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Darkness had fallen over as the minutes crawled
Far down the road to belief
Standing on a small covered porch I saw
His painful lines of strain
Turn into relief

A handful might have suspected, turned on all the lights
Seen the streak of dirt on his forehead
How his eyes happened to seek out the night
Real fear shot through my breast
Then quickly spread

I knew if I tried to stop him, said a single word at all
No one else could see his fraying edge
They turned away from the vision, but I can recall
Something hauntingly familiar
Crying from a ledge

Air burned into my lungs as I gasped for breath
A silent scream struggled within
Darkness had fallen over spilling into death
The road to belief was drawn closer
As I remembered then

His eyes, happened to seek me out the night
He pushed me over the ledge
Now he has returned to turn off all my lights
And no one suspects
His fraying edge

*Happy Halloween
Copyright *Neva Flores @2010
www.changefulstorm.blogspot.com
www.stumbleupon.com/stumbler/Changefulstorm
The distant hollow of the high mountain pass
swallows the setting sun as it steals away southbound
behind the coastal mountain's tangerine sunset hued silhouettes
Mulberry plashed shadows pointing northward
across the evergreens outstretched dimming,
beneath the waning fade of each fleeting eventide

Sundown ebbing asunder the wafting daylight,
each gloaming of the day, helplessly a moment sooner past,
transfixed further south beyond yesterday's passing azure
The lazy days of summer escape unbounded,
nomadic as the sea I've seen sail away before;
evanescent as the beauty of the bloom summer days beheld
and the memory of the fragrance they exhale

The nebulous weight of the gravity is consciously denied
by the truths a human heart beholds
A moment’s epiphany afflicts like a rogue wave in a calm sea;
the only thing my heart ever wanted remains out of reach

Everything my heart needs consciously surrendering
to the poignant passing moment's beauty,
the falling sun at distance sets more suddenly now
Lost in the undeniable certainty
life's imminent season's change

Eyes drawn stubbornly from presence to a sky so far away,
knowing there'll be no restitution for the welling sense of loss...
A bitter sweet song mummers in the silence of the absorbing spell,
summer's sun stained pages of watermarked soul scribbles,
time tattooed reparation for the indelible ache
of a harsh grey winter loneliness

Perhaps too familiar, this whelming Déjà vu
that tears my soul;     that tugs at these roots
but cannot sever their sacred grasp
But for now, eyes fixed to the sun's
inevitable tightening tether hence —
to wear weary each fraying thread's  impending break

Each sunset leans a deeper angle southward
as it slips down through the firwood shadows;
illuminating other faraway latitudes
far beyond the distant horizon skies

The preordained continuum unfolding what will be ...


someone you used to know ... September 11, 2017 ... 7:30 PM
Amanda Jan 2018
I struggle with my selfishness,
The seriousness of my disease,
My grasp on things is premature,
My thoughts still do whatever they please.

Inside my mind it begins to pour,
And although I scurry from the rain,
My worry leaves no place to hide,
Nothing to crouch behind to keep me sane.

It seems I always return to this place,
Where all the moments I earn I set free,
I wait for burned bridges to re-emerge,
And somehow undo the damage in me.

I still reside within my own skin,
Feeling emotion against my will,
Outside I spill a few tentative words,
But the ocean of guilt is hard to ****.

I'm pestered by the knowledge of my flaws,
Endlessly listed in my reflection,
They appear when I pause and catch myself,
In the mirror without perfection.

They dig their way beneath my nails,
And splinter into my self-esteem,
Everyday loathing is the price I pay,
To keep at bay these fraying seams.
We all have insecurities. I tried to use more rhyme and it does sound badass but it was a lot of work to make it sound good.
Dangerous roads
and starless nights
a/c out
and faulty lights
squeaky brakes
a seat that bites
you can take your truck and stuff it

endless circles
lonely bi ways
without a net
on the highway
it's time that i just
did it my way
you can take your truck and stuff it

you can take your truck and stuff it sideways
right there where the sun don't shine
you can take your truck and stuff it sideways
it's not your life that's on the line
you can take your truck and stuff it sideways
right there where the sun don't shine
you can take your truck and stuff it sideways
i'm on my way....and that's just fine

paperwork
time delaying
canvas straps
constantly fraying
you ***** to me
but i hear naying
you can take your truck and stuff it

life's short
i'm not waiting
takes too much
to keep berating
i'm getting *******
and we're not dating
you can take your truck and stuff it

you can take your truck and stuff it sideways
right there where the sun don't shine
you can take your truck and stuff it sideways
it's not your life that's on the line
you can take your truck and stuff it sideways
right there where the sun don't shine
you can take your truck and stuff it sideways
i'm on my way....and that's just fine
for Patrick Desmond
listen -
hear no sound, feel
only wind on its way, ghostly
nothings, but hush to sharp wings
of ocean birds so fraying as they cut
the sky, shuttle to fairways, far aways,
in plaintive cries, i hear what they say,
sailing into the jeweled skylights, but i
am only weight of air, still on ground,
i mumble out, sidle the bone tides
that roll to land, grains of clarity,
i am mist and tear, a world
of hollow, i am that sound -
of ocean in a shell.
-D Dec 2013
convergence.
Foggy black & white contusions appear in my nightmares
& on my wrists when I awaken;
some appear to be visions of you when you were young
& so much more hopeful
(or perhaps it is I?).

You always look so much more appealing
late in the evening
after I’ve already bid my inhibitions adieu.

But even when you creep across the threshold of my apartment,
there is nothing I can do to truly bring you close.

I’ve spent weeks dumping bottles of liquid down my throat &
into my lungs, but
none of these bottles have Labels;
just warnings.

You had a label, such as this;
branding you across your ever-furrowed brow.

cleaving.
Indeed, months have past since we touched at all,
yet in the moments when we converse,
I seek nothing but your breath on my neck, singing,
You & I
are one in the same.


& as we both sink further into the pits of our own self-imposed darkness,
we seek light in the dimming pools of each others’ eyes.

Your smirk is full of cynicism & regret,
but what of your grin?
It brings nothing but tidings of ways to rip me to shreds
again.

bound.
I long for the throbbing sensation of pain after an altercation with my past demons has occurred;
at least it would be familiar company,
consistent & vivid in its haunting cackling.

When I feel as though I’ve sunk too low,
I find rest in searching the depths & finding you there
always,
fighting your own demons.
Sometimes we let ours rip apart each other’s,
so that we can have nights without them
& with each other, instead.

fraying.
Those nights smell so sweetly of the incense & essence of
two peoples’ pain being placed on a bedside table,
glowing
& lighting the evening of their indiscretions
(she grits her teeth & he sobs into her décolletage).
It hums gently,
careful not to interrupt the façade of happiness in numbness they share.

But it is always there,
always
there.

There so that it may continue to entangle them;
not in love
or even admiration,
but in the spirit of their willingness to delude themselves.

& that is the most binding agent of all


unraveling.*
& lo,
& yet,
You &
I awaken
each morning
to observe
as I


come undone.
Matthew 19:4-6 ~
"He that made them at the beginning made them male and female, & said,
‘For this cause shall a man leave father and mother and shall
cleave
to his wife, and the two shall be one flesh.
Therefore they are no more two,
but one flesh.
What therefore God hath joined together,
let not man put asunder.'”
Scott M Reamer Apr 2013
Man life know just set eyes way like young world soul day hunger space mouth earth thoughts ignorance blind things mind knew final moment human creation kind creatures souls high forgotten dream love spoke self existence face holy deep bound think home void say surrender ear forever called held ephemeral red state end shall heed hope edge living waking fall sea wake garden need February thought past wanderer got men page colored tepid terrible **** proudly untitled features point painted faceless box forgot render wild spring splendor  handfuls looking half brain lost torn ancestral  unseen vision inner summer honor mister owned banner save today fear groans wasn't smoke  street fable strange year contrast black years  able pain body spoken word known motion  palpitate reeling nature culture disclaimers  cancer beg attentive frames ****** base profound double remember wholly finger death token  cries continue folk oh fishing form broken true  divides spread ah twas away breathe wait warning hallowed wish closer lens turn eye live  constant current author hung theory dangle  bramble chemical new force changes adderall  anymore giving beneath possess pardon commentaries eternity internal walk reason  long change does idea glimpse consciousness  wandering simply wonder physical dreams war  sleep told rest benign prior begging truth little  2012 born tale crow bowels allegory animal rule  exasperate making horse curse hands ones read  rearrange capture doing command fail awake  aperture seedlings shift steely sir nap spead ****** demons slits clever telling loud spits la-la-di-dah killing slip game reflected nameless ask  lovers rabid bear salivate plunder shameless  famously savior mint rides menthol bully fate traded melodies play misunderstand mammals gentle witless fine utterly savage silt tongue-less  dirt dilutes pure non-sensory taste briefly ravage dismember it''ll shedding ruined curtain  knots offers plot fulfills munificent two-act  relegates boxz bug altruistic wintergreen tossing  callously guise grovels one's singers treachery ashes mid-life mutter fashion parading  ambiguity separatist liars staple steeping neath  guidelines scoffing stitch moans civil wrote  Fictitious undoing fables table effigies serve  sonnets staged remark psalm swoll praise harken  beggar verse bread lines heavily electricity detection snow sack-happy preaching credit  spotted wicked best gravity gun campaign owe  barge choir revelry celebratory satiated sinking  headline pack hound persistently propaganda  gentlemen excluding diminished ******* run idles  occupied levies wolfishly honestly misinformation cuba vehemently dumb grace spectator erasing  toned sage crowded secrets inter-connectivity  loaned prayer hymns grave mistaken magnified  vandals selective jump leak escapes says minister  buckle mass honesty shut tar children's hats  monument doping long-lived electrical ladle  exaggerated cartoons address seconds cool cradle bleak yang's mind-framed hypnotic  walker caps folly treble claim streaks mixtures  swelled interstate elapse teasing spoon mobile  succulent witchcraft borderline fatal 99 temple stacks sups plastics creeps neurotic ills tossed  meek sipping old crack interlock wax alleyway  coughing blown freak clock birthdays societies  slow flashing viscous candy argument toothless  pills cerebral rapt wall bisect lives wheezing  photo kid starter foiled pair saturated self-castrating pre-packed naked uncertainly pill  used came chaos coated reprisal fells wrack  irreverent mirth sickly disinherited proudest  collate wheeze appearance palette disharmony  discontented bastardized emotive bio inhale diction beat spoiled reclamation loudest tempo  totally disembodied matte imperfect shells flat  struck sounding imparts flak origin severance remarked bone walls snared leaflets mocking  hot scripting adjective noun agape seemingly  resistant gawk calamity passage paintings wind  trashcans signings sits cheap makers poetry persist scrap slipping individual talk wonders  leaving questions fold actor fancy parchment  fates engenders flown jaws stripped longer music  sacrifice fakers book boldly frown sigh atop patient hang trade occupation blows spectacular  whispers worthy backward waving certainty danced suppose needn't ‘drawkcab’ second-guessing  boys forget marched motto heads tightly lies two-tone earthbound harp twice turns goodnight  lying ***** internally indiscriminate nickname  drunk convictions myth steep  in-consumption  fitting artist **** universal sick expressions bad  du spell melody big siphon proud learn sprawls song spastic something temperaments utter check  fissures stomp totality blend definitely thrall sing rug voice shade pestilence ties commiserate round devil steady brains emotional certain gate  suckling gates dearth decay weight bounce pound  carrier pangs glass startle contest earthen web  tug pressed air patience flush amassed guest gone apprehension staring empathize captain believe fading in-perceivable deathbed guarder makes surrounds scatter drooling ebb blink cob tome  venom near door lair derision draws host stairs scent parts curiosities spider webbing surprise wares tips stepping ascetics starkness realize picture surroundings dictations grand pillars  deaf limited comparisons greet visual residents  personal settings dismiss alien law stability common earthly shiftless places prelude  understanding mosaic keen trifling embodiments  geared inception whisper visible jowls kiss murky  puddle rank dawn dichotomy single faithful fraying pays tailor veil climb mores pence whim  breath wellspring samara god stony pear  shadows fruiting forebodes moonlit looming  shown passed bog gold wracked faint tongues  noble preachers mirror shifting layered depth  threads jungle narcissus bemused seamstress self-worshiping architect's wore slumber anomalous  opened barren seam lip caustic scene coupled brick gardener's clenches -with forms idle breed  embodied lore starving empathy design illusion  tree coat fabricate lucid mason scatter-all  narrative seeking imbued 16th shivering chemicals 17th 15thrisk improperly dare  deliberate plan purge try brought chapter speed  aide utmost spirit leading intervention felt  recall recent advent sincerity times diary  lackluster piously lasting happy holding hear  stem tasteless whimpers wet spine monstrosity  dripping causes position quite softly claws pallet  answer digging tearing beast satiating circle breaks skips redwoods beckoning rotted hushed  gray lapsing monoliths deities creborus  imbuement hand stroll paradigm rendered chorus shy whispering forest residual tension  surrenders tolerance lull anew sentenced  bearing tide birds dirge divergent rim joined  cogs wood hesitant mist emergent towering offer  awareness confinement inverted faultier stowed  plane sanctified blanketing trusting memory fossil flash twists laden self-indulgent fleeting invitation agony grip shore impetus lingering  crows promise gift union swallowing endless floor supposed ecstasy sensory intent  psychotropic cradling placement interned  jagged connectivity exchange congenial begun  summons singular spiral assumes ambient reciprocates re-entry fruition reached aggregate lifetime limbs birthed instinct  frightening tarry proper entire light  boundaries innocence pursuit ago discover left  youth's unknowing sacred time place meager  simple fact cast ceaseless wide-eyed literal  apparent coincidence create boldness morphed  crooked kempt mere stumble buried shutter fairy  pivotal definitive months worth shear ambition sound required journeyed self-reflections title  facets vague restless intimation gut wanderer's  leap motivate path account boy soon bears faith  question tripped reasons uproot awaited confronted days step heal provocations wisps crushing transcend chronicles instance  directness raw drove occurrence objective-less  real enters slightest confident nondescript  typify  foreshortened interment paradox bitter heart  devoid jeopardy angry sensation confidential guilty arrogance mercy compliance reprieve  vincent deadening factual sign emotion awe  inhibition shackled butterflies absence actual sciences acknowledgement violent stagnant  spiritual American doors roots lack matted fore  gestures society cause streams intensity hair impossible discord lonely hearts resounding  jest  what's flavored pains closed toxic contented  happenstance scientific knowledge yeah  wizardry shaking stifled withdrawn bloom  jitter dreads settle asocial hulton make  predisposed figurative reflections demeanors  wondered affect hulton's projected sense  morning industry arrays ghosts feeling  certainly endomorphic where's partially wrath  passer mornings jovial unease advertized asking  trash onward wished tempers media mentality connect pasts sharp-toothed scramble great colours trial test salvation continually lent  degree secretly subjection social waned  disconnected colors grimly intellectual civilization cash trading baffling particular  digest myths monumental ending seasons winter  repetition introducing agent everlasting  shoulders delivered honestly-- possession funny  continence history unsightly function suffering propulsion profession divulge familiar tugs era  importance capability perpetuation spite inventory words entirety leveling fray insight  date record continues writer getting evermore fellow tongue possessions identical proof accuracy education similar sack admittance  favor unravel conveyance guilt gives beginnings  predicting audacity definition bobby heady eaters frameless learned release stone grandeur sang  speak molds sleeps split built seats people folded  sheer pour evoked playhouse liquid boring  tellers frayed stark walked reality pleas doth  preformed shows beak pride squawks opinions  greatest bold stunning sightings he'd loudly slain  sunk watch legend precipice theater deeper compound commentator civility justly silly sin  reverent seen prophetic moral confounds notion  lacking explain attempt prolific viral estrange proclivity scorn hide blur pious strung eden's  horror cut skin arch cruel twig mother vile  pass lend woods peach shrunken trail man's canopy worn 434 eat warm limb familiar father delete.

You are what your reading lady. Now would you hold this gun?
Johnny Raven Sep 2015
This rope I’ve climbed for decades now
Has frayed from falls
From jagged rocks and
Bloodied blows of dialogue
Their firearms half-cocked
Breathing in this bile, this bog
Sinking slowly towards the
Unknown inhaling/breathing
People’s poisons I’ve lost my
Purpose, and I’ve never had a
Place I could ever deigned to
Call My Home
Beyond the veil, the hidden site
Have I once again gone mad?!
The faceless forcing wrongs
Twisting the twisted,
A manufacturing of tortured consent,
Blinded by a
Facade of Masked Wrongs passing off as a
Right - Evil gifts from the gifted
For the dead, for the fractured
****** screaming and screaming,
Confined in a cube of lead,
Paranoid delusions
Secretly inside am I just dead?
A walking corpse, decaying by
Days...am I lost, I’m just an
Ignorant intellectual
Pushing back the bounds of
My own Stupidity, a silent lucidity
The death of hope or stripped of
Everything, Everything, Everything
Even the hidden hand, ever so
Gently holding onto that one
Impossible fraying seems.
Too afraid to speak, when spoken
That cultivated dreams strengthened
Over the years through nightmares
And a sea of pointless *****
Trying to force those pieces into
That missing space,
Some coming close, but never
Ever measuring up, my dream's
Emerald eyes, your beautiful mind,
Momentary live-wire, grounded into place
Whom you brought into my *******
Life, a dream turned nightmare as I set ablaze what we were
You wisely walked away...and left me to my dreams….

When she spoke, my heart would skip it’s beats, I’d lose
The power of the English language
I'd lose the power of ******* speech….
And now that dream
Has come again…close enough to smell, close enough to make my Hell a little cooler, the shadows brighter, the burning soothed…
And yet…and yet…I cannot even tell
My Emerald Eyed Valkyrie,
Did I belong to her?
There have been other women of course,
Carnal place holders, temporary sometimes pleasant company,
But in the end…NOT My Valkyrie, Persephone,
A Love, one of three - who ever made me feel - even after Seeing my graveyard of skeletons and secrets…she still...
Loved Me…
Me!?
Really?!
She still loved me…can that Dream, so fragile, when spoken it would Shatter into a mist of 'could have been?'
I held so gently that Dream of Old
Hands outstretched, crucified asphyxiation - anticipation
A Hope, A Dream, But there will never to be a Reconciliation...

-  Johnny Raven  ©2015  *(September 16th)
Tallulah Jan 2014
Tick tick
I hear your teeth click
time's going
and gone too soon

Ballerina tip
embittered lip
Degenerating mentality
rippling morality

Love tipping
fraying and ripping
asking quietly,
"did you Ever love me?"
David N Juboor Dec 2015
My mom
Tells me I'm a gift.

She says love
Is what keeps the atoms
In you and I
Is the moment
She caught my
Father's eye
Is the day
My grandfather died
With a candy kiss on his cheek
She had never tasted something so sweet.

When we were little
We played kickball,
The ground is lava
And hide-and-go-seek.
As I grew I knew most days,
It was harder to find myself;
Let alone somebody else.

And I have been around
Enough center city playgrounds
To see the rich
Pump every bit of spare change
In their veins fighting
A cancer that they
Never learned to put in their past.
To see the poor
Wage wars with themselves
Trying to pick up
Way too much,
Way too fast;

Nobody really knows how to make love last.

So put your prism your heart
Beneath the moonlight.
Refract the wavelengths
Of your wonders
Into ROYGB-eautiful like the sea,
It took a lot of jellyfish to let
people see through me.

And even more mirrors
To find a place I was comfortable
Praying in.

Fraying in doorways
Where I learned hope,
Is looking both ways
On a one way street
Cause it can be so easy to thank God
While you still have bread to eat.

I have never prayed
So hard for a healthy meal
Than the days I remember
The heart is a muscle;
And sometimes the only
Thing we need
Is to "work it out."

And I know that some days,
My doubt hangs my
Smile like Jesus Christ
I never quite learned
How to bleed right.

But if there's one thing
I found from cleaning
The crosses out of the
Empty hallway of my character
Is that you haven't experienced loss
Until you've held two outstretched arms
For years waiting for your innocence to come back.
Nothing, weighs more than the guilt of your past
And nothing throws punches
Faster than the ghost of who you used to be.

And I know it's hard
To stop looking for yourself
Under every bed you
Left nightmares in
And I know it's hard
To be comfortable
In your own skin

But sometimes bars
Aren’t the only thing
That builds a cage
And sometimes
The only way to live
With yourself
Is to stop digging
Your own grave.

You can spend years
Listening to morticians
And never get grounded.
Surrounded by the
Square roots we all share,
By the same air,
We've all got to learn to let go.

To learn that
Holding your breath
Has never been how
Living things
Learn to
Grow
"We're all hurtling towards death, yet here we are for the moment, alive. Each of us knowing we're going to die, each of us secretly believing we won't"
Lillian Harris Jun 2015
I am
A whirlwind
Of wandering thoughts,
A cyclone
Of spiraling dreams
A tempest
Of trepidation
A world
Fraying at the seams.
Nickols Oct 2012
A rapid flowing thought,
pampered easily into a worry.
Anxiety builds within moments - from shameful musing.
Bubbling champagne coursing through veins; hidden under ghostly white skin.
A simple life based off a well placed lie, unravels like a fraying quilt.

Could you forget as easily; as you could forgive?
Erasing a memory.
Cleaning the façade of our blood from the soaked table.
Tablets and tomb, both alike,
soaked in the redden water of my long forgotten innocence.

I am sorry for the lies I've told through our story.

I am sorry for my secrets kept,  locked firmly, behind close doors.

But I am not sorry for loving you truly, body and soul.

So cast me out,
Send me away.  
But know my leaving is nothing but me, showing my love for you.

All for the love of you.
© Victoria
Carly Salzberg Feb 2013
I have left, pig-mudding drunk,
having sipped from stock to stock on fraying cheer, stages.
I have stood in foreign basements; sweaty cellars of youth;
begot by attitude breeding spaces of the hip;
drawn circles searching for love in recreating nonsense:
a silly pupil, moon-eyed, out of breathe.

I have heard them quack, reveal their cords;
heard them whisper a thousand and one secrets,
heard them deconstruct their circumstances as pilgrims, penniless and sick.
I have their memories now, an image of a depressed,
***-imprinted pillow soaked in liquor and a feeling of nausea
where ribs sleep on this couch tonight, every night.
I have heard one refute the weight of living, ******,
on the banks of his best friends hospitality, and thought
How much is it worth?

And I have envied every **** greasy pored hipster,
the ones fixing on makingitnew now kind of clan; stared blankly at fashion,
a culture back door where pink fish scales sparkle high from runway halters
to the tops of grown men, bearded and chesty.
And your mothers pearls sit, not your mother’s pearls but your mother’s, mother’s pearls,
that old world clout ornamented around those hairy *******.
Oh yes, I have seen men become peacocks, charmed animals of *******;
seen them teeth at discourse in the noise they create, wide-mouthed and pointed;
I have seen them masked like frantic felines: wooly bully cats trying-to-roll their own meter,
their tobacco stained black charcoal over soft bricked lips quiver to their beats:
those painted lemmingings, without a parachute: kamikaze felons.

I have desired absolute sterility: white china,
in the egg of a toilet bowl I spewed out, shut-up my exuberance for the night;
sorry-pleaded my resolutions to gag out the naughty nouns in my life.
I have quit; turned in my lust for performing the lioness, paw-licking,
snarly creature: the predator of my youth, and now,
I am pretty-headed, tamed in bath oils and schedules;
a spotted fox, in plain view, one medium-sized mammal getting by.
Emma Mar 2014
Beneath the tough,
       Fraying keratin
       Atop my porcelain digits,

Is you.

Shrinking.
Forgetful.
Perfect.

When you,
The swollen flesh below my fingernails,
Breathe,
I feel the sting of Nitrogen,
                         Oxygen,
                         Argon,
Circulating about my
                              Vulnerable
                                               Exposed
                                                             Tissue.
The sting is subtle.
The sting is beautiful.
I strip layer upon layer of tough,
Fraying keratin
Just to feel you respire.
With every advance into your territory,
You retreat.
Fortify the barrier.

We war until you are nothing but bare,
                                  Tender tissue,
      Bleeding brilliant red fear,
        Surrounded by delicate,
                                                    Pale,
                                                         Porcelain,
                                                                     Skin.
And it is all so beautiful.
            The image.
            The pain.
            You.

I wonder if I am beneath the tough,
       Fraying keratin,
       Atop your porcelain digits.
TheRhymeRenegade Jul 2018
Can't talk about, can't write about, a single thing but loving you
Don't mean to schmooze, my shameless muse, always down for aimless cruise
stare through window glass at tunnel lights that zoom straight past our heads
I walk on air, dodge solar flares, ignites my mind when I'm in bed

I can't stop, cotton to moth
brushstrokes swirl upon the backdrop
slumping over center console
dream about centaurs and scary monsters
shake me awake and tell me its okay
I know it is but it feels better that way

And I feel a nostalgia a sense of old security
the same I got when I was young and fell asleep to the TV
underneath the afghan with unwravled threads and fraying ends
hold onto me while I nitpick the same old **** inside my head

I can't stop, cotton to moth
brushstrokes swirl upon the backdrop
slumping over center console
dream about centaurs and scary monsters
shake me awake and tell me its okay
I know it is but it feels better that way

Tell me baby is it true?
Should I ride or die for you?
can I be your passenger?
or do you find me lackluster?
I can't let it be the thought of you and me
scared that our future is tragic history
and every time I find myself ready to shift gears
something holds me back, some aching type of fear

I can't stop, cotton to moth
brushstrokes swirl upon the backdrop
slumping over center console
dream about centaurs and scary monsters
shake me awake and tell me its okay
I know it is but it feels better that way
Alyanne Cooper Jul 2014
Today I took a walk down memory lane
With some people from my past.
Your name never came up
But your shadow haunted every
Turn in conversation and we did our best
To ignore it.
In fact we did our best to pretend
That your existence was not real,
But then someone mentioned,
"Hey remember that time we...."
And flashbacks of suppressed visions
Of things I had hoped to never see again
Simply because they're not important
To who I am now
Flooded my stream of consciousness
And I chose to think of you.
To think of that time in that place
Where we did that thing....
And the more I think about it
The fuzzier it becomes.
I can't quite picture
The people, the room, the music,
The embarrassment, the shame, the guilt,
The utter ridiculousness of it all.
And the harder I try to grasp at the edges
Of the fraying memory
To bring it back into something whole,
Something vivid and full,
The darker and slipperier it gets.
And suddenly it dawns on me
Why it was easy to forget in the first place:
It just doesn't matter.
Who you were, who I was,
What you did, what I did,
Just doesn't matter
So what's the point in remembering?
Today I took a walk down memory lane
But decided it was far more enjoyable
To make a u-turn and walk
Away from you again.
Yes I made up the word "slipperier", but isn't that the point of poetic license?
You are not god, you are not my Lord;
You are a beast that corrupts my soul;
I find peace not, when I pray in thee;
You have tainted my soul--you have hurt me.

You are a fiend, just like all my friends;
You are tied to an awkward time and space.
And is your soul as sharp as your false prayers?
I can find words that shall hear me better.

You are no safety, nor any assurance;
I hate your speech--within your cold Bible;
You are not worthy of love, nor any true spirit;
You are a mere space no sane souls can ever meet.

I used to know, in Heaven, another Lord;
But my faith was marred, it was distorted.
This Lord of mine was kind and simple;
His heart was all-resilient and humble.

My Lord was gone in one sway of smoke;
As none wanted to hear more from me.
I was strong in faith--and t'is was no joke;
But none would look, and pushed Him fast away.

Ah, my Lord, in whom I used to hear salvation;
And not grief like this which burns my heart.
I found within me--a great deal of admiration;
But none would believe, and He was made gone.

I knew another, in more mature years;
But He was as crude as a grizzly bear.
With His soulless heart, he tore my faith up;
'Till my heart withered, and nothing remained.

He preached but the beauty of wealth;
And to forge maturity on this dire soil;
He turned one another an enemy;
He played with fate, as if ‘twas His doll.

I was in deep grief, I was in bare crises;
I believed not the sun sets and the moon rises.
Ah, Lord, and after I lost thee even more;
I roamed sightlessly like none before.

And now I’th been forced back to thee;
Art thou still hungry, or art thou satisfied?
Haven’t thou sent me enough agony;
When shall thou finally give up?

Now I hath been cramped back to thee;
Art thou still angry--doth thou want to **** me?
Thou explaineth never--why I taketh my breath;
Thou reasoneth never--what is in life after death.

For I believe triumphs are not for those who sin;
For I believe prayers are not done by the mean.
For I believe in life there is no such scarcity;
For I believe we are united by wordless destiny.

For I believe He is One; and is loved freely;
For I believe He loves back, with relentless mercy;
For I believe He is the One, and owneth no partner;
For I believe He is who rules, and not another.

For I believe none was made crucified;
For I believe He is alive, and shall never die;
For I believe such stories are all but a lie;
For He is who gives, and breathes sight to the eye.

For I believe the cross is no glory;
For I believe such is a vain myth;
For I believe He is absolute;
For I believe He is the only Truth.

And about this I can lie no more;
Nor stand back as I did before.
He is who holds my mortal hands;
He who cares better than my friends.

Still I am lost, I am lost in thee;
For thou hath betrayed my most questions.
For thou hath no words--nor poetry in me;
For thou ignore--and neglect me in disambiguation.

And I hate thee, I hate thee too much;
Thou hath blinded me and led me astray.
Thou giveth room but to desire and lust;
Thou lead my soul to ultimate decay.

Thou regard not shyness and virginity;
Thou accept not humble words and pure sympathy.
Thou encourage day and night ecstasy;
Thou disfigure us by mock forgiveness.

Thou told us to be unjust and sin;
Thou told us to pursue and be mean;
Thou loveth pleasure, and left me unsure;
Thou gave me disease, but showed me no cure.

Now I’th realised that my God is Him;
He who attends my day and night dreams.
I care not what thy devils may say;
I shall care for Him only--all through the night and day.

For the Lord who leads and forgives;
For the Lord who dies not and shall live;
For the Lord whose Throne is up high;
Veiled perfectly by the blue midnight sky.

For the Lord who creates life and death;
For the Lord who gives mouths and breath.
For the Lord who is One and only;
For the Lord who is sole and fair.

Then I can pray with my whole sane heart;
And rest my minds from this lifelong war;
My Lord is One who lets my blood flow;
Years back, presently, the day after tomorrow.

And by Him I shall remain prudent;
Though He is far and farther and invisible.
I shall long for His Paradise and Heaven;
One for the kind hearts; for the devoted and humble.

Then I shall craft even more poetry;
A poem for my Lord’s tremendous delights;
I shall make it warm and lively;
And tell tales of future years in Paradise.

And I shall turn back to Your prayers, God;
After years and years of fraying Thee alone.
Now I shall come back to my untainted faith;
Please hesitate not, nor make me need to wait.

For in You only doth I find my doors;
And answers to my once lonely heart;
I cannot lie back, I cannot lie no more;
That I and Thee can never stay apart.

And my faith will be like those stern winds;
They can be felt, while remain unseen;
Wish me a welcome, and not a farewell;
Keep me safe from Thy spells of hell.

And let me remain in my bows;
As I shout my praise, as my head goes low.
And breathe more life into my ****** hands;
Make me the noblest on my lands.

And let me remain where I am;
As stars sparkles, and lower the maroon sun;
Where I but mention Thy Holy Name;
And cite Thy praise, as daylight is gone.
Nick Moser Feb 2016
She is beautiful.
Her smile can light up a room.
Her drive is unmatched by any other.
Her laugh is precious.
Her voice is as sweet as sugar.
Everything she does is magical.

I am battle-tested.
My smile can light up my paper.
My drive is unmatched by any other.
My laugh is required.
My voice is used to write these words.
Everything I do is poetic.

But, alas, we can never be together.

Because the poison she emits from her soul to touch me,
Mixed with the blood I bleed on this paper for my art,

Will never be a good combination.
A fraying, fraying leash.
GyozaNeeko May 2013
The dull public ruckus of the afternoon train filled the gaps between us.
We could have been part of it,
Drowned so deep in a conversation we could gladly call our own.
But our past selves have already taken invisible
B
R
O
K
E
N
Steps away from each other.
And tucked ourselves in the tight pockets of this companionable silence
As dangerous as the trigger handled by my emotions,
A gift for your forehead.
I will shove all my pain into your being
And watch my reflection crumble to her knees with a familiar cry of agony.
Mauled into frayed flesh in a crimson rose bush
That we had woven friendship wraths from.
And yet, my rasp throat still delivered smoothly.
“How are you today?”

Your usually anticipative eyes
Watched the scenery outside,
Disappearing just as fast as it came.
Did you think of the first day of school?
When we first approached with awkward greetings?
And from a wave and a smile
You start to attach them with questions
Questions that you should be asking me now
Things like
“Do you think we will end up in the same sec 3 class?”
“Do you want to go to ORA with me?”
“Can you save your game? We already hardly bond in class.”
“Are you even listening?”
I was.
I answered every last one,
From the beginning when we stepped into homeroom.
Even the ones you’ve never even asked me.
But now that I come running to you with my stained envelope
Are you still there at your seat?
To tell me
“You know what you need? A good cup of frozen yogurt.”


Now every glance that met
Will be snapped apart like a crisp twig.
Every walk down the corridor past each other,
Will be like two freshmen models on their first runway.
Every move, breath, laughter,
I will always be aware.
Perhaps because your voice
Will always make up for your height in the crowd,
Audible from the opposite side of the hall.
And its only until I let the quietness sink in,
When I have decided to treasure listening to the way you delivered my name,
Leaving your loud mouth like some exotic font.
That till today I still cannot decipher.

What was my height in your crowd?
164cm tall with probably less than half an inch, I guess.
You never noticed how my eyes would wander unconsciously.
Just to wonder
If you still remember I existed,
Somewhere in the pages of your scrapbook,
In the crowd,
Still searching, listening attentively.

Do you understand now?
We are standing at the extreme ends of Newton’s pendulum
Spiked from the illness of our broken bonds.
And I would swing an end so hard I would skewer you
And then the pain will come
Flying back
Stabbing me just as gruesomely.
But it’s so much better
Than disobeying the laws of reciprocation.
My friend, its unfair to be the only one.
Why not requite this one heaven of a pain?

People have pet the conflicted pain like dust off me,
And ignore the bruises that I have willingly punched myself upon.
They taught me
That the heart is a 2-room residence.
Happiness
Sadness
And if you are too happy
Don’t celebrate too loudly
Because you’ll wake the neighbor.

But could it really be helped?
This 1-year worth of what you have given me
You have left 2 party animals as clueless tenants.
Did you understand?
The fact that no matter what silly things we’ve done,
You will always be welcomed home.
And we would continue to drink
Till we are tipsy enough
To walk on the edge of the bridge we have built,
And fall into the hungry rivers
Into the places darker than black
Drowning the air out of our lungs.
But what reason should I be scared,
When you have always been the best swimmer I’ve ever known?
Forever a winner to me,
No matter how many competitions you have paddled out of the pool in disappointment.
It has always been you,
Who would slip over a note to my table,
My hair spilling over its surface in defeat.
Telling me that everything’s ok.
It’s you
Who understood that I was more of a listening person.
Your missing piece to fit your outspoken personality.
You,
The one who could even challenge me to a dance-off just to have the loser ask for the ketchup.
You,
Who could go on forever about a guy you obviously like,
But only say you ‘don’t stand a chance’.
I
The diplomatic one who would arrange you,
Like files in an office drawer.
You
The one who tried to hold us together till the end.
I,
Who failed to treasure your efforts, and share this burden.

And now that you’ve turned down the volume,
And walked out of the door without a goodbye
How am I supposed to handle the next morning, when being sober is an absolute nightmare?
Left alone to wonder what I have done
While we’re drunk, carefree and
Crumbling at the seams.

My dearest friend,
Have I ever told you,
How the number 1
Has always been our own funny little number?
Now if you just take ONE step closer…
Yes, I promise this time I’ll keep my earphones away.
I would point at the signboard above the door
And muse over how your stop,
Is ONE stop before mine.
How your birthday,
ONE day after mine.
Yeah… just like how we are ONE world apart in personality.
Isn’t that why we became like this?
SHUT UP I KNOW I’M A TERRIBLE CONVERSATION HOLDER.
I CAN NEVER PUT MY WORDS INTO THE APPROPRIATE CONTEXT.
BUT YOU KNEW THAT.
You knew.
Now go ahead.
Laugh.
Like how you always do, with that wide grin that reflected nothing but forgiveness,
Stripped down to reveal absolutely no grudges.
Because I deserve it, don’t I?
Because it was my fault,
I was the one, who willingly caused this silent war,
Fraying this thread that I mistook for a hiker’s rope.
There can only be ONE survivor in this meaningless game.
Scold me,
Because there was never such a rule.
I have decided who would be standing alone,
Long ago.
The loser,
The flower that will never find its way back from its ashes.
A.
B
R
O
K
E
N.

M
E.


(hi there. Look I tried ;w;)
Nicole Jul 2013
I.
There will be a day, you say,
where the world stops and all that ever was
and all there ever will be would cease.

                                                                     Trust.

There will be a time, he says,
when I will no longer love like how
you built the moon for me, balancing
upon a staircase of wooden boxes.

                                                                    Trust.

You don’t care. You let him weave
with string, then with your soul,
your heart the ball of yarn at the end.

                                                                   Trust in him.

You are a lover. You are a fool.

II.
Light. Soft light and harsh light and lantern lights
and fairy lights and neon lights and flashlights.

Light, like that which comes on in his eyes
when you tell him you want Honey Stars, and
you two spend the night picking at those overhead.
He tells you that when you drop stars into the
Pacific, they become sweet, like honey.

All you wanted was cereal, but you are a fool
one that picks at stars that have long since died,
one that can’t tell a corpse from a sparkle.

You don’t get any stars in the end, except for the
ones in his eyes.

A fool.

III.
This is where you grew poppies,
expecting to harvest the seeds and
crush,
thinking that maybe,
just maybe,
the dust will help you sleep, like the
sand of the Golden man.
You teeter on the edge that separates
wanting and needing,
You walk on a slowly fraying tightrope.

Tight,
        like your heart.
Rope,
          like how you rope
souls into believing you,
how you rope in friends
and demand their faith.

This is where you rearranged
his little soldier boys, where the
ceramic crashed against the wood
and refused to break.

Not like you, then.

This is where you kissed him,
over
       and
             over, because
air is useless without oxygen
and oxygen is useless to a pair of collapsed lungs.

IV.
You hate him. You hate his strength,
how he bangs the table and it snaps in two.

You hate his laughter, scratching against the walls
in tune with your sobbing.

You hate how you have to scan his eyes before you sit,
have to look before you make the metaphorical leap.

You hate how you let him force open your legs,
hate his pride at being in control, and his guilt
for the purple and blue spots on your skin,
like garish children’s make-up,
a clown at the party of life.

You hate how he holds onto your sides till
you hear the crack, and how you tell the doctors
you fell, because you did.

You are still falling, every time he looks at you,
Honey Stars in his eyes.

You don’t hate him. You love him,
that’s why you come back to be destroyed.

You hate yourself.
That’s also why you come back, to be destroyed.

You can’t repair hurt like that
but you try anyway, because the best part of building
is when you knock down.

V.
It is painful, but pain is a symptom of life.
You let him hurt you, let him crush your
bones and self-esteem, because no one
taught you how to love and if it means giving,

then you must be doing it right.

VI.
Wake, from the best sleep you’ve had,
wake from a nightmare, to a nightmare.
He is gazing out of the window, with
suspenders to hold up his pants
and his courage.
Your canines sink into your thumb, as
he turns to you and he says, “Hera,
I love you, but–”

The memory ends there.

Hera was the wife of Zeus,
goddess of women and marriage.
Your parents made a mistake,
more than once.

VII.
You are alone.
Quiet was never your thing, silence the most
deafening noise in the world.

This is your hand, a hand that once
rested against his neck, a hand that
felt his blood pulsing in his veins.

This is your hand and it is green
not from gardening but with envy.

These are your shoulders, shoulders that once
carried backpacks stuffed with Honey Stars
and sour things like love.

These are your shoulders, and even Atlas
cannot carry the weight on them.

This is your heart, and it is red.
This is your soul, and it is aluminium,
his words like sandpaper, polishing
until your soul tears and can be collected,
filtered and cross-examined under a microscope.
It will be reactive with the acid of his absence,
but only for a while.

This is your neck, and the rope feels rough
compared to your memories of his hands.
Hi, I published this poem a few months back on my other writing blog, ofparadiseandwords.wordpress.com

Some of my other works can be found there. Thanks for reading!
Rockie Feb 2015
Butterfly Wings and
Bed Springs

Rollercoaster Rides and
Sea Tides

Music's playing and
Jumpers fraying

All the Queens and Kings and
All these little things

The kingdom of the brave!
Of
Of immaterial vision birthed in mind.
Of spirit annihilating the selves,
of calling it plan. The one-
a semblance scattered on deck space
refracts on reflections of the reactions of tokens
of the carnivalesque,
of the hunger artists,
of phenomenon-
which may or may not exist depending on reflective surface of the true self,
of the motion of tides,
mocks motion in body,
of obsession.
The tonality of the "be" and the "is" and the "will be" is deafened by the "I am,"
by the Ohm.

Of shuddering and implanting embraces,
of blessing on every ember of cleanliness that is true self,
of the oneself that exists above selective memory,
not draft of time arrow but the material existence of dream,
not disembodied but embodied.
Of breeding,
of circumstance and forking fourth dimension prison terms,
of crowd control,
of she wolves and their feral children,
of forceps interpolating material reality of conception,
of Dreamtime,
of pain,
of pleasure,
where they are relations-
of skin perversely hanging, dually,
gratifying and sullying-
Fraying beautiful disasters that react to invisible ripples

I, the oneself, implore you to awaken in your utility and then outside of it.
Take those boot straps and bend the bars of confinement with them.
Chisel and sculpt light into a fabrication of quantum of action.
Celebrate the ordinary and expose it.

Of stargazed caustics,
of the early universe.
I stand awake as not the expression of design
and no longer connected to Earth by my roots
but awake inside cocoon,
entrapped behind slits,
of alien cage otherness.
The Akh beseeches ownership of the Ba
I want play dice with god and end in draw.
I am Sekhmet-Wadjet who dwells in the west of heaven,
I am Sahyt among the souls of Of.
This was written during the arab spring in Egypt. There was so much hope in the air that it could reach us in Nyc. All of love to the egyptians. Never stop fightingl
Jordan Frances Dec 2014
Hold your breath, girl.
Don't feel.
As he places his shallow love inside of you
Every breath feels like a brick
Pressed against your stomach
Collapsing the walls of your lungs
Until you feel yourself gagging.
Let him talk to you
But your words have become rather expensive
As he plays with your hair
As he touches your waist
As you turn away
Because his fingers cannot feel the rivets in your rib bones.
Your eating disorder makes casual *** a little harder
As does your history with assault.
Sometimes, your PTSD and bulimia want to have an ****
They are the extra lovers you never invited
But as you mount on top of him
Trying to make him forget he doesn't love you
And that you don't love him
It seems they are whispering in your ear
Why would any man want to *******?
                         He's all you have.
Stop pretending to be good enough.
Try to let these thoughts slip out of your mind
As you slip out of your clothes
Shedding your snake skin.
You kneel there now
His eyes are resting on each inch of your body
But your skin begins to crawl
Your heart begins to shake
You unravel before him
Every end of you is fraying
And he doesn't even know.
What happened to never doing this again?
What happened to getting over it?
Promiscuity smells like stale cigarettes and ***
In the back of a car
With an older man.
Promiscuity tastes like an empty transparent bottle
You can see through it like everyone sees through you.
Like ice cubes
On your fire slinging tongue
From that shot of whiskey a few minutes ago.
How many minutes ago?
Two hours ago.
Yesterday.
Wake up, girl
Detach
Stop holding on to the shards of glass
That break the delicate flesh
On your fingertips.
Put on a mask
Don't let him know you're dead inside.
Your job here is to
Make him believe you're still alive.
Q Dec 2013
Bittersweet lime-flavoured love
An apparition, a ghost, a face I think of
A mere shadow without definition or name
A hopefulness for the fulfilment of why I came.
Stretching into the ghetto of my mind
Is a body, a shape, a stencil of who may be mine
Reaching against the wicked hands of time
Yet never grasping; a drop of sugar, a cup of lime

Down on my knees with my hands clasped tight in prayer
And my will alone shakes the foundation, yet no one appears
Errant tendrils of loneliness grip at my rotting soul and heart
And the rejection, and the hurt, and the hope tears me apart.
I am now a sinister, cynical shell of who I used to be
And I plead, I beg the monotony to set me free
As I am suffocating on the slimmest sliver of a wish
My head turned upwards, lips waiting for a kiss.

Whether love, or like, or grudging intimacy
So be it, for I need it, and whatever else it may be
Thus, I will wait by the water's edge where the waves are violent
I'll wait at the volcano's peak, before it erupts, when all is quiet.
I'll hang to a fraying rope placed miles above solid ground
I'll stand at the edge of a tall building and dizzy myself looking down
Until someone, or something, arrives from somewhere to extend my time
Until the taste finally fades: a drop of the sweetest sugar, a cup of bitter lime.
Now we all know the story of the grinch and the who's
So listen quite closely for I have some bad news
The Grinch is back in Whoville and before you make a fuss
The blame for his existence must fall on all of us
We the the Grinch in power, we elected him you see
This time the Grinch has got a name, it's Brian Mulroney!
You're a mean one Misher Grinch
The meanest man alive
You stay up in your mansion
At 24 Sussex Drive, Mister Grinch
The Grinch called for his council to gain some ideas
He planned to discover each persons worst fears
"I've demolished their lifestyles in the time I've been King"
Then he thought to himself, "That has a nice ring!"
"I've sold out the country to whomever would buy it"
"It's such a feeling of power, I wish you could try it!"
"I've taxed all I can  I've cut low cost housing"
"It makes me feel special, in fact it's arousing"
"I'll get them this Christmas, make them regret their decision
"Of voting NO on my Constitutional Vision"
"I;ll leave them no money to celebrate the season"
"And if they speak out against me, I'll charge them with treason"
Now, out in the Provinces the people spoke out
We;ve fot to find someone to knock the Grinch out
We've not much to choose from, It'll be a tough job
We cannot depend on the broad and the slob
Audrey McLughlin, I'm sure isn't up to the test
I'm not sure what's bigger her IQ or her chest
Jean Chretien was good, but his reputation is fraying
And if you're not from Quebec, you don't know what he's saying!
The Grinch was a terror who did not like free speech
Elijah Harper learned this when he put "MEECH" on the beach
We need a strong leader to whom the torch can be past
It doesn't matter what party, we just need one fast.
Back up on the hill, the Grinch started to fume
He was feeling threatened by someone, but he wasn't sure whom,
He called in Joe Clark and they formed a long list
Of all those against him, but there was someone they'd missed!
They listed the Premiers from the West to The Rock
There was not one name among them that was made of the stock
to take on the Country and make it stand strong and free
In fact of 5 of 11 couldn't quite spell B.C.!
But deep in his soul the Grinch still felt a tingle
So he called on hils staff and fave Geroge Bush a jingle
Maybe H. Ross Perot was a citizen up here,
You know who he is, he's the one with the ears!
The Prez told the Grinch that Perot wasn no threat
But, the Grinch was still worried, there was someone else yet...
Now the people waged searches in each nook and cranny
And the leader they'd found had a beard, was named Lanny
He said "I can help you but I'll not thake the reigns"
"But, you'll find your new leader if you'll just read MACLEANS"
The people thought hard and when they broke from their huddle
They remembered a phrase from the past "Fuddle Duddle!"
The leader they sought was Pierre Elliot Trudeau!
But no one was sure if he'd return to the show
They approached the ex-leader and they spoke of their quest
They all spoke of taxes and how he was the best
To come back to The Grits and be saviour for all
He thought on it a bit and then he stood up quite tall
He said "Yes, I'll do it!", and his voice came alive
"What I buggered in twelve years, The Grinch has ******* in five!"
Now, the rest of the story is yet to be told
The winds of change are a blowing and they're blowing quite cold
Please heed what I've written and think for a while
For the Grinch is still here with his chin and his smile
This Christmas think ******* the message I've sent
Let's make it the last he get his seven per-cent
Let's make this a Christmas both Joyous and true
Let's give the Grinch what he gave us, but let's give it times two!
I will probably be writing an entirely new version later this year, once the son of Trudeau, Justin Trudeau, becomes the Liberal Party Leader and is on his way to becoming, hopefully, The Next Prime Minister of Canada. This was originally written in 1992, but with the way the Canadian Political environment is today, it still fits, so I pulled it from my handwritten archives and posted it here. If you are Canadian, you can tell, all you have to do is switch Mulroney for Stephen Harper  and you have the same grinch we had before.
Annelyra May 2012
When I found you, I didn't feel whole, or completed.

No.. it felt more like the frayed edge where
my soul was torn from yours at the source
was suddenly re-threaded and delicately mended,
as if all souls are ripped from a mighty sheet
of satiny material, and ours were originally
side by side.

When I met you, it was as if, finally,
we were once again seamlessly attached down the middle
and fraying collectively on the outer hems of us,
like the beginnings of a textile jigsaw puzzle.

This isn't a Hollywood movie.
We're not a pair of blank canvas characters
who are, conveniently, the same pretty, golden age
and have nothing to lose and everything to gain
in the two hours or so that they frolic across our screens.

Those fraying edges haven't been left trailing all our lives,
I know that. We tie them to other pretty things,
we learn to sew, beautifully sometimes.
Maybe that's what that guy meant when he talked about
life's rich tapestry.


(I remember one time you said to me
it would've been beautiful
and even though I knew what you meant
I wanted to hear you actually say it so I said
what?
and you looked at me
**** it was devastating
and you said
this, us, would've been beautiful
and then you stood up and went,
and I knew that you had to go then
or you never would have left again.)


So.
What have I learned today?

I've learned that sometimes, perfection
exists, albeit briefly.
I've learned that I can sew, really well,
which is **** lucky.
I've learned that sometimes, even the truth
can happen too late.
I've learned that sometimes,
you've just got to let it go and learn to live without.
For a soul mate
Paul R Mott Jul 2012
Ants crawl across this floor we’ve fallen on before
Crawling away from painful light meant for death
It takes time and height to view this bitter facsimile
Of the life that was when our legs shortened and
We carried righteous angst in disaffected thoraxes

We lived such a life chased by light unrepentant.
So it went with soldiers straying and fraying
Under the stress of the chase by cruel illumination
While those on the scent of something sweeter
Managed to stay out of the heat and find salvation

Truly miraculous things are these
that have no future but cocoon just the same
poor souls that should be outshined by time
find reprieve enough to shield timid bodies
long enough to find their own legs stilting

No feat of glory to any still around
But to those scattered by the wayside
These hulking creatures are visions of
Promise, a promise that one’s own feeble feelers
May one day cast out into oblivion and latch onto
The stuff dreams are made of and close their eyes
With open mouths for serums of wonderland

Such a shame then, when the hopeful
Can’t be afforded the lofty visions
Of their grindstone nose counterparts
And the wayside entraps them in whorish
Promises of paid-for pleasure

But life digresses while the underbelly
Digests the stumblers of chance
So we have you and me, and the world
Feeling inadequate legs stripped bare
So superior parts could be strapped on

This machination of imagination
Is how we get by that heat of life
What once incinerated futures
Inflicts faint unseen blisters--
Reminders of humility rising

At long last our earth-drawn eyes
Draw level with this glass half empty
But magnified with the intention of more,
More, more, more, colors filling prisms across the sky
Gaining beauty and color from the heat of long ago

But who would care about the minute minutes
Of suffering felt by those not bold or quick enough
When compared to this veritable Monet
Blessed with the gift of chasing pasts away
To be replaced with this gilded new day.

So it goes and so it must be in the minds
Still intact, kindled not hindered by the heat

                             ...

Towering over this glass of possibility,
Our focus is intent, not missing a thing
You and me, and the world all focus
On this contrived concoction of color
Bewitching that betwixt reason and love

All our eyes and all our thoughts
Gather power by the hour
Drawn from this pool of glory
Not a thought dropped into
This wishing well

While we sate our psyches
From this languishing pool
We forget how the same spark
That defined us, as we grew above the fray
Is now returned earthward

Isn’t it entertaining to contemplate
Life in the context of those wretches
Blessed to have the power of immediacy
While we sit serially still, no purpose
But to make these poor ants run.
Isoindoline Jan 2013
For a while, we put our problems in a box in the attic.
We'd visit, now and again, to deposit an annoyance or two.
But then we started adding bigger problems, and space became tight.
We bought a trunk.  It was cedar, designed to keep the moths (and our consciousness) out.

One day you went up there, and discovered I'd taken up nearly the whole trunk
with a gray sweater, full of holes, coming undone at the seams.
You wanted to know how it got there— you'd never seen it before.
I didn't exactly remember putting it there, at least not all at once.  
It would explain its tattered nature.
You told me to just get rid of it.  It's all worn out, you said.  What's the use keeping it?
I told you I was still working on finding all of the pieces.
You acquiesced.  You usually do.

For a while, the trunk was all we needed.
I left the house and came back with more pieces for that gray sweater.
It eventually became more of a blanket, but the trunk still kept it in, though the wool
would threaten to spill out in tufts whenever I opened the lid.

Eventually, it overflowed the trunk, creeping out onto the floor, down the attic steps.  Into the house.
You asked if I'd found all the pieces yet.
No, I haven't.  The bigger it gets, the more holes it sprouts.
I start to wonder if I've been making new holes to patch old ones, taking thread from the seams,
and leaving the edges ragged, fraying.
I'm fraying.
And neither one of us is good at sewing.
jessika michele Jan 2014
you're haunting me still
why?
vibrations from your exit still lingering in my bones
they crack and quake
grating against themselves
why aren't they healing?
these wounds that I have been so persistently nursing
why can I not mend myself of this?
the needle is too dull
the thread is fraying
alone in this room
with your ghost still sitting next to me
gently touching my hand, laying its head in my lap to play with its hair
smiling
laughing
a perception
not the reality
I keep my heart in a box under the bed
next to treasured memories of a memory
I want to burn it all
I want to give it back to you
I want to keep it
it makes me sick
when its dark I wish to travel to far away mystical places
dance among the stars on cotton candy roller skates
yet all I get is you
your face
fetal position, clenched jaws, toss and turn
tortured still
in a state meant for rest
dream catchers strategically placed
they're meant to save me from you
ward off and expel YOU
yet my soldiers of the night
my dream wardens
they're no match for the slyness of you
you slip through as if made of air and elegance
replaying all your proudest moments of my misery
ive never felt such indifference toward someone
I want you gone
out of my head
I wish I could peel you from my skin
wring you from my marrow
shed the skin of this serpent's memory
wake to a new day
finally feeling good
finally feeling anything
finally feeling
How distant, the departure of young men
Down valleys, or watching
The green shore past the salt-white cordage
Rising and falling.

Cattlemen, or carpenters, or keen
Simply to get away
From married villages before morning,
Melodeons play

On tiny decks past fraying cliffs of water
Or late at night
Sweet under the differently-swung stars,
When the chance sight

Of a girl doing her laundry in the steerage
Ramifies endlessly.
This is being young,
Assumption of the startled century

Like new store clothes,
The huge decisions printed out by feet
Inventing where they tread,
The random windows conjuring a street.
Danielle Mar 2018
Frayed to the touch
Your little electric shocks,
Wind me up
And spin me round.
Dizzy on nothing
I stumble to the floor
Falling deeper down.
This emotional twister
Sweeps me off
And dumps me right-side up.
Without a brain, and
My fancies out of control,
Well, my darling,
I’m afraid I’ve lost and
I’m fraying right before your eyes
Sam Miller Sep 2012
There’s a tightness in my chest
Pulling me deeper into this dark.
Choking and sputtering I try to fight
The way I’ve fought for so long.
Holding on to a glimmer of hope
I cling with drenched and wrinkled hands.

I can’t breathe in this murky Hell
No matter how hard I try.
It floods down my throat
Into my lungs like tar.
It coats them in my miseries and failures
Until they’re suffocating under the weight of my madness.

The string holding me up
Is getting weaker and weaker.
I can feel it fraying
Slimy hands struggle for purchase.
Climbing through the waterfall of tears
Away from the end of my rope.
I reach for the hand holding it up.
I can finally get clean and help myself.

I can feel their fingertips
Tickling at my outstretched hand.
I grip their wrist and begin to cry
Not out of sorrow but relief.

I am saved, I am free from this place!
Never again will I return
Because I can survive.
I am strong.

The hand slips.
And just like that
I am back where I began.
At the end of my rope.

— The End —