"feverishly" poems
Clothes have outgrown me many times over,
but this sadness never does.
One size.
fits all.
There should have been an obituary for cancer, not you.
Wishing these slits within my skin could have been
replaced by a reality check from you, “You chose to exist.”
My name causes a sigh to escape from lips,
that do not feel like they belong to me,
the girl,
whose words always had to be special.
The schematics of hospitals like a birthmark in my brain,
born into sadness, a gut feeling as a child.
Never trusting time
due to what it delivers.
Death, being the only thing I desired.
But you,
who I love,
endlessly-
robbed by it.
Whose ebb for life glowed so feverishly.
Stopped comparing depression to lace,
restricted the belief that suicide is poetic,
seeing things as they were.
More often than not, applauded for feeling emotions deeply.
Every second that dies, the shift of my heart quakes.
This world is not tender.
II. Sad.
I have known the flowers I wanted at my own premature funeral,
knowing how many bouquets honored you that day.
split open my veins like a dimension
reminiscent of days where I anticipated deathbeds.
My family wondered,
can we make it through another day?
Death scares me for what it has taken,
yet, I’m not afraid to die-
it’s all I deserve.
So I await the day pain erupts
from my throat,
acknowledging the days a soul
lived inside of my body-
footprints that walked,
belonging to me.
But I learned so well.
How to suffer with a smile,
dreading the beating of my heart
how unfair—
I don’t want to take these deep breaths
You deserved,while I masquerade as a member of the undead
Never outgrowing the desire to rot with the phantoms residing under my bed.
III. Jokes played by the universe.
punchlines delivered,
how could anyone to stand to be in the same room as myself?
How could anyone look over skyscrapers and sunsets,
and not be infatuated with concrete consuming them?
How I shared a sigh of relief during the thought-
of knowing people would thrive without me,
or the power of a belly laugh,
resembling a laugh track audience
drowning out 3 AM suicidal thoughts.
Jul 20, 2018
Jul 20, 2018 at 11:23 PM UTC
I never know what say
a memory of longing
is painful as it keeps
decaying in my chest
putting my love on paper
doesn't take it away
it amplifies the sting
trying to move on
infecting the open cavity of my being
you read my words like you understand
but I'm lost in a memory of what would have been
trying to collect shattered pieces of my own self
emptied and dancing whisked into the shadows
like the end of a dream
feverishly waking up because my feelings weren't received
give them but don't get them
like as if I sent a letter of longing
never in return
Jun 16, 2019
Jun 16, 2019 at 9:28 PM UTC
.
*Curious minds,
splashing under
moonlight
With
outstretched kisses
pulsating yellow,
Over the awestruck
magical
rainbow,
Feverishly tracking each
supernova
on sight.*
***Resting the moment
on a
cresting knoll,
With
an audience of several
time-worn
rocks.
Whilst the
whistling sirens
in the winds do call...
Wasting away
the ticks of
worldly
clocks.***
*Evading with class,
all
heart's turbulence,
Craters of sadness
congeal
in thin air,
Glamorous amnesia
falls
with cadence,
Eyes wide shut,
susurrating
a
lost prayer.*
***Lifeless gazes
yield
only
abrasive tears.
As erratum
catches up
with its
gaping maw.
Hurling
its anguish
in
rips and shears,
Bleeding out
of
singing wounds
so raw.
But...
time carries confident,
its stock of
soothing balm.
Latent doses
hidden
within
invisible vials.
Welcoming vision
with its
sunlit palms,
Staving the longing
for the
fear of trials.***
*Now hushed
remain the remorseful
battle trenches,
Deprived of their own
victims
save gaping wounds,
Only
faint faith
commanding
corroded limp
forces,
Stirring
light away
from
all
agony
and
doom.*
Moonskittles
ryn
Jan 23, 2015
Jan 23, 2015 at 6:40 AM UTC
On a mythical Mumbai weekend,
of no serene start or dubious end,
with imaginary beauties, invisible friends,
I stepped out of a puffing train,
my long unkempt hair a lion's mane,
getting used to my twitching tail,
Posing on the Gateway of India,
the extraordinary explorer pose,
took a boat to Elephanta (sans the hose),
and when my shivering co-passengers
had finished feverishly taking pictures
and started screaming holy mothers and sisters,
I took off from the starboard end,
and became the first man-lion to
cross the polluted Indian channel,
surviving to make the news channels,
my scientific name listed as a brand new mammal,
my mating call recognized as a gushing gargle,
On a mythical Mumbai weekend,
of no serene start or dubious end,
with imaginary beauties, invisible friends,
I devoured deep-kissing lovers for lunch
at Bandstand's low-tide on a hunch,
to the delicious sound of munch! munch!
even as Shah Rukh Khan watched disgusted
from his big big bungalow by the sea,
and as the city sharpshooters came after me,
and later when they brought me down,
from Nariman Point building, like KING KONG,
I tuned a dusty guitar and sang a melancholy song,
on the death of adventure, love and reality,
dangers of delusions, lethargy and self-pity,
repression, horniness and too much TV,
down in a shower of bullets when I went,
sky like the coming of rain, godspeed, godsend,
in a mythical city, where nothing is really meant,
On a mythical Mumbai weekend,
of no serene start or dubious end,
with imaginary beauties, invisible friends...
Jun 4, 2016
Jun 4, 2016 at 11:01 AM UTC
In lonely moments
I stroll the waning memories
when love pure smiled blissfully
deep within a fawning heart
a wistful melody arises untainted
like a steaming enslaved passion
breathlessly released
unrestrained,..
evident
as the pressed and dried flowers
cuddled between life's ardent petaled pages,
bookmarks of the heart
traces of the wild bouquets
that often soothingly caress’d
the energizing tingles
inflaming a tantalizing touch
the yearning empty voids
feverishly undressed,
traced in the hidden sands
of unexplored oceans..
though time and distance
make the bereft heart grow helplessly fonder,
memories fade softly as the summer breeze befalls,
as gentle feather’d touch
the evanescent sunset afterglow
where the earth and sky align
the dimming of the day
loving can heal
the poet’s bleeding words,
loving can mend your soul ―
the perennial dawning of an
unpromised new day
will someday come again
bequeathed like the bluebird’s mirthful song
to bring forth nascent wild flowers’ blossoming petals
flourishing in the meadow of my heart
Someone you used to know
Mar 1, 2017
Mar 1, 2017 at 7:48 PM UTC
for Nick and Kaitie
1.
Yesterday, right when our call got dropped,
I was going to tell you something about marriage.
I was going to tell you something gnomic,
a maxim worth getting engraved.
I've since forgotten,
but I believe it was akin to saying that, like Truth,
marriage is impossible to define in verbal space.
So, I guess I'm glad I forgot. The words
would've seemed either too hastily conceived for their subject matter
or else weightless, enigmatic – without impact.
I think it was Auden who whined, “Marriage is rarely bliss,”
though he lightened the phrase by encapsulating it in the context of modern physics –
namely, at least it has the ability to take place,
and that should be enough to bring bliss equal to Buddha’s Emptiness.
So, I'm happy our call got
dropped,
for the dial tone was
the pithiest aphorism on marriage any sentient life could've produced.
The key word is “produced.”
2.
This is what marriage is not:
Socrates gurgling hemlock
on his dusty prison cot,
giggling as he glimpsed a dikast’s deformed ****
Nietzsche tenured for philology
at Basel; Nietzsche feverishly etching
Fick diese scheiße! on a Jena clinic's wall; biology
predetermining the team for which he was pitching;
a poem; a hotdog; *******
a discharged Kalashnikov
engendering generational pain
somewhere in Saratov
circa 1942;
this is what marriage is not:
hatred, jealousy, ballyhoo,
obsessive yearnings for a yacht;
this is what marriage is not:
anything one pair of hands has wrought.
August 22, 2013
Aug 22, 2013
Aug 22, 2013 at 8:29 PM UTC
Sunday's newspapers
come on Saturday,
coupons spill out
torrentially.
weekend manna
from
publisher's hell.
makes my breathing heavy,
from studious inspection,
so many needs unmet.
I fall to pieces
every weekend,
securely knowing,
I'm lacking in
so many things,
feeling my
insecure neediness
keenly.
my Target is
feverishly simple,
solution oriented.
no can find any discounts for
new rhythms,
new rhymes,
life high fivers
to satisfy,
adhere,
and revere,
that would be my
Best Buy.
but I'm clipped,
the coupons, not.
Nov 18, 2013
Nov 18, 2013 at 4:37 PM UTC
I dreamt of you the other day
Such sweet resonance with your presence, it echoed a calm I only experience with you; awoken, and sound
You caught me in a time of plight, pulled me forth in valiant fervor
Your smile shined upon me, and I felt safe; feverishly exposing your excitement to explore the horizon
We drove into the fog; your warmth was tangible, even in my subconscious dwelling
Next to you, I simply felt good; a place I can not substitute
I felt calm, as if all qualms and scores of darkness simply melted away; you seemed happier than I had ever seen when I had not declined your beckoning
I felt home, and you seemed content to feel the same with me by you
If ever that could be true when I awake for this, life would forever be a dream
I dreamt for peace, and you were there; simplicity, two threads cut from the same cloth, bound together
I hope to bring you the same light
Feb 15, 2018
Feb 15, 2018 at 4:05 PM UTC
9 January 2014 02.21am
"We all have feelings for our girlfriends Bea, it doesn't mean we have to act on them.."
Silence filled the room
Two opposing forces
Love lust passion
Hate anger fear
What was once owned
Has now been taken
Walking towards her
Reaching out, hand movements
So slow and graceful
An aura so compelling, senses heightened
Bodies shifting as though
Magnetic forces were playing
A sultry dance acting out
Underneath the candelabra
Eyes locked mirroring feelings
Left unspoken, razor sharp tongue
Hips graze, music intensifies
An atmosphere fraught with
Tension, favoured to be cut by a knife
Hesitating lips part with a subtle urgency
Circulatory movements dancing feet
A lowly finger fondles an inner thigh
Ever so slightly withering, exuberant pleasure
Eyes connect, glistening from the light
A smile pacifying both women
Others gazes capture their movements
For now, they are the only ones
Whose love and light fills this room
Alone, unhinged, they kiss
At first tentatively, then feverishly
Drowning, they are both saved
The lovers bodies blend into one
Possessing one another
Nothing is lost in that moment
Desperately clinging to affection
Souls freed, emotions making miracles
Two lovers effortlessly become
One soul being.
© Sia Jane
Jan 9, 2014
Jan 9, 2014 at 12:17 PM UTC
I often find myself deep in the world of unknowns
of wind,
of fire,
of water
She exhales
sending static electricity waltzing through the air
as if the particles find some deeper attraction in her presence
Her fragrance
zests the cracks of empty space
Within a single whispered word,
my breath escapes me
in hopes that it may embrace
just the sound of her voice
Her heat fills up my spine
like a thermometer
and illuminates the heart
Fiery eyes burn hieroglyphics onto my lungs
Her touch gives me the fireflies
and in a frenzy they collide
igniting on impact
Their spilled embers
cast sillouetes on my eyelids
of our candle-lit dinners
Silk hair
pools against the bed sheets
Her lips would be the moon
to my tidal kiss
Frost nips at her imperfections
But she never freezes
for she changes feverishly
like bubbling water
If only transparent
Her forms cannot define her
But,
She is mystic like the air
Spontaneous like a spinning flame
A kinesthetic ocean
and I’m good at drowning
Nov 10, 2012
Nov 10, 2012 at 10:34 PM UTC
Metallic heart,
Savor what you can
While you can
And rest where you lie
Rain.
Sanguine flesh,
I will pierce thee
To feverishly rip, and tear
At these rusted-over heartstrings
Rust.
Sluggish pulse,
Hand over calloused hand
Wipe the luster from her brow
And drown me in the clamor
Pain.
Dangerous dreams,
I smell the rain from years away
I recede, and believe
That time won't repair this erosion
Lust.
.
Nov 29, 2017
Nov 29, 2017 at 9:56 AM UTC
You're not very far but you feel light years away
It's as if I'll never see that smile adorn your face
It's killing me to dream in a bed all alone,
Dreaming only of you
But am I really alone?
Maybe if I think about you enough, you'll finally appear
It's the law of attraction, I'll manifest you from my tears
You're 70% water anyway, if science is right
And if it just might work,
I think I'll give it try
First, I'll imagine your lips, pulling taughnt in a smile
It's quite attractive if I remember, though it has been awhile
Then the sound of your voice;
O, how it makes my tender heart
Rejoice
Next, your soft hands, running over the curve and dip of my waist
These memories, such sweetness.. I hope they don't go to waste
The taste of your lips as they move feverishly with mine,
These memories are surely fading
With the passing of time
I never knew which spice it was, but you always smell of spices
I can almost smell it now.. These five senses must be my vices
And you've still yet to show your face
Maybe I forget something..
Again then, just in case
Apr 6, 2014
Apr 6, 2014 at 12:58 AM UTC
Malignant gazes warped the
the fabric of the air around me.
I couldn't do anything but tell
her that to wish upon a dying star
will never end well.
The atrocity that clung to the ships
hull, was no less human now than
the artificial meat 3d printed..
It taste liked chicken,
but..
there were no eggs in space.
Words like plasma cannons fired
around me bouncing off the walls.
Ok, ok listen I didn't do this to you!
Your the penny that could pay the price,
and this is your tarnished self pity.
I wasn't having any of her grief,
though it could vacate me with ease.
Standing before her I said I could less
cure her than breath in space..
With that she raged in a language
of ferocious exasperation.
I knew that it was time to vacate her
need for some sort of vengeance.
I'd got the necklace on under my garments.
Pointing my pistol at her, she smirked,
then a gargled laugh spat out.
That toy cant harm me, is this your last
stand what a pointless endeavour..
Now it was my turn to smirk,
I don't know if it was panic
or confusion to why I was laughing.
like a hyena knowing that the
pray had just cornered itself.
With that I shot past her, like a
random act, I still laughed loudly.
And then a buckling ache approached.
As the hull cleaved open like a piñata
hit feverishly by an excited child.
As we where exhumed from our coffin,
suffocating in the emptiness of my actions.
I could see her fear, no matter her augmentations,
nothing could survive the vacuum of space.
I pressed upon my chest, my nanite suit
encompassing me.
I was like a new born taking a first breath
Looking at this sorrowful figure, floating
in to the abyss. I knew I was partly to blame.
But now was not the time for respective thoughts.
This was about survival, and I used the small thrusters
to edge closely to the air lock.
Time to move on, time to breath deeply.
Mar 14, 2019
Mar 14, 2019 at 7:00 PM UTC
I abuse words verbally like my voice is Bobby and the dictionary Whitney/
Like a literary hyperbole properly arranged to explain this deranged brutality perfectly/
Force the English language to work for me like a particularly dark time in history/
Optimistically take the tongue twister trickery and aggressively attack a vocabulary vocally and personally/
Not physically but a barrage on your psyche, almost psychedelically/
Use words medically, like a surgeon I expertly plant thoughts whispered softly but assertively/
Moving letters like chess pawns to express thoughts masterfully and creatively/
Gruesomely grotesque but gorgeous thoughts written down beautifully/
You can't help but hear the perplexity of mythoticly placed words with comradery/
An oddity with the audacity to raise the bar and up the capacity/
Because what comes out of me has to be exactly what you see because it is me/
Not just a part of me but all of me/
I'm not a fallen tree sitting in the forest silently, quietly all by my lonely/
It's just the opposite actually and factually/
I will attack with a dialect so violent you violently retract causing you to react cowardly automatically/
I don't even have to lift a pinky, leave it stinky/
Let my words linger there in the air like **** smoke, thick and sticky/
Periodically come back to peek and see if you've figured out the mystery and found the key/
One that'll decipher decisively what it is that I've let out of me and spread to all humanity/
I could never have planned it, see, it had to happen naturally, organically if you will/
And not to build it up falsely but I honestly, back then, didn't have the ***** to let it out of me and it cost me considerably/
So now this mastery I hold of word delivery bestowed to me gets jotted down feverishly/
With an intensity equal to none inside of this ******* century, can't censor me/
Got a consistency that forces me to constantly cross the border of insanity repeatedly/
Time only to watch my talents as they literally wither away for all of eternity/
Such a tragedy to see such agony but please, no apology brought on by sympathy/
Just let me be as I drift farther out to sea to a place you'll never see/
To let these words mold me into someone you could never be/
©2018
Apr 6, 2018
Apr 6, 2018 at 4:00 AM UTC
you pledge allegiance to a certain type of government
a nation that is ruled by fat men
in ***** dens that cloud the air with smoke
that waters your eyes so you can water their poppy fields
all the while with your right hand over a heart
that beats feverishly with the influx
of toxins that mix with your blood
diluting the poppy petal red
with clear atoms that bubble on spoons
in the shape of bone crossed skulls
they rule with iron fists clenched around
green paper that they take from you and your people
and sell fresh needles as necessary happiness
to counteract the sadness they have created and placed you in
they sit there with smoke rings coming from o-shaped lips
that ring around the perpetual cycle of
supply and demand
supplying addiction and wrapping it in itches
and demanding your free left hand
scratch that itch.
scratch that itch so hard that your skin opens up
and the pain requires more relief.
the nation you live in waves its flag with
173 stars representing Celsius and not celestial
because space is far away from this place
and offers too much unknown for you to think
that unknown is the opposite of the sadness you know
and maybe there is happiness there
where hands are free from swollen veins that act
as puppet strings.
Nov 30, 2012
Nov 30, 2012 at 6:56 PM UTC
i seized the day
and ended up in seizure pains
where a heated fever reigns
and eats my brains like beaten eggs
feverishly fried
on a stovetop of lies
where you drove off the side
of a cliff and broke off the ties
and that's it i quit
i've dusted off my hands
and trusted your demands
til i was crushed like a cardboard can
Feb 7, 2010
Feb 7, 2010 at 7:07 PM UTC
Sometimes,
I think of taking my hands
And ripping - splitting - cracking,
My ribcage in two.
The breastbone splintering apart,
My torso opening like a rotten tree.
The inside hollowed,
Like a lake that has been emptied
I've convinced myself that
Fragrant flowers
Would grow there.
That they would grow feverishly
In the gnawing gap
I had created.
And that time would preserve
What I had done.
Sep 29, 2017
Sep 29, 2017 at 5:48 PM UTC
Glances shared at infinitesimal instances
trickle up my vertebrae,
blow the dust away
& chew the tin foil for me.
Nonchalantly running a gauntlet
that I designed with architectural
displeasure.
If you absorbed all the gold you've ever touched,
feverishly drank the blood of gods,
suckled the syrup from tangerines
until you blessed a famine,
stole your story from a pack of gorgeous wolves,
or inhaled the whispers of every wise soul
it would still not explain your unprecedented
growth & elegance.
A superlative pressure wave in the eyes of
a politician.
Purely an enigma.
Beauty in the form of human nature.
I truly flourish in this experience.
Jan 8, 2015
Jan 8, 2015 at 9:56 PM UTC
The esophageal chill of fresh rain paired
with Bozek's tire stove undertones
slipped through the chain link tennis court.
Love all, love-fifteen, love-thirty, love-forty, game.
I love you, service box Suns, fault one fault lines,
Grandma's crochet centerpiece. Cornucopia coping
with *deuce, add. in, deuce, add. out, deuce,
you get it.* Lost ***** in the transformer pen beside
the playground where I watched my classmates
fall off the monkey bars and expose themselves daily.
Racket strings like pantyhose girls surrounding
the sink applying lipstick and stabbing each other dead.
They don't need monkey bars to show off.
Slice serve pizza at Pudgies to kids barely making it.
Grades lower than the pepperoni from the seedy
gas station they sit in and thumb-spike quarters
into each other's knuckles. The "grown-ups"
buy instant lottery and feverishly **** the tickets
with misplaced pennies, and then toss the moneywastes
when they score a free ticket. Free ticket to what?
The tennis match in Addison so far away?
A clear view through chain link?
A wet, elm bench some kid made in shop class?
An alternative to what we waste our lives on?
****** marijuana, drinking at the basketball court, and
flicking cigarette filters into Berger Lake like we're hot ****
We are **** not the ****
Just ****
Nov 6, 2014
Nov 6, 2014 at 11:59 AM UTC
Summer has bloomed.
Carried on the horse of a Viking god.
Drying fields, food for cattle,
and men. Working feverishly
to bring the harvest in. All now is
golden as the Summer Sun runs
valiant across the skies. The barley
corn will fill the whiskey vats full.
Full for the drinking the long dark winter
through the black of days and black of nights
in the feasting halls of men and gods the golden Sun will stay.
Aug 20, 2015
Aug 20, 2015 at 12:16 PM UTC
My hands touch
the cold keys
pressing feverishly
waiting to hear
a sound
that soothes.
Jun 15, 2013
Jun 15, 2013 at 9:18 PM UTC
slower is easier, actually
these bed posts are kind of mean
there's something
i'm not saying
and i'm wondering where it could
be
actually, that's comforting
sincerely, that's flattering
basket case of novelties
heavy hearse
heavy frequency
it's lending it's hand to you
something promised
and running true
in the castles, there are heartless fools
they are deconstructing
with lofty tools
magic
mystic
unconsciously
mathematic and feverishly
running forward to
a destiny
flailing backwards
to an epiphany
slower is easier, actually
these bed posts are kind of mean
there's something you're not saying
i'm wondering where it could be
Jan 25, 2014
Jan 25, 2014 at 1:55 AM UTC
feed yourself the beautiful dream
one brain wave at a time
so as not to choke on its entirety
or have to suffer anymore.
the entire vibrato you've used
is getting you nowhere, you see.
but soon, you'll be able
to say you're not on the streets to score
*another fix
another mix
of chemical endurance
and obliteration*
step on up, and read the sign
there's nothing left here
just as it was when your father walked
from one end to the other, feverishly.
we're dying out left and right,
but you're sure to make it,
i swear it, i've seen it,
and i'll make it all a reality
*based on dreaming
shaped from cleaning
of the mind
and its impurities.*
Jun 21, 2013
Jun 21, 2013 at 6:20 PM UTC
They were dry tinder
Cautious of the passion on the cusp of friction
Back-stepping each possible spark
And ignition
To burn feverishly.
Their retreats only added kindle to their bodies' desire
Crying out for flaming tongues to lick
And flicker
And erupt in
A blazing inferno of utter combustion.
It was not the uncontrollable white heat they feared
But the fear of eventually running out of fuel
The backwash when nothing but
Char and ash remain
And the last embers snuffed out.
The yearning like smoke
Forever lost on the bellows of time
It was not the burning they dreaded
But being burnt.
Aug 27, 2014
Aug 27, 2014 at 6:45 PM UTC