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Lizabeth Oct 2013
I’ve got no right and of that I’m very well aware, that I should have a say in how you wear your hair. That I shouldn’t think it looks the nicest after you’ve showered, when it’s darker and the lines of your combs teeth leave neat rows in your styled way.  

Or maybe that I love you when you’ve shaved, but also grizzly bear you reminds me it’s the weekend. When you're ruff, I know there are a few more precious hours in the Saturday and Sundays on the calendar.

I won’t ever tell you that your grey tee shirt is my favorite of your limited wardrobe, and that you in my favorite color—it’s blue if you  were wondering, though I'm sure you already know— makes my head swoon for a bit. When you wear a button up, and leave it un-tucked, I think about the white vee neck beneath and how I can see it peeking out from beneath your collar.  

I love the way your suit jacket makes you stand up straighter, and how your suit pants when you sit reveal those brown socks you always wear with your wingtips. I even love those blue jeans (I think they’re your only pair) that aren’t stylish, but soft and comfortable. And the brown belt with the cracking leather and brass buckle you always play with when you’re laying on the floor with me, watching nonsense tv at the end of a day. I love your sweatpants, and the way that when you lie on your side, your boxer band shows like a tease. I like the way you never fix it, but it fixates me.
Shay Ruth Nov 2012
Words pour, form into
Wide pieces of evidence
The picture revolves
Capturing a heart, a mind
It will
Bury you until you suffocate

To become captured
Fixates into a pulse
A flight from freedom
A return to curiosity

But, as hearts
Surrender to flying kites
The crescent moon
Cracks under the pressure
Melting snow brings
Denise Ann Jul 2013
June 28, 2013.
Dear--no, this is not a diary entry, this is not a summary of the things I experienced today, this is not about how I felt when my crush said 'Hey', this is not about him or her, this is not about me.
Dear Cupid.
This is about you and your stupidity and idiocy, and your breathtaking suckery in archery, this is about how much I want to punch you in the face if you really exist, because of all the gods and goddesses the Greeks and Romans worship, you're the most vile of them all.

This is about how you whistled merrily down the street, completely unaware of everyone and everything around you, clutching your bow with an arrow nocked on its string, poised to strike.

This is about how you saw this girl who was indifferent to almost everyone and almost everything, this girl who never really cared, this girl who did not know love. This is about how you smirked to yourself and suddenly felt power surging through your veins, for you have found your target, this girl who always thought about everything and never let her heart decide, this girl who tried so hard to forget she can feel, this girl who never, ever loved, and was never, ever loved.

This is about how you felt everything slow down around you, how your sight narrowed down to the space between you and this girl, how your arrow yearned to be unleashed, to fly across the void that needed to be filled, to strike this girl who often forget she had a heart, this girl who needed to know love.
This is about how you pulled the bowstring to your cheek, felt the flecked feathers brush the bottom of your eyelids, saw nothing but this girl who forgot how to smile, this girl who never imagined you would set your sights on her, and this is about how your fingers set the string loose, set the arrow free, sent it soaring across the gap that you wanted to fill.

This is about the explosion of color in a gray room when the blade made contact with this girl's chest, this girl who went reeling back, stumbling back, so taken aback was she that the sudden fire in her ice-cold world rendered her blind and dumbstruck.

This is about how you snickered smugly to yourself because quite abruptly this girl was suddenly no longer indifferent, this girl suddenly cared, this girl remembered she had a heart--because it started beating too fast, it started screaming, it started living.

This is about how pleased you were you immediately set your bow and your arrows down, how you sighed in anticipation of an entertaining show, how you were so satisfied you instantly sat back and relaxed to enjoy the real life movie.
This is about how excited you were you forgot the most essential thing about your job.

You forgot to shoot the other one.
Dear Cupid.

You're such an *******.

But this is not only about you, this is not only about your folly, this is not only about your irresponsibility, this is not only about the wicked weapons you carry, because this is also about the one you forgot to shoot.

This is about him, and how I wish he could listen to the songs only I can hear, how I wish he knew I'm talking about him, how I wish that someone will somehow capture you, Cupid, so they can tie you to a stake and set you on fire, and maybe this feelings will hopefully dissipate along with the smoke into thin air.
This is about him, and how the sudden vibrancy of the colors around me disabled me almost completely. This is about him, and how his eyes suddenly seemed purer, his hair darker, his smile brighter. How I saw stars in the velvet sable of his irises, and I saw poems etched on his skin, words filling in the empty spaces inside him, the silence he wraps around himself a harsh barrier I can never bring myself to attempt breaking through.

This is about him, and the way every ounce of my awareness fixates on him every time he enters the room, and the way my heart flutters like a hummingbird's wings, singing a frantic, desperate melody of fear and panic and anticipation and everything dreadful contained in your arrows.
This is about him, and rainbows and sunshine and butterflies, and everything I've never known.
This is about how the girl who never knew love suddenly knew how love looks like. She knew the sharpness of his cheekbones, the angles along his jowls, the point of his chin. She knew the softness of his lips, the hardness of his jaw. She knew him a lot more than she wanted. She knew him intimately.

This is about him.

This is about the words I'll never have the courage to say, the poems I will never be able to write. This is about heartbreak and chocolates and long walks in the rain. This is about the tears I will never be able to shed, the smiles I forget to wear, the genuine laughter I always try my best to imitate.
And I lied, because this is also about me.
This is about me, and the lies I tell everyday. This is about gazing at the stars and wishing I could tack my fingertips on those bright pinpoints of light, wishing I could give my body to the sky, because having no body means not having to feel anything.
Dear Cupid.
If only you know what you've done. If only.
I would love to strangle you with my own two hands.
And maybe I'll forgive you for giving me this, the way I forgive him everyday for every hurt he gives me.
But this is not only about you, and this is not only about him. This is not only about me.
Because this is also about love.
mg May 2014
across the river
made up of particles and whatnot
is where my soul belongs
it exasperates me that
the fish can easily go
and see my love
with a simple
flip of their fin
can watch my love
i grew up
believing no one
would ever fall in love
with me
that i’d be
forever lonely
like the moon wasn’t something
my love had built for me
in their bedroom
sitting at their desk
pondering which piece fixates itself
to which piece
so my broken heart strings bled
the color blue
it was blue because the
river was blue
and so were my feelings
but it was also blue because
it was cold outside
and i loved the way that
my love’s lips turned a slightly blue color
in the cold
and it was blue because that was
the color of their eyes
i tried to empty myself of all my
dont tell me that
a defective life is something
a therapist can fix
and that a couple pills a day could cure
because there is no way for it
to transit itself into something

all i've ever learned from love is how to shoot at someone who outdrew you – l. cohen

dancer friend working ***** bar explained i wait for some guy to fixate on me then i take advantage of his fascination men are funny once you hook them they can’t see straight can’t see my flaws insecurities all they see is projection of their own longings every man wants a **** who knows how to mother him or put another way all men want their mom yet she better know how to get ***** listening to my dancer friend thought to myself why do we fall into these roles one fixates the other takes advantage regardless of gender can there be mutual attraction no one taking advantage? imagine world without hierarchies against nature in its place respect appreciation collaboration no one feeding on weaker everyone sharing brothers and sisters living in peace love harmony everything is so ****** up the weather the war economy oil spill 38 dead coal miners overpopulation industrial farming food poisoning recall disparity of wealth privilege military corporate unconscionabllity it’s difficult to believe things will get better


i started to reply to dancer friend’s remarks concerning how men relate with women but my voice betrayed words coming out sounding effeminate gay to offset my imbalance i spoke the word ******* hoping to restore grounded street cred i ended finally commenting i don’t know blame myself beat myself up try to ignore deny this pain that eats me up inside realize it’s pain feeding on me i need to play to win more predatory less trusting why am i such a slow learner? what if some phenomenon brought the world together weak strong rich poor u.s.a. russia china india pakistan israel palestine some experience event brought everyone together? with all the hurt blood that’s already been shed don’t we deserve some happiness? someone maybe lou reed said never confuse your own fate with that of the world guess i wasn’t listening hard enough like i mentioned i blame myself for not being smart enough


lost my job at vintage clothing store woman owner often snapped at me i apologized trying to please she said i’ve never hired a man before i think it’s a big mistake finally for no reason she fired me growling bring your key tomorrow i don’t want you back in this store i wanted to ask her why but realized it was futile she’d already made up her mind sometimes i wonder who’s to blame is it in my power to change become or is it written in the stars?
J Oct 2013
I fixate.
Mostly, as a self loathing (or was it loving?) person, on myself.
When it’s not me it’s you, stranger.
Guy who smiles at me.
Girl who stares.
Adult who makes me feel like a kid, and kid who makes me feel like an adult.
I see you, seeing me, and I fixate on you until I can satisfyingly conclude that you either  
1. Don’t give a **** about me
2. Thought about me for a moment.

While I immediately want to know what you think of me, if you think of me, I remind myself that I am much more interested in knowing how long you carry me in your mind.
I, who fixates, will think of you often. I will think of you long and hard and I will stop when I find another whose face is fresh in my mind, while yours has faded like the blue in my favorite jeans.
I, who fixates, wonder how long it takes for me to fade in the mind of you, who doesn’t.
arubybluebird Oct 2013
I'm a lost beat in a generation that I don't belong in
This accent isn't my own, and nothing is really just nothing
On drunken nights I feel you, your words stumble upon my sight
And I feel, I feel... static, ecstasy, loneliness

This beauty which you claim of blossom fields and grey empyreal
It mimics my inner-manic. Estranged voice that dauntingly whispers:
don't claim to the beauty you see

Satellite heart, you're losing your signal, again
I'd build a ladder to the sky and climb every star,
past the moon and beyond, if I could.

I've tried, you know I've tried.
Although I refuse to recline,
denial itself fixates truth:
I'll never be able to fix you.

To quench your thirst, to ease your pain, keep you awake
I'd make you stay, forevermore upon your desire, you know I would.

In my mind, I'll hold your hand without interference
And if tears do in fact dry on their own,
I'll cry yours along with mine until they do.

Feverish trembling of reminisce will not exist, not here
Outside these city walls,
To a place afar from calendar days and neon glistening hours
We will dance atop telephone wires

The soles of our feet tracing back to the sound of that very first call
gliding, floating, drifting
recklessly, carelessly, quixotically - - -

And if we fall, love, imagine that imaginations fly.

It's been said, as they say, that everything, everything ends
We are not everything, however. We are merely ourselves alone
You and I, it is just you and I, dispersed, coffee of the sea
For no reason other than our own, we rage in reprise as
Metaphors among caffeinated tides.

We are not infinite, immeasurable, imperishable
Our ancient bodies have long been buried in one-an-others heart
We are our own. Constant as the silence of sound.
Ceaselessly, immersed in the slumber of our dream
*We are, we are,   w e   a r e
Bellis Tart Nov 2015
I remember saying to you, "I want you SOOO bad!"
I want all your parts, the light and dark, I want you even after so long
even though you're gone I want you
like a kid wants to see Santa on Christmas eve, hoping for a glimpse of the elusive man, not even questioning his validity
I want you like hot fudge on ice cream, the perfect compliment to my frigid self loathing, hot and sweet covering every inch, making me melt, I want you like the bros at the gym want gains
out of this world gains, hard work pays off gains
the protein to your muscle, stronger than the weight on your shoulders, I want you the way a tree buds and grows its leaves into the most lush escape, only to send them off with the most colourful goodbye awaiting their return in the spring, I want you like my dog wants food
and let me tell you one singular thought fixates his mind, and that is eating
I want you like an soft song played on the strings of a perfect evening, while we slow dance in the dark
I want you like an ice cold beer on a hot summer day! the spritz of the cap, bubbling with anticipation, the sweat forming on the bottle dripping down your finger as you touch it to your lips and then,
ahhh pure refreshment, quenching my Sahara thirst
I want you like how green grass, and shrubs and flowers and trees all grow towards the sun, innately seeking the heat source of life, the very sustenance that keeps them alive, I want you
like the air
all around me, I wanna feel you permeate every cell in my body, wanna feel you expand my lungs, and pump my heart, fire neurons in my brain sending electric signals to every muscle tingling my nerves
I want you like the first snowfall
magical and nostalgic, cozy and beautiful
I want you the way I wanna write poetry that saves lives, the way I want the words to build themselves with every pen stroke and speak to you, I want you the way no one has ever wanted me
worth the effort, if you would just try to see I could build a universe around us, so we would have our own stars that shine for our eyes only, and we would never miss a chance to watch the beauty of our stars crossing the sky,
I want you with feelings, and that uncomfortable "communicating" thing that I do so well for a living but struggle to do with you, I want you raw and exposed
our souls bared, a connection even fully clothed, I want you so bad
was all that I could muster under that gin soaked cloak of bravery
I should have said, that all I really wanted
was for you to want me too
if you are measured by how gracefully you let go of things not meant for than I have surely failed before, so why is my silent escape a ballet with you when I know you were meant for me, and me for you!
It's not you, it's me
Standing with her head low and shoulders slouched,

centered in open field of dying foliage, she stood alone in the pouring rain.

She held a bright yellow flower that nestled so gently in between her slender fingers.

Overcast skies, fill the atmosphere with grey and white towering columns of fluffy moisture.

Blue skies peek at out as the clouds mutate and morph moving along with the winds taking on new forms at every breeze.

Sun rays shoot through the an opening where the clouds part, beaming down below to the golden fields of hill, grass,

and the occasional tree; giving life supporting energy for only a few seconds until it quickly

gets covered by the onslaught of clouds. Shinning on her pale fleshfor that second

she felt the life providing sun permeate on her cold wet skin with warmth.

Rain still trickling down upon her face and flower close to decay,

the light reluctantly giving her the energy to lift her head with prowess.

She fixates her eyes deep out into the hilltops and the skies above,

where the light shed through; steadily recuperating from her desolate outlook before.

Noticing wonders and the rare beauty of her location, that she had given no mind to before.

Managing to reveal a smile she once held behind the clouds, forgetting completely that she was ever alone to begin.
Paul Rousseau May 2012
The camera fixates on a face
Dampen the impeding surrenders
September daydreams of Jade
     Natures force was made
For mass production
what a waste Aug 2016
Does he notice the way I stare at him,
When he's in the drivers seat?
Would it scare him if he caught me watching him breathe while he's asleep?
I couldn't stop it if I tried,
The truth is I'm addicted.
To all the little things he does,
More so than I predicted.
It's safe to say that I'm in love,
Completely captivated...
"Should I tell him or is it to soon?"
I've often contemplated...

The light in her eyes is tantalizing.
An ancient spell patient to be read.
My heart fixates upon her,
Like a song that has long
been stuck in my head.
Brain dead I've become
To the love that's left unsaid.
I wonder if she's thought of me,
While she lay tucked above her bed.
It's safe to say that I'm in love,
completely intoxicated...
"Should I tell her or is it to soon?"
I've often contemplated...

He is poetic in his declaration,
The words "I love you."
Beautifully spoken with determination,
The words had burned behind my lips,
But they hadn't left,
When he made his confession,
"I love you too" I divulged,
Sealing our love with a kiss.

A titan escorts the words from my mouth,
And rests them gently at her pedestal.
His gravity crumples her feet
Forcing her to her knees
Frantic I am as she ponders
What the message means.
There's those eyes again.
How can something so tiny,
Carry such abyss?
They pierce me with a wave of density.
Peeling back my sin,
decimating my shell,
Exposing my existence...
God the intensity.

She smiled a whole other topic
as she made her confession,
"I love you too" she proclaimed,
Sealing our love with a kiss.

I've given him my innocence..
My first taste of love has left me swooning.
His skin feels like satin,
His beauty is all consuming..
What a privilege it is to touch him,
My fingertips caress his body..
Feeling every perfection.
He wraps me in a secure embrace.
With him I feel protection..
I love the way he loves me.

The way she strides along side
my heart is liberating..
My first taste of love -
our own personal oasis.
All to ourselves we share our lust.
I sink my teeth into her flesh,
Stardust consumes the senses.
And just like that,
I'm dependent..
The tenderness of her chest pressed against mine, our bodies entwined
like Father Time's hourglass.
Within her I lose myself.
I love the way she loves me.

For years now we have been together,
Come sickness, loss or stormy weather.
But these days our love
is something mundane.
He used to love my little quirks and,
Now they practically drive him insane.
Before he'd gaze at me lustfully
When I looked my worst.
But now he doesn't notice me at all,
It hurts.
I just wish he loved me the way he used to,
I wish he noticed the little things like I do.
The opposite of love is not hate,
It's indifference.
And between us I feel unbearable distance.

Timid eons have forsaken us.
Amidst the garden of decay,
Our longing found dotage.
What has fleeted from the brush?
Where's our love, envy of one another?
Where's our trust?
She used to make little faces when I'd say
All those stupid little things.
Now she pays them no mind;
A conduit of nullity.
Has she forgotten
I flavored my words with promiscuity?
My soul withers without her touch
like a rose buried beneath dust.
Her green fingers once strangled
my birch-wood heart.
I miss our collision.
The opposite of hate is not love,
It's acceptance.
And between us I feel daunting reluctance.

They say that love prevails,
It's *******.
Our love faded from vibrant red to pale,
And drifted off into the abyss.
Years ago our hearts connected,
As of now time has neglected
The burning love we once possessed.
I just wish we could reconnect.
I still love him...

Decadent deserts reject bloom
And so does love
Like oxygen in a gas chamber
Ours deserts the room
Once upon a time
Did passion hum a lighter tune
But all has failed
I just wish I knew what to do
To renew what was once there
I still love her...
This is a co-write I did with Celinda about a year back. Naturally, she played the perspective of "her", and I "him".
J Feb 2019
Driving home .
The sun sets into heaps of cotton candy over the hills and sprinkles the sky with frosted sugar, illuminating your face and hands on the wheel.

First date.
Two teenagers sitting in the car, stealing glances and hiding their innocent smiles under tightly pursed lips with the hanging question of who will kiss who first, only to result in the soft intertwining of fingers.

One looks down and focuses on their frayed jeans, smiling ear to ear. The other looks over, feeling warmth spread from their chest to their cheeks.

February 14th.
Neon lights dim for the girl with strawberry lip gloss and shaky hands. She gazes at the crowd over the sea of couples and fixates her eyes on a single rose. A petal softly floats down onto a table. The piano begins, her voice following.
If life were pink.
A Aug 2014
you never met the me I was before
you never saw me as the wrecked and sunken ship
or how my feelings showed up on the splitting of my skin
with madness comes the bruising and indentations of me

many nights for many years, yanking at my hair,
eyes bleeding tears and "I'm sorry"s
I cannot fix myself
my mind fixates on the broken parts of me that used to be the reason
I try to die
you don't understand how I carved my pain onto my skin, into permanence that I'll see
so that I will always remember that grotesque and ugly part of me
that I hide from eyes that are scratching to reach
megan May 2018
his gaze ignites her
his smile invites her
his laugh delights her
his love excites her

her mind fascinates him
her body fixates him
her touch captivates him
her love saturates him
Viseract Feb 2016
It's the little things
That have the biggest impact
And the larger things
That everyone fixates
*Why can't you see the real problem?
Amanda Jun 2018
Tomorrow is another day, new as all the rest,
Leave worries to settle in the past,
Frightened dreams plague your sleeping mind,
Time, the enemy, always seems to go too fast.

It inducea slowly-consuming fatigue,
The sun lowered eyelids, sight gone,
Slowly sinking like hopes for change,
Daily ritual of comfort continuing on.

Joining edges of morning horizon,
In a still serene escape,
Shifting Earth carries sky into darkness,
Without sound, color, or definite shape.

Amplified moments, night takes form,
Fear fixates frantic thoughts on future mistakes,
Daybreak will come regardless of your worry,
Stop fretting over potential heartaches.
Every day is a chance to start over
J Aug 2017
My brain has a funny way of expressing love for someone or something
My brain denies it for months, finds a way to sabotage it,
My brain then flips around and craves the chase,
My brain fixates on it entirely without any sort of sign of slowing down or stepping back
My brain seals cracks in its synapses with compliments from men in ripped tshirts
Who think that the body my brain is inside of is “just too ******* **** to be sad”
My brain takes it, my brain takes it
and molds itself around their steel wool hands,
And molds my hands around steering wheels that mold themselves into 180 degree turns
That turn cars into tree bark, on fire, lighting up pieces of my clothes throughout the air
Of the town that I grew up in, and empty in, burning out carrying the reasons
Why I tried to silence the constant screeching in my chest with a guard rail,
Going 90 miles per hour instead of just talking to someone,
But they burned up and fell in love with the sounds of the forest
Before anyone else but me was able to hear them
He changes his socks
but never the muse
wonders what's the use,

in time when the stream
reaches its destination.

He never fixates
always deliberates

Things will be
they always are.

I leave well enough alone,
even in marriage
it's good to be on your own.

There is here a limited access
no entry,
do you have a pass?

be things as they are,
better by far that you know
what will be.
Libraries: lots of books,
but not an easy place to learn.
Indeed, the texts are tenets
that pin it down
and fix it so we can point and say
"there is where we worship knowledge."

We humans so love
to build shelters
where our hearts may safely gather dust.

But breathe deeply,
and plunge into the sun.
Or is it the river that shines so brightly?
It's sleepy-warm out,
but the water is cold
and perpetual wonderment is the humblest profession.

'Tis wisest to remember
that we know next to nothing!
Only then do we dare to walk the edge
of our outermost circles,
our most cherished philosophies
which encompass all our virtue and vice.
And only then do we dare to circumscribe it all,
putting our trust in our present being
instead of the prescription that our Past has written for us.

Our cherished morals, our good conscience,
are part of a bigger picture.
Take the next step
when the light flashes across your mind.
Shuck your previous assumptions
like the shackles they are
and embrace the new saving grace.

And watch. It fixates itself.
And then we pin it down and point and say
"there is what we worship, no more no less."

And then. O, and then!
It will be your turn to take my hand and say:
breathe deeply,
and plunge into the sun.
There's never been a better day
to break away.

Us folks never rise so high
as when we do not know where we are going.
Mairie Rosina Feb 2015
Like a rare, elusive butterfly
The world fixates upon,
Love is shown and sold to us,
Without it we are forlorn;
We seek it out in classics
And the new film of the year,
But what some just don’t realise
Is that love is already here;
Sisters doing each other’s hair –
What is that but love?
Mothers working to pay the rent
But still treating children – love!
It may not be the honeyed tones,
Or jewels, or desire of fantasy –
No, it’s something much more precious,
And it belongs to you and me
nsp Apr 2019
Zoloft has killed my poems and my erections.
the unfortunate side effects of getting well.
my pen won't mark this paper,
and my ***** hangs it's head in disappointment.
they look me in the face and ask 'why?'
I try to tell them,
about the constant discomfort,
the urge to peel off my skin and escape,
how my mind fixates on misery.
they seem to understand as well as a ball point pen and a flacid ***** could.
their tiny voices squeak
'we want you to be happy'
and I think they mean it
the three of us wonder if the writing will get easier.
the three of us wonder what the point of happiness is without a working ****.
the three of us wonder if we are useless without each other.
Mark Aug 2019
Dear lady I do know, that beauty's cursed:
To draw unwanted eyes to bask that fair
And I proclaim the masses have their worst
With me to draw by pupils, all that rare.
But if she were behind my eyes, she'd see;
A temple to a goddess most revered,
Where marble has such form, and formed by me
And echoes, sweetly tones that love has eared.
Believe it true, the scariest do stare
But one who loves to love, fixates on truth
That all this being is; for love to bear
And grant to beauty's form, an ever youth.

As I do breathe, I breathe to beauty's ode
If she could know, then beauty has bestowed.
Autumn Apr 2019
Not sure if humans have the capacity to warm the planet
but there’s a blue haze that blocks my
supposed-to-be untainted view of the mountains.  

I want my jaw to drop but my mind fixates on the blue haze as
I worry about the contamination to my lungs
like the bodies of those who drank the water in Flint.

More people seem to have asthma now but it’s unclear if
it’s the obesity or the air or the cigarettes
But less people are smoking cigarettes?
But more people are doing opiates?
Why are so many people in Vermont doing opiates?

So if the globe is warming and the climates are changing
then we have to rally up 7.5 billion people and get them all on board.
Oh the climates
Why can’t we just let them change?

Not sure if humans have the capacity to warm the planet
or land on the moon
but those photos of the sea creatures swimming and choking
on trash makes me sad and I don’t even know why I
should care about them.
Should I care if my spoon biodegrades?

I hope the blue haze doesn’t choke out the birds
because when I die
I hope to reincarnate as a goose.
Or an owl. Or a heroic hawk.
Rob Metz Oct 2018
A rarity for thought as the sun beams down,
The shadows that work from all angles.
Mindlessly connected, us and them.
The static is the surrounding noise, opening cue,
We remain assured we are alone.
The raised goosebumps, innocent whim.

She stares into the sea of stars, as the darkness sweeps through her mind.
Little does she know she’s not alone.
Watching with calculated movements now.
They lie in the dark undetected, they know her every move.
Waiting, they never stop waiting.

She recollects and fixates on her worries,
The monster growing with every doubt.
Salivating from the fear, the shadow will wait,
Eyes feasting, inching closer in the dark.
Her walls crumbling,

She paces, her mind races, tormented by her past,
Make it go away with self inflicted rage.
It’s temporary relief for the mind to be at ease,
But the shadows bring out all the fears.
Fear dwelling in the twilight of the night...

Advances little by little throughout the night,
She suddenly feels the goosebumps.
It’s her mind playing tricks at her expense.
The floor creaks, breaking silence deep within.
She lifts in a panic, nobody there...

Ghost sounds fill her imagination, what could they be?
She looks at the lamp, inching closer to bring light.
She twists the ****, light bursts instantaneously.
And there it was, staring back hungrily.
A feast for the eyes beholding…

She screams in terror, the jaws of the shadows locked,
Crawling desperately, escaping a relentless grasp.
Damaged and torn she is, the shadow waits once again,
The poison of the darkness seeping in.
Growing it is, knowing it is not…

She pleads for help but her mouth can no longer project,
Her silence grows and what dies is her intellect.
She lays and waits as the sun soon comes to rise,
As the shadow that loomed now becomes her demise.
The static of silence returns as the darkness hides.

©️Rob Metz
Pursuit for elusive prey
teases yours truly
into treacherous catacombs
dangerous mentally
challenging pitfalls,

sets small hairs of back
on camp creeks edge
of night, where dark shadows
evoke outer limits
of twilight zone

prompting me constantly questioning
purposefulness, qua hair raising pursuit
embarking these modern roman times
all for naught,
nonetheless I chide self

failing to heed
emotional, mental, psychological...fallout
in sum re: springing Jack in the box reflex
to sally forth and earn kudos,
asper potential Prince Valiant.

Thus situated with blank computer screen
capacious external Lenovo for myopia
(and incessant squiggly floaters to boat),
this literary glutton for punishment
feverishly fixates to plumb depths

(measuring mor'n 10,000
leagues under the see
ming lee impossible mission
to ensnare nearly extinct
fluttering, lyfting, shutterflying...

smarts to outwit unsuspecting
beak henning quest
tendering, tasting uber victory
quivering crossbow
targeting yawping

zoological discovery - channeling
primed with taut fletched arrow
on high alert for stool pigeon
cautiously optimistic kickstarting
another futile attempt dagnabbit
experiencing prestige,

oh...and by the way...,
no animal harmed
regarding made for video poem
gamely capturing quarry scotched,
nor gruesome scene

synonymous quasi abattoir
representative bird den sum
bloodless coup deeming
endeavor par excellence.

Fingers madly scramble
to poach skittering idea
fry day most ideal
omelette ya know,
aye feel yolked to defeatism,

one after another faux
promising brainstorm egging
quickly flitting inaccessible
potential flash in frying pan
just as fast dashing

into bajillion pieces
shell shocked scrivener
scribbling lame as duck
goose laying golden egg...
dropping immediately out of sight,

maybe best resigning forlorn
inchoate never albumen,
albeit quite linguistic stretch for
(all be human success story)
prospects beyond reach

ova this wretch
New York Times
bestseller author jinxed
forever dooming yours truly
grinding poverty my ill fate.

— The End —