people truly the only time were are fit is when we are sound
Asleep well then sleep on and I will do the same dreaming is therapeutic just think how crazy we would
Be without it
Nov 17, 2011
Nov 17, 2011 at 5:41 AM UTC
I don't think there's anything in this world more comforting than you. More whirling and more excessively beautiful than your soul and your love.
The way my chest sinks when you pick a fight and I know that I **** up once again.
When you say its not important or it doesn't matter when we know **** well you'd sell your soul to get me on board.
How you press your lips together and bite your tongue with every lick of anger. Because you know how draining it is; internally fighting with yourself.
How you think you're not cute, and how I oppose to your negative thoughts. the way you see yourself is completely different from how we see you.
If you ever for a second thought that I was in betrayal of your love, the hounds were released and all is doomed to hell.
I know you care. Its so difficult not to hurt I wish you knew how loyalty surges through my veins and reminds me how good I have it with you.
I refuse. ******* refuse to let you down. and let you feel like you're not the only one. Not worthy enough, and yet again make you upset. I don't have the heart for it.
Don't you dare yell at me, you're way too cute when you do. Don't you dare make me want to kiss you, and just stare for hours into those gleaming eyes of yours.
You are everything. you don't know it. but you are, and you refuse to let yourself believe in it. but it's the truth. you're the world in a bundle of undivided love. and you know what? i love you
Apr 28, 2014
Apr 28, 2014 at 7:02 PM UTC
Love the way she smiles innocently
as we reunite after working a hard day
Love the way she holds closely
when we embrace each other in company
Love the way she teases secretly
as we network with the unconscious minds
Love the way she whispers softly
when we utter words resounding heart’s finds
When she comes, daylight sun glows
When she comes, summer wind blows
When she comes, time loses all flows
When she comes, life is just whole
Love the way she acts intensely
as we rendezvous in night’s covers
Love the way she stares passionately
when we kiss as two intense lovers
Love the way she moans distinctively
As we caress bodies with soulful desire
Love the way she moves uncontrollably
when we reach the epitome of love’s fire
When she comes, moments lose virginity
When she comes, passion sows fertility
When she comes, souls bask in serenity
When she comes, life shows no mortality.
Jul 1, 2013
Jul 1, 2013 at 11:21 AM UTC
I
She was distinctively radiant amongst the other schoolyard Angels. The smile- yes the smile, the one which glimmered against my soul silently, dancing every time our eyes connected. She- angelically pure, innocent, gentle as a fawn, awoke me to the possibilities of young love. The cobblestone romance (St.Patrick’s Catholic school, child grooming for the middle class) grew uncontrobaly, over shadowed by parental influence, Shakespearean at times. Yet amidst the confusion there was always that sweet sound of R&B; penetrating the mind of two souls on a dusty road. And yes the road was dusty, blinding, worn, but there was lost beauty in the road they shared, A stolen fragment in time. (“Little boy Lost, oh little boy lost – oh William Blake not now) a young man lost in un-warranted kick’s, let her hand slip…slowly….yet surely.
II
The haunting of time! time which they once shared. It’s funny to think of her now with lost eyes; broken pieces of time scattered on the ground; eternal images of her reflection slowly howling. When he ponders the frozen moment it produces smiles, smiles which can never be taken away. There were days when her scent was close to his nose, light winds of nostalgic breeze tickling the notion of remembrance, her electric current blazing through his soul in hopeless bliss. The two souls eventually found their own roads (distant) but the flame in her eyes never forgotten.
III
The Sunlight slowly began to fade on a brilliant day, hints of the sunlight’s glory painting its last masterpiece against the open sky and he writing it all down out the windowsill of his eyes. Nervous anticipation of broken time exists in his soul; it was like meeting someone for the first time, again. The slow wind gathered against his scarf making him shiver with anxiety while the familiar eyes locked, internally smiling. When she spoke it was as nothing had changed, the shyness dissipating into coffee house air, nervous giggle’s that they both shared. These two Shakespearean characters filling each other with overdue laughs. “Is it better to have loved and lost then to have never loved at all?” – who am I to ask I just write the stories.
Apr 11, 2012
Apr 11, 2012 at 9:48 PM UTC
Bedazzled Dreamer
Put the long boat in the deep waters of the mind the calm peaceful knowing all is glowing we glide not
Knowing where were going the subconscious will be our guide dividing the two worlds the quiet
Submersible is wild anything may be floating in these depths we have left shore far behind truly
We have entered unchartered waters there is no fixable Bering a lustiness takes over there is no helm
Just a pervading looseness not unsettling but truly uncharacteristic for the coconscious must always
Have a grip a grasp of what is where it is and every detail must be quantified now all senses are blown
A storm is brewing its far reaches unknown but there is softness that excludes fear the overriding
Thought is possibilities can be forged maximized eternalized thoughts are ghost like unknown entities
They were formally known but now remain a mystery dislodged from thought bases that are not solid
All is free association tantalizing in one sense then disconcerting in another what do I do with my mind
Surly it has jumped off the track I could be bewildered if I could get a hold on the situation free flowing
Unspoken but still distinctively saying volumes where is the slow button reams voluminous thoughts
Are spewing into nothingness being lost I can’t keep up the discernible is mixed with eons and theorems
Time and space is void of meaning the world here is elastic mass it convulses at will no parameters exist
The only thing constant is high velocity change being in one place is impossible all is jumbled who stirred
This caldron in my mind voice and pure thought are the same think it know it what burdensome lives we
Live when it is all a tattered sail on rough seas we behold nothing know nothing in the extreme
Romanticism blurts out sail for Trafalgar we are strangers in a plush gifted void try as we will there is
No simple answers but we are a simple people truly the only time were are fit is when we are sound
Asleep well then sleep on and I will do the same dreaming is therapeutic just think how crazy we would
Be without it
Aug 29, 2012
Aug 29, 2012 at 10:40 AM UTC
I wanna crawl inside my hoodie.
I wanna crawl inside my hoodie because it reminds me of how it felt to have your arms wrapped around my body
Like you didn't ever want to let go,
the strength in your embrace
told me that i was worth more than just a one night stand,
but in that case, why did you let go of my hand and walk away like you never had a right be be with me in the first place.
Things might have been a game to you, but i thought we were taking them seriously.
I have turned my hoodie into a cave and lately I've just been hibernating.
Inside my hoodie is 100’s of different smells, but only one distinctly tells me that I’m were home should be,
You cologne still lingering on it from the last time it enfolded your body,
Even though that was months ago,
I still remember it distinctively.
And I know you my friends told me that holding my hoodie close to my chest
Wont bring you back,
But its **** close.
Its been only a few months,
but I doubt you know that I still think about the way that we used to hold each other close because loving someone
doesn’t stop them from getting hurt,
and we were each others protectors.
I wanna crawl inside my hoodie because it reminds me of the hours spent on the phone when we should’ve been asleep,
You know we had school the next day,
but staying up late is hardly any consolation when you cant fall asleep without hearing their voice to keep you company inside you dreams.
I wanna crawl inside my hoodie
Because I can trace the outline of where your body used to be,
The lines in the fabric are like seeing the poems I wrote for you meticulously weaved together to create something warming.
And you never know how cold you can feel
Till all that’s left of your body heat was given to someone else
The moment you thought it was safe to take your heart from the shelf.
I never felt alone with till all I had left of you, was a **** hoodie.
And when it hangs in my closet at night the only thing I see is a skeleton,
Just bones hanging in my closet,
No flesh to hang onto,
I have nothing left of you to hang onto but that **** hoodie.
And I wanna crawl inside it most nights,
Because it feels like you’re hugging my body again,
and thats the closest I've been to you in months.
Aug 7, 2015
Aug 7, 2015 at 7:04 PM UTC
Meet Daniel. This is the man (or ghost) that haunts your house with only the worst intentions. He is what pushes all that darkness, fear, and hatred towards your soul while you helplessly turn towards that side you spat at only a minute ago. He loves to torture your dreams and hopefully distort your life permanently. As he moves along through the houses on the block, two items come with him, a dark orb told to be able to pass him into the dreams of all, and a pitch black skeletal poodle with every hair telling a story of each dream of the world. Daniel wears a black cloak layered over and over again and stiffened to the point of each layer flipping out and not moving. Although his whole body distinctively floats over the moon lit floors and his breath is gone, you can sometimes feel the thumping of something in your house, sometimes it sounds like a shy mouse skittering through the kitchen or a massive walrus flopping and leaving a wet trail behind. As he enters your blissful dream, his cold breath freezes your ear and locks all out of your mind. Your dream seems to take a turn for the worse too suddenly your happy moment becomes a nightmare and then so much worse. It becomes reality.
Mar 13, 2012
Mar 13, 2012 at 10:55 PM UTC
Put the long boat in the deep waters of the mind the calm peaceful knowing all is glowing we glide not
Knowing where were going the subconscious will be our guide dividing the two worlds the quiet
Submersible is wild anything may be floating in these depths we have left shore far behind truly
We have entered unchartered waters there is no fixable Bering a lustiness takes over there is no helm
Just a pervading looseness not unsettling but truly uncharacteristic for the coconscious must always
Have a grip a grasp of what is where it is and every detail must be quantified now all senses are blown
A storm is brewing its far reaches unknown but there is softness that excludes fear the overriding
Thought is possibilities can be forged maximized eternalized thoughts are ghost like unknown entities
They were formally known but now remain a mystery dislodged from thought bases that are not solid
All is free association tantalizing in one sense then disconcerting in another what do I do with my mind
Surly it has jumped off the track I could be bewildered if I could get a hold on the situation free flowing
Unspoken but still distinctively saying volumes where is the slow button reams voluminous thoughts
Are spewing into nothingness being lost I can’t keep up the discernible is mixed with eons and theorems
Time and space is void of meaning the world here is elastic mass it convulses at will no parameters exist
The only thing constant is high velocity change being in one place is impossible all is jumbled who stirred
This caldron in my mind voice and pure thought are the same think it know it what burdensome lives we
Live when it is all a tattered sail on rough seas we behold nothing know nothing in the extreme
Romanticism blurts out sail for Trafalgar we are strangers in a plush gifted void try as we will there is
No simple answers but we are a simple people truly the only time were are fit is when we are sound
Asleep well then sleep on and I will do the same dreaming is therapeutic just think how crazy we would
Be without it
Apr 30, 2013
Apr 30, 2013 at 4:28 PM UTC
Someone has restricted my wrists
Trapping me with iron chains and roughened ropes
Chafing a sour burn on me when I struggle
Trickling a harsh burn on my membrane
Intensified by the comprehension that I’ll never feel her touch again
Someone has shoved a *** of socks down my throat
Trickling the ever sour bile taste down my esophagus
Tarnishing my tastes permanently with the substance
Choking my breathing tubes with a surfacing lodge of *****
Worsened by the reality that I’ll never taste her lips on mine again
Someone has leaked chloroform inside the room
Smelling its’ vague yet distinctively sweet scent
Expanding in my nostrils the substance is
Rising to suffocate me with its scent
Knowing I’ll die with this scent in my senses instead of her’s
Someone has planted a speaker within these walls
Echoing replays of her voice in my mind
Rerunning the sound of her hysterics
Driving nails into my eardrums
Lodging the knowledge that I’ll never hear her laughter again
Someone has placed
Disorientation in front of me
Swirling confusion and vague pain
Swindling my common sense down to nothing
Masking the sharp feeling that she always gave me
May 30, 2011
May 30, 2011 at 8:27 PM UTC
The dead poet falls distinctively
Silent with his mind at rest
His heart & soul have separated
Leaving society at arms to obtain reality
Before his beauty is lost eternally
To the Earths sweet marrow.
The snow spreads it's blanket of disease
To ensure the common sheep's aspiring
For winter has arrived in full force
To isolate us from the only cure -
An untimely sun rising slow
Leaves us to wake with the stars.
Jul 4, 2010
Jul 4, 2010 at 3:46 AM UTC
*Walking on a ramp of hay
in a distinctively designed
gown of black with blue
Woven by weaver bird
stitched by tailor bird
making her look unique
Smiled the nightingale
Thanking judges with a coo !*
Mar 28, 2017
Mar 28, 2017 at 2:40 PM UTC
the classic. defines his essence.
has class but wears slip-on airwalks with a corduroy finish.
he is the un-official fragrance of California.
the blend. defines his unique musk.
creates his own signature scent. the aroma of lust.
he’s there. but not in the center.
the freshest. defines his presence.
casually sensual, yet professionally down-to-business.
his look. that stare. hearts he hypnotizes.
the drift. defines his confidence.
distinctively driven. to be assertive, yet ever so cleverly subtle.
she loves it. he knows the ingredients.
the scent. citrus and verbena.
‘herbal’ with a dry-down of jasmine and thyme.
bound to a hint of petuna’s hide.
the content. 12% oil blend for a compelling long last.
that won’t overpower the girl who’s time is spent basking
in another place. the great lakes.
the dirt. front row parking.
richness of the earth. fresh sea. warm sun.
acqua di gio. gendarme.
Mar 12, 2017
Mar 12, 2017 at 8:41 AM UTC