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King Panda Aug 2017
death:
an abnormality—
deep prints left by
heavy boots filled with water
and washed away by
summer’s end.

grief:
a metal
sensation denude of
coldness—swelled up again
and again from life’s ***** driving
deeply.

I suppose you couldn’t
help but steal away.
you (now endangered
ghost) left your
trace fossils moted,
gray and cold.
our memories of you
divorced from the
mountain’s path—
a wound raised
higher and higher
to a crystal peak
where your soul
was plucked cleanly out.

we built cairns to
mark your going
and stories to signal your
inevitable re-arrival.
we welcomed the heavy contact
of fire felt in the
middle of the chest
and watered
arches cut beneath
the eyelids.
we felt the frigidness of
lit feet gliding
above mountain frost
and set forth your
eternal journey
to the solar eclipse.
but somehow
we lost your trace fossils
frozen in the rock.

where did you go?
who found you?
why?

these are the questions
of extinction of the
physical body
but the soul is
unmatched in
its uncertainty.
if it exists, it leaves
upon time of death
and reenters when looked
at through shielded glass.

soul:
a mountain
view, black and polished
by an unfurled moon. its
brother sun not far
behind.
RIP, my dearest friend. You will be forever missed.
Nicholas C Feb 2014
Arduous late Winter
woes amplify in February
false hope

We’re all sick
of constrictive clothes
and cold climes conducive to staying in

Cabin fever running rampant
45° t-shirts & sunglasses
everyone driving with their windows down  

Hoping Vernal rituals
performed early will
hasten Spring’s arrival

I’m done
fed up
ready to move on

Going crazy in the cold
writhing to get moving unimpeded
by frigidness and snow

I’m ready for Spring
for Summer
for Fall

I’m ready for the scent
of thawing soil in the air
biking in the Sun, verdance, and flowers in bloom

I’m ready for grass between my toes
Fireflies, crickets, peepers
and warm night stars


I’m sick of frost reddened runny raw noses
sick of numb fingers and toes
and having precious few daylight hours

I’m sick of combatting glacial winds with layers,
of treacherous icy apathy,
and dreary bleak boredom

I’m sick of not being able to sit on the ground
sick of long pants, long socks, long sleeves,
and silent stagnant long nights

So, despite the fact
that I’ll pine for January
every day over 90°

Despite the fact
that when mosquitoes swarm
I’ll wish a frost would **** the little *******

and despite the fact
I’ll get just as fed up
with temperate seasons

I still want Spring
and then Summer
and then Fall

But February brings false hope
and despite the lengthening cheery sun
months still stand

between us and t-shirt weather
mild nights, grassy hills,
  and emancipation from an inclement icebox atmosphere
loggi Jun 2017
October 14th
-2005-

When is October,
With the leaves of red,
With the crisp cold wind
Blowing to the west.
There she sits and waits,
For the boy with the red Chevrolet.
It is eight o five,
He is five minutes late.
But she occupies herself
With the crumbling pastry
On her tiny plate.
He pulls up outside,
And she looks and waves,
With a smile she cannot hide.
It is nine o five.
It is time to go.
She had a great time, he knows.

It is November,
The pine is yellow,
As they walk down the lane.
He holds her slim hand,
And she laughs again
To a joke she would never tell
To any of her friends.
As they walk down the lane,
They talk about a future
They might never attain.
But here they are walking,
Down a yellowing park lane
With their hands linked together,
Waiting for time to go away.
There is a park bench,
Aside a small lake
With red and brown shapes
Just drifting upon
The placid landscape.
He motions to her
To come and sit with him
And take it all in:
This favorable day.
But she thinks of the time,
The job she has at five,
And she tells him, "let's go."
He looks at her and smiles,
Wishing time would go away
As they walked together,
towards the red Chevrolet

Here is December,
The leaves have lost their ember,
As she sits drinking coffee
By her apartment's window.
she is clad in comfort
Snug in a blanket
From her bed she had to unearth.
She blows her hot breath
Upon the chilled window pane,
And draws shapes, words, names
Upon the fogged window frame.
Finally she traces a heart,
With two initials
Separated by a plus sign.
She smiles at her art,
And the heart she has made,
And wishes it would not clear away.
But something catches her eye,
Through the unfogged heart lines,
A red Chevrolet parked
On the side of the street lane.
There is a knock on the door.
She gets up and tidies her space,
She looks in the mirror
And pouts about not having
Makeup on her face.
She goes to the door,
Takes a breath and opens
It to a familiar form.
He has flowers in a vase,
That has an etched heart, with her name

-2006-

It is January,
a month of frigidness,
but of drunken merry.
Here they survived
for only a time ago,
and the seasons
change with heavy snow.
They do not talk for a time,
But each of them wonder
If it is all fine.
Things return, as you know
A car running the highway,
And a girl living alone.
Oh that message said,
“I can’t wait to see you again.”
To her it was a punch,
To him it was a friend.
But their bonds to each other
They were only flailed,
But the cut would not make an end.
So this passage stayed this way,
He would drive a car,
She would look away.
But its hard not to see
A bright red Chevrolet.
So with a phone call,
at the crack of dawn.
A girl fell in love,
Which was all wrong.
The other would come,
And it will not be long.

Love in February,
pastel hearts and a chocolate box.
Bouquets, and fancy gin
All the flattery would begin.
Some weekends at the movies,
Some nights meeting her friends.
Their life started to return,
But what from it could she earn?
Some nice nights in candle light,
A stuffed animal from a claw,
But what did it mean at all?
“Yes, I’m free at eight.
Be on time you're always late.”
“Oh sure! I love to catch up.”
“Oh yeah, remember our lake?”
“Yes the one with all the ducks.”
“Yes that is the place, right?”
“Yeah I’ll see you there tonight?”
“I can’t wait at all,
I haven't seen you for so long.”
Some things are sacred,
When they are not shared.
But really this new girl,
Was not at all new.
She was the first one
And this other girl
Was a replacement
That he met in the fall.

Then walked in March
With his hands and loud clatter,
But he could not shake
The peace that had begun.
Two girls, different lives,
But they were both the same.
Same long flaxen hair,
That drifted below their backs.
same smile and loving stare,
But the only difference
Was their loving eyes.
The girl from the fall,
Had brown eyes, a soft voice,
and a spirit so gentle.
The girl from before,
had blue eyes and a voice
of loud summer laughter
who lived with a sense of death.
Blue eyes lived on the edge,
Brown eyes lived on the current.
But both girls would be the same,
nights wiping mascara,
Similar nights at the parlor.
Both were each others’ mirror
But none would take the curtain,
and reveal what was hidden.
He would not worry,
As he drove down the highway.
No grey doubt ever minded him
As he rode his red Chevrolet.
To him, it was a game.

Then April rain fell.
Can you even tell
What were the feelings
That were felt when she saw
The two plane tickets?
She was taken aback,
She had never left
The city she lived in,
And she rushed at him
With clutching arms and happy grin.
No words would describe
what she felt within.
The old girl had gone
to Europe for a trip,
Leaving him with one set of lips.
So he thought to himself,
a trip away would be good.
He would spend some time
With the girl he loved.
He would do whatever he could.
So at an airport,
at a quarter to nine,
The two of them talked
And everything was fine.
She would joke with him
That he was actually on time,
And he would make a face
To resent the sense of disgrace.
But here he was thinking,
Of the girl in another place.

Blooming flowers in May,
Were her favorite sight.
The reds, blues and pinks
were among spring’s delight.
She enjoyed the ducks on the lake.
This was her first time
Ever seeing these mallards
Bask and splash their heads.
He was on the other side
On a call he could not ignore.
Things started to slip with him.
She would call and he would say,
“Sorry, I’m busy.”
She asked him if he wanted
To meet her family.
“I’m sorry, I’m busy that day.”
But here she saw this sight,
A boy across the lake she liked.
She did not know who
gave him an “urgent” ring,
But he was laughing
At this emergency.
He seemed so distant this May,
But he was not far away.
She could go up and walk to him,
But if she dared cross
This great immense strait,
She could effortlessly reach midway.
But her balance would falter
Because he would not cross for her.
So she would sink underneath.

Runaway in June,
With flaxen hair flowing
With wind blowing down the highway
In that red Chevrolet.
Tan skin and sunglasses on,
These were the parts she enjoyed,
All summer long.
Although they neared a place,
Here time slowed and she could stop space.
She would turn up that song
And sing each lyric she liked,
and then toss it to him
as she passed him the mic.
All their troubles in May
Seemed to wither away,
as the hot air curled
each locket of hair.
Planes streaked up in the sky
As birds kited by.
The greenery of the trees
Flowed with life effortlessly:
Waving a sort of fresh hello
As the asphalt steamed
a cool dew of tomorrow.
They approached the exit,
With the harsh winding twist
That they would slow down and glide.
The sun streaming up in the sky,
Her happy gentle eyes.
He had another date at five.

Pink sky in July,
and a black aqua night
With night bugs buzzing
and the firefly light.
then on some warm nights
The sky filled with red, blue and white,
As fireworks attempted
to journey so high,
Until they bursted
And died in the cold atmosphere.
When it was past dusk
And the time settled on twilight,
The great blue vault would open up,
And reveal the infinite.
Stars twinkled, and flew
Against the nothingness
Hopping to find a purpose
For their brief existence.
The girl from the fall
Believed she had some worth,
That a creator put people
that she was meant to meet
Upon this sad Earth.
The girl from before
Did not know she encroached
On a love so new,
Nor did the girl from fall
know she was doing that too.
He would say “I love you.”
Which to her it was sweet.
But “you” can be plural.

They met in August,
August the tenth to be exact.
They knew each other
Ever since junior high,
But neither mustered the courage
To come up and say hi.
She went off to college,
He went away too,
But they met in a coffee shop
In the middle of June.
They soon started to talk,
and soon a new love grew.
This was the girl from before,
A clever girl who loved books
And a long afternoon snore.
He was a year older,
and he graduated a year ago.
She trusted him so much.
He bought her flowers,
He would spend hours with her,
Walking to the edge of nowhere,
And slowly journeying back.
But for some reason
Something came undone.
She wondered as she walked
Down upon the gray sidewalk.
Not watching or minding her step,
As she bumped into the girl
Walking to her left.
A brown eyed girl with flaxen hair,
Both unaware of a love they share.

A new friend in September,
She had began to know well.
Last August they collided,
Laughed at each others’ mistake,
and then chatted as if they knew
Each other for a longer time
than is accustomed to new friends.
They sometimes saw each other
While walking on the sidewalk.
Sometimes they smiled to chat,
And sometimes they waved
And never looked back.
Little by little they came through,
They talked, and they laughed
About anything old and new.
But soon they started to fade too.
The girl from before,
Started to work at night
And would not leave her apartment,
Until an hour after
The girl from the Fall left hers.
Maybe she was not meant to know,
Perhaps fate decided
That the truth would never come
If they never collided.
So things continued this way,
Until they met again one day.
They laughed and said they should catch up.
She got her number,
Next month it went under.

When is October?
Where she cried her eyes.
When in October,
Did she find out his lies?
She was someplace away,
Cruising down the highway.
It was at a party,
from a girl she would never know,
Who told her about the girl
That they both came to know,
Who had a boyfriend
That was so very sweet,
and a picture of them
That put her heart in her teeth.

October 14th
-2006-
9:14 pm

An hour does seem so long.
She asked him if she could
Borrow his red Chevrolet,
Because she had no other way.
It was late, and then came the rain
As she sped down the highway.
She left him a message,
that he did not understand:
“I’m coming to see you.”
As the car furiously ran.
The wind whipping, the clouds crying,
It was not safe the speed she went
In that red Chevrolet
Running down that highway.
She wanted to scream,
She wanted to fade away.
But time was there edging her so,
As she counted the minutes
For the amount of time
It would take to get there.
She would have to tell
The girl she began
To know so well as a friend.
But this had to come to an end.
She neared the exit
That had the sharp twist,
She tried to slow to a glide,
But the water kept up the stride.
And suddenly time slowed
As the car leapt off the road.

October 14th
-2006-
9:44 pm

Everything floated,
The dust, the old receipts
As she gripped the leather seat.
She just hit the guard rail right,
As the car flipped in the night.
glitter headlight shards,
And red sirens blurring,
Why was she in such a hurry?
One flip, then came two,
The mechanical acrobat
Performing a stunt
That was doomed to fail.
She counted the minutes,
That she still had left,
As her broken head
Leaked her thoughts upon the dash.
The memories slipped out:
The dates by the lake,
The days in the red Chevrolet,
and the girl who bumped
Into her on the sidewalk.
Sirens blurring, people looking,
at the side of the road.
A stretcher was coming,
her body they were carrying;
Pale, limp, and bleeding.
When is October?
Where she took a drive.
When in October,
She died.

October 14th
-2006-
10:14 pm
The line count is significant.
The sadness and frigidness are there
When there is no clear communication
Ambiguity is present
Along with a cryptic situation
Nothing but darkness
When words are left unspoken
You block your blessings
As things are sadly blown out of proportion
Ady Oct 2013
There was nothing in this vast landscape of delusions, only illusions.
A flower, a friend, a gift, a betrayal, a tear, a shattered mirror and perdition.
The music of the euphoric nothingness enticing the darkness,
calling for the shadows, everlasting, never ending.
I know, I deserve this. Always threw the stone and looked the other way,
the sin, the penitence, the lament, the void, the shallowness, the meaningless.
Living each day a moribund marionette moving through the crowd an empty mess.
The ticking, the hunger, the instrument, the mending of the ending,
but then came you. An unexpected gaze wondering through my maze.
Navigating each passage as if though you knew the way, a hindrance.
Let me corrode here please, go away, I thought. I never said it.
You remained here almost an embodiment of the hope I sought for so long,
Perhaps this is another of my creations, a desire from the dire.
Your hands are tepid, driving the frigidness away, maybe it's real?
An hour, a day, a week, a period of time slowly passes.
You are hope, my hope, my desire, my wish, my light and gentle day.
I found the impatient clock fast-forwarding each hour until the time had come,
to see one another.
Your world was intriguing and vivid everyday was fun, every night a pain.
Without a warning you brought the richness of the paint in to the callousness of mine.
The sky once again blue, the birds with songs, the grass now green my world anew.
Mere words such as “i love you” can't paint paint the picture, for it was more.
And yet here I am again. Alone.
Alive, not dead, back on the path to my journey.
Collecting, standing, walking and eventually running through the paradox.
Anew, exhumed, hope plastered once again against my chest,
and as I cry, tumble, fall and learn;
Each days is new, each meeting a joy and each moment thanking you.
Good-bye! I bid farewell to you, let our past be remembered beautifully,
and the present lived and the future build, as once again;
I construct, destroy, collapse, laugh and dream.  
As today the ticking resumes and I commence from where I stopped.
Anni Slinkigi Oct 2012
The heat of the desert

The steady beat of my heart.

stilled by the frigidness of your

breath.

Breath which never uttered

those forbidden words.

Words that sting like icicles,

Slicing through.

This exhalation which knocked

The fragile wind from my

Calloused chest,

inhaled again
and
took it back.

Now the desert sun beams strong

once more,

do my eyes elude me

Or are they flaccid?

Will the wind

come in whispers

and bring the numbness

of the cold back into my lungs?

I can only hope

And anticipate.

Please don’t make me wait

Forever
Annie Nov 2012
I like winter because it splinters your skin
The cold air slaps you in the face
Bringing you back to reality
Trees shed their summer skin
Leaving nothing but the bare bones
Branches reaching for the sky

I like Winter because it reminds you
That you are alive
And that frigidness throughout your body
Is real
So you
Must be real too
this is fairly long and has ****** content*

I awaken in a dark room
Moving, I realize I am bound
WHAT THE ****!!!!! ( screams in my head)
I struggle, realizing freedom is not forthcoming

A gag soaked with saliva blocks the voice
what is going on
last memory is of friends at a fetish event
Thinking of everyone there trying to remember
Anyone that might have turned on the red signal

All were in masks
None seemed out of place
How did I wind up here
where the hell IS here?"
Wiggling fingers that send angry pin needles
Through the arms

Knowing it has been awhile since these bonds were done
People at the event were friends
Headaches like it had been drugged or hit
Thoughts run through my head, like buffalo on olden day prairies
What is going on?

Praying someone will miss me
Doubting that as I am known as the loner
Ice kitten  the name that described me best
Especially with interpersonal relationships
**** me who would do this?"

Deep cleansing breaths He used to say
Concentrating on One from the past to try and calm myself
Heartbeat pounding against the rough rope
Surrounding very ample ivory globes
Though by now the rose blushed tips upon white would be a cyanide blue

The door slams open hitting the wall
Cleansing breath almost chokes me
Deep baritone says I see you are awake ****
Mumbling loudly against the gag
Tingles roar throughout my body

Air whispers across me
Realizing that flesh is exposed to God only knew who
Further enraging the senses, I begin struggling anew
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!
Sound reaches my ears before.....
"OHH ******* hell" I scream out (although only I understood the words)
Fire slices across my ***
The wind kisses it as liquid trickles down the crack of the ivory half moons

Breathe girl Breathe
I keep that mantra going
Still trying to figure this out
Black lines streak my face
Lightning still touches my ***

Large fingers pinch the striped part of bleeding skin
Nose stopped up from crying as each breath is labored
Body squirms as the hand massages the heat
That baritone voice strikes a chord deep in my belly
His words are not heard at first which elicits a slap to the exposed thigh

******* in air causes a weird snapping sound
The hair on arms stands as he repeats the missed words
"Are you a good **** or a bad one?".
Go to hell is the first response that spits against the gag
Tsk tsk tsk he responds, the tone sending spirals of heat
radiating out from the belly

Something in His voice awakens the submissive fire that has lain dormant since the One left
That wretched gag is finally removed
Gulping in as much air as I can
Praying that cloth will stay free
Though the power of sight is still deprived

"Who are you?  What do you want with me?  How di
Large hand suddenly yanks hard upon long tresses of flame
Silencing my questions quickly
The voice that reverberates through the bound flesh states in a hushed tone
" If there is something I wish for you to know it will be so."
"If you understand nod your head"
Barely nodding as hair was still caught in a vise grip

Thoughts and feelings scream through my mind
Wanting out of here my mind screams as my body betrays the protest, the racing heart, panting breath, as well as the moisture building between swollen petals
What was I to do?  The more he spoke the wetter I became

Clanking sounds fill the air as the ropes are attached to a chain, I feel binds cinching tighter in places and loosening in others.  Fire roars throughout as blood surges and circulates
Moans escape chapped lips a new fear coursing within
Cringing as I await for the next reminder I have done something that displeases Him

The roughness of rope glides abrasively as more flesh is revealed.  Crying out as needles stab where blood returns
Teeth sink hard into plump lower lip biting back any noises
His hand touches my face gently
Jerking away reactively, regret releases a tear then another

The same gentle touch turns severe as something cold snaps down on the taut ******

Tasting blood as once again I try to block any noise from escaping my lips, again another snap comes down against
the other ******,
Back arches as sounds of pain escape
Every muscle draws tight waiting for his displeasure to be made clear

His voice coos a soft deep tone in the ear
Gasping as warmth spirals outward through my body
Arms pulled high above crimson curls
Secured as a squeak sounds as curves are stretched
First one foot then the other is separated and captured
The leather closes around each ankle

"I asked you earlier are you a good **** or bad?"
Mind reels as his voice sends waves of heat through me
Afraid to speak I wait, barely breathing
Sudden pressure then pain fills throbbing *******
Crying out "Good, I am good Sir!"
Something wet and cold surrounds both burning *******
The pressure releases

"Yes yes I know you are a good girl"
My lips form the words but my mind shuts down that action fast.  
"I bet you wonder why and how you came to be here?"
Nodding elicits a "good girl, I see you are learning quickly."
"This pleases me that you have not forgotten"

My mind searches the voice, the smell, and mannerisms
Something familiar but what
Hands suddenly seem to touch everywhere at once
Soft mews fill the air
His hands play my body like they belong
Fear gone chased by pain mixed with pleasure

Strips of leather kiss the arched back
Over and over, every millimeter of flesh is struck
Hands pull tight upon restraints
Air caresses moisture drenched thighs
Another implement of leather begins to alternate with the first

Pounding skin leaving behind red streaks of heat
Mind reeling at the intensity
Never having felt this before, or have I?
Tears soak flushed cheeks
The whistle of the flogger being flicked just before striking
Knees buckle throwing weight on shackled arms

No longer does the ability to reason exist
Only the moment
My body singing to the Flogger's tune
Most people would not understand this feeling
Driving upward from deep within
Each strike pushing higher

Perspiration covered hair stuck to my face and neck
Seems like this has gone on forever
Pressure building, body burning
Yearning for that pinnacle
Fear replaced by need
Thoughts replaced by desire

The tails touch grows harder, less rest between
Bursts of breath catch in my lungs
Suddenly all is still
Right at the edge of exploding
Nothing, except pounding in my head
Throbbing **** and electric fire all over

"You will *** for Me ****!"
His voice out of nowhere makes me jump
Resending exquisite pleasure mixed with something
hotter,
"Yye yes S ssSir" seems to trip from someone else's lips
One fluid motion so fast

Hands fall from above fiery curls
A firmness is pressed against my abdomen
Hair flows down as blood rushes into cheeks
No time to come down from the licking flames
His hand cups the curve of my ***
Jumping away from the hand seems like a sucker punch to my stomach

Smack! Smack! Smack!
Repeats over and over
Hips jump left then right, up then down
The heat roars through the half moons
His breathing is labored
Seeing the crimson color wash away Lilly white
Writhing beneath His hand

I hear screaming, pathetic cries
Release building as moisture becomes running wetness
Nothing coherent any longer
Just flames of heat and need
Fingers invade my soaked petals
Quickly gripping my swollen pearl
Squeezing and twisting as one word makes it through the chaos
"***!"

Reason be gone I did
Harder than ever in a very long time
Letting go of the frigidness
All the anger, tension, sadness
Spiraling out with that release
Bucking against His hand, the bench beneath me
Hoarse screams fill my ears
Still unable to figure whose

He squeezes and releases the pearl over and over
Each time striking my core
Body juices flow like water down my thighs
Tears follow down my cheeks as lips taste the salt
I feel His fingers release my ****
Gasping for air to fill my lung
Exhaling harshly as His jeans push against my raw ***

Muscles tremble as I realize it was my screams
My hoarse voice, blushing as the entire situation unfolds
Nothing left, emotions spent, strength sapped
His body pressing into mine as fingers pull the blindfold free
Unable to see Him still
He pulls my hair up and emerald greens catch a glimpse
"Oh my God!"  Trembles begin anew as flesh aches
"It can't be." I begin to struggle

Every move drags materials over raw skin
He waits for everything to catch up
Turning me over, bound hand press against His chest
Eyes still closed denying sight of what is truth
Arms of steel lift me up, flushed skin marries a cool sheet
That gentle touch returns to cup my face, thumb pushes away the tears

Opening my eyes, finally meeting His grey ones
A million questions bounce around my brain
Soothing voice says "in due time Mine in due time"
The One was back, why, how and all the other questions had to wait, for now He was back
Feeling the warmth of His fingers massaging lotion into my skin, each mark rubbed well

A loving kiss placed to my lips
My body covered in a cocoon of comfort
He was back
My world was right again
Eyes closed as I drift off to sleep
Last thoughts praying this was real and not a dream
An exquisite dream it would be but needing it to be real

Leaving you all to ponder if when I awaken
Is He with me?
Or
Did I dream a wicked night of delight?


Written by Jennifer Humphrey. All rights reserved
Ady Apr 2015
It couldn't get any worst.
Use to be a shadow in the corner,
a few steps behind me,
never close yet always in my line of sight.

Its darkness mimicking the
movements of my body.
Day or night,
the thing that never sleeps
it weeps in laughter as it creeps
each time closer, closer
slithering its way up my bed
as I clutch the blanket and tightly
shut my eyes in vain.

Tonight it sits by the edge of my bed
staring
staring
waiting in the darkness for me.
My heart is in my ears
a scream between my teeth,
I try to pray but remember I've forgotten,
I've got no more faith.

It's ragged raspy breath echoes in the void
of my alien room
and it just sits there
as my frustration and fright grows
a bit madder and wild each ticking second.

Morning comes
the sun raises from the crust of the earth
I've not slept a wink.
Yet, I've got to follow my day pretending
not to see the beast getting each time closer.

Remember I said it couldn't get worst?
Sorry, I lied.
Its bony,clammy hand has grasp my ankle.
Tonight will be longer,
the frigidness of its ebony, wispy hand seeps slowly
through my skin.
And once more as dawn breaks through my window
I am not relieved because its putrid hand has left
a dark imprint on my skin.

This routine continues,
I am becoming the shadow of its figure.
Its madness is dyeing me of darkness.
Scrubbing beneath the steam of the water won't make
its mark wane.

I understand now.
It is possessing me,
slowly,
bit by bit,
adhering to my body
until all I see is ebony in the mirror
and I know I've got to bleed this beast
out.

So, I take a blade and begin the process
trying to rid and purify my body
of this malign creature.
But they don't understand me!
They won't let me carve out this
madness!
I try and try but they come and stop me.
My mother, the men in white robes,
everyone is against me
letting the beast reclaim my sanity!

I'm confined within these walls,
together with this creature
but they feed me little pills
and I forget why this all began.
Sometimes, I hear my mother and a man
whisper of silly things,
they say the depression gave away to schizophrenia
but they don't really understand
because they have not looked behind
to the shadows lurking on their backs.
So, been a while. I am just experimenting with unreliable narration and dark themes.
I feel this is a bit heavy but either way enjoy!
ps. I came across an article about schizophrenia and depression and how they often go hand in hand and I was a bit inspired.
From Jess's Lips Aug 2015
There is an ocean in between us.
It churns in violent winds
and shimmers in shining sun.
The inky black depths of this ocean
seem to reach infinitely down;
I've yet to find the bottom.
An entire world lives in this ocean
and it is one that I'm not a part of.
A toe dipped into this water reveals
the true frigidness that lingers just under the surface.
The ever moving waves pull me in
just to push me away again.
I can hear the ocean through the
empty conch that was once full of life.
There is an ocean in between us
and we're still holding hands.
Lover of Words Dec 2013
I was frightened.
Cold in bone, broken into frigidness,
Oh life how've you've hit me with a car,
And no ambulance came.
They need one for the heart,
Cause I'm trying hard not to step on the shattered glass,
And the winds of time are shaking me and I cannot break out of this twisted cage I've been thrown into.
Emotions come tumbling down like an avalanche.
A pile of rocks, tumbling on top of my head, and I ache into submission.
For what can one do when stepped on like a bug.
Their guts are spewing out from the sides, there done.
And I like that very bug I have been squashed upon.
Dreams and aspirations,
Thoughts and wonderments have been so ripped into and stolen.
I am hollow like a tree in winter, I shed my leaves,
I stand with nothing in my hands to hold,
Torn of my hair, Losing my heart, every atom inside of me screaming. The very mitochondria of my little tiny cells are slowing down. Losing any ambition to continue.
And I stand silent waiting spring comes soon.
Mitch Nihilist Sep 2016
I’ve manifested
an after midnight symphony,
looping mp3’s of my own eulogies
and consecutively callousing
and shaking hands with death,
the feeling brings a paradox of
finding warmth in cold palms
and it cuts between relation and
addiction to a palpable misery,
shot glasses of blood trying to make
home in my throat
drawing *****
and neglecting to force
warmth back inside,
left cold
and red hands ramble
abstract frigidness
on a livid mess mimicking
a sorry excuse for a heartbeat,
and all i’ve been doing is
touching myself
and each fingertip friction
formalizes an addiction to
a wintry contagious
They sat Together
on the porch with Their hot chocolate
now beginning to chill

He had so much to tell Her
how He felt
how He saw Her
how much She mattered to Him
He was so embarrassed to share His feelings
He was even worried
as to how HIs breath made clouds in the cold air
Hers were not as noticable

there were many things keeping Them apart
the slight mount of snow building between Them
the frigidness of the cold air
and the secrets

the secrets
hanging around Him
like the halo of the snow angel
She had made earlier that night

the love He had for Her
as refreshing as the cool air
against Her soft cheeks
yet He was afraid of it

He took Her hand in his
stared Her in the eye
and gathered His courage

then She said "I Love You"
Not to sound full of myself, but I really like what I did with the capitalization in this poem. It might not be the strongest thing I've ever written, but I still like it quite a bit for this reason.

2006 - Creative Writing high school class
The soft wind yet breaks on my cheek,
Its frigidness does my heart keep,
Inside its breath and wantings weep,
I lost everything in the haze of sleep.
-
Upon a drifting willow's bark,
I spied the sights of twisting arc,
The ax that had here made its mark,
Had morosely torn the tree apart.
-
I found there that nothing may change,
Yet everything has something to gain,
The profit in sales of wilting and pain,
Has lead to self-proclaimed "insane."
-
Footprints in sand with tide washed away,
Echoes enchant the hive mind, astray
I walk only to get through wretched today,
Tomorrow holds no reason to stay.
-
Love contaminates the air I breath,
Infections break in my head and seethe
How does one follow this revolting creed?
I know not this virtue, it escapes me.
-
No folly of mine found in books of lore,
I'm not kept hero in tomes of yore,
I remember naught of all before,
And I lay down to die in the awaiting shore.
-
Bitter and relentless does my heart scorn,
That I wish to remove it and flesh betorn,
That my hopes may bring sickle to corn,
That I pray for mourning's distant morn.
Jay Esse Dec 2013
Let me show you to that burrowed house
up on the hill, it's ages old!
Come, let us shuffle through its memories
and see what is to unfold.

Faded are the shingles
with windows yellowed and stale,
through overexposure to the sun
all of the paint is flecked and pale.

Tattered is the rosy wallpaper
stained are the wooden floors,
and all of the hardened, crusty carpets
are discolored with ancient molds.

Winds howl through the hallways
yet are too damp in the midst of heat,
not to mention winters' frigidness seeping in
not one table can stand, their legs too weak.

Grass has sprung up through the floorboards
pipes are rusted and they leak.
Every bulb is dead, the curtains are shreds;
both groupings are now just clouded and meek.

But glance upon these remains once more,
see what they have to hide-
for not until you know there's gold
would you look for a treasured chest to peek inside.

All lights and curtains are worn down with fingerprints;
these rooms must have been quite used.
Not often such delicacy can be found, seeing
floors and pipes both falling to nature's muse.

Tables' legs are old and tired of standing,
why not let them sit a while?
Yet no matter what weather it shall be exposed to
this home, to its fate, has reconciled.

Carpets all were once soft and
scrunched between our children's toes,
how beatiful these floors and wallpaper must've been.
How beautiful? Only us aged would know.

The paint was once pungently new
it gleamed in softened sunlight,
while the windows acted as doors to dream's ways
and the shingles kept out the night.

Let me show you to that burrowed house
what memories it holds of ours, my dear
Come, lay here with me in this bed we shared
for now, in looking back, we hold no fear.
Adam Mott Dec 2013
Air was cold and present while also gentle and serene
Streets were empty with the exception of myself
Wind rushed over the exposed skin of my face and hands, a fine caress of indifference
A lone bus quietly hummed past me, lights dimmed, passengers docile
Almost a humorous sight was the great mechanical beast, large in physicality, miniscule in mindshare
The green of the grass in mid December almost could deceive one into believing it was summer if not for the biting frigidness
Benignly, I wondered if I could make this place my home come Summer
Doted upon the idea, knowing that eventually I had to return to the Land of the Sea
It was not some great death of hope to my heart, this truth,
Merely a four month gap of nothingness in between an otherwise pleasant and enjoyable existence
https://www.facebook.com/consciencefalls?hc_location=timeline
For more!
Chloe Oct 2017
One day, you will feel me
in ways you have never felt me before
The way you once touched my skin, never again
to the way you called me yours
you will feel me in the pit of my soul

Some day, you will understand all of me
in a brand new way that you never knew before
those sweet nothings you whispered,
they will turn to rocks
that I will make you run on in the burning heat
once you finally understand what it means to raise hell

and I cannot wait until the hour
that I can glare at you, and you at me
with such frigidness in my eyes

That  it will force you to question
why such a fiery wrath,
can burn in a heart so cold.

-Chloe Aldecoa
Poetic T Nov 2020
Intervals depicted by woefully
                        stark sights.

Tombstone branches drape
              over the division
of essence.

That now clings to the earth,
  moved on by the breath around.


I see them grazing in the air,
a corpse  of what was warm.

Now showing the frigidness
                          of what is upon us.

Mourning the beauty of what was,
         and I look up at the tombstone
branches in reverence.

Awaiting the time when life wavers
          above me once again.

And then I will smile, for now,
       I slumber within my

stark contemplations.
devante moore Nov 2018
Feet in the sand
I can still feel myself sinking
Water cold to the touch
The tides roll in and out
Past my ankles
Now up to my knees
And out in the distance
The ocean is as blue as the naked sky
They both seem to never end
Lost in a gaze
The water has risen a bit higher
Now tugging at my hands
Playfully pulling me down
But still in place I stand
Tamed by how calm the water has become
Now that it’s grown
Wrapping itself around my waste
The breeze amplifies it’s frigidness
And now my body starts to quiver
But I’m rooted
And can’t escape this aquatic landscapes
Up above
The last signs of life
A group of seagulls
Passing by
As the water has risen up
Past my neck
Covering my eyes
Tanya Chaudhary Sep 2014
Poetry comes out of countless things
Out of apprehension. Out of monotony
Out of walking in circles on a straight road
Because you need to do something
But there is nothing to do.

Poetry comes out of the frantic mind
That can only be settled
By the daunting maze of language
Which when properly arranged together
Could level the intelligence of humans.

Poetry comes out of that fleeting glance
From the eyes of the man you love
Who has never loved you
That leaves you wondering,  dreaming and hoping
And always crushed & crumbled in the end.

Poetry comes out of loneliness
In the presence of your dear friends
When even the closest of faces
Seem nothing more than an apparition
Come haunting from a vintage photograph.

Poetry comes out of the pitter patter of rain drops
Carried through an open evening window
On a breeze that brings with it
The memories impossible to evade
And the frigidness of an impending winter.

Poetry comes out of banal things.
Out of broken hearts and despondent loves,
Out of full ashtrays and empty bottles,
Out of murky and thunderous nights,
When the rain bombards the rooftops.

Poetry comes out of affection and out of abomination
Out of rapture as much as melancholy
Out of enigma by dark and awe by day
But above all, poetry comes out of life,
And thus, the poet must be left to his own with death.
elina Mar 2016
on the cracking roads
lined with glistening snow;
it's slithering closer
to being lonelier

white crunches so beautifully
beneath my black feet,
trickling with
drip drip drip
red

i kneel,
something stinging inside me,
and stab a bare hand
into the gleam

light emerges as flush
fascination becomes me;
rouge fingers caress
at you. and sparks

crispness softens
into supple in my hands,
forthwith i have a sphere
of frost and ice

i know what to do

you're near
i sense it

fists clenched
in frigidness,
i rise,
warmth slipping
from my eyes

i walk
stride
stroll
run
dash
sprint

at once,
i'm holding nothing
the cold has faded;
joy

**you become ice.
Emily May 2019
A babe in the woods I beheld
in the back of my mind's eye
Feel the frigidness of my fingertips, doe
In only the throwing of a gauntlet
shall you loosen my grasp
to the arms of men!

Though my heart grows tender
As if one were everything;
The fire of the sun, the sweetness of fruit
Melt like water into my arms!
Allow me to shower you with the light of the stars

Saint Cupid declared
People like us shan't mingle!
but in all her dandelion glory
my fingertips ache with my hand around her thigh
To move further; I don't dare
Such delicate china skin and curls of her hair!

I shan't worship!
I hold my ego tight in my belly
And never will I lose it to you;
For what path have you walked that carried you
to the edge like me?

Love him if you desire;
You can't break my ego!
Saint Cupid conspires.
Seher Seven Oct 2016
watching a grapevine breath.
it adds the green leaves on
in early spring.
they spring to life, from
small pink bulbs that set in
right after the frigidness of
the dark of winter. right after.
her first leaves are a dark green,
they bleed the new life out.

she takes a breath in and
pushes tiny buds out.
the smallest of richest grapes
begin to show up and you begin
to prepare for the harvest.

the breath quickens as the fruits go from green
to some darker tones.
each one, takes its own journey to ripe.
she fans the fire of life
with another breath.
the true dark of US pops out
and you smell her.

she sighs as her fruits begin to drop
and be cut.
the release of the weight of things,
of last spring, she now
desires to be free of.

she breaths in again,
deeply
and her first leaves turn brown.
starting at the tip, the chlorophyll races
in to the clouds.
the yellowing, spotting,
a breath to release the past.

there are still many yet,
I watch her breath.
Em Jul 2019
It's funny.
How I sit here in this chamber of frost.
Complete frigidness.
Nothing.
Nothing left.

It's funny.
How my grieving mind
Is struggling over all of our happy memories.
How foolish I was.

It's funny.
How the one person I ever truly loved
slaughtered the mended piece of me.
Not once.
But again.
Because watching me inhale the suffocating.
raging.
destructing waters
that is heartbreak is so amusing.

It's funny.
How "I could never hate you"
I once said with confidence,
I now say the opposite.
Who knew that was even possible.

It's funny.
How for a moment
What the oblivious call life
Dissolves into nothingness as I remember.
What once was.
And what will never be.

It's funny.
How the tears creep around the edge of my lower eyelid.
Threatening to burst out.
Letting out all of my secrets and emotions with a weak roar.

It's funny.
How this is where I end up again.
The eternal love you once saw.
Pulverized.
Into less than powder.

It's funny.
How I wonder how the sun even dares to rise again.
Appalled at the rest of the world moving on without me.
Watching how I was once a part of them.
But happiness leaves behind the ones
That are incapable of feeling it anymore.

It's funny.
Because he said he would never be able to get over you,
Because he said he would love you forever.
Because he said you would be the one to move on first.

It's funny.
Because 3 weeks later.
He has a replacement.
A new memory generator.

It's funny.
How I lay restless at night.
While he laughs with someone else.
Probably someone who isn't as ****** up as I am.
Someone who is worthy of being loved by someone as.
Someone as cruel. Someone as wicked as he is.

It's funny.
How it isn't.
Kelsey Chupp Feb 2018
there is something about the wind
its frigidness
and cold whispers
that seep into my bones
it calls for me at my window each night
tap
tap
tap
it always warns. . .
a part of me knows
that it is only the cold wind that blows
casting its shadows against bedroom walls
but my door is always open
in case other company shows
-k.j.c
for mrs. thornburg
El Mar 2020
The dreamy blues of our future were dead. Dead to me. Dead to you. No more future, for me or you. How can we move on, you find it easier. Though I still remember your laugh. The high pitched cackle, of your bichiness. The rude way you thought of me. When you found me unlovable I noticed. But I never fore saw this bitter end. The frigidness of your affable idealism. High remarks for apathetic ways toward me. My empty empathy killed your feelings. Throw away the words we never spoke. Your wasting of emotions. You made me gracious for human interaction, but it was always misplaced. Misplaced with thoughts of misguided Inattention from familial interaction. I always trusted to easily, when it came to you.
[City Bridges (5th draft)]

Indigenous citizen
struggling to stay civilized
amidst
monolithic visages,
stone-faced and stoic witnesses;
overhead,
gargoyles grin—
hideous grimaces
guarding ever vigilant.

Inhospitable city grid
dimly lit,
rain's residual liquid
slicks
gritty asphalt
glistened,
blacktop igneous
pavement glittering–
shimmering
in rigid obsidian.

Hidden within this vision
visits
solitude, unsolicited–
loneliness exhibited,
never fitting in;
island imprisonment
as bridges begin
quivering
above stygian rivers grim,
abysmal reflections glint,
swimming in viridian.

Water's
brim risen
to vertiginous limits
I see
flitting images
of cataclysmic collision
with frigidness
obliterating to oblivion.

A dismal wish
reminded by
a grisly glimpse
of figments vivid since
residual shiver imprints
from winter's winds
whipping shins
and thinning skin;
I cringe, wither, wince,
my eyelids squint–
but I still live, so
no longer motionless
my frostbitten digits grip,
limbs never given in
to blizzard's pins
or crystalline prisms–
I walk,
despite icy splinters
and misery digging in
my ambition wins.
This one took me at least a year to write, just took me a while to form it into something more cohesive (and im still not sure its as coherent of a narrative as i was aiming for 🤷‍♂️ lol)... still not quite satisfied with the ending but for now it just is what it is i suppose.

And because i use a rhyming dictionary and usually learn words/things as a result, here are some less commonly used words (to save anyone the time having to look them up)...

Visage (vizij) - 1. the surface of an object presented to view, 2. a person's ****** expression.
Stygian (stij-ee-uhn) -  of or relating to the river Styx.
Viridian (vr·i·dee·uhn) - a blueish green color.
Vertiginous (vur·tij·i·nuhs) - causing vertigo, especially by being extremely high or steep.

— The End —