"emptily" poems
Leave me fear
Strangle my tears
Make way and get out of here
Baby, it's not easy playing the fool behind the wooden stool
And as I lay down in my bed the shadow lingers overhead
I look up, but I'm alone, Oh my baby,
Where are you ?
Staring emptily at the ceiling, driving through the madness in sin
Knew my mistakes were unforgivable, but mama, you gotta give me one more chance
It's never easy, going through the greys, blending in,
That black sorrowful heart, a remembrance of innocence
"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today"
It's the only words I heard
I was breathing & alive
But looking at my own grave
Under empty sky
Staring at the light
Not noticing I was holding life hostage
But with no right, I look for a purpose
A cause for the insignificance of my life
To deliver the promise of the love I couldn’t give to you
That you deserve, my mistress, my phantom, my lady in white,
Under the moon at midnight, in between words we linger, and I bloom
I don't want to be blue, but I don't want you to leave
In limbo or incognito, whichever way, it's deceit
I have lost and loved, but never myself
I feel you, but I don't know your name
We will go together till the end
I stand by you
Mysterious lover & friend
Oct 27, 2013
Oct 27, 2013 at 9:36 AM UTC
Please come and find me.
Playful whispers in the dark.
Who am I calling?
I suppose...
My baby,
Can I call you baby?
O sweet lullabyes in the night,
Hold me in mild constriction.
Squeeze a little bit tighter, love.
I don't know how much time I have left.
Delusional!
Alone on the vacuum.
Scratching at air for any oxygen my depraved lungs can find,
Suffocating on your love,
Choking on your divinity.
Oh darling,
My sweet crimson lover
Dancing on the bridge of death at the break of dawn,
You swing me in your arms,
Tight tongue behind your violent grin,
Your hair grows stars, and your arms bend time,
my fatal partner in a tango to the edge of the earth.
Heartless as you torture me,
Wrench my soul playfully,
Foolishly and ignorantly,
Pulling my strings.
Enacting
autopilot daydreams
Painting mindless patterns
On an inky black sky,
Orange slices on existential beach
Sparkling warm coast,
The cosmos like a bright sunny day above.
Bitter ashes mix and churn with the sand,
I'm sinking,
Quickly,
Help me!
But you just watch.
And I sink until I hit the bottom
And there I lie,
Falling asleep to as my grief fills the ocean.
The zodiac locked fate,
Fish and Virgins! Fish and Virgins!
Poets and failures,
Academics and frauds,
Spring and summer to autumn and madness,
My eternal indigo diary,
My blueberry lipstick,
My lavender kiss.
Leaving light stains on my love-lorn letters,
Mailed to you on Sunday,
Delivered along the Milky Way.
Waiting emptily,
In an empty white asylum,
With an empty mind,
Waiting for you,
My answer,
My meaning,
My red and blue jumper.
Not standing up to stretch,
But sitting still,
Letting my bones grow stiff,
To creak under my weight,
Like an old back porch,
Made for a pair of old lovers,
Desolate,
Withered by neglect,
Empty.
A pointless pray for solace,
In hope you will come,
My prince of waves,
My fifth science,
My escape from this never ending sporadic spiral down into the murky, dusty, purple fog of asinine and inane.
My peace of mind.
My baby.
Can I call you baby?
Mar 27, 2019
Mar 27, 2019 at 8:51 PM UTC
I’m stumbling through a black abyss,
Surrounded by this nothingness,
Mirroring the emptiness,
inside my soul.
Along the way I find a lake,
A lake upon the path I take,
And near the lake there lies a sign,
Just before the water’s line.
And this is what the sign does say
,The sign I find upon my way:
“Here lies the gateway to the soul,
So look within if that’s your goal.”
So I kneel within this black abyss,
And gaze upon the lake’s surface,
My reflection meets my eyes,
A face I do not recognize.
And as I look upon this face,
Despising she who took my place,
I feel my anger over flow,
And finally I let it go.
“You ignorant and petty fool!
You errant-minded, useless tool!
Oh look at you, what you’ve become!
Don’t you see how far you’ve fallen from?”
My reflection does not answer me,
Just stares back out so emptily,
A sight that draws forth unshed tears,
And rekindles all my greatest fears.
“What happened to the face I knew?
What happened to the real you?
You are everything you once opposed!
You are a fraud! And everyone knows.”
My reflection simply stares at me,
It does not move, nor answer me,
Nor does it return my shout,
It does nothing, just stares back out.
“You are the reason for the emptiness!
You are the reason for this black abyss!
For everything that’s trapped me here!
You are the face behind my fear!”
Then looking down upon this lake,
This lake upon the path I take,
I realize it is no lake at all,
Only a mirror upon the wall.
Nov 11, 2012
Nov 11, 2012 at 10:17 PM UTC
A hand on a throat, where if all fingers touch, the throat
turns to ash. The villain of an anime I now watch
clutches the hero with his middle-finger aired
before the vital moment. I jump
on holiday off a cliff
and my chest stumbles with simulations. My body angled
poorly as I could slap headfirst. I was warned that my feet
should sink first if I merely fall. If I dive, my fingers
should first touch the water. I am depressed
the months before. College student, America. So far off, so cold
from the landlock of my birth. And the summer
study-abroad, double-abroad. In Italy
I was watching the Creation show itself on old ceilings
in marble-rooms, looking for some culture
that might have been ours if not for the pillagings that brought
gold and bodies to shape that gold into buildings like this. So I jump
and fall. And shiver emptily. It is the same feeling as the nights
on the bed thinking of futures without this self. Thinking as if
I did not exist. Ignored emails from therapists. And here *this
feeling!*: it made me want to live. So I jump again
on the higher ledge. My friend afterwards asks if I'm okay.
I'm shaking slightly. I'm without words. I laugh
with the same absence as any birth. A baby's confused cry
without tears. A long way down. What blue-green water,
as if dug for in the earth and sold for courtyard dances.
It glimmers all over my body, frizzes
up my hair as my ****** curls soak it, squeezes it down my face,
down towards my neck like fingers.
The villain walks away. The next time the hero sees him
he should be careful. He will have decided to **** me by then.
Dec 4, 2018
Dec 4, 2018 at 11:51 PM UTC
She could see her arm through the sleeves of her dress
They rested so far from one of the sides
And yet the mirror said she needed to be more light.
Most of the days
She was afraid she would be too much
For a guy to own
Her heart had long been strangled
By her load
And so she no longer ate.
But, here she was months later
Owning half of what she had
And yet carrying too much ,
Her heart was a bit afloat
But still dragged was her soul
For the mirror said
She needed to be more hollow.
Her ribs poked her chest,
She felt them with her fingers
When she was in her room alone,
No one could see them,
She wouldn't let anyone so close
But she wondered if they could feel those bones
Maybe they would have considered her light.
Undressed after a bath
She would turn around at the mirror
Gazing at her backbone- gazing back .
It was all so clear now
You could almost count the bones
Yet the mirror said she must be a bit more hollow.
Her hands were now so much more thin
You could hold them in the stretch of your thumb
And maybe your little finger
And even though you would laugh at her length
She would be scared by your touch
So that you do not know.
Of all the things she lost,
Her sullen cheeks to her coat,
Her smile was the thing she misses most.
Now her smile was too empty,
Previously it was fastened to her face
Now the hollow mouth almost appears
As if her smile would just fall of,
She is now shy to smile
She often wonders back to the day
When that guy had said
She had a beautiful smile.
But you wouldn't know
Photographs never really captured her
Now not anymore.
She often stumbles now,
Lighter to her feet
She does get up herself,
But she wonders now and then
If it had been because most of her
Was now gone.
So vacantly, emptily she walks
A few watch her go,
The world is the mirror
With no memory of the past,
It still calls her heavy
With no appreciation of what she has become.
She has lost herself
And the world needs her
To lose herself more.
She wonders if it's time
To have their demands finally denied.
How much more could she afford to lose ?
How long until she dies?
Apr 16, 2017
Apr 16, 2017 at 3:16 AM UTC
If Emily Dickinson was writing a suicide letter:
Dear Soft Reality,
Your presence brings me grief and your absence leaves me emptily blissful. You leave my heart to suffer under your cold dagger of truth. I see no purpose to further seek you, only to face my murderer in the bitter realms of my heart that have been so tortured by your harsh precision. To go on would be madness, but perhaps that is what I have become. A madwoman, trapped by lies of true love and wishful thinking. My heart was so filled with the falsity that has become love, and compassion. To completely give yourself to somebody, to find out that their heart already belongs to another fortunate soul, has by far been the down fall of my sanity. I cannot cry any more, what good would it do. I cannot deny the truth that my love has been poured into an bottomless pitcher…but oh how beautiful that pitcher was. It promised me everything I could dream of, so pristine and clean, signifying all that is good. It was decorated with ornate blossoms that told of new beginnings and hope and it’s spout was graced with delicate greenery that promised fortitude and protection from all that could bring harm. Now all I see is despair. As I took a closer look at its intricate detail, I began to nice the rotting leaves that lay beneath the blossoms, and the tiny thorns that lay prominently on the vinery across the spout. It has been a trap from the beginning, and I am in love with it.
However, I have poured my soul into that pitcher, and I have nothing left. My heart is parched and crackling, and my love has dried up on the shores of desperation. All that I have loved is gone, and my hope of release lies in a steel barrel of pain that lies in my left hand. It is beautifully real. I can wrap all of my loathing fingers around its cold trigger; it shows me the only truth that has been made clear to me. Death. I have been yet a tall drink, chilled on ice, numbed to reality, sipped on by the devil himself. Well the devil has had his share and is drunk on my love, leaving me an empty glass, with melted ice. I can feel every pang of you. There is nothing more for me here.
I shall introduce this truth to my mouth, and it will be sweet, like the first time I met his lips, so gentle and unassuming. Only this time, when death is promised, it will not be masked with love and tenderness. My tongue will make love to its silver bullet, as my mind slips into peace and silence from the wolves of my torment.
Feb 18, 2014
Feb 18, 2014 at 3:35 AM UTC
Amongst the flowers I
am alone with my *** of wine
drinking by myself; then lifting
my cup I asked the moon
to drink with me, its reflection
and mine in the wine cup, just
the three of us; then I sigh
for the moon cannot drink,
and my shadow goes emptily along
with me never saying a word;
with no other friends here, I can
but use these two for company;
in the time of happiness, I
too must be happy with all
around me; I sit and sing
and it is as if the moon
accompanies me; then if I
dance, it is my shadow that
dances along with me; while
still not drunk, I am glad
to make the moon and my shadow
into friends, but then when
I have drunk too much, we
all part; yet these are
friends I can always count on
these who have no emotion
whatsoever; I hope that one day
we three will meet again,
deep in the Milky Way.
Feb 1, 2016
Feb 1, 2016 at 7:02 PM UTC
“creamy unto delicious” he marvels and marvelously replies,
when a hazy memory from mournings past asks howz it taste?
this café au lait in a french handleless cup big enough to drown
your bad dreams, just the thing, the A way to start to day, manufacturing schemes to wipe the slate or just add to a long longingly “to never do” list, time frozen, whitened emptily clean, a familiar frenemy
but staying in bed on a beauty of mostly sunny, partly cloudsy day,
is tempting now that he is armed and dangerous with mug gigantic,
doing nothing is so sublime, until a lunchtime of Corona and lime,
reminds you that dinner planning will be needed under the influence of vin rosé, ordering by app so easy, marveling at the choicest array, easy quick under his non-currant existence, wordplay for no-audience
when there is no one there to disagree or temper your eyes appetite,
or bring you café with heart designs in caramel and white, or inquire
howz it taste so you nonetheless reply out loud with tears while wondering how memories live-on, in drinks and catch phrases,
you answer when she no longer, not here to ask, to gentle reprimand,
but answer the answer to everything, with an all encompassing
crémeux à délicieux creamy unto delicious,
reminder to David, you now, king of nothingness, shepherd of no one,
no longer need a real voice to answer unto anything
~for my lover of everything french~
Jun 8, 2019
Jun 8, 2019 at 9:18 AM UTC
I.
Few of us seek for any of those keys
Of which graduation orators speak
Nor would most bother with the battery
In that old lamp of which they’ve never heard
They do not push against a golden door
They expect all doors to be opened for them
They read no books, they do not read, they feel
They only feel, they do not write, they stare
So emptily away, then back again
An empty stare into, within the self
The empty chatter of the ceaseless self
Each self in pain from arrogant self-pity
Each centers himself in a universe
His universe of the eternal now
His universe of the eternal me
And thinks not of beyond himself at all
But, still –
II.
There are those few who seek for eternal Truth
Not for some shabby metaphorical keys;
They light the lamp, they lift the lamp, and look
Not at themselves but at the light, the Light
They shyly, slowly open the wardrobe door
They peek inside, they look, they see, they see
A world beyond their own; they step into
And through, and so they are given themselves
They seek for something else, and find themselves
A world of words and music and magic and light
And the Light is not them but upon them
The Light is the center, and gives them light
They give away themselves and so gain crowns
Unasked and so more happily received
They read and write and sing the happiness
Unasked and thus given, among the stars
III.
Forever
Sep 13, 2018
Sep 13, 2018 at 3:39 PM UTC
"How have you been?"
You asked me emptily out of habit.
To tell you the truth?
Let me think.
To tell you the truth, I stopped eating three months ago,
But you wouldn't notice that.
To tell you the truth, I'm having an affair with my manager,
But you wouldn't care about that.
To tell you the truth, I've been depressed and suicidal since you left me,
But you wouldn't want to know that.
To tell you the truth, I have empty liquor bottles laced through my apartment,
But you already know that.
To tell you the truth, I've developed a stutter from my antisocial anxiety disorder,
But you could hear that.
To tell you the truth, I've reopened those scars on my arm from when I was ten,
But you could see that.
To tell you the truth, I'm still in love with you,
But you couldn't handle that.
So I just said
Good
And avoided eye contact to avoid the chance you'll see past
My lie.
Jun 25, 2013
Jun 25, 2013 at 3:37 PM UTC
"What do you really want?"
I was embarrassed to respond emptily
"What does your soul pray for?"
To finally admit I'm of air
It's all show and no well
You cant dive in me
Im ankle deep
Sep 3, 2018
Sep 3, 2018 at 9:37 PM UTC
Separated by the causeway
Two people stare
Emptily
As the second hand glides
Each tick-tock
On the clock
Reverberates through the chilling silence
Of their minds
9.14pm
Their mind goes back
To year Twenty-Oh-Five
When they almost slipped
Into slumber-land
But then the child's soul slipped
Away from his body
Turning lifeless
Without a goodbye
This day is not a simple day
To pass
It marks their strength
To fight
It marks their bravery
To face the odds
It marks a day
When he'll live in our hearts
Forever
Nov 18, 2013
Nov 18, 2013 at 8:57 AM UTC
We sculpt clay into the things
we cannot force our bodies into
we string the alphabet
into stories we are afraid to live
we paint with colors we cannot see
and we ignore the music
inside the beat of our hearts
as we forget what it means to live
we muse on what was
once beautiful about being alive
and forget our thoughts
as we stare emptily to the sky
and the night swallows the day
and the day murders the night
and prayers become graveyards
for dead gods
and our beds become coffins
for dreams
round and round the clay
of the earth spins
and slips through our fingers
as time is something we waste
and our reflection
is a ghost of once was
and what could be
if we could only remember
who we were before
we became prisoners inside
our own minds and found shame
in the shape of our flesh
before we needed the alphabet
to speak of love
and metaphors to hide behind
and fairy tales to mend our wounds
back when the music
inside the beat of our hearts
was all we needed
to know that we were beautiful
Dec 24, 2017
Dec 24, 2017 at 6:33 PM UTC
"Come, sit down." the healer says
as her patient gazes emptily.
Clinic was dim, table's a mess
"Here's a cup of tea."
The healer dusts her hands on her coat
stained from making medicine.
"What are you here for today?"
"Same as last time, but I have caved in."
"I know just what you need,"
the healer unsheathes a frame.
The patient woefully sighs and
sobs without a bit of shame.
"I can't look again, it reminds me of her!"
to a portrait of a mother and daughter.
"Don't worry," says the healer,
"Tomorrow, it will get better."
The clinic was her art studio;
the medicine were the paintings.
The healer was an artist—
an empath in broken things.
"*Through art, dismantle your heart
embrace the facts of your pain.
The wounds of the past shall heal
and your love for life shall remain.*"
Nov 8, 2018
Nov 8, 2018 at 11:01 AM UTC
I hurt myself again today,
To see if I still feel pain.
The needle tears a hole,
The old familiar sting ,
Try to **** myself again,
But it's just another fail.
What did you become?
My sweetest friend,
Everyone I love, dies and goes away
In the end.
you left me it all,
In our empire of dirt,
you killed yourself, you let me down,
you made me hurt.
I wear this crown of thorns,
my self destruction affair,
Full of broken thoughts,
That I cannot repair.
Beneath the stains of time,
They said that The feelings would disappear,
You are dead and gone,
But I am still right here.
If I could start again with you,
A million miles away,
I would keep you so safe,
I would find a way,
To make sure that you stayed.
Why wasn't I good enough to save you from destruction?
I pray for the rain,
Are you up there?
Do you listen?
They say that if you **** yourself,
You will be sent to hell,
But God, were you an angel,
Beautifully, brokenly, emptily impelled.
Sep 27, 2016
Sep 27, 2016 at 10:31 AM UTC
I do not claim to know much
Though I'm told each day is a lesson
Yet every hour seems
To layer question upon question
I find it sadly strange
That by a truce I'm worn thin
My heart finds itself confused
With nothing left to win
That night I walked away
One thing I should have said-
*You were nothing more
Than a warm body in my bed*
Maybe then I wouldn’t
Have to watch your hands entwine
With the silk palms of another
While I stare emptily at mine.
Jan 27, 2013
Jan 27, 2013 at 7:43 PM UTC
i am well rehearsed
in the art
of making my dad feel better.
on the days when he sits in his chair
his mustache drooping,
his hair seemingly greying before my eyes,
staring at the floor
emptily,
i know how to make him
smile.
i'll contort my face into silly expressions
whinneeeee
and wheeeddlleeee
and joke
until i tease that smile
out of him.
sometimes when he's unlocking the door
i'll hug him
just for no reason.
he needs
all the hugs he can get
mom robbed him
of four different sized hugs
that are due
every single day
but he gets
once a month
if he is lucky
he has four
child-shaped holes
in his heart
and one
mom-shaped one
i try
to squeeze them shut
with my arms.
Apr 25, 2013
Apr 25, 2013 at 2:54 PM UTC
Sharply played notes ring in the air,
You hear its shrill sound, but from where?
It starts to buzz, and you wonder why
No one else noticed this screeching cry.
The noise of static suddenly flares,
You can't help but emptily stare
As this boisterous clamor grinds
At the inside of your clattered mind.
This cacophony soon makes you weak,
You can't help but produce a shriek!
Your screams will soon become quite hoarse,
And none will fathom your discourse.
Soon, this tumultuous discord
Puts you in a downwards spiral,
And all the others somehow ignore
This hellish fright, so wickedly vile.
Apr 19, 2016
Apr 19, 2016 at 4:02 AM UTC
My hope is sequestered in a black void; it is hopelessly adrift in a tumultuous mass of negativity that devours any veins of light that dare to reveal themselves.
I would follow it into the blackness if the thick, poisonous tendrils of gloom didn't bar my way. It seems that any heartfelt attempts at breaking down the blockage results in terrible growth of the tendrils, and so I'm emptily bound; my emotion has seeped into nonexistence.
Nov 10, 2015
Nov 10, 2015 at 5:15 PM UTC
Her eyes stare out
Into emptily brimming space
At the lives that run before her
Almost touching, seeming to reach out
But never crossing paths
Oblivious to her presence
She sits, surrrounded by surreality
By the irony of her twisted fate
To be so close to human touch,
to the relief of shared laughter and tears
And still, trapped in a tomb of solitude
Unmoved by a smile that sneaks
Across her face as a stranger smiles back
For such is transient, never to be realized
As a bigger part, of eternity
Slowly, gently, tendrils of her being
Creep toward another soul
Cautiously approach, then close around
Only to be severed
Ousted by a stronger spirit
And then she saw, a glimmer of light
That closed in on her, swallowed her whole
And she lived in the rays of starlight
For a time
Twice, in four hundreds of days
The lambency would engulf her
With the clemency of company
And then shut her in darkness
And now she stays, alone in a crowd
The silence is deafening
As her heart screams out
For the starlight to touch
Her hand once again
Dec 18, 2014
Dec 18, 2014 at 7:55 AM UTC
I don't know how it happened.
This leviathan,
Dismissed so casually.
All glory —
Now fading and unknown.
Promises emptily rescinded,
Without consequence.
Without care.
The woman only known in my arms.
Now happy without this tender embrace.
One of us in ruins.
One of us reborn.
All passion and fury denied...
Rendered in pity,
Shameful and frail.
Once a lion,
Once a titan,
Once a myth!
Now a fool.
You are the hunger I never knew.
The night rain.
The stars.
What is left without you?
Only disgrace,
Only mourning.
Empty breath.
I regret nothing.
Dec 15, 2014
Dec 15, 2014 at 3:18 PM UTC
She draws your eyes at first when you look/
Her soft hair falls like water drawn by electricity.
In the corner spines try and strangle books.
Or some sort of bone- might not be a spine.
But they are forcing them shut. Such crooks.
Creeping in the corner of the warmer side of the room
Is a man who stares like he longs to be her groom.
I assume he’s the focus that your not supposed to notice.
“Don’t try and draw meaning! It’s useless to do so”,
Cries the voice in my head as I try and make my thoughts slow.
I shall just gaze emptily. Theres plenty to please
my eyes without meaning rotting my brain like disease.
But theres need to unravel why he glares at her crimson.
Why crimson? Why Crimson? I have to listen.
“ Perhaps his face is the blood that runs through us.
A symbol of lust? Love? Or Mistrust. Lets discuss”/
I must shut this noise at once. Enough.
I can’t start tying this to myself or my own health.
Ignore what is felt, focus on the symbols with context.
Think of what is in front of you not what might be next.
“ But whats next messed before. ******* it right up.
The man had been hexed in folk tale made up!
She stole the symbol and painted him to creep up.”
Regardless, Lets part with these thoughts and just focus.
Theres locust that leap beneath her feet we didn’t notice.
Now Locusts can be hopeless but also denote somewhat biblically.
Perhaps this plague lurking is his misery? Represented Physically
“ By a woman on a hill painted with locust covered feet.
A crimson man behind her sat creeping perched on a seat.
In the corner theres a pile of books with titles you can’t read.
And spines try and choke them but instead they somehow feed."
And all this by a woman who I know could not see me.
Sep 30, 2014
Sep 30, 2014 at 4:43 PM UTC
It stalks around the house, muttering through doorcracks,
And smiling emptily like a plastic thing while its
Sick shriveled eyes roll in its skull, searching for something
To bite the head off of with yellow, grinning teeth.
No one else is allowed one: brain, ears, tongue . . .
Dangerous things that dig up questions like worms.
No heads for you.
It is Head.
Head is it.
Dec 25, 2012
Dec 25, 2012 at 2:43 PM UTC
you created this
can’t you see? it’s you
the way you want to be.
a bright flare
of pure white light, stark
against the bloodied canvas
of your reality;
your hands
reaching out
emptily
towards salvation
stop it.
they aren’t going to save you.
who’s going to save you?
me
you’re going to save you
Mar 11, 2019
Mar 11, 2019 at 8:56 PM UTC