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Last Arpeggios Jan 2014
in the lap of a *****
where wind promises
threats of silence,
kindly attracting my hair
to the steep
A life-long longing
to fall into
a basin of nothing.

My feet blister, bragging
wounds of having walked
they’re just grazes
from the bricks in my boots,
sculpting my body on the edge.
Without wind
I could climb bare-feet
but I’m out of breath
and the corners of my eyes
are already falling
Rose Aug 2018
3 may 17

sincerely hoping to tear this page out.

i promised myself i would never write about you because i know that once this pen grazes paper, the thought of you will be permanently engraved somewhere, and although not physically, but mentally and emotionally in the depths of my brain, figuratively.
my outlets these days are quite scarce. i tore out my sheets and tried to erase the thought of you, of our intimacy. but what i've ceased to comprehend is that it's not that simple. i can change my sheets, remove my posters, switch my nightlight, remodel my whole room, but, that doesn't change it. change the fact that you still consume my thoughts like a virus, spread throughout my body, filling my core to the brim with inadequacy.
i love you, i hate you.
it is a constant cycle of indecisiveness that floods me with feelings of deep desire, love, and infatuation, to the less constant but still present, feelings of rage, anger, pain, and resentment projected towards you.
i can't wait until the day.
the day when you are either out of my life for good...
prove to me that love still exists.
jane taylor Apr 2016
as winter acquiesces to the blazing sun
a soothing breeze softly grazes tips of aspen
gently shedding past liaisons
a perfect panacea
allowing wild freedom for summer’s dawn

healing from the ominous night
a flower gingerly releases its grasp
leaning into golden rays of summertime
keenly aware of newfound vulnerability
it yawns into the light

a rousing essence induces
a silhouette of life once thought lost
prodding river’s rigid ice blue crystals
to melt and flow with buoyant wonder
kaleidoscopic-like waves

having weathered near annihilation
a sculptured consciousness remains
painting summer clouds with soft-hued wisdom
all awakens from the dream
and should the cold return once more

the sun will shine again

Hussein Dekmak Dec 2018
Let me be,
the makeup on your skin,
The fragrance of your perfume

Let me be,
the breeze that grazes your face,
and the unspoken letters on your lips.

Let me be,
your hidden secrets,
and your full moon.

Let me be,
your smile, your laughter, your tears,
your wishes, and your happy dreams.

Hussein Dekmak

Ashleigh Black Oct 2014
The calm --
it sweeps through my arms
and grazes my hair
as it washes over
my scarred, battered skin.

It speaks --
it tells me of all the sorrows I've suffered
in my ear,
where I cannot help but overhear
the words that should soothe but do not.

Its touch --
so cold, so ice cold
that my shivers are uncontrollable
and I cannot hide, or speak, or think
because the silent noise overwhelms every inch of me.
Kellin Feb 2019
In my head,
our shadows will dance upon
dark red walls as the lace that grazes  upon a tattooed thigh entices my imagination
We will slowly twirl towards a bed of roses
But land on nails instead and you will rip away my fantasy and drown me in self doubt
Olivia V Aug 2017
softly, she weeps
warm tears caressing,
tracing her contours.
a breeze, so soft,
moves through her.
it's silent tonight,
and so is she.

tendrils of green,
sway above her.
a dance of despair,
of solace and sadness.
and she joins
and she floats
and she moves with this wind.

she thinks and she thinks,
of ephemeral air.
how it stirs and it moves,
then dissipates and departs,
only to sweep
across mountains and valleys.

she wishes to be,
no more than a breeze.
gentle but strong,
to be felt by all
yet seen by none.

the willow above
with its weeping green,
grazes her cheeks,
and beckons her gently
to join with those currents,
in their invisible journey.

and so her body fades
into mere particles.
she stays silent throughout,
until she too
an ethereal gale.

and in her place,
there is now emptiness.
and the willow still weeps
with joy for her freedom ,
in despair that she's gone.
not meant to rhyme.
Ashleigh Black Apr 2014
I have come to know
the perpetuity of loneliness
the habits that are formed
when one has no one but their own

I have come to stare
at an empty image
of a person in a state of grey
An endless grey that soon will not heal

And now I have come to fall
on to a cold, barren bed
Drafty and stale as it grazes over
the long-faded lines that you have left
17711 Apr 2019
the October wind grazes
along fields of my skin
but August still lingers with suffocation,
humidity continually seeping

as rustling leaves made a girl
knowing colors would change
permeating a hint of cinder
from the stems, the bark, the branches

hooves cautiously drifting
drawn to low static
the flow of chemistry
over pebbles and geology

my reality is laid to rest
but awoken by peaceful dreams
naturally creating moments
art by which exists in visceral beams

we learn that the wind carries infancy
the substrate holds discovery
the water reveals change, if not time
and the brain develops meaning
-belonging only to seen ambience
-to which includes ourselves
D A W N May 2018
you said you didnt love me anymore.
yet your face tells everything we steal glances of each other.
how your cheek grazes my eyes, burying every sinful lie within each and every moment.
you try to hide your feelings inside and pushed the love i gave to you
that you denied.
i see light in your eyes, darling.
now why couldn't you just let it be and see how you truly mean to me, see the countless times, the consecutive tries of trying to make you mine again.
now darling, i'm waiting for you. waiting for you to take me back one more time. i just need one try to prove to you that i was worth it all the time.
and i dont know why youre fighting back the truth and burying them with distinctive lies saying that i never loved you and you never loved me too and that we were never meant for each other but deep down you know it wasnt true.
so doff your pride and don a smile,
run to me with arms open wide
and accept me back
with the love
that never once died.
September to November-gubot na panahon
Jon York Feb 2019
Shared laughter in sheets
says  more  of   ****
than   a   thousand
sensuous   sighs
stirring  across  the
softest  satin.

Let us make
quiet   love,
soft   sighed
ans slow stirred;
glancing grazes
and beautiful

your loudest screams
and yell instead
with squeezing

Do you think it possible
that some people
are born to give
more love
then they will ever
get   back
in   return?
                                                         ­                     Jon York   2019
OC Nov 2018
I savored my own killing

I could've done so
at the twilight of my days
while I dose off
on a creaking rocking chair
my old lean limbs entangling down
my crooked joints melded to the arm rests
my heavy head resting on my collarbone
oblivious as I
mercifully approach from the back
gently stepping on the tube
leading oxygen to my dying body
watching as my breath become heavy
as my blocked throat wheeze in exhaustion
as my stressed lungs finally collapse
as I quietly yield to sleep.

I  could've done so
sometime tomorrow or yesterday
As I lay asleep on my back
snoring as usual
in an instant I'll roll over
and be on top of myself
clasping at my mouth and nose
pressing my full body weight
as I jolt awake, panicked and confused
my arm randomly flailing around
torn prayer flags swooped by a hurricane
my fingers digging into the flesh of my arms
attempting to pull me apart
until finally
my stubborn grip overcomes
and defeated I dim onto stillness
save for a twitch here or there.

I chose to do so
in my youth
as the texture of a heavy rope
grazes and bruises the skin on my neck
while I send a chilling smile at myself
from across the room
pulling a handle
that drops the floor beneath my feet
accelerating for the first time
relishing the hissing air
the absence of gravity
catching with my eyes my penetrating gaze
older than I am
full of grief, fatigue, and divination
cut by the cracking rope
torn like my snapped neck
with a hallow sound
much less revolting than I thought
watch me dangling like
a ragged pendulum
a grotesque puppet
an unripe miscarriage
feeling but a slight pinch of regret
for never knowing
this moment
Samantha Cunha Dec 2018
the flame
his name
shadowed pain
embedded in
intricate palm
storm is brewing
before the calm
hashtag1stworldproblems, but
couldn't even win a prize for reading:
'But there was no give in the cat,
no flex anywhere but his tail. And for
a moment their roles reversed, as though it were
the train facing
the inevitable cat...'
'n' dog 69er
vukojebina Tasmaniandevil in a ******
ad under/overbiting off more than I can
chew Escher's pretzel autocannibal
Prometheus in a Faustian ****
stage pacman dragon fusion starbirth centre
of the earth Bruckheimer pileup of me

Meanwhile bombs fall everywhere but here.

Singing 'Suggasuggasugga my art ***,
liggaliggaligga my art hole'

putting out the bins Insta-grommet-
ed Fama-widgetted the world but the world
is washing its ***** homme moyen sensuel
feels neither ****** nor blessed
culdesac wilderness no 'Wot no samo
©' enriches but inside my flat wypipo
surahs are basquiated alll over bones stones
& date palm fronds Newyork Paris London
Norwich supernobody supernova of purple psychology
prisoner between the lines egotistical subprime of me.

Allthewhile bombs immortalise everywhere but here.

Praying ' Ia! Shub-Niggurath! The Black Goat
of the Woods With a 1000 Young'
  yet still
the DWP send brown envelopes like post-
al millenarian sandwichboards or economic
letterbombs mash of calendars unassailable
nth mph inevitable catastrophe alazonic
file Akashic Bureau declassifies
is conceit of a train facing a rhino of a meme by
necessity a meme of a rhino gardarhino swino
my geworfen gurn of response scenarios
geworfen backatcha megillah galaxy
fillet ubeity is barrow pig cosmic bootyclap of me.

Everyday bombs bombarded the Mousetrap Theatre
but never hereatre.

Isn't everything just advanced basketmaking
everything is advanced basket-
making everything either that or egowanking
like urban legend of the Purple One ouroboros-
ing his purple one Janusjaws bittensmit-
ten by tailtaste once American sawboneses
optimised the Tom Thumb of Funk's
zeroshape with double ribectomy musta hadda sillycunt
implant ah the hiss of hubris human CMBR
soliphissing hero of selflove whited sepulchres
'This is the only musical the mouth & hopefully
the brain attached to the mouth, right?'
X-iestance of me.

The bombs they bombeth everyday, but I'm okay.

Big Gazrilo Princep Bang weltgeschichtlich pinup
modcon slave to my suprachiasmatic nucleus living
l'appel du vide in comfort fatarse sitrep
tragicecstatic bluff transparent as an exhibition-
ist pharaoh mummified in cling-
film hokeycokeying the keys till my right hand's in
court & my leftover hand doesn't count
tallies of tall realities like BasquiAT-ATs or Daliphants
skittled by Tippex the inner crickets' tip-
ple ghost grawlixes sculpsit grazes 00Q's qwerty spype
no carmen triumphale of poetical toothbrushes gets free
from chelseasmiled singularity inadequake scree of me.

But bombs being dropped is not the only way
this 40-yr-old 5'6 din of reverie will stop.
Madelynn Nieves Jan 2019
Pupils dilate
Heart palpitates
As my skin grazes yours
Stomach flutters
With every word you utter
As you come walking through my door
Intentions pure
Both of us floored
Your eyes sincere
With a body so revered
Thoughts so adulterated
Lustful and Saturated
Lips quivering
Goosebumps shivering
As I meticulously trace the lines
Of your collar bone, so divine
Devotion to this desire
Impatient indulgence feeding the fire
Framework consumed
By the pull of the moon
Madly muttering
High pitched stuttering
Hymns of fervor
Neighbors confuse with ****** ******
Raising my hand to your mouth
As I progress further down south
Learning your secrets
You tell me no lies
Never want to leave this
Echo of space and time
Pouring every ounce of my soul
Into watching you unfold
Blossoming effortlessly
Before my very eyes
I become hypnotized
Intoxicated by your scent
Following through with every intent
Injecting your body with no need to repent
Yielding to my advances
Here’s to second chances
This is our moment
So we might as well own it
Bet the bank on each other
Discovering my soulmate
My best friend
My lover
Shelby Mar 2019
bloodshot tired eyes locked in a reflected viewing
of an alone tortured hollowed shell
paralyzed as I gaze into the ***** mirror
an unwelcome familiar presence
reminds me im never alone
as my shadow manifests into a looming depression
locking his grip on his ivory skinned art
the reflected viewing was his incomplete masterpiece
that took years of work

look how beautiful I've made you!
he gleams
as cold darkened hands hold the sides of my face
his thumbs point towards glazed over tear filled eyes
outlining running mascara down sullen cheeks

slowly moving hands down uncombed brown hair
he yells
you need a splash of color my dear!
interlocking his fingers too tightly
as he reaches a frail neck
my face turns a crimson red as breathing is no longer an option
slowly adding in a navy blue as the struggle for life spreads convulsions through a weakened body
he only lets go to say
I cannot destroy what I've created!

it didn't haunt me just in the reflection
that sentence ran through my mind with the same shrill voice
as I stared down the neck of another empty bottle
the taste and smell of a bourbon
washed down with scotch was intoxicating
as it drowned his negative passive aggressive screaming
another bottle made me feel fluid
bringing out a smile that has been long faded
a laugh that was suppressed to feel anything but the pain he brought
the confidence to portray a happier version of the dying light I was
to portray the me I was before depression claimed me as his

shivering and chills
snap me back to the reflected present
as his hands run down my uncovered arms
where he carelessly streaked black and blue
finger painted marks
each bruise that illuminated too bright in a dimly lit room
he traced them ever so gently
writing a cursive love poem
as he moved down to my wrists that were consistently covered
he grazes over red protruding straight lines
where fingernails like razor blades
danced from one end to the other
signifying that 7 lines measured the years he spent working on the piece he called Shelby

across what was left of my ivory skin
he carelessly wrote his name
in ink mixed with blackness as dark as him
and specks of my own blood
interlocking our souls as one
and to declare me as his and non others
for an artist never lets another touch his incomplete masterpiece
Ava Jul 2019
Specters and phantoms,
spirits screaming at all hours;
chivalrous duels hosted by
chivalrous ghouls with nary
a tomb to house their souls,
bullets whistling as they grin
through a folly of fire
which grazes their fates;
a table of victorian ladies
spirited with Jane Austen
and tea in hand,
listening merrily to
the dancing band;
smoking cigarettes as
laughter roars abound,
the poets of old lay pouring
their souls to the gayous sounds.

O tizzy, O hissy, O goddess
of love and time, free us all
from this realm of uncertainty
and harken the call
to forego the plans of our Domine.
ollie Jul 2018
the glass reaches out and grazes my cheek
its cold grip encompassing me
the surface shiny and sleek

it etches deep into my soul
every single imperfection
each taking their rightful toll

much, much too much
so sorry to tell you
binding's not that good of a crutch
gender? i barely met her!
Steve Page Oct 2019
"All the stuff in our veins is the same." Guy Garvey.

Some stuff is the same.

First school,

First pet,

First bicycle,

First kiss,

Some stuff is only yours and makes you.
Listening to Elbows new album on the way to work.  Guy Garvey is a poet.
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