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Skye Childs Jul 2014
We all need our walls
They keep out that which is unwanted

So, you ***** a simple structure of wood

But wood can be burned
And is therefore, insufficient

So, you build it up with brick
Encasing either side

But brick can be crushed to powder
And wood can be burned
And is therefore, insufficient

So, you build it up with granite stone
Encasing either side

But granite stone can be mined away
And brick can be crushed to powder
And wood can be burned
And is therefore, insufficient

So, you build it up with wrought iron
Encasing either side

But wrought iron breaks if struck in the right place
And granite stone can be mined away
And brick can be crushed to powder
And wood can be burned
And is therefore, insufficient

So, you build it up with four-inch steel
Encasing either side

But four-inch steel can be cut away
And wrought iron breaks if struck in the right place
And granite stone can be mined away
And brick can be crushed to powder
And wood can be burned
And is therefore, insufficient.

But then you ponder
The wood
The brick
The granite
The iron
The steel

And you realize
In trying to protect your soft core
In trying to spare others from the radiation that is your uniqueness
In building your fortress
You have isolated yourself

And though you feel your wall
Will always be insufficient

In truth

Nobody
Will ever be determined enough
Or brave enough
To cut away the four-inch steel
To strike and break the iron
To mine away the granite stone
To crush the brick to powder
To burn the wood
And crush the brick to powder
And mine away the granite stone
And strike and break the iron
And cut away the four-inch steel

In keeping others out
You have locked yourself in
Your own private, frozen hell
Of toxic radiation

The ice consumes you
And only you can thaw it
The wall looms tall and dark
And only you can demolish it
You cannot stop being who you are
And only you can convince yourself that you are not toxic

But you were never truly trying to keep others out, were you?
You were trying to keep out yourself

You are your own worst enemy
Rockie Dec 2014
Touch Upon My Insanity
She whispers
Into the white walls
Touch Upon My Insanity
She cries
To the men and women in white coats
Touch Upon My Insanity
She screams
At the white buckled jacket
Encasing her
In a never-ending repetition of
Touching Upon Insanity
Debbie Brindley Jun 2018
Immerse me in your music
Let your melody
dance upon my skin
Surround me
in the notes you play
****** me from within
The music takes over
My body starts to sway
Emotion flows from your guitar
It's rhythm taking me away
On a journey
to where there is nothing
but your music surrounding me
Encasing my whole body
in the beauty
of its lyrical melody
My husband was a fabulous guitarist. I miss hearing him play
j Jan 2014
I feel that the body I have been given is too small
too small for the infinities that my mind and soul create
inside of me every minute, of every day

like my brain is wild with ideas too big
to fit inside their casing
and my body too weak, to hold my thoughts

words do not come easy to me, though not through lack of language.
There is too much inside my head to unscramble the jumbled mess
of words and thoughts and ideas, too strong, too strong for me

this body is weak in comparison to the colours and feelings inside of me
this measly shell, restricting my mind from reaching out
and experiencing the true form of this world, and the next

a flesh encasing that my brain is dependant on, yet what if it were not?
what if my soul was cast adrift with ideas I was not aware had came to exist
what if once my mind was free? what would happen then?

my mind is living somewhere else,
and I think that is where my soul eternally resides
and I will find it one day, one day, one day
Dani Oct 2018
A beautiful mountain, white with snow
A light breeze, a wind ice cold
Frozen in time, I stare in awe
Under ice is a heart so raw
Diamonds glistening, ice shimmering
An imbalance of time and minds dancing
Beauty and despair frozen in ice
Waiting for summer sun to pay the price
Still and quiet, but the pain screams in your head
Frozen in place beside your bed
Staring into the pains
A hundred rocks flow through your veins
A thousand needles biting skin
Outward calm, but screaming within
Summer warmth approaching
Ice slowly melting, diamonds gleaming
With perseverance you break the ice
It falls, shattering, what a sacrifice
I watch as there is nothing I can do
As your body shed the ice encasing you
It is beauty and despair, intertwined
Dripping to the floor, Oh how I adore
To watch you come alive. An uproar!
No longer frozen, full of motion
As if watching a glistening ocean
You stand tall, high above us all
For you melted the ice, made it fall
Leaving only a memory
Your fight so strong, dauntlessly
Standing, living, believing, and yet...
Your feet are wet, so with regret
I must inform of icy returns
Gone are the days of summer sunburns
For ice will come, it will be done
Your body shunned from our warm sun
You will freeze again, be lost again
Icy diamonds will shine like back then
You must remain strong while waiting,
Frozen in time that is crippling
Shed your ice everyday, overcome
One day Summer will stay and all this will be done
Auto-immune diseases has riddled my mother, and some days myself. Sometimes it feels as though you are frozen in ice waiting for the pain to end. I remember my mother being up at 4 am to allow body to "shed the ice" and get through the stiffness and pain that came every night.
Paul Williams Feb 2010
stitched Teal fabric
snugly hugs the hills and valleys
of fat and muscle
encasing the frail ivory timber within
Raphael Cheong Sep 2014
What has become of us
Amidst the hustle and bustle of city life
When did evolution condone us to regress into a state
Of uncalculated caucus
As we meander our way through the rapids of life

Rapid
Is hardly a best-fit descriptor
For we are past the point of speed
We mill around like headless horses
Buzzing bees
Stinging roaches
Fallen leaves
Roaring lions
Try to lead
But fail
Like cottons fighting breeze

Is this all we are?
Is this what we were made for?
To quickly climb the climb
And await the graceless fall
Parachutes prepared for praise
But our pride prevents and prevails

Till the day I climb the ladder
Shall I not attempt to see
What the view at the top might be like
I fear it enthralls me
But then reality strikes like a maddening blaze
And suddenly I see
That I'm well on my way up the hill
As I swing from bridge to bridge

Is this the way to live?
Uncautious steps with kleptomaniac ease
As we take what we desire
From our capitalistic divider
Though we hate to be the same
Not at all do we differ
Are we not all blinded mice
With a tetra-human vice
Spiders apt at spinning lies
Banking life on Friday highs

All around me boring beasts
Lost to whims, to say the least
What I fear most is the day
I give in and join the race
Is the day I eat my heart out
Just to enjoy the highest gaze

Till then here trapped in the zoo
Enclosure encasing truth

Finding fault with every human till the day I conform too
vircapio gale Oct 2012
what did it take for me to miss those days?
crawling breathless,
stomach nails for breakfast, ventricles of rust,
pounding on my ribs with any upright task
from soaking bed delirium,
corroded mind and eyeballs
tortured falun dafa tears
stinging on the walls a glowing red,
my branching veins encasing me in flaming
paths of mystery: to live or die, to try or fail
at simple efforts
--never gone without, since infanthood--
to stand itself a tissue horror
bathing in the needles of another lifeform's hold on me,
that spiral nesting multitasker
legions in the joints,
invading forces claiming spinal tower-riches
as if my thoughts will be my last,
originary flickerings of self, sacked and razed,
the burning out of novelty for bottom emptiness
and only sympathies malinger there--
yet vaster frame invisible to healthy eye emerged:
a sea, empathic with my prior paths from health diverged:
adrenal waves and dolphin plays of other air ensouled i purge
with cascade urges tension mixing universal breath
of statements, fears and wry coercings not to think of death
or tempting near the abolition of a system *****
for all the benison it's bound to store for years
of hiding blind and uttering the shield-word
of our sly, superficial, group-stock lies,
to have us screaming at each other out of only kneejerk love
a mask of fodder from our young dogmatic wanderings
they burn and burn and choke like spirochetes themselves
while shoving under family rugs the truth

cicada shells clung eerily against the burls and branches
of a monumental tree itself a deathly symbol bare of green
like ornaments of rhythm upsurge birthing into death digest
the exoskeletal remains, under finger crunched as
up the bark i climbed
to view what death had taken value on for me, and balanced
up atop the hill of faded names i yearned the meanings of,
and in the clouds
a part revealed
a sunny mist,
to paint me colorful again--
and in that mood a hail began to tick on forest floor:
the brittle dead a singing whisper flaking brown
on brown, on earthy brown to gather white within the paper nooks of leafy drums

how whimsically to service death
anon anon for now they're always lying there
across the road atop the grave hill,
from other species hunted here
but this, that time it was a carved skull
hacked or sawed but yards from peaceful temple yard
another, cleaner omen skull had led me there,
ochre red with emerald mold
the cranial pale divided stop and go
and led me wondering within the stream
to notice other signs i half-expected mystically:
surreal blood abundantly with vulture feathers carpeting the scene:
a stag with missing brain, missing hind and organs
chosen how, i'd never know
--i saw the arrow though, a barb of certainty--
and old fur, gray and white, a timely passing then,
to make of gore a sacred right,
and in hale ignorance i prayed like only atheists can pray
with self-disclaiming smirk but
humble authenticity of unknown forces
biding in the impulse-meaning-gathering of earth,
now memory to glean and hold to live in me
Sir Nitro Jun 2016
All alone laying in wait, for your dreams to come true, the dreams of your Daddy, to come and take you to a new place.
As I enter your room, the darkness is erased, my power you feel as reach for your hand, bring you to your feet look at my face.

Quickly, I wrap my ropes around you, encasing my body in an elaborate web, criss crossing the rope no more mobility.
Arms tight behind you elbows together, I lay you gently down as I stand above you, admiring my work and my ability.

Laying on your back fully pinned down your legs spread wide exposing my very special kitty in all of its naked glory
I begin to finger you as I kiss and **** on my ****, ******* in you making you nice and wet, I look up with no worry.

My lips **** up your wetness, I come to you and share your taste, you lick my lips before I take you and kiss you deep.
Your lolli is hard, ready to pounce, but I will have to wait, your pleasure is my only concern, even though it starts to seep.

**** galore spread all in you, I press down gently on your ***** bone, as I enter a third finger which is nice and tight.
You gasp as you adjust to the size, dilation begins you are opening up. Wider for daddy as he makes you feel right.

Kissing you softly stroking my kitty, look in your eyes, blue on blue, lost and in your gaze, ready to give you some more.
Slide gently the last finger in, slowly my kitty begins to expand, I wait a bit longer as I give you all of my four.

Twist my hand, slightly to the side, as I tuck my thumb under my fingers and begin to slowly press up in to my hole.
I stop for a moment as you whimper for the discomfort, I ease your mind, your pleasure is my only true goal.

Relaxed you now become as I get my hand fully in you, My first is buried as I massage your spot, you try to buck.
Bucking against my hand you are bound too tight, my hands is in you, beyond my wrist, now baby girl I will ****.

I ******* hard in and out, you start to scream in pleasure and delight, as I re position myself to give you a salty treat.
My **** placed deep in your throat, ****** starts filling you full, don’t lose a drop, or suffer you will, no more defeat.

My kitty tightens down on my hand, I feel it pulsate, it clamps my hand, my hand aches, i pound harder, deeper inside.
You scream out wanting more, I push harder as you bite down on the pillow, you are for sure daddy’s pride.
I
A body of white walls
houses familiarity

Somehow even familiarity
distorted itself
beneath raw cinder blocks
doused white enough
that I could see
the eyes of the past
the eyes of the future
looking back at me,
the eyes of the present

Must journey
behind the white walls
into the familiar unknown

For there is something there

Beyond walls
so very high

They
only crumble,
only die

For there is something there

I must look now
through the deep crevices
deep through my mind

For there is something there

Do I find?

I see people
I see minds
Beyond the white walls
looking back
at I

Why oh why
must I continue?
looking forward
only to
look back again

I am stuck,
encased inside
eternity

Only looking back
to find
a way out
a way out
of me

Me
I have always
been my own infinity

Inside, a prisoner
handcuffed to
the white walls
I am shackled here,
alive
kicking

Death
here in the
eternal infinity

Great intellects
dead,
killed by me

I am my own infinity

I must **** me
I will be free
no longer shackled

I am my own infinity
I am my own uncertainty
I am my own familiarity

It is me
I am my own infinity

The white walls
close in on me,
my own infinity

I do not want to change myself
I do not want to change me

I change
I die

Death’s kiss might be sweet
death’s kiss may free me,
finally

Yet
I cannot accept it
I will not

I just want to be me
but I am everyone else
and they are me
my own infinity

Everything that is
is so very much
everything that is’nt

Beyond the white walls
are nothing you see

White walls
everywhere

White walls
everything

Encasing all
of us

It is here,
it is here

The white walls
shackle us,
shackle us
to
reality,
society


There is forever
no infinity
in me

The familiarity
tastes of death
mistaken for
reality
society

The burning truth

The familiarity
the distorted familiarity
that
is
reality
society

We rely on each other
So much we shoot
each other

We are not strong
We are not smart

We can be
We can’t be

If we break
the shackles
If we keep
the shackles

I am in pieces
I am shattered like glass

I cannot do this
I cannot presume

Death’s kiss
seems sweeter than ever
(forever lost in my own infinity)

You see we
build ourselves up
so
the white walls
eat us up

until we are part of
the white walls
until we are part of
the unknown familiarity

Can I break
through?

want to
need to
break through

White walls
oh,
white walls

I’ve been punching
for so long

I am tired,
I am weary

Resisting,
rebelling

Far too long

White walls,
White mazes

Around
my infinite
familiarity


I cannot
make it out
of myself

So I
walk,

So I
walk,

This great
maze of my
soul

Humorous,
I call it a
great maze

I only walk
in circles

Forever in cycle

I’ve felt the
tears,

Fallen onto
the white walls

Hard
to tell
if they
are clear
or just another
drop of paint

Mind
loops back
on itself,
(always does)

Losing it
(finally insane)


A mad man
I am

A new coat
to adorn

Darker

Darker

Darker

Cracks,
crevices
the white walls
emit abysmal black paint

So-cold
oil,
(called paint)
I will make darkness burn
It stings,
makes a statement
deep within me

Have you ever
felt pain?

Have you ever
felt life?

Walls
I have forgotten
what color
infinity was

Happiness,
feels
so white
but
burns
so dark

Have you ever
felt dark?


Dark feels me
as I
wander,
wither

In
white darkness

II
Out of
walls,
like ghosts
come the hounds

Hounds of the world!
is this all you are?

Animals
who eat away the
stone
rubble
of my soul

Is that what I’ve
become?

Only
stone?
rubble?

White,
raw stone
crushed,
unbroken
by the
organized animals
mistaken to be ourselves

Somehow still shackled
to white darkness
I’ve felt it
I feel it
it feels me

As if to caress
something so bare-beautiful
as a women,
disrobed in the
eternal darkness
of countless midnights

Spent down beneath
the infinity of
blacks,
purples
and blues

Laying in the
leaves of grass
I am
looking at the holes
of the black galaxy
that shoot their beams
back into the
familiar infinity
of my soul itself

For there is something there

There always never always was
something there

I can hear the hounds
once again
prancing
dancing their way
down the halls of
white walls

The white walls that were always never always
there

I walk through them
like such a ghoul
and see
so much of
every nothing
White walls
they melt like
glue

No support

No support

No support

For this life,
for all who may be
in this life

Have nothing
only others

They only
have the other souls,

For they have lost
their own lives
replaced them with
others

Ayn Rand, were you right?
Ayn Rand, were you right?

I’m searching for something
I’m searching for nothing

Where are you?
Individual?

My soul
it pours out
it fills the droughts
of this eternal infinity

But does reason flow?

I only need reason
all I wanted it was


NO!

NO!

NO!

Reason where are you?

The individual,
where are you?

Only descending into
further into madness

I must live!

I must thrive!

I will break this
structure of society

I will shatter
the layers of
humanity,
the layers of
society,
the layers of
reality

I spit lightning
I inhale thunder

Ever before
more alive
Should I add another section?
Maha Salman Jun 2015
Shadows
They're all I see
Waiting
for the tendrils of ash
Following
me
Dreading
the encasing bleakness they enhance
Ruining
My dreams
Running
Is all I can do
Away
Far
   Far
       Away
Not because shadows are hollow
                                                      Dark
                                                                   Empty
But because this shadow
Is
Formed
By
**Me
my poetry is sucky at the moment because I'm suckish all the time
AnnaMarie Jenema May 2014
Mom should’ve been here by now. I sat on my frilly blue and purple polka-dotted bed waiting for the knock on the door telling me mom found my dress. Finally, it raps on my door. “Mom! Did you find it?” My eyes widen as the silky blue sways in her arms, it’s beauty sings as a caged bird let free. I gasp in admiration. “I-It’s wonderful!” I pick it up and it glides down into a perfect fit.  “I’m glad you love it. Come down after you finish getting ready.” The door thuds after her. Looking across the room I note my honey brown hair that curls into pigtails. Restraining the squeal that is caught in my throat, I travel the length of my room to the mirror.

     The mirror sits on an antique dresser that my mom found at a garage sale. At first I didn’t care much for the ancient wooden junk that is at least half a century old. Now the gold-tinted metal gleams with pride once again. Rusty gems were in carved into an arc surrounding the mystic glass. “Lydia! Can you go upstairs and get that box down for me?” Mom’s request interfered with my thoughts. … Go in that dusty attic? “Sure mom!”

       Out the door and into the hallway stood a door like any other in our house. It squeaked open as eerily as what you’d expect in a haunted house. ‘A box, a box’ than out of the side of my vision I thought I saw motion. I shook it off as just being a spider or mouse. Soon my footsteps lead me to come across a dresser and mirror identical to the one in my room. It was cluttered with cobwebs and spiders. “Not very well taken care of, are you?” I muttered the joke. I looked into the mirror expecting to see a light blue dress covered in dust and sparkly silk material, but there was no reflection at all. I looked even closer at the mirror, before realizing, there was no mirror at all.

     I looked around until I found it behind the dresser, sitting on the ground. I touched one of the gems that surprisingly glowed despite the rust. Something shone until I was blinded. A tingle ran through the hand that brushed the mirror’s gem and flew through my arm until it encompassed me, racing into my every feeling until I couldn’t feel anything. My eyes shut and refused to open themselves.


     A gentle breeze grasped my hair, as music descended from the air. I could smell what seemed to be a banquet of some kind, mixed with perfume. Slowly my eyes lifted their veil to lock with waves pounding against a brick wall. I was looking down from a balcony into the erupting sea. The white brick-made balcony was large and lonely even with the brush of people walking by. I hid behind the rose-red curtains to look around. People danced and talked. Some ate. The music paved the trail for their feet to follow, all very gracefully. The men wore suits that tails drip to their knees. Their white shirts buried under sashes of gold, red, or blue. Sometimes holding medallions, some only dressed in ties. The woman wore Victorian dresses of every color and shade. Frilled hats with flowers were arranged on their heads.

     Wait, I’m not supposed to be here. I was in the attic, going to the café with mom. What was I doing? My head ached from the effort to recall my actions. Why can’t I remember? I stumble backward only to reach the balcony’s edge. Where is this anyway?

      I dive back into the curtain to search for my answer. The softness of the curtain was a rose pushed to my nose. I peeked through the small gap to find a page carting some clothes past my hiding spot. I sneaked next to the cart being wheeled into a doorway, planning to find a way out. I lost the page and walked around until I went through an archway door. The cool air spiraled against my silk-trapped skin. The scent of flowers bloomed around me. I found the garden labyrinth.

     Walking through the maze’s hedges I arrive at a beautiful fountain displaying crystal clear pouring waters. Everywhere I gazed, flowers embraced the greenery. My breath deprived my lungs of air as I took in the sight. It was so magnificent under the light of the full moon. A few lamps lighted a sidewalk path maneuvering along the hedges. I circled the fountain, taking in the surroundings. My silk dress was shining in the dim glow. The sceneries beauty entranced me.






     I didn’t see a shadow before me, and almost fell to the ground. In a graceful swoop an arm latched around my waist to pull me to my feet. “Be careful to look where you’re going, please my lady.” He bowed his head while his slim rimmed glasses started to fall off of his face, suddenly he looked up at me; sliding them back on with a slight wave of a finger. “That garb isn’t from around here.” He noted my sky blue dress with interest. I’m not even sure where I am. “I seem a bit lost. Will you help me?” he stares at me closer, a deeper curiosity shines in his green eyes, daintily brushed by his dark hair. “My dear, if it brings you comfort to know, we are in London at the Buckingham palace.”

      I gasped; London was so far away from New York. It’s across seas. I gulped at my next question as sweat pricked the nape of my neck, “What’s todays date?” His eyes sparkled at the question. “Why, it is June 28, of 1838. The entire castle is bustling at these very words. It’s a day to remember. Now my dear, I must take my leave and see to the ballroom. Farewell.” He bowed, than turned to leave. His slow stride seemed like a dance all on it’s own. My gaze was caught on his figure following the foot trail until he had disappeared. I sighed at my first encounter with someone in this grand place. The Buckingham Palace, in 1838. …1838!! That can’t be right, it’s 2014. Then the shock hit me as if bricks fell from the castle onto my forehead; the clothes, the language, the pages, and royalty. This couldn’t be London in present Great Britain.

    I circle the garden once more before I decide to go back inside. The young noble had realized my clothes didn’t belong here, probably anyone who sees me would recognize this too. I start off towards the footpath. The melodic rhythm still swirled in the breeze. Than for a second I thought I heard a footstep. My head twists back only to see a shadow move. The cool air now seems icy. Multiple possible things to say to the night air gallop through my mind. “ Such a lovely night,” is the one I decide on. From behind me a few feet back I imagine a sigh. No, not imagined, but actually there. It’s too real. I turn on my heels just to catch a glimpse of a black cape caught in the wind, as it’s master floats into the open. “My, It is lovely. However, I didn’t realize such a strangely dressed commoner as you could enter this palace.” His smirk shows sarcasm as easily as his eyes. “I never intended to visit a palace, even less in London.” My honest answer only has him conceal his laugh.




     “I’m sure you didn’t. Yet, your dressed for a fine occasion.” His hand reaches for mine. I pull away from the willowy figured glove. “Why not allow me this dance in the garden?” I back away, aware that his voice is too prescient and I should be careful. “Are you going to be wary of me?” his gaze turned pained, his blue eyes that were once full of playfulness now melted into hurt. I unintentionally reach out for his gloved hand. His laugh echoes past the foliage. “Such a naïve girl.” Dread decided that this nobleman should be avoided at all costs. I ran towards the palace. “And so the chase begins.” He snickers and rushes after me.


     I pass through the archways, glancing back now and again to find the caped captor flying along my tracks. If only there was some way to lose him. I ducked into the nearest doorway. At the far end of the hall I could see a door with a sign saying, “Dressing room”. I flung myself under a table and tablecloth to hide myself as my pursuer rounded the corner into the hall. I tucked my head between my knees and waited for his footsteps to fade. The warm place that held me trapped was close and too easily discoverable. I held my breath and tried to sink into the darkness. I’m not here. No one can find me.

     After enough time flew by to ensure my safety, I crawled out from under the table. The cloth draped over my head. I looked back and forth, half expecting to see a smirking smile, and haughty eyes. A girl stares down at me. She’s at least ten years old. “Shhh.” I press my finger to my lips and gently smile at her as if we’re keeping a secret between us. She giggles, copies the motion to her own mouth, than delightfully skips away. I let out a sigh and stand up. I follow the hall to the dressing room. The door creaks open and I look around once more, startled by the sudden noise.

     I sneak inside hoping find that the room is abandoned. In the darkly lit room, only my footsteps sound. As far as I can tell, no one has entered lately. I walk over to the carts of clothes and run my hand over the first one on the stack. It’s a ruby-red dress with fine material and some gems similar to those in the mirror. … The mirror. Not in my room, but the attic. My head hurts again, but I know I touched its gem before winding up here. How? I look through the dresses until I find a light blue and white one. The bowed sleeves come down to my elbow with frills encasing the bottom. The neckline forms a squared area of similar white frills. A small white sash acts as a belt that drops into the skirt of the dress. Two similar white ones come down each side. I pick up the light material and set it near my feet.
      My old silk dress easily slips overhead, making way for the new clothing. After tugging tight sleeves and bodices into place the light dress swoops over my feet. I spin through the dark room only to stop at catching someone’s eye. I immediately turn towards the frozen face. It is my own reflection in a mirror. I face myself as my sight settles on the dress I wear. My honey brown hair curled over the dress from my pigtails. My eyes sparkled it’s matching blue to the dress. In the corner of the room, next to the mirror, sat a large wooden box. I looked through it to find that it was full of jewelry and accessories. I prodded its contents until I found sky blue bows to wrap in my pigtails.

     I walked into the open hallway, now littered with people going to and fro. Anyone from passerby’s, young nobility, servants, and pages. Once the hall emptied I fled the room, hurrying through the corridors until I met with the room that created the harmonious trance. At the ends of the great ballroom sat crowds eating and laughing. Clusters of on-goers danced and chatted. In the middle of the farthest side of the room sat a throne that was embroidered with metal marks from centuries of legends. On the throne sat a woman at least eighteen of age. Her regal crown shone despite other attractions surrounding the dance room. A page strode over to her as she flourished her hand for his service. He stood and listened intently to her whispers. Finally, he stood and roared for the room’s attention. From his mouth spilled cheer and wistfulness, as he demanded the crowd’s ear. “Our young Queen Victoria’s coronation has completed. Now starts a new era! Let the celebration proceed.” The room reverberated with hope, love, and admiration for their new ruler.

     ‘Queen Victoria has been crowned’ having no clue how to find a way home, I disconsolately decide to join in the festivities. The crowd moves into a larger room. I stagger after them; the mass pushing everyone forward. We pass the kitchens. The aroma of cakes and deserts of every kind rises into the cool night air. The only smell more perceptible than delicate delights is the perfume penetrating the entire castle. We enter a by far more spacious ballroom. Empty amphitheater seats loom overhead, tied into the walls for onlookers to watch the ball unravel. Once again I glance at these to notice black material hangs over the edge. A head moves as people fill the seats. A nobleman with a black cape and familiar blue eyes takes their seat next to men and woman of high status. I walk into the mop to hide myself, while watching him. He laughs and chats with them as if he’s known them all his life.


      Unable to watch where I’m going, I trip. The harsh, solid ground hits my knee as if I’ve met a tornado. I wince at the pain as I strain myself to stand. A firm, but careful hand grabs mine. I look up into green eyes shaded by recognizable glasses. “My dear, you are very clumsy.” He smiles at me as I pat my dress back into place. “I see we’ve met again.” My response comes weakly as the sore from my knee makes me flinch. “I don’t think you’ve told me your name.” I inquire. “You have not requested my name, so I haven’t told it. However, if you do me the honor of a dance, my secret may be leaked.”  He bowed and offered me his arm, as I timidly accept it.

     A new song disrupts the last, as new pairs take the stage. He walks me onto the floor, and diligently starts to dance. I watch my feet, not wanting to mistake my pace. “Lift your chin, my dear. You don’t seem to but much of a church-bell.” I looked up at him puzzled. “Church-bell?” As he tried to conceal a grin, his glasses couldn’t suppress the laughter in his eyes. “Your rather quiet. And most likely not from around London, are you?” I looked to the ground once more. Should I tell him or not? Will it start problems, or will I be okay? “It’s fine, I shall not expect you to answer a question you wish not to.” I looked up at him, solemnly. “I promised to introduce myself, correct?” I nodded, as the music that echoed around us faded into the next song.

      His movements were so fluid; he was a wave at the end of the day, flowing into the sunset. “Miss, I am known by most as William Anderson. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He procured my sweaty palm into his, tenderly swiping his mouth to my fingers. I let my hand be brought back into the dance as I searched for words to speak. Once the dance ended a few moments later, I curtsey and murmur, “It’s nice to meet you. I am Lydia Olsen.” At my gesture he bows, and requests once more, “Am I trustworthy enough to understand why you are in a mysterious place you don’t understand?” My answer had been decided and started to splatter from my mouth. “Y…”









     The next sound bounces along the room, it’s symphony starting. My words mix into the noise. In my vision of the seats above, snowy dots shoot arrows in my direction. Blue eyes gaze down at me, their iciness piercing me as icicles prickle my skin. I exchange a glance with William, nod and answer, “You are. I’ll explain.” My discomfort is surely recognizable. I often peek over my shoulder above as we dance. The shadow with a glare starts his voyage through the seats to reach the stairs that pillar into the wall. He descends from the tower, only adding to my panic. My hand seizes Williams, as I give him an apologetic smile. We hurry from the room, stumbling over each other’s feet. His graceful prance, now a faltering wreak.

     Once we are outside the ballroom, I turn towards him. “I trust you, so please understand, I live In the USA in 2014. Not London, not Even in the 1800’s.” His expression is masked, but I’m sure that I’ve confused him. “I went back into time, from the future.” The simple words struck a chord with him, his glasses tilted off his nose as he listens intently. “The future? How?” even I don’t know how to answer such questions. “I’m not sure. I was in the attic with a mirror, than … ****! I’m here.” Confusion once again wonders onto his face. “I went into a storage room with old things, and found a mirror, touched a gem, now I was here.”

     “I see, but why did we run away from the celebration? I was looking forward to another dance with you.” His casual smile does nothing to conceal unasked questions. I’m not sure how to answer them ei
Faeri Shankar Jul 2012
I once found my heart in Catawaba
Where the blue cornflowers flourish between
Arabesque petals floating from the snowy dogwood trees
Encasing the air with the thick fragrance of innocence
You took from me beneath the dying maple tree.

The monotone cubicle in which you thrived
Wouldn't suffice for the rose petals lingering
Between your flushed lips drenched pale in the moonlight
Breathing "You are beautiful"
Smoking cigarettes with your mind.
vircapio gale Jul 2012
phyllo dough considerations
veil the rigid silence
under quip, under smile-
covered cliche cud.
it is in essence meaningless,
this large party,
this braying urgency of guests

the house swims with life,
we mingle charismatic coughs
as talents strut; bouncing fruit
and swaying surface tension fizz
sparkles off the balcony of floating drinks

our tall pines are echoing beyond the yard
a sylvan soft allure of
living soundboard drape,
it needles aromatic carpet for a
*******, brink-of-dawn escape

allocate the living and the dead,
the borderline is begging to be tread.

an elastic belt extends the real,
a tool for party tricks, a tool for bending time--
i'm bounding off into the darkness
balling lightning in my dantien,
the world a trampoline;
running full i top the rail of gasps,
swinging through the arc
of thinning line to pull me back around,
stomach churning fiction-sick
with gravity inverted joltingly,
umbilically, aware.

then she has a turn as i,
as being me, and as i (as I)
careen away, the vaster leap
of single body, double mind-
it pulls beyond substantial thought

our uber-jumprope dangles
while we speed above the trees -- all is dark
excluding speckled stars
and the one, shrinking party-glow i lose below

the television orbits,
wobbles in a superstrings' embrace
all balance lost --
we're floating in a spin alone
unfocused universal locus..
stars diminishing reliquish cosmic depth
and nourish life in death

reeling eyes of weightless ******
squint to spacetime surgings
inward of the who i am--
plasticity-encasing glass of box
to offer all subverse companionship.
i tug the corded fabric
fronting interweaving screen
of futile marking where
i've riveted, lost, gazing
psychosoma scene
a modern mind-toy posted
to enframe another me we are,
even here with outside sight of world
vacuum up and lower heading
compass only gulping awe,
the breath is gone, a stinging heart
revalves its pacing flow
descending cosmogonic thread

allocate the living and the dead,
the borderline is begging to be tread.

i imagine trees again,
branches soft,
trunks my guideposts to the ground i've lost~
i'm mingling against my sense of real again,
packing leftovers, living social lies unknown.
a man compliments his speech
as "Bristling with business."
the jelly seeps beyond the pita's edge,
the pita slides out from under foil.
the party swivles on its axis,
the clowns play on, noble chefs
laughing in their pots
while i visit drooping psyche forms,
around and through glass doors,
crystal tables -- a furniture of ideal norms
to overturn. ah. i'm found again,
a bit less vast among a crowd
of nescient lives unlived. i'm
found undiscovered open all,
plainly lacking truth as well,
i'm me, this other presence,
this shifting sight,
flood experiential zoo,
this empty vessel holding two
a social fissure prying sense of self
from up a wild void..
I
A body of white walls
houses familiarity

Somehow even familiarity
distorted itself
beneath raw cinder blocks
doused white enough
that I could see
the eyes of the past
the eyes of the future
looking back at me,
the eyes of the present

Must journey
behind the white walls
into the familiar unknown

For there is something there

Beyond walls
so very high

They
only crumble,
only die

For there is something there

I must look now
through the deep crevices
deep through my mind

For there is something there

Do I find?

I see people
I see minds
Beyond the white walls
looking back
at I

Why oh why
must I continue?
looking forward
only to
look back again

I am stuck,
encased inside
eternity

Only looking back
to find
a way out
a way out
of me

Me
I have always
been my own infinity

Inside, a prisoner
handcuffed to
the white walls
I am shackled here,
alive
kicking

Death
here in the
eternal infinity

Great intellects
dead,
killed by me

I am my own infinity

I must **** me
I will be free
no longer shackled

I am my own infinity
I am my own uncertainty
I am my own familiarity

It is me
I am my own infinity

The white walls
close in on me,
my own infinity

I do not want to change myself
I do not want to change me

I change
I die

Death’s kiss might be sweet
Death’s kiss may free me,
finally

Yet
I cannot accept it
I will not

I just want to be me
but I am everyone else
and they are me
my own infinity

Everything,
everything

Beyond the white walls
are nothing you see

White walls
everywhere

White walls
everything

Encasing all
of us

It is here,
it is here

The white walls
shackle us,
shackle us
to
reality,
society

There is forever
no infinity
in me

The familiarity
tastes of death
mistaken for
reality
society

The burning truth

The familiarity
the distorted familiarity
that
is
reality
society

We rely on each other
So much we shoot
each other

We are not strong
We are not smart

We can be
We can’t be

If we break
the shackles
If we keep
the shackles

I am in pieces
I am shattered like glass

I cannot do this
I cannot presume

Death’s kiss
seems sweeter than ever
(forever lost in my own infinity)

You see we
build ourselves up
so
the white walls
eat us up

until we are part of
the white walls
until we are part of
the unknown familiarity

Can I break
through?

want to
need to
break through

White walls
oh,
white walls

I’ve been punching
for so long

I am tired,
I am weary

Resisting,
rebelling

Far too long

White walls,
White mazes

Around
my infinite
familiarity

I cannot
make it out
of myself

So I
walk,

So I
walk,

This great
maze of my
soul

Humorous,
I call it a
great maze

I only walk
in circles

Forever in cycle

I’ve felt the
tears,

Fallen onto
the white walls

Hard
to tell
if they
are clear
or just another
drop of paint

Mind
loops back
on itself,
(always does)

Losing it
(finally insane)


A mad man
I am

A new coat
to adorn

Darker
darker
darker

Cracks,
crevices
the white walls
emit abysmal black paint

So-cold
oil,
(called paint)
I will make darkness burn
It stings,
makes a statement
deep within me

Have you ever
felt pain?

Have you ever
felt life?

Walls
I have forgotten
what color
infinity was

Happiness,
feels
so white
but
burns
so dark

Have you ever
felt dark?


Dark feels me
as I
wander,
wither

In
white darkness
Alright so If you have been following me for some time, you probably have seen me post drafts of this before. This is the ABSOLUTE FINAL DRAFT of the first section. The poem is incredibly, incredibly dense and nearly impossible to understand. But that is what is truly beautiful about the piece. Sometimes life is choppy, repetitive and abstract.
g Nov 2013
It was raining the Saturday I hired the carpenter, but I think it was acid rain from all the poison you let escape into your body.
He was a drunkard, and he apologized through sips of alcohol. It was the color of your blood when I found you in fits and I begged him to wash them out of the carpet, but through every sip he said your name just like the walls do.
I begged the maid to clean up the razors but she never did.
The maid came in two hours late and she didn't seem to mind my frustration. Much like you never seemed to mind when you said the right things all too late.
She swept secrets under the rugs and listened to the creak in the floorboard whenever any weight was put on this old wooden floor that reminded me so much of your weak shoulders when I needed a place to hold me.
The builder was far too early, and the maid never cleaned up in time. The builder tried desperately to rebuild the walls, but they shook at the weight of another's skin on mine, and the builder whispered "I think you need him back." I dismissed him, and the force of my door slamming (much like the force when you left that night with everything but me) was enough to destroy every wall.
Gardeners came in flustered at the work ahead of them. There were scars on my heart running up the sides like vines and it was far too thick to be cut down.
I envied the fresh dug up dirt encasing the weeds that I so badly wished would hold my body too. You see I tried to burry myself in your mind but you kept pushing me out and now the dirt is the only thing that promises certainty.
Carrie Ross Nov 2011
This is a poem for Rachel Corrie. I am not religious, and a far cry from spiritual, but I refuse to imagine Rachel Corrie insentient and six feet under, slowly amalgamating with the soil encasing her. Before her death, Rachel Corrie said “I still really want to dance around to Pat Benatar and have boyfriends and make comics for my co-workers. But I also want this to stop.” In the words of contemporary Palestinian poet Suheir Hammad “God has a better imagination than all of us combined” in either God's words or my own, I will not imagine in/on the same ground in/on which I maybe soon will be and more words from Suheir “What do I tell young people about non-violence when they can see for themselves how even orange bright and megaphone loud and cameras and US citizenship will not stop your ******?” what do I tell young people/anyone even myself about “non-violence” when every single thing I've seen presenting itself/perhaps even masquerading as “non-violence” has been in my face and /rude/harsh/unavoidable and most of all, violent? I do not believe in God and humanity is pushing it's luck, but I believe in Rachel Corrie. This is for Rachel;*

I should study a she-wolf's prose
she wanted to write about death
but life would frequently
weasel and wheedle it's way in
there’s an overhanging image
a smaller
yet
infinitely larger
organism
continuously broached
by each word
I only want to study
a caterpillar’s motion
backward/forward /onward
across arms/legs
of this deer/dear
[her] surname/
[my] given name/
separated by [semi/totally] circular VOWels
***** blond hair
dirtied by dust /
rubble /
rhyme /reason/
whatever/ in compliance
with a rep/RESENT/ative democracy
several shades lighter
literally
figuratively
whiter
than she
need no permission
pat benatar
would/should croon
to your moves
every
boy and girl friend
i will/may/have/had
should be yours
entomo/insecto/[social] phobias
I never would’ve said so
I never
would’ve/
could’ve
told the caterpillar

to go
Nat Lipstadt Feb 2016
~~~


in a four lion pawed,
old fashion
bathtub,
soaping and playing
with my two boys,
then, young children,
splish splashing,
playing games,
a wet version of capture the flag,
the winner gets to scrub someone else's back
with a flag
of the slipperest bar of soap,
ever,
in a game we called,

catch the cockroach cuckoo

***.

the floor is totally soaked,
your mom's gonna **** someone,
the bath mat weighing now 'bout five pounds,
not including the no tears shampoo that miraculously
is bubbling up from it,
an actual
groundswell of
shining eyes

and oh crap,

your pj's!
on the floor!

we all gotta go hide real quick
in the crazy better-be-on-high dryer,
more happy shouting, tumbling,
to get them and
our selves
back to a
ready-to-wear- state,
with a wearable, Johnson & Johnson sham-poo,
sweet-smelling encasing,
ready to be swept beneath a talcum powdery snow-angel coverlet,
into a slippery ready-to-sleep state

"quit all that screaming you guys,"

a piercing late entrant
to our Las Vegas gaming bath~table,
heard through the door,
deserving of a ten second
almost silenced,
fearful, giggled appreciation

then some one sang out

catch the cockroach cuckoo

and the fun and games recommence,
all of us,
soap search engines,
began again,
fully reenergized

don't gotta clue,
why this old fool fills
his memory sac this day,
with this silly,
refried-ain't-worth-a-hill-of-beans
peyote poem-visions from
decades older(1)

nowadays, he still plays,
still a super soaker bath man,
reliving old-fashioned soapy games
with a new Kingston trio,
me, myself and I,

and still hearing voices,
absent and present,
coming thru the walls

"you making a mess in there? better quiet down!"

but today's voices heard
are from within born,
not real,
an updated, revised recollection of the
went, and now,
gone gone gone

these voice now mocking the messes made
of bathrooms and
lives,
his own,
and the other players,
their lives
that this man sealed and help fashion,
for better and some,
for worse

and the
updated "better quiet down" sound heard,
well, that's jes me trying
to convince the too familiar new trio,
that the
harmonies of that vision,
ain't real
no more

and he finds-the-soap game
nowadays,
can't give you relief,
cannot remove,
the uncleansed residue of them
other
oldest soap **** guilty memories,
consisting of too many undisclosed,
then, unrealized mistakes,
that any parent,
all parents,
or this particular parent,
raises up,
seals and makes


~~~
5:21pm
1/30/16 NYC

(1) I subsequently realized that Pandora
played Crosby, Still and Nash singing
"teach your children well.
their father's hell,
will slowly go by"
Alexander Anilao May 2014
I can see it.

The Skin encasing my heart, pulsating.

It races.

I struggle for air.

I'm no marathon runner – I'm a chronic smoker with half a lung, with a heart in a condition much worse.

I shut my eyes, in a faint attempt to attempt to faint and shut myself off from everything that I have ever laid my eyes on.

But I still feel it.

I press my finger tips against the skin encasing my heart.

And I wince at every beat.
Just One of those nights...
onlylovepoetry Mar 2017
~and for Harlan, who loved this one best~

"for tandem is the ever-changing, graying color of their fierce attached tenacity"

waking/walking in
careful pacing regular lock steps,
like new cadets, counting cadence,
in perfect silent, almost motionless,
except for the minuscule quivering of
slightly parted moving lips

these two elders,
still now plebes,
freshmen
but of a latter, graduated stage,
demonstrating robustly
the slow shuffle-along,
a well practiced dance conjured
'in tandem'

her arm, crooked in his,
his other hand,
in protective custody of a
knight's armored chain glove
encasing hers,
he, shuffling just,  
a precise, intended half-a-beat slower
lest she ever think
that she, ever be a drag upon him

hair, his,
threaded with daily,
new arriving grays,
proudly accepted
as the privilege of
graceful aging

hers,
disguised with periodic outings,
outings for the hidings of life's bookmarks,
conceding nothing ever to
time's lunatic desire to separate them

modest in dress,
styling hints of  pasts' elegant,
the man's hat defiant,
daringly jaunty angled,
a small scarf to handbag knotted,
matching his Windsor knotted tie

the passers-by, all smile,  
the signal charm of an
end game processional,
thinking so sweet,
yet mine eyes detect more,
something
hardy and radical

a fierce, fierce fierceness,
both fighters in the resistance,
armed with tandem tenacity,
ground given,
but only inches surrendered,
wounds resisted by
scar skin toughened
by the caress of ions bonding
under the pressure
of atomic level mutuality

worn out,
well past Purple Hearts,
no capitulation feared,
to the ever changing,
enemies' new disguises,
they,
a two person platoon,
each,
having the other's back

and I burst into tears on the street,
a train of out loud moans,
even groans emitted,
like a string of perfect pearls
breaking,
clattering on an asphalt terrain

weeping
not
from visions of the inevitable,
sighing
not
from the certitude of a
cycle's uptime ending


but jealous furious by this reminder delightful,
angry at myself, for having lost so many wasted years,
mine, the loss greatest, for absent was the
fierce tenacity of tandem
for my aussie prof:
you will know me well
by the color of
my happy brimming tears
Stormy Bailey Oct 2015
Words,
Like lightning, ripping its way through my heart, jolting me violently as I struggle to compose myself.
"They're just words."
The trembling earth parts to reveal a smile, weak, fake, hiding the needle like pain the words you say cause me.
"No, it doesn't bother me."
I bite my lip, white bricks indenting into a plush garden, as the ocean threatens to overtake the beach with only my eyelashes to hold back the waves.
"Yeah, it is funny isn't it?"
You laugh about my imperfections, and I laugh with you,
hard, forced, hot air exhaling from my lungs as I blink and my mind scrambles to find ways to better myself.
"Totally, stretch marks are so gross."
Pink vines of ivy run their way across my body, and I wonder if I can find a way to hide the lighting on my thighs, my *******.
"But you're still pretty though."
Your words force the air out of my lungs and I nod reassuringly, because I'm still pretty, despite all the things you say are wrong with me. Things that make me who I am, but to you are marks against me as a person, but its ok, because I'm still pretty.
They're just words, but they can make you choke, and cry, and want to change yourself, just so someone can tell you that you're still pretty.
But pretty is just a word, and I'm so much more than your definition of what makes me worthy in your eyes.
Words.
Lava building up inside me and finally getting the courage to force its way to the top, to pour out of me and cover my body in molten rock, encasing me in protection in the form of letters and confidence.
"I know."
Aisling Apr 2015
There are constellations between your teeth and you have starlight wrapped around your tongue, there is moonlight in your eyes but sunlight in your smile
Every time you breath you inhale glitter and oxygen and powdered sugar, the scent of grass and strawberries and hope
Flowers bloom between your ribs and wind through the joints in your hips, your knees, your wrists
There is a whole menagerie in your stomach, butterflies and pelicans and Bengal tigers
Your skin is crushed velvet, silk and lace, encasing a skeleton of steel and iron, silver filigree
Your hands are soft as cotton, rose petals, strong as the will of all your ancestors.
When you die you will melt back into the earth, disintegrate and fall back to where you came from
You will be absorbed back into the atmosphere and the universe will swallow you up.
It will rearrange your atoms and produce something completely you but completely different.
You are one of a kind, you are the entire universe.
You will never be again, but you will never stop being.
title adapted from Woman by Joy Williams
Andrew T Hannah Jun 2013
For knowing we must suffer

How ironic that our knowledge is the source of our struggle

Ignorance is bliss

Knowledge is suffering

The more I know, the blacker the void becomes

The more I know the more inevitable that end seems

Certain apocalypse closing in...Life’s flame flickers, sputters, fights to burn...then dies

For the oxygen is thicker than the cadence that the flame is accustomed to

And the wrath of god is our own sick self-torture

Encasing our minds in a torrent of glass and nails

Nihilism scorches what faith once warmed

Blackened, numb, dead, bleeding no more

Leaving nothing but the simple signs of lost hope

And broken dreams

Which ride on a cavalry of lame horses, clutching swords long broken

Dead eyes stare from cracked helmets, bones rise from sunken skin

They have become nothing more than a shadow of their own misfortune

A sick punchline to a humorless joke

Aimless they stumble to our side but at the snarls of hell's misery they recoil

Broken by adversity, their will as dead as ours, they are not our allies

They are a greater enemy then either heaven or hell can create

For they are our own brokenness, we gaze into their eyes and see what we have lost

We see doors long shut, dreams long shredded by ****** razors of truth

For they are our past.

Our past with no future.

For what future do these dead things hold

The promise of decay, of despair, of a fight long ago lost

Marching in to save us these soldiers tie our noose

And suspend us from the bridge of tyranny that our minds have created, using ropes long since broken by the strain of living

Hope, not what we cling to, but nostalgia for as our eyes glaze over, as lips turn blue, we see a faint light of what once was

We see before the knowing, before the insidious whispers of torture began

We see and desire, but may not have

For desire is the truest form of torture

Also the most sinister

For we are in hell and we hunger, hunger and thirst

With cracked lips and swollen tongues, the water slips from us before we drink

With contempt we struggle on with no hope for our lives, only for the pain to end soon

Death, in its comforting embrace, for no longer shall our eyes open to see the fading colors of life

No longer shall we know sin and desire

Nor the cruel touch of a scornful lover or the heart ache of regret

For through death, all life has purpose

No longer shall we know broken, twisted parodies of heroes nor love

We look to the black abyss, not the void of hopelessness, and we leap

And like the dream we fall but never land, in the arms of flight, of ethereal endings

The darkness collides with the light of knowledge leaving the black an even paler gray then that even of a cadaver's skin

The gray of apathy, of nothingness, of a vacuum that draws from our mouths the very souls we were foolish enough to try to save

Bleaching all hope of dying till there is not left but a sliver of an arrogant belief that our suffering would end so easily.

Lifeless yet feeling, blind yet seeing we plummet till there is no time left to fall.

What we know, all knowledge was our own ignorance of eternity, our fight for it, our fight against it

As death consumes, as the final suffering begins, we are drawn to the things we never knew, the things we could not know, things that draw us to heaven and yet drag us to hell

The very existence of our soul creates a greater torture than any we have ever encountered, creating bile in our mouths thicker than the blood pouring from our hearts

It separates from our lifeless bodies, from our twisted minds, and it is as though we are ***** and robbed of the thing that tethered us to any possibility of hope

Like a silver bullet it flies from us but we are helpless to catch it as crushing agony fills our lungs with black, clotted blood

Creating a sad excuse of a person out of our flesh and sending it wallowing in our midst

Flashing our memories and hopes into the mind’s eye of something that can only be compared to blackest of dreamers

The very discontent of hope

And the believer of agony

This monster, this twisted parody of ourselves, this demon of the shadow

We shudder and recoil, for the sight burns our newly closed eyes

Its venom poisons our veins and we lay writhing on the floor, vomiting black bile of revulsion

Finally we look up to see that these monsters are who we really are

They are our truest form, our twisted belief in humanity laid out to mock us in the cruelest of ways, with the truth

Shivers fill our bodies as we realize that this is the hell we have feared, a never ending satire of our very existence

This, this and not fire, this and not brimstone

This is hell, the purest form of knowledge of the ugliness of what we are

This understanding creates an unbearable agony far beyond any imagined by the creators of the underworld

Tearing at out minds like a thousand hooks, glowing red hot with the heat of burning souls, twisted to form the torture of millions

Sending pain through every channel imaginable in the human form including those that are yet to exist

So this is the truth, to be sent to hell before we even know of life

For life is just a parody of hell, a weak heaven to prepare us for the ****** chaos to follow

The irony of living is nothing compared to the irony dying

We seek heaven in life, we seek a soul that never existed, that humanity with its gleaming metal scythe ripped from us before we even knew it existed

Creating a maelstrom of regret and hollow pain unfathomable by human minds until the cold hands of death close around their existence

And they lay there, as all must in time, choking on their own blood, tears welling up as they realize what their life has come to

The pleasures they once sought are no more, the rosy cheeks are now a skeletal pallor

Their hands are broken and their shoulders hunched as the weight of the black closes around them

This is death, an end to all means, an end to mortality

Yet the beginning of pain and suffering

Nothing in life means anything and the knowledge imbues us with inexorable despair

Unable to breathe for our metal chains of torture

Which drag us down into the marshes of chaos

Their locks are made so not even the strongest of steel can rupture them, leaving us hopeless and stranded on an island of our own thoughts as the black water closes around us

Filling our mouths with the taste of sickness and the feel of slime running down our throats

Glacial hands tear at us, leaving ice where our hearts once were, where our skin once was, the cold a fiery burn upon our flesh

We cry out for love, our last hope, our last ray of light remembered

To realize that we are alone

Love is no more than hedonistic vice and no soul but our own is here in this ****** place

Sending us reeling into madness, spiraling ever deeper into the realm of insanity

Our hearts are gone; our minds left with not but their own company, starving for more than one thought...a thought other than escape

Yet it cannot come

For we have brought this on ourselves
M Harris Apr 2017
Elemental Metamorphosis & Transcendental Milestones,
Sempiternal Origamis Of Her Temperamental Clones,

Spiraling Perpetuities & Her Sacrosanct Fortitude,
Procreating Tipsy Ruptures In Her Permeating Solitude,

Perplexed Momentum & Her Outlandish Constellations,
Nuclear Decay Of Her Masked Radiations,

Verbal Shadows & Her Tranquil Ascendance,
Encasing Her Tears In Liquefied Transcendence,

Yearning Oddities & Entropic Oceans,
Vitalizing Inexorable Emotions Into Phosphorescent Potions,

An Hourglass Existence Of Her Fabricated Virility,
Dwelling In Quantum Ascents Of Ardent Agility,

Silver Ghosts Of Her Prismatic Abyss,
Convicting Glass Houses In Her Ecstatic Bliss,

Telepathic Shades & Hollow Palisades,
Detrimental Novelists On Uncharted Crusades,

Pernicious Scars In Her Profound Gaze,
Erupting Genesis Inside Her Dimensional Maze,

Perplexed Periphery & Digital Fictions,
Annexed By Her Hourglass Depictions,

Breakdown Sanity & Her Concealed Screams,
Lifelike Dewdrops In Her Visionary Dreams,

Satellite Searchlights & Love//Less Progenic Mutation,
Paralyzed Sunlight Sparking Genetic Alteration,

Monochromatic Streams & Cinematic Realms,
Static Screams Of Her Toxic Schemes.

- 05:43 AM -
Gregory Dun Aer Feb 2017
There's a barbed wire encasing your heart
no broken parts need to be held together by it
the silent sound of blood trickling down my arm
the harm I've done to myself led to no result,
like a knife in a cult I am covered in blood
and the blood I bled barely seemed to move you.
This was usual because the barbed wire ribcage
has kept your heart safe but has also kept it safe.

There's a barbed wire encasing your heart
and I promise I wil let the wires break
but never mistake it for your heart.

There's a barbed wire encasing your heart
not meant to keep things in but to keep things out,
to keep doubt on the realities of love,
to feed enough companionship in loneliness.
onlylovepoetry Jun 2023
I often cry when writing my love poems


this secret, yet-not-so-secret, for the words become
blurry birthed by the amniotic fluid of encasing tears,
and when I write, wearing my emotions on my sleeves,
for wiping my cheeks, nose leaking, because I write of
sorrow supreme, that has no solution, pain repetition-dulled,
yet, provoking each time for the words bubble up, of-course,
it is love, in its thousands of reincarnations, coming to haunt,
the lost, the unfound, thinking of
my parents,
my children,
my lovers,
come, gone and
those who stay…


I bemuse myself thinking, each tear a lost poem, removed
by sleeve or tissue, wiped away, lost, irretrievable forever…
but these yellowed memories forever and ever refreshed
by sea spray and wind, my face absorbs their unique nutrients,
and love and pain rebirthed as if it was the happenstance of
today, and the poem water tank just goes on and on being refilled…
Amitav Radiance Jun 2014
A moment holds Time eternity
A life is moment stretched
Trying to define and set boundaries
We are just travelling through eternity
So many episodes and memories
As our consciousness allows us to hold
Events, stirring the still waters inside
Our body just an encasing for the soul
Soul is indestructible, for it is eternal
Not bounded by the chains of expectations
Rises above all, to meet the cosmos settlers
Mutual handshake with the eternal Truth
We are on a journey, travelers within Earth
Our destination, is eternity, beyond time and space
It’s one big dome, where we all are audience
Once we have traveled through Life
Waiting for the extravaganza to begin
Where we do not judge and compare
As we are all the parts of the same Choate
Just wrote this. I don't know if it really makes any sense, maybe ramblings of a poet. But couldn't stop myself from writing this and posting it here.
CautiousRain Mar 2015
My heart lay in a cloudy, milky state,
its cold, harsh pressure building up within,
leaving me to gaze, masking purpose.

My eyes, dull, hid the fervor,
encasing it in between my lips,
locking them together; smiling.

My breath remains methodical,
sweet melodies juxtaposed,
along my ears and lungs.

Feet pacing, heart staying,
I cannot last; ba-thump,
my hands begin to tingle.

One look, no words;
head spinning away,
there is no closure.
sage short Nov 2015
I don't want to scrub your laugh off of my skin
that it's been embedded in
along with the kisses you planted on my lips
that one day might be bruised
and used to cry for your love
to return to my veins
I don't want to write poetry about our breakup
I want to write poetry about how your eyes love me
and how your hands encasing mine
are the missing puzzle piece
still making my heart skip a beat
when your thumb traces mine
I want to write about all the
demons and angels
withing ourselves and others
and how we are both
mountains and sea
and moon and sun
and how we love each other
endlessly
regardless of if my poetry
can show it or not
I don't want to scrub you out of my bones
I don't want the thought of you to feel like sandpaper
I don't want to shiver
and cringe at the thought of
your love touching me
I don't want my teeth to shatter and my skin to raise
at the thought of your lips
I don't want to cry over wanting you
I want to have you underneath my fingernails and freckles
I want to hold your soul
within my arms
and never let it go
I want to kiss your
every emotion
hopefully healing some wounds
and I'll kiss the scars too
I want to write about how
my love has been
with you since the beginning of time,
how our atoms were created near each other,
that we are from the same star
I wan't to write about how
even in another life
we would find each other
I want to write about your everything
and how I'll love you past my best ability
and sometimes it breaks me
like I'm a piece of glass
from the jar
encasing our hearts together
until maybe one day
they stop beating
I don't want the rhythm
of our heartbeats
to change or stop
but it might
and my cuts will not heal
from the broken glass I call
my heart
but we might stay intact
like the Gods or the stars planned
and if not,
just know that
I love you,
simply
Neal Emanuelson Apr 2015
Oh hail toothbrush, haven’t seen you since last night
I’ve returned again to cleanse an overbite
Spread the paste thick and minty across your bristled skin
Over the lips and on the culprits, 007 of oral hygiene going in

****, it feels good-

Morning scrubs do away with yesterday’s store appetizer samples
Clinging and eroding the ceramic protection of my enamels
Its poor thin concealing of my porcelain I must protect
Just a little more push and pull- haven’t even eaten breakfast yet
Foaming at the mouth, rabid plague of plaque I’m getting rid of
What extra harm for today’s meals I should have considered

But it’s alright-

My dentist smiles and offers a primary root canal adjustment
But the filling he’s drilling in won’t do too much for my budget
One hand to my jaw could cause my little car to swerve
Unbearable agony from the glass casing encasing that vital nerve

One hole’s enough for today-

Make it home, disgusted jaw line of cotton by the mirror
Spit soaked clouds are temporary relief for bearer
Grab the blender, toss it up, eggs and bacon with my juice
It’s no use- my straw’s stuck with gunk and nothing’s coming loose.

But what about this canker sore?

© 2008
aya sakura Mar 2010
meadows that stays so green at spring
and so bared in autumn
magically white in winter
scorching and gold in the air of summers

perennial.

how do they do that?
to stay the same on the foundation
yet ever-changing on the surface.


what difference does it make really?
what kinds?
of the surcoats of hazel and acorns
or the blankets of snow on the slender branches
of trees?


don't they, even once
feel weary of all the undercurrents,
of shifting shapes of shadows?


and stand their ground
and shouted their demands
and push at intractable walls?


and flop down
and sift like flour
and grate like mozzarella?


to toss the gauntlet
say


'enough!'


doesn't anyone ever muses then
of whether the slideshows of nature
being flagrantly displayed and paraded
before their soon indifferent eyes
would feel of their performance.


but oh,
those poor meadows,
those poor meadows,
those pitiable meadows.


continue with your acts and scenes
that shall never pauses nor halt
oh no, no.


for you are impressive actors
on the forested stage
and the eyes, belligerent
yes, they are
will be watching the other way


never straight to your eyes
your artic, chilled
encasing a turbulent, melting, whirling
hot caramel core
yeap, right there on your irises and pupils.


so go on
go on


my delectable
my neglected
my pushover
my poor meadows.
ANH Aug 2013
I savour the bitter-sweet tang
of teeth encasing bottom lips,
the harsh sharpened edges scraping
against jittery nerve endings
under cling-film coral.
And those teeth encasing bottom lips
encase us.
Riley Finnegan Nov 2013
On Monday, November 14th
She wore her favorite dress.
Blue with grace.
Lace that covered her shoulders.
Lace that teased all the men that walked by.
Falling to her knees.
Barely brushing the scabs and scars that sat there.
Hugging her hips like the night hugs the moon.

On Monday, November 14th
She smiled.
Cherry lipgloss smeared quickly across her thin lips.
White teeth peaking out.
Her lips perfectly outlined.
The corners tucked up beautifully.

On Monday, November 14th,
She stood.
Pride in her perfect posture.
Proud of her lean body.
Her body perfectly aligned.
Not a flaw.

On Monday, November 14th
Her arms were pale.
A gold bracelet hugged her wrist.
You could see each blue stream, happily working.
Dusted with freckles.
Soft and pure.



On Tuesday, November 15th
She did not wear her favorite dress.
She wore a different one.
Black with sorrow.
No lace.
Falling to her ankles.
Encasing scabbed knees.
Hugging her in all the wrong places.

On Tuesday, November 15th
She frowned.
Blood red lipstick stained her thin lips.
Her teeth hid inside her blooded lips.
The corners fell, drooped.

On Tuesday, November 15th,
She sat.
Too exhausted to stand.
She let go of her posture.
She was cautious of her appearance.
Aware of her flaws.

On Tuesday, November 15th,
Her arms were whiter than before.
Each vein slashed.
Red.
The gold bracelet still hung there.
Her freckles throbbed with pain.
No longer soft, or pure.

On Tuesday, November 15th
He died.
Early in the morning.
With him, he took her strength, her smile, her pride.
He left her bare.

On Wednesday, November 16th
She missed him.
She missed him a little too much.
Her heart couldn't take it.
Her eyes red and swollen.
She was there, but gone.

On Thursday, November 17th
She joined him, quietly.
A ghost moon shines through clouds half existent
Through the lunatic grimace now etched upon air
This half-light enough to illuminate madness
On the face of tragedy, and the blood drying there
Bodies, which soon will succumb to decay
In a heartless pattern ‘round this figure of loss
As the voices of night begin to resume
And understanding dawns, with knowledge of cost
For, how does one slip into obscurity
When leaving such signs to scream of his where?
How can he hope to live in seclusion
When these things embedded inside him still flare?
Tears well as memories come creeping in
Forming cracks in the reasons to hold on
Sprouting the twisted vines of regret
Of a love now murdered, forever gone

Dawn sets in and persona transforms
Steam rises off skin amidst morning mists
Humanity encasing the monster within
Screaming outrage between trembling fists
More casualties surrounding him now
Adding to the tally of the nightmare before
That’s what they get for attempting to play God
Setting themselves up for what was in store
Enhancing the senses…genetic perfection
Not knowing what they were dealing with
Combining the souls of beast and man
Resulting in the birth of a monster of myth
Schizophrenia of a demonic nature
A mad wolf’s equivalent of Jekyll and Hyde
A man with nothing left to lose
On the run, with a murderous monster inside

Washing off blood now dried past congealing
In the river that flows through this new place of death
Memories replay of ****** and feasting
And stilling his only love’s final breath
Why did she think she could stop this new monster?
What did she think she was trying to prove?
The man then encased in the monstrous shell
Silently screaming, “Move, **** it! Move!”
The newly born werewolf controlling the scene
Obeying desires to **** and to feed
Not seeing a wife, a lover, or friend
Only fulfilling mad hunger’s dark need
And the need to be free of this confining place
Of unusual light and such falsified air
Escape now the only thought other than feasting
Back to the pack and the life he had there

Wandering the forest in the skin of his maker
Wondering just where it all went so wrong
Such perfect planning, but this wasn’t planned for
Seeing the fool he had been all along
Fame was not something he’d wanted or aimed for
All that he wanted was perfecting life
The Devil’s not in the intent, but the details
Of this fresh living hell found before afterlife
The flesh of the monster’s victims inside him
The remnants of blood still encased in his nails
The screams of the hunger, madness, and outrage
Begin to take over with the scent of the trail…

~

With agony twisting the limbs that it borrows
And pleasure consuming the soul that it steals
The wolf now emerges through flesh once confining
Regaining control of his nightmare ordeal
The pack is now closer than even the hunger
The freedom of family just over the rise
The hell he’s endured will so soon be all over
Now that he’s conquered the monster inside
The one who continually cut him and stabbed him
In the prison of strange light and falsified air
Then somehow becoming imprisoned inside him
But his greatest revenge is the monster’s despair
Feeling his pain as he killed his beloved
And all other monsters that kept him enslaved
Along with the monsters back down by the river
Who tried to reclaim him…oh, how they had paid!

All thoughts of escape and revenge now flee him
As the sounds of the pack now befall his ears
Something is wrong…they must be in danger
For their howling and growling hold hatred and fear
They’ve been on the run, but what has pursued them?
It can’t be more monsters from what he can tell
Maybe something far worse seeks to **** or enslave them
Though he detects nothing through sight, sound, or smell
Running like mad, he can finally see them
But, just as he gains, they all stop and they turn
Maybe their enemy followed behind him
But there, he finds nothing but sudden concern
Turning to face them again, he can see…
Just how can it be that he’s already there?
Facing himself from the head of the pack
Regarding himself with a murderous glare

Suddenly, from the monster inside him
Comes maddening laughter that cuts him like knives
“This whole time you’ve thought me the monster inside you,
But to them, you are more of a monster than I!
I had no idea I cloned your memories
Along with the rest before setting him free.
The real you is the one standing here before you,
And you’re just a monster to them! Can’t you see?”
But, before understanding can fully set in
The pack is upon him, and tearing away
Every thought but survival escapes him
As he begins causing his tormentors pain…

~

A ghost moon shines through clouds half existent
Through the lunatic grimace now etched upon air
This half-light enough to illuminate madness
On the face of tragedy, and the blood drying there
Bodies, which soon will succumb to decay
In a heartless pattern ‘round this figure of loss
As the voices of night begin to resume
And understanding dawns, with knowledge of cost
While maddening laughter still screams from within
As the monster who made him enjoys his despair
For now, everything they both have loved
Has been taken from them in this hell they now share
Tears well as memories come creeping in
Forming cracks in the reasons to hold on
Sprouting the twisted vines of regret
And a rage that blooms just like the dawn

Pain explodes within each monster
As the wolf begins to claw at his chest
Screams within and howls without
As one monster lays the other to rest
Though not a mercy killing, but ******
Inflicted by his suicide
For the only way to **** his maker
Is to **** the shell in which it hides

~

Shining through the door of his prison…
Through the steam now rising up through the air
Unnatural light illuminates madness
On the face of insanity, and the blood drying there
The patient, long since locked away
When all reality to him was lost
Had found a way to set himself free
Without understanding, or knowledge of cost
So slipping into obscurity
In this place of strange light and such falsified air
Losing himself to the nightmare delusion
He tore his own heart out to end his despair
Now, there are no tears to come creeping in
The cracks within reason are finally gone
There are no twisted vines of regret
For the monsters within him are finally gone
This is another idea I had for a novel I was never able to write. I began to write it in a condensed poetic form a few years ago, and it lay unfinished until now, much the same as it was with my poem "Thiever of Souls". Basically, this story was unfolding inside the mind of someone suffering from severe personality disorder, psychotic disorder, and schizophrenia. In his mind it was one "monster" killing itself to **** another, but in reality, it was himself ripping his own heart out, completely unaware of the delusion. I am not completely satisfied with this, so it may very well be subject to change.
Kendra B Jun 2014
The Sun.
She is Golden
Crying out to me as she dignifies the morning.
Blinding me.
Encasing me in her warm arms.
Comforting my wonders as I stare up into her pudgy round face.
Feeding my thought.
Her smooth touch across my cocoa colored skin,
It makes me just want to watch her,
And lie there forever.
As life happens,
And time passes by.




© 2014 Kendra Bowman
Oli Mortham Oct 2014
The sky is ripe with stinking wet scorch marks,
And bleeds in petrified phosphorescent snapshots,
Trapped by droplets that
Pour from scratched gorges,
Clawed into the ether by electricity's unkempt fingernails:
An unholy flow, funneled to quench
A celestial ****** of tap-dancing crows;
Their flickering ***** miming pastiche skeleton shapes,
Beckoning black hole embers
Through trap-doors to some ghastly Cathedral of Mirrors:
A padlocked whinstone veil of white lightning,
Encasing maze reflected upon monolithic maze -
Paths billowing torrents of burning shadow -
Thrusting day, night and apocalypse between
Those rusting bars of strobe.
There's an electrical storm outside my house.
T A May 2016
What I wouldn't give to hide
and break the glass covering my mind
release the tension as it builds up
relieve the steam
let loose the dreams
smell the new horizon spanning my fate
look across my mind's ocean
and forget all of the commotion
caused by my own brain’s turmoil
fixed in the work of turning the soil
the labor, the toil, spanning generations.
Discovering new fields and meadows of the mind
would help, not hinder
a cerebrum such as mine
expanding further past the shore
deeper into the metaphorical earth of conscience
but instead I await a rescue
for, what simply more could I do?
the lines of capable and not so are thicker than before
and I'm on the side of failure
my continuance is dependent upon my hindered success
my mind and my clothes and my body's a mess
I want the shake and break the glass encasing my brain
crack the display case
do more than what is required
but how can I do more when I can't do less?
How can I derail this train of thought that I will never be the best
and I might not even be good.
The desire of the mind to hide from it's own self-doubt, to increase in capacity of what it wants to focus on while battling the knowledge of needing to focus on something else. This description is as messy as the poem.
Shawnna Cox Oct 2012
10/21/04

Patterned obsessions have ruled my life,
presented as shadows or dreams that never die.
But are never fulfilled.
The healing eludes me, I sit here,
my wounds still fresh, my heart still broken,
lost in this life,
bored to the brink of insanity.
Faith so fleeting, comes and goes,
what have I got to believe in anyway?
the promise of things I have not seen,
my life remains this hell,
despite my prayers, and I have
given up inside.
I am surrounded by people who love me,
but can't know my soul, my fear, my pain,
which everyday haunts me, encasing me with
doubt and distrust and despair.
It is a decayed elegance that I now embrace,
I hold my head up high, look you in the eye,
but my soul wilts more every day, what you see is
not what you get.
Mutilated and desecrated,
as my soul dies a little more every minute.


Copyright S.L.C.
Amanda Stoddard Mar 2015
These eggshells that surround me have become shards of glass encasing who I used to be and all I can do is look around myself and hope I have the strength to walk through unharmed.
But with every step forward it seems as if I am hurting myself even more and I don't want to break away from the things that are leading me to where I want to be, but the pavement is lined with molten lava and you're the dragon at the other end.
The more steps I take in your direction the larger the flame, the more I try to surround myself with the help I need to make it through less broken and less bleeding-
you scorn anyone who lends me a hand.
I am sleeping beauty, but instead of being awoken by true love's kiss I am trapped by it.
I've spent 18 years walking on eggshells and as I turned around you came and helped me walk around them. I finally felt safe again. But as the time went by the closer I got to my happiness and the further away you felt so you walked me toward the eggshells that surrounded you and pretty soon we were trapped together.
It's been a while but these shells have turned to glass and there's no heat anymore, no way to turn them to sand so we can walk happily again. The dragon in your heart is named insecurity and burns down everything I try so hard to love, even you.
Soon enough we will both be each other's downfall, because how can I save you when you're convinced you don't need saving.
How can I receive the things I need when you believe the only thing I need is you.
I don't know what happiness is, but when I met you that's the closest I've ever gotten and I think that's what is keeping me on the brink of insanity instead of walking the path I should be.
Losing people is not something I'm good at.
But I would rather lose someone, than lose me.

— The End —