Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
S R Mats May 2023
Touch
A heightening of senses

Touch
Bristling beneath it

Horripilation
Sweeping up bodies -

From the Latin, horrere pilus,
"to bristle" + "hair" -

The most delicious
Can be the most poisonous

Exploding with each
Touch

Anticipation erupts
Touch

At the very thought
Of such delicious fruit

Touch
Contemplating the sensation of goosebumps.
Katelyn Apr 2019
Walking alone
In the early morning.
Thoughts clash around;
While the melodies of birds,
Never reach my ears.
I am a cold sunrise
I am a tranquil storm

Staring at my lifeless phone,
The scarred screen sullied;
No one checking up.
I trudge along aimlessly,
Contemplating, calculating.
I am a cold sunrise
I am a tranquil storm

The blinding ball of fire
Climbs higher,
Yet the warmth never reaches.
My bare arms become littered
With heinous horripilation.
I am a cold sunrise
I am a tranquil storm

The grainy sand
Beneath my fumbling feet,
Is course with broken shells
Poking and prodding,
Yet I am numb to the pain.
I am a cold sunrise
I am a tranquil storm

Because a cold sunrise always sets
And a tranquil storm destroys without a sound
This is an older one
kdugan Jan 2013
I am compelled

I do not even obliged to
In my mind I would keep the name as mıh
Eyes grow is growing
I do not know mecburum
You know me the heat.

Preparing trees to fall
Does this city is the old Istanbul
In the dark clouds are parts
One side of the street lamp is
The smell of rain on pavement
I am obliged not you.

Sometimes love is fearful dismally
People are tired all of a sudden one evening later
Prisoners to live in the razor's edge
Sometimes it will break your hands passion
How many lives are removed from a living
What if you knock the door sometimes
Humming in the back of the misery of loneliness

Fatih in a poor playing gramophone
From ancient times to play a Friday
I stop and listen to sound at the beginning of the corner
Should I bring unused gök
Week disaggregated data is available
How do I go What if I keep
I am obliged not you.

Maybe June or mottled blue boy
Ah, you do not know who does not know
Eyes hijack freighter is a desert
Maybe you get on the plane in Yesilkoy
Horripilation is all wet
Maybe you're blind, are in rural precipitancy
Wind will bring bad hair

What a time to live if you think
These wolves have perhaps mess
But without dirtying our hands Ayıpsız
What a time to live if you think
Susan would also start with the name
Order to move inside of the secret sea
No other kind will not be
I am obliged to you never know.




Attila İlhan
Bayn Apr 2013
So familiar the sparks of inspiration about to bloom
Horripilation and several empty soup cans tip me off

My time has come to be prolific,
under the wise tutelage of my angelic spektor

Accompanied by the wailing hormones of pre-pubescent boys trying to sing into microphones

Teacher please, spare a verb? Where the ivy used to crawl up fragile arms sanguine for all intents and purposes

Dear teacher, nothing electronic works in my room anymore
Dear teacher, your students are all ******
Dear teacher, I retain your lessons as lacerations upside my skull
Sweet teacher, reposing just across the hall and sideways a spell
In a coffin of criticisms and carbon monoxide fumes

The love of a generation, a single blue rose, and a jar full of tea 30 years old.
Zane Gorham Apr 2017
Dear Harlot
You kept my soul in check.
The loneliness encased was spent.
Wonders of unending flesh.
And yet the scent is fleeting.
The seclusion returns afresh.
The ethereal heart deceiving.

What once brought sweet memories.
Now are void parentheses.
My empty arms are bare.
In addition a cadaverous stare.
Skin cold with horripilation.
Trudging on in desolation.

I long for comfort I confess.
To the skies I do profess.
For on the ground my feet shall stay.
Am I worthy whose to say.

Another harlot.
Anther day.
Not my harlot.
Not my harlot.
Not my harlot.

A glimpse of her visage I pray.
Solitude is how I pay.
I wrote this thinking of the regret after a long period of loving someone you wish you could repay for the things unforgiven.
Darkly Nov 2015
Horripilation
A quickly pacing heart
Mind orbiting the concept
In circles, a work of abstract art

There is difficulty in executing movement
When all these things appear
Over my shoulder, edge of eyesight
Whispers in my ear

Rip out the claws that hold me in my seat
To walk over and say "Hello"
There would be no greater feat
That day
And then
I feel

That the lonliness would die
When
I
Fall into your eyes
I don't even know what to tag this as.
caspasta Jan 2015
a blind horizon   

dressed from head to toe in all black
he shades the ground he walks on piercing
blue eyes and hair of twilight
madness the desire
to leave this asylum of boredom
burns strong in his carefully caged heart
yet he lingers like a piece of lint on fabric
there’s something holding him back
perhaps
it’s the smell of hazy pollution
or
it’s the comforting shadows of tall figures

or perhaps it’s the arms around his frame
who think they know him best

tugging him from the unknown
down into the crevices of his childhood
down down down
down down
down

down

down

the thing is
he thinks he is
not so far down that he can’t stand again
he knows that his legs work and he know his city by heart
knows every street sign and every gutter
knows every turn and every crack in the black sidewalks

but he’s tired of knowing
he wants to not
no
and the unknown
is what entices him
draws him to his boots and to his nearly

empty

bag
he waits til night where it blendsin with black city
he’s just another bug crawling through the dirt now
it’s quiet but the
silence
hurts his ears and clouds his mind
it’s too loud
he has no map because he does not know where to begin
he just follows the stars laid out before his black city
and attaches his blue eyes to the brightest white and walks
forward forward forward

backward
one last look
will he come back
he doesn’t want to know

the nights are comforting, reminding
him of the place he left
behind
the days are long and hot
hot, an unfamiliar feeling
that crawls from his ankles to his brow
one long creature of perspiration
leaving a trail of novelty behind him

he’s now a crow against the white clouds
white, not grey
white, not black
bright, not dark
bright, it hurts his eyes!
squeeze them tight and wait a few more hours
wait just wait and it’ll be over
how was he to know of this blinding backdrop
he wasn’t

at night when he rests
he barely lights a fire
the flames too hot and bright
like the day he dreads tomorrow

he feels exposed and
vulnerable now in the clear, wavering air
he doesn’t like it
he didn’t know

he decides he doesn’t like the sun
he decides he likes the sun
it provides a penetrating stare he’s not used to
not the shifty eyes and downturned faces he is
but it’s so hot and it hurts his skin
his eyes
his eyes that never knew light, bright white light
the sight he needs but doesn’t want to know
anymore

he needs this
he needs to know more
he needs

he doesn’t know what he needs

he continues down the uncarved path
and doesn’t look behind
him
afraid that if he does
he will turn and go back to the knowing world
he forces his feet to pound the stones
and keep walking
walking
he already knows how to walk

there are some things that he can’t let go of
those things that he knows
and knows how to do them
they will always be with him
he knows how to walk
to talk to breathe to sleep to eat to drink to sit to stand

to run

running from the knowing
running to the unknown
run run run
keep running


stop
what’s that
a lonely other figure standing beside him
it’s a dark shade coloring the white ground beneath
him
it takes awhile
for him to realize that it’s his shadow
cast from the burning star above
he revels in this newfound companionship
he’s found a piece of himself on this path
he’s found something he knows
amazing
how something so starkingly beautiful can
come from something he’s learned to hate
this unknown balance has him smiling

he wants it to rain
wants to feel the cooling sensation
that horripilation
that awakens him from momentary slumber

he wants the wind
that invisible force that pushes and pulls
him in all directions

he wants darkness back
not just a wanderer that follows his every
move

he misses it, that vast city
that bathes its citizens in calming blackness
in dark knowing

he pushes forward
forward into the deep white abyss of
places foreign
and things unrecognizable

the unknown is tantalizing
and only the tantalizing can be clever enough
to catch its victims in a web of ugly misconceptions
unlike the black knowing miles from his feet
miles and miles and miles

his spine bends as he avoids the gaze
of the sun
careful or it will bend permanently
like the fuzzy shadow under his eyes

bring more light and more unrecognizable things
he only knew of black and different greys
but there are more
much more

he comes to a giant pool of water
with which the rim is far beyond the point of existing
he’s never known this much water all at
once

he continues to walk
he does not know how to move his arms
or his legs in such a fashion
and soon he’s buried deep within the pool

there’s a heavy silence
and a sinking feeling
he’s doesn’t move
but falls into the comforting darkness
into the unknown
Olivia Greene Nov 2014
i laid in my white abyss wondering where your touch went.
questioning why the breeze from my window could provide more care in its caress, than you.
call me naive or pusillanimous,
but your absence surprised me.
the breeze so easily comforting turned to a horripilation of dread.
so i arose from my bed, covered my shoulders in my favorite sweater,
and went on my way.
derelictmemory Nov 2014
it feels like I've been walking on the same pavement riddled with the same fallen leaves spelling out regret and trap. it's lined with trees that look so barren that everything is starting to sound like the same kind of goodbye though I'm not really sure what they're saying goodbye to.
Reflective surfaces come in the form of my empty palms
and the crunch of leaves and the snapping of twigs just seem to whisper in my mind.
I've been walking on the same pavement and I'm not entirely sure why it is the same kind of brickwork. A little sloppy, if you ask me.
The signposts are broken and rotting and I haven't been able to make out the words that are haunting the seemingly endless bounds of my mind.
Have you seen the sun yet?
I can't seem to make sense of anything from the slight rain and the dense fog. There are stains on my sleeves and my shoulders are weighed down and sagged.
I've been trying to reason with myself that this is what I ought to be doing. I've been trying to reason with myself that this is the path I should be on to find whatever it is I've been looking for. I've been trying to reason with myself that I belong here, on this dark and cobbled pavement while my arms are riddled with horripilation and my chest is sputtering blood from the hollowness of it all.
I've found a weeping willow - it weeps like the heat from my neck and I haven't felt the coldness settle.
There's frost on my fingers but if it is any consolation, I have no idea how to love or deserve to be loved.
Where has the time gone? Can you tell me?
The rabbit holes are empty and there is a void where my heart ought to be. My lungs aren't burning but there's smoke escaping with every breath I let out.
It's been too long, it's been too solitary. I can almost feel the brittleness of the skeletal structure that keeps me collected.
And time has escaped me.
There are no sounds and my ears are deafened.
The cold is settling.
I can still see the pavement.
It's still empty.
Is there no life here?
Can anyone hear me?
I can feel my thoughts echoing.
Hello?

— The End —