"fogginess" poems - Hello Poetry

"fogginess" poems

Coffee, I adore thee, somehow you never bore me. Bold and dark or mild and smooth, you get me up and on the move. In warm embrace or cool frappe, mocha, french roast, or tall latte, crema, sospeso or con panna, you never fail to make my day. It’s the best thing ever manufactured, without it, my mind is slow and scattered, for a quiz or formulating I’d be knackered, every morning the Keurig is where we gather. You pick me up and keep me keen, in complementing any cuisine, by delivering a dose of sweet caffeine, you are the original magic bean. In doses quick or lingered over, on mornings with a hangover, I reach for you, your warm embrace, the morning fogginess to erase. The flavors, the scent, which is the best? They are of compound interest. French press or espresso - take your pick - they all provide that delicious kick. Jitter juice, rocket fuel, cup of joe, cuppa, morning brew or ristretto, your flavors please, your scent rouses, a coffee shop is where the crowd is. In slang they call it Mormon-crack, but sugared up or with a snack, with creamy art or straight-up black once I’ve got it, you won’t get it back.

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Jan 27, 2023

Jan 27, 2023 at 9:27 AM UTC

Coffee, I adore thee, somehow you never bore me. Bold and dark or mild and smooth, you get me up and on the move. In warm embrace or cool frappe, mocha, french roast, or tall latte, crema, sospeso or con panna, you never fail to make my day. It’s the best thing ever manufactured, without it, my mind is slow and scattered, for a quiz or formulating I’d be knackered, every morning the Keurig is where we gather. You pick me up and keep me keen, in complementing any cuisine, by delivering a dose of sweet caffeine, you are the original magic bean. In doses quick or lingered over, on mornings with a hangover, I reach for you, your warm embrace, the morning fogginess to erase. The flavors, the scent, which is the best? They are of compound interest. French press or espresso - take your pick - they all provide that delicious kick. Jitter juice, rocket fuel, cup of joe, cuppa, morning brew or ristretto, your flavors please, your scent rouses, a coffee shop is where the crowd is. In slang they call it Mormon-crack, but sugared up or with a snack, with creamy art or straight-up black once I’ve got it, you won’t get it back.

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What happens when temporary is no longer When you feel weak without them Yet somehow stronger How do we feed the darkness of our pasts Well i can tell you, easy, With memories of us staring at ourselves through broken glass. I can finally say I'm no longer afraid of you or who you'll be without me Because I finally can see who you've been without a shadow of doubt overcasting. You are now who you've always been. It's just now with some alcohol running rapid through my veins and some tears gathered in my eyes From staring vaguely into my mind It somehow all seems clear enough. I'm no longer pinned. Blindfolded by one's own fogginess. A mist that overtook me a year too long to clear. You are the same. And no not that cliche **** the same as every guy, but you are the exact same reincarnation of my worst fear. My fear of falling for someone who only had the interests of their own held dear. Maybe this makes sense to you and maybe this doesn't and you know what? That's a risk I'm willing to take. I would rather let these words and phrases pour out of me like an unstoppable hurricane that might drown you, Than to, for one second longer, let this hurricane continue to destroy me.. Whatever is left of course.

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Jan 15, 2015

Jan 15, 2015 at 12:05 AM UTC

What happens when temporary is no longer When you feel weak without them Yet somehow stronger How do we feed the darkness of our pasts Well i can tell you, easy, With memories of us staring at ourselves through broken glass. I can finally say I'm no longer afraid of you or who you'll be without me Because I finally can see who you've been without a shadow of doubt overcasting. You are now who you've always been. It's just now with some alcohol running rapid through my veins and some tears gathered in my eyes From staring vaguely into my mind It somehow all seems clear enough. I'm no longer pinned. Blindfolded by one's own fogginess. A mist that overtook me a year too long to clear. You are the same. And no not that cliche **** the same as every guy, but you are the exact same reincarnation of my worst fear. My fear of falling for someone who only had the interests of their own held dear. Maybe this makes sense to you and maybe this doesn't and you know what? That's a risk I'm willing to take. I would rather let these words and phrases pour out of me like an unstoppable hurricane that might drown you, Than to, for one second longer, let this hurricane continue to destroy me.. Whatever is left of course.

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Have you ever looked through frosted glass, and tried, with futility, to define the outlines of a distant subject? All my life I have done so. My eyes are the icy glass of isolation: They awaken me to empty human shells that, Despite their sharp scents of smiles and summer, Are uncoloured with a vague sense of fogginess. For if you thought them geometrically similar, Outwardly identical and biologically matching as I: Just as you would not expect one to talk to animals, I find myself equally inadequate and isolated. I yearn to smash: first, this glass I look through. Then, the shells of the first body I find. In hope that, the blood of non-isolation, Of non-emptiness can wash and flood, Drown and dissolve the despair Of an inability to reach across, Of living behind a glass, Of fading away. All your life you have looked through this glass, and All your life you have lived in this claustrophobia, Smashing futilely.

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Dec 27, 2011

Dec 27, 2011 at 7:16 AM UTC

Have you ever looked through frosted glass, and tried, with futility, to define the outlines of a distant subject? All my life I have done so. My eyes are the icy glass of isolation: They awaken me to empty human shells that, Despite their sharp scents of smiles and summer, Are uncoloured with a vague sense of fogginess. For if you thought them geometrically similar, Outwardly identical and biologically matching as I: Just as you would not expect one to talk to animals, I find myself equally inadequate and isolated. I yearn to smash: first, this glass I look through. Then, the shells of the first body I find. In hope that, the blood of non-isolation, Of non-emptiness can wash and flood, Drown and dissolve the despair Of an inability to reach across, Of living behind a glass, Of fading away. All your life you have looked through this glass, and All your life you have lived in this claustrophobia, Smashing futilely.

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“there you are” , i should have said “i was just thinking of you and i was expecting to see you somewhere, and it was here” and there we were and all i wanted was for us to stand closer but i know that was impossible the pull was magnetic i couldn’t disconnect from the inevitability that was us talking and i asked you about classes because I had to and good lord it is so nice to hear you say things and you are some of the only brilliance i know that i can actually touch i should have said “why would i have thought you wouldn’t be here we haven’t seen each other in six months don’t be an imbecile let’s discuss more philosophy and bastardize blasphemy” but i didn’t but it was unsaid but that was good enough do you remember what you took from me do you remember what i had that was really yours do you know how much of her i now hold with a steady grip do you know what darts through my chest when i know the two of you are stagnant ponds? i looked like there was something in my eyes, probably— should i have missed you as much as i did? my soul finds the question irrelevant i missed you to the point of fogginess did you ever know that i loved you like the thousand things i also loved? in that moment i wanted something that was never us to feel your ribs under your sweater and the sturdiness of your chest as your arms hung limp beside you knowing exactly what your face must have looked like as i pressed my own into your confusion we talked for ten minutes; any multiple would still have left me wanting and the hole in the centre our node that couldn’t be occupied was her and she’s fine don’t worry i don’t want to picture you holding her like i never could but can now god yes i missed you i did and the way you smiled when things actually deserved it and the way your hair grows long, well past your shoulders you could swallow me whole and i’d let you and you wouldn’t know what to do with that that’s why i loved you, the only real thing i loved like unreal things

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Dec 13, 2012

Dec 13, 2012 at 5:03 AM UTC

in the bleak midwinter

“there you are” , i should have said “i was just thinking of you and i was expecting to see you somewhere, and it was here” and there we were and all i wanted was for us to stand closer but i know that was impossible the pull was magnetic i couldn’t disconnect from the inevitability that was us talking and i asked you about classes because I had to and good lord it is so nice to hear you say things and you are some of the only brilliance i know that i can actually touch i should have said “why would i have thought you wouldn’t be here we haven’t seen each other in six months don’t be an imbecile let’s discuss more philosophy and bastardize blasphemy” but i didn’t but it was unsaid but that was good enough do you remember what you took from me do you remember what i had that was really yours do you know how much of her i now hold with a steady grip do you know what darts through my chest when i know the two of you are stagnant ponds? i looked like there was something in my eyes, probably— should i have missed you as much as i did? my soul finds the question irrelevant i missed you to the point of fogginess did you ever know that i loved you like the thousand things i also loved? in that moment i wanted something that was never us to feel your ribs under your sweater and the sturdiness of your chest as your arms hung limp beside you knowing exactly what your face must have looked like as i pressed my own into your confusion we talked for ten minutes; any multiple would still have left me wanting and the hole in the centre our node that couldn’t be occupied was her and she’s fine don’t worry i don’t want to picture you holding her like i never could but can now god yes i missed you i did and the way you smiled when things actually deserved it and the way your hair grows long, well past your shoulders you could swallow me whole and i’d let you and you wouldn’t know what to do with that that’s why i loved you, the only real thing i loved like unreal things

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He comes home… We never know exactly when. I used to think he was cheating on my mother. Maybe he always was. But the liquor stole him first. It held him tighter than we ever could. He felt safer there, had more fun with the bottle. With every beer that slid down his throat, he was more and more at home. He loved us— but the beer loved him more. It pulled him under, blurred his vision, made him forget. When he’d stumble in during the daylight, his body swayed like a boat on rough waters. I never appreciated enough that he made it home at all in that condition. His words would slur, each end of a word colliding with the beginning of the next. Sometimes, he’d get so lost in thought, so tangled in his own mind, that he’d forget what we were even talking about. My mother was always mad. I used to be mad too— and never knew why. Until one day, I gave in. Gave him my forgiveness, the one he never asked for. You can’t teach an old dog new tricks… I tried to support him, but it’s so hard. My mom is so tired— just wanting a husband to come home to, not a ghost of the man she married. Someone to help around the house, to string together a single clear thought, to spend more time here than at the bar. It breaks my heart. I don’t know who to support. I love them both. W h y is it so hard to be the daughter of a drunk? There was no violence, no bruises, just the fogginess of his absence, just the late-night entrances and the screams of my parents. I used to wish they’d get divorced just so the fighting would stop. Sometimes, he wasn’t around at all. But I have the good memories too. He truly did love me. It’s an addiction, you know? Maybe if he had the power, the knowledge, the tools, he would have chosen us instead of the liquor. He is my father, and I love him nonetheless. One of the coolest guys I know. A real respectable man— a true OG from the outfields of Humboldt Park. A man who never got the healing he needed. A man trapped in addiction, drowning out the echoes of his past. A man whose baby daughter chose her mother’s side, who had to face the weight of two women’s anger. Who could he turn to, other than the bottle— the one thing that never judged him? A man repeating the steps of his father, walking the only path he knew. A man who tried his best, who fought the fight, but sometimes the fight was too strong. A man who never learned therapy was an option. A man who feared his own tears, who thought vulnerability was weakness. A man who drank to forget, who drank to silence the noise. And I forgive him. I always will. This is what it means to be the daughter of a drunk.

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Apr 26, 2021

Apr 26, 2021 at 7:22 PM UTC

being the daughter of a drunk

He comes home… We never know exactly when. I used to think he was cheating on my mother. Maybe he always was. But the liquor stole him first. It held him tighter than we ever could. He felt safer there, had more fun with the bottle. With every beer that slid down his throat, he was more and more at home. He loved us— but the beer loved him more. It pulled him under, blurred his vision, made him forget. When he’d stumble in during the daylight, his body swayed like a boat on rough waters. I never appreciated enough that he made it home at all in that condition. His words would slur, each end of a word colliding with the beginning of the next. Sometimes, he’d get so lost in thought, so tangled in his own mind, that he’d forget what we were even talking about. My mother was always mad. I used to be mad too— and never knew why. Until one day, I gave in. Gave him my forgiveness, the one he never asked for. You can’t teach an old dog new tricks… I tried to support him, but it’s so hard. My mom is so tired— just wanting a husband to come home to, not a ghost of the man she married. Someone to help around the house, to string together a single clear thought, to spend more time here than at the bar. It breaks my heart. I don’t know who to support. I love them both. W h y is it so hard to be the daughter of a drunk? There was no violence, no bruises, just the fogginess of his absence, just the late-night entrances and the screams of my parents. I used to wish they’d get divorced just so the fighting would stop. Sometimes, he wasn’t around at all. But I have the good memories too. He truly did love me. It’s an addiction, you know? Maybe if he had the power, the knowledge, the tools, he would have chosen us instead of the liquor. He is my father, and I love him nonetheless. One of the coolest guys I know. A real respectable man— a true OG from the outfields of Humboldt Park. A man who never got the healing he needed. A man trapped in addiction, drowning out the echoes of his past. A man whose baby daughter chose her mother’s side, who had to face the weight of two women’s anger. Who could he turn to, other than the bottle— the one thing that never judged him? A man repeating the steps of his father, walking the only path he knew. A man who tried his best, who fought the fight, but sometimes the fight was too strong. A man who never learned therapy was an option. A man who feared his own tears, who thought vulnerability was weakness. A man who drank to forget, who drank to silence the noise. And I forgive him. I always will. This is what it means to be the daughter of a drunk.

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POSTICTAL PORTHOLE-(TIME BLOWN BACKWARDS) Frozen breath holding back weight, against the chest seems great stacked like stones Starting softly to see from the third door down the row,reclusive, damage is waiting to show Others in red alert our mind coming on slow, their fear no reflection on our unknowns Peace while in waiting,thoughts flow slow into a reflecting pool,echos beginning to grow Time blown backwards when clocks stopped ticking , simple assessments our only goals Mental evaporation senses left wide open,trying to find the song but only get static from the radio Held back by grogginess looking out from fogginess ,bits of life as viewed through those holes Oh MY I made it,escaped , BUT when will blackness call again,laying low not quite thinking of that other plateau Bolted ,jolted rousing frequently followed by drowsing,hearing as a low hum ,sounds soon forming new tones Nonexistentance now part of the ritual ,for the witness memories are visual,slowly waiting to say hello Perspective has changed, await for thoughts to be rearranged ,senses in collusion with massive confusion,new beginning like waiting for future episodes . R.C.

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Jan 17, 2018

Jan 17, 2018 at 12:05 PM UTC

POSTICTAL PORTHOLE-(TIME BLOWN BACKWARDS)

POSTICTAL PORTHOLE-(TIME BLOWN BACKWARDS) Frozen breath holding back weight, against the chest seems great stacked like stones Starting softly to see from the third door down the row,reclusive, damage is waiting to show Others in red alert our mind coming on slow, their fear no reflection on our unknowns Peace while in waiting,thoughts flow slow into a reflecting pool,echos beginning to grow Time blown backwards when clocks stopped ticking , simple assessments our only goals Mental evaporation senses left wide open,trying to find the song but only get static from the radio Held back by grogginess looking out from fogginess ,bits of life as viewed through those holes Oh MY I made it,escaped , BUT when will blackness call again,laying low not quite thinking of that other plateau Bolted ,jolted rousing frequently followed by drowsing,hearing as a low hum ,sounds soon forming new tones Nonexistentance now part of the ritual ,for the witness memories are visual,slowly waiting to say hello Perspective has changed, await for thoughts to be rearranged ,senses in collusion with massive confusion,new beginning like waiting for future episodes . R.C.

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Heaven help the citizen the worthy to be denizen of Love inspired by Tennyson awaken from false hope! and Heaven help her poetry sincere insensibility the height of all futility to party like the Pope! Heaven help the serious who grasp that sweet delirious the simple yet mysterious is natures way of speaking and Heaven help our attitude to dwell in sleepy gratitude her longitude and latitude? a treasure for the seeking! Heaven help her doggedness the sluggish **** of fogginess the rhyme afloat in bogginess which pulls her reader down. and Heaven help the man again who treads the Old Shenanigan to find a wretched mannequin a fool in love could drown. Heaven help us everyone the world has lost it's sense of fun depending on the wealthy one to build amusement features and Heaven help the child within the haggard *** to see again to breathe the life which God has won and offers to all creatures!

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Apr 11, 2015

Apr 11, 2015 at 3:28 AM UTC

Heaven Help Her

Heaven help the citizen the worthy to be denizen of Love inspired by Tennyson awaken from false hope! and Heaven help her poetry sincere insensibility the height of all futility to party like the Pope! Heaven help the serious who grasp that sweet delirious the simple yet mysterious is natures way of speaking and Heaven help our attitude to dwell in sleepy gratitude her longitude and latitude? a treasure for the seeking! Heaven help her doggedness the sluggish **** of fogginess the rhyme afloat in bogginess which pulls her reader down. and Heaven help the man again who treads the Old Shenanigan to find a wretched mannequin a fool in love could drown. Heaven help us everyone the world has lost it's sense of fun depending on the wealthy one to build amusement features and Heaven help the child within the haggard *** to see again to breathe the life which God has won and offers to all creatures!

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Heaven help the citizen the worthy to be denizen of Love inspired by Tennyson awaken from false hope! and Heaven help her poetry sincere insensibility the height of all futility to party like the Pope! Heaven help the serious who grasp that sweet delirious the simple yet mysterious is natures way of speaking and Heaven help our attitude to dwell in sleepy gratitude her longitude and latitude? a treasure for the seeking! Heaven help her doggedness the sluggish **** of fogginess the rhyme afloat in bogginess which pulls her reader down. and Heaven help the man again who treads the Old Shenanigan to find a wretched mannequin a fool in love could drown. Heaven help us everyone the world has lost it's sense of fun depending on the wealthy one to build amusement features and Heaven help the child within the haggard *** to see again to breathe the life which God has won and offers to all creatures!

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Aug 9, 2014

Aug 9, 2014 at 7:35 AM UTC

Heaven Help Her

Heaven help the citizen the worthy to be denizen of Love inspired by Tennyson awaken from false hope! and Heaven help her poetry sincere insensibility the height of all futility to party like the Pope! Heaven help the serious who grasp that sweet delirious the simple yet mysterious is natures way of speaking and Heaven help our attitude to dwell in sleepy gratitude her longitude and latitude? a treasure for the seeking! Heaven help her doggedness the sluggish **** of fogginess the rhyme afloat in bogginess which pulls her reader down. and Heaven help the man again who treads the Old Shenanigan to find a wretched mannequin a fool in love could drown. Heaven help us everyone the world has lost it's sense of fun depending on the wealthy one to build amusement features and Heaven help the child within the haggard *** to see again to breathe the life which God has won and offers to all creatures!

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Your stare, your burning glare Never looking at me Examining my soul Your stare leaves me feeling naked and exposed Your eyes like a mirror Mesmerizing, haunting In your eyes I cannot hide A reflection of what I have buried Skeletons in my closet Flame flickering in my soul Thick mud, bare feet Moving through life without living Your light shining at the end of the tunnel Twisted branches of my mind Whirlwind of spirit Captivated by a feeling Captured in a moment Drowning in a dream In the fogginess of dawn In the haze of today In the hope of tomorrow Your eyes dance upon the horizon Glimmering in faith Forthcoming truth Questioning all My reflection

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Mar 26, 2017

Mar 26, 2017 at 6:42 PM UTC

Your stare, your burning glare Never looking at me Examining my soul Your stare leaves me feeling naked and exposed Your eyes like a mirror Mesmerizing, haunting In your eyes I cannot hide A reflection of what I have buried Skeletons in my closet Flame flickering in my soul Thick mud, bare feet Moving through life without living Your light shining at the end of the tunnel Twisted branches of my mind Whirlwind of spirit Captivated by a feeling Captured in a moment Drowning in a dream In the fogginess of dawn In the haze of today In the hope of tomorrow Your eyes dance upon the horizon Glimmering in faith Forthcoming truth Questioning all My reflection

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there, your bed is rocking as it cradles another woman beneath your chest lips beneath your lips I’m not sure if I care or not I do a little bit but I signed up for this without hesitation a part of me wonders if there was hesitation in your head when you heard the front door squeak open and my bedroom light turn on, then quickly go out as I shut the door behind me you’re not loud at all but it’s 12:47 and I knew you were seeing her tonight I knew you don’t usually fall asleep this early I knew I would be coming home to this I knew I’d have to face what I thought I’d be fine facing but the ativan is kicking in boy am I glad I brought it with me and I’m not sure if I can hear her moaning or if that’s just a car vrooming past my window outside a lot of people call this kind of situation ****** up or extremely strange I don’t feel ****** up maybe I feel a little strange I’m just starting to question so much, everything it’s healthy but it’s hurting not as sharp as betrayal hurts, because I’m not being betrayed in any way it’s just the fogginess of confusion that makes you not know where you’re going and it’s that familiar stagnancy and going-in-circles routine that has begun to wring my head around and my heart too, ever so slightly but I’ll sigh instead of cry this time not because I’m forcing back tears but because I really don’t need them right now and I’m okay as long as I’m still wanting to live and truth be told, I am still wanting to live because I need nothing but myself, really that’s the truest truth there is I’m fine, though a bit torn but I’m fine and that’s basically all that matters

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Mar 18, 2013

Mar 18, 2013 at 10:48 PM UTC

there, your bed is rocking as it cradles another woman beneath your chest lips beneath your lips I’m not sure if I care or not I do a little bit but I signed up for this without hesitation a part of me wonders if there was hesitation in your head when you heard the front door squeak open and my bedroom light turn on, then quickly go out as I shut the door behind me you’re not loud at all but it’s 12:47 and I knew you were seeing her tonight I knew you don’t usually fall asleep this early I knew I would be coming home to this I knew I’d have to face what I thought I’d be fine facing but the ativan is kicking in boy am I glad I brought it with me and I’m not sure if I can hear her moaning or if that’s just a car vrooming past my window outside a lot of people call this kind of situation ****** up or extremely strange I don’t feel ****** up maybe I feel a little strange I’m just starting to question so much, everything it’s healthy but it’s hurting not as sharp as betrayal hurts, because I’m not being betrayed in any way it’s just the fogginess of confusion that makes you not know where you’re going and it’s that familiar stagnancy and going-in-circles routine that has begun to wring my head around and my heart too, ever so slightly but I’ll sigh instead of cry this time not because I’m forcing back tears but because I really don’t need them right now and I’m okay as long as I’m still wanting to live and truth be told, I am still wanting to live because I need nothing but myself, really that’s the truest truth there is I’m fine, though a bit torn but I’m fine and that’s basically all that matters

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waking up each morning dragging my *** out of bed I rub the sleep from my eyes shake the fogginess out of my head I feel the chill of the morning air the dampness of the dew I make a *** of coffee wait for it to brew I see the people coming and going through out the day some of them are family they want to stay and play it all seems so normal tiresome In a way taking it all for granted it's how we get through the day then the night has come loneliness fills the air I wonder what it's all been for I wonder why I care it's 12am or midnight the start of a new day I put the gun inside my mouth and blow my head away

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Mar 3, 2011

Mar 3, 2011 at 12:51 PM UTC

The Day Before I Die

waking up each morning dragging my *** out of bed I rub the sleep from my eyes shake the fogginess out of my head I feel the chill of the morning air the dampness of the dew I make a *** of coffee wait for it to brew I see the people coming and going through out the day some of them are family they want to stay and play it all seems so normal tiresome In a way taking it all for granted it's how we get through the day then the night has come loneliness fills the air I wonder what it's all been for I wonder why I care it's 12am or midnight the start of a new day I put the gun inside my mouth and blow my head away

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*No such thing as a past life... Your past life is today. You woke up, Went to your work, lived by your Lot you sustain upon, and are then Weary from your many partures this night. Now to find rest and safe haven the green Grasses await you, of your bed spread, To rise again and greet life tomorrow, The stumbling, the fogginess of waking up once again awaits you, no longer dead.*

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Apr 13, 2016

Apr 13, 2016 at 11:37 PM UTC

Untitled Tomorrow

*No such thing as a past life... Your past life is today. You woke up, Went to your work, lived by your Lot you sustain upon, and are then Weary from your many partures this night. Now to find rest and safe haven the green Grasses await you, of your bed spread, To rise again and greet life tomorrow, The stumbling, the fogginess of waking up once again awaits you, no longer dead.*

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You bare the nails that were Your words to me. It was only for the world within me To see. Backward truths and bland Love was, Yours, Your tongue to mine. Benevolent lover with the fogginess Of your crooked lies. Compare this to that and call it Simile. No like or as Call it metaphor. Make sure it is home. The idea of your love Punched my young hernia. That is where love enters. That is where You Took it from me. Like a bandit in the brightest night. There are no three wise men here. They don't come to see me. Instead, good old and wise fear Fills my lungs until I bleed Bleed bleed. You bandit in the night. A lover without a light. You took my time and mixed it with your lies. A bandit in the night.

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May 8, 2016

May 8, 2016 at 3:06 PM UTC

You bare the nails that were Your words to me. It was only for the world within me To see. Backward truths and bland Love was, Yours, Your tongue to mine. Benevolent lover with the fogginess Of your crooked lies. Compare this to that and call it Simile. No like or as Call it metaphor. Make sure it is home. The idea of your love Punched my young hernia. That is where love enters. That is where You Took it from me. Like a bandit in the brightest night. There are no three wise men here. They don't come to see me. Instead, good old and wise fear Fills my lungs until I bleed Bleed bleed. You bandit in the night. A lover without a light. You took my time and mixed it with your lies. A bandit in the night.

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nearly time for liquid vine nearly time to wash away forget the day and drown away into the night taste so good my golden hook taste so sweet my honey brew sweet so sweet im into you into you into you my sweet so sweet im into you Feels so near my liquid cheer nearly time for golden wine a fogginess found my mind in clear to me a fear taste so good my golden hook taste so sweet my honey brew sweet so sweet im into you into you into you my sweet so sweet im into you until tomorrow when I wont care my head will find another cheer another want for nectars blood another wait to hide my life taste so good my golden hook taste so sweet my honey brew sweet so sweet im into you into you into you my sweet so sweet im into you

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May 5, 2012

May 5, 2012 at 11:43 AM UTC

nearly time for liquid vine nearly time to wash away forget the day and drown away into the night taste so good my golden hook taste so sweet my honey brew sweet so sweet im into you into you into you my sweet so sweet im into you Feels so near my liquid cheer nearly time for golden wine a fogginess found my mind in clear to me a fear taste so good my golden hook taste so sweet my honey brew sweet so sweet im into you into you into you my sweet so sweet im into you until tomorrow when I wont care my head will find another cheer another want for nectars blood another wait to hide my life taste so good my golden hook taste so sweet my honey brew sweet so sweet im into you into you into you my sweet so sweet im into you

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Mornings and I don't get along We are like oil and water There is no sweet connection They don't ever get my attention Conversations invade my mental fog Please be quiet and don't speak Give me just five minutes to clear out Before closing me in with words from your mouth Allow me to refuel with some caffeine Marinate my senses through coffee beans Let it break up the fogginess screen For if you don't I will let out a piercing scream

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Oct 30, 2018

Oct 30, 2018 at 9:48 AM UTC

Morning Kryptonite

Mornings and I don't get along We are like oil and water There is no sweet connection They don't ever get my attention Conversations invade my mental fog Please be quiet and don't speak Give me just five minutes to clear out Before closing me in with words from your mouth Allow me to refuel with some caffeine Marinate my senses through coffee beans Let it break up the fogginess screen For if you don't I will let out a piercing scream

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When the earthen season of fall arrives, I fall with the leaves; I don't descend in spiraling motions, But drown easily Into the fogginess of what's next. Hopefully, the leaf that takes my place Will make up for my err in the air.

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Sep 22, 2018

Sep 22, 2018 at 2:34 PM UTC

brian-mc-donagh-1

Autumn's Gravity

When the earthen season of fall arrives, I fall with the leaves; I don't descend in spiraling motions, But drown easily Into the fogginess of what's next. Hopefully, the leaf that takes my place Will make up for my err in the air.

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I often wonder If the tears that fall quiet Are for me or not A brief solitude Followed by intense longing Tease lips with a touch But silence brings you Harbinger of my lost love To nowhere near me Set me free, will you Yet hold me close, can you please Brief dichotomy Sighs bring fogginess Words echo vibrantly Will they be for me Trickling waters flow Life hurries like the river Waiting for the frost Frames hold my picture Memories hold my longing Hands holding nothing

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Mar 27, 2012

Mar 27, 2012 at 1:04 PM UTC

I often wonder If the tears that fall quiet Are for me or not A brief solitude Followed by intense longing Tease lips with a touch But silence brings you Harbinger of my lost love To nowhere near me Set me free, will you Yet hold me close, can you please Brief dichotomy Sighs bring fogginess Words echo vibrantly Will they be for me Trickling waters flow Life hurries like the river Waiting for the frost Frames hold my picture Memories hold my longing Hands holding nothing

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i'd cut my own heart open and bleed without a sound as you lay next to me to show you that tiny vessels string together within me to spell your name and i would bleed it all out to prove that to you i would cut my lungs out of my body to prove to you i breathe because of you i inhale and exhale for you and i want to cut my tongue out of my mouth to stop myself from talking because it splutters out of me like clouds of baby powder and it's so foggy i can't see light anymore

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Jan 26, 2017

Jan 26, 2017 at 11:47 PM UTC

baby powder fogginess

i'd cut my own heart open and bleed without a sound as you lay next to me to show you that tiny vessels string together within me to spell your name and i would bleed it all out to prove that to you i would cut my lungs out of my body to prove to you i breathe because of you i inhale and exhale for you and i want to cut my tongue out of my mouth to stop myself from talking because it splutters out of me like clouds of baby powder and it's so foggy i can't see light anymore

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The fogginess in my senses The scratching down my throat The burning in my eyes The pounding in my head The aching of my bones The tilting of my balance I think I am sick I feel like I'm going to crumble

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Mar 7, 2019

Mar 7, 2019 at 7:06 PM UTC

The fogginess in my senses The scratching down my throat The burning in my eyes The pounding in my head The aching of my bones The tilting of my balance I think I am sick I feel like I'm going to crumble

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what's that feeling oh what is it what's that feeling of anger compliance fogginess confusion anxiety anxiety anxiety anxiety that feeling of shivering grinding teeth breathing less wanting less (food) food is disgusting but you've hardly eaten since two days you know you need to eat but you can't and you won't and most importantly you want to but you don't because you can't and you won't i am dying i could be dying i could die shivering shaking vibrating my feet are purple from folding them in from folding my body into itself and disappearing shame

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Jan 27, 2018

Jan 27, 2018 at 8:53 PM UTC

what's that feeling oh what is it what's that feeling of anger compliance fogginess confusion anxiety anxiety anxiety anxiety that feeling of shivering grinding teeth breathing less wanting less (food) food is disgusting but you've hardly eaten since two days you know you need to eat but you can't and you won't and most importantly you want to but you don't because you can't and you won't i am dying i could be dying i could die shivering shaking vibrating my feet are purple from folding them in from folding my body into itself and disappearing shame

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the night impends onto us. the smiles are unaware of the darkness, but the oblivious will continue to grin. it is cold, our minds shiver. gravity brings the night down. our discouragement the night down, the night is our defeat. but we must win. satan is waiting, depression insidious to our fall. we must stand up, no grave shall cover us all. no grave shall bury our hopes, our dreams, our love. we must survive. bear compassion. bring the light among our corrupted society. there is a wall behind a mirror; someone's situation may remind you of your own, but they have a story of theirs. listen to the sweet words that tell the tragedy of irony. bear compassion. for we, alone, are not enough to survive the night. for it is our own thoughts that bring it onto ourselves; we must ward off the night, provide each other light. after all, even the moon shines brighter than the darkness- we can perceive our thoughts in the midst of the mist, the fogginess of the fog. the beast of the nights, our thoughts of the nights, they consume us from the inside, they are insidious, we are engulfed in the sulfuric flames as we provide fuel to our deaths. stop those thoughts, the nightmares of our deep, endless, trudging.

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Oct 10, 2015

Oct 10, 2015 at 8:38 AM UTC

the night impends onto us. the smiles are unaware of the darkness, but the oblivious will continue to grin. it is cold, our minds shiver. gravity brings the night down. our discouragement the night down, the night is our defeat. but we must win. satan is waiting, depression insidious to our fall. we must stand up, no grave shall cover us all. no grave shall bury our hopes, our dreams, our love. we must survive. bear compassion. bring the light among our corrupted society. there is a wall behind a mirror; someone's situation may remind you of your own, but they have a story of theirs. listen to the sweet words that tell the tragedy of irony. bear compassion. for we, alone, are not enough to survive the night. for it is our own thoughts that bring it onto ourselves; we must ward off the night, provide each other light. after all, even the moon shines brighter than the darkness- we can perceive our thoughts in the midst of the mist, the fogginess of the fog. the beast of the nights, our thoughts of the nights, they consume us from the inside, they are insidious, we are engulfed in the sulfuric flames as we provide fuel to our deaths. stop those thoughts, the nightmares of our deep, endless, trudging.

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In my mind I'm still that same scared little boy, Frantically playing with his toys in an attempt to forget what hurts him. What frightens him. The secret. Somewhere in the fogginess of my childhood lies the key. The key that first unlocked the door to my anguish. Anguish that has stalked me into adulthood. Like the secret. I remember those terror stricken nights well. What was I afraid would be hiding under my bed? Or crawling in through my window? Was it a repressed memory I feared would catch up to me? A secret of abuse? Of Insanity? It seemed the monster I feared was myself, and the truth that only I can bring. The secret. Must I find it to feel whole again? So I search. Wandering through desolate subconscious paths in my mind. Paths that lead to nowhere. Maybe that's been it this whole time, maybe nothing made me this way. Just as a wolf is born with the thirst for blood. I am a manifestation of sorrow, The embodiment of my own hate, I am the secret.

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Feb 10, 2017

Feb 10, 2017 at 11:48 AM UTC

In my mind I'm still that same scared little boy, Frantically playing with his toys in an attempt to forget what hurts him. What frightens him. The secret. Somewhere in the fogginess of my childhood lies the key. The key that first unlocked the door to my anguish. Anguish that has stalked me into adulthood. Like the secret. I remember those terror stricken nights well. What was I afraid would be hiding under my bed? Or crawling in through my window? Was it a repressed memory I feared would catch up to me? A secret of abuse? Of Insanity? It seemed the monster I feared was myself, and the truth that only I can bring. The secret. Must I find it to feel whole again? So I search. Wandering through desolate subconscious paths in my mind. Paths that lead to nowhere. Maybe that's been it this whole time, maybe nothing made me this way. Just as a wolf is born with the thirst for blood. I am a manifestation of sorrow, The embodiment of my own hate, I am the secret.

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The place of the lost souls brought no resemblance to the reality that surrounded them In their world the end only came as the bell of time sounded its echo's through clouded thought's As I entered their domain the faded memories flooded to my senses,times from the past brought a sadness to my glow. I was once part of this scene I was once into the show A place for the ended ... one place left to go The bar fitted like a glove that never left ,a stool made for worship.this place where I rest And so I looked around Familiar faces older and darker and closer to the place we all fail to want ,bearded features followed where once clean cut chins held aloft . Mumbles from silence only showed in the crowd as the deserted wanted nothing, nothing but silence. My place was once this home,these bodies once my friends.I know now that their spell did once near lead me Lead me well to the end. The tree had its markers, a shudder in me showed.The place was un special, no more about those hours be heard. And like an old friend the nectar returned,my glass tasted heaven as the buzz into orbit entered my veins,the rush of that feeling gave me the power.Power to rule my enemies,power to fight the fight .Oh sweet sweet nectar how missed could you be as golden as honey as sweet as a peach. My hook was inserted the fogginess faded and the trap lay before me as my thirst for the power returned. Was then I knew like I always knew that I was lost, I was soulless, I was one of them and that my end had been written,written to end

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Mar 30, 2013

Mar 30, 2013 at 1:05 AM UTC

The Place Of The Lost Souls

The place of the lost souls brought no resemblance to the reality that surrounded them In their world the end only came as the bell of time sounded its echo's through clouded thought's As I entered their domain the faded memories flooded to my senses,times from the past brought a sadness to my glow. I was once part of this scene I was once into the show A place for the ended ... one place left to go The bar fitted like a glove that never left ,a stool made for worship.this place where I rest And so I looked around Familiar faces older and darker and closer to the place we all fail to want ,bearded features followed where once clean cut chins held aloft . Mumbles from silence only showed in the crowd as the deserted wanted nothing, nothing but silence. My place was once this home,these bodies once my friends.I know now that their spell did once near lead me Lead me well to the end. The tree had its markers, a shudder in me showed.The place was un special, no more about those hours be heard. And like an old friend the nectar returned,my glass tasted heaven as the buzz into orbit entered my veins,the rush of that feeling gave me the power.Power to rule my enemies,power to fight the fight .Oh sweet sweet nectar how missed could you be as golden as honey as sweet as a peach. My hook was inserted the fogginess faded and the trap lay before me as my thirst for the power returned. Was then I knew like I always knew that I was lost, I was soulless, I was one of them and that my end had been written,written to end

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