"impulsions" poems
I
I have many impulsions and desires
Oft not in line with those surrounding me
'tis in these moments I miss you the most
For you would eagerly follow
II
I saw the trees in bloom
Today, white pure blossoms
I thought of you...
III
I saw you today...
In the orange crocus cups
Peeking through the Earth
IV
Daffodils opening up
In a golden sunset hue
To you, these natural beauties
Turn my thoughts
V
I almost did not notice
You signed with my surname
It looks so natural
Feb 28, 2013
Feb 28, 2013 at 10:32 AM UTC
Freedom from addiction
Means keeping pills in relapsing distance
I just need the presence, the friction
The suffering of temptation
Released
A downward spiral
or something cliché enough to drag me to the bottom
I let go of everything once
Trying to force a flow of liberation
Misguided euphoric tide
At least for the half-life
Then the comedown
Through the noise
This kid is making a comeback
Infantilizing the sacred ground
Back to primal setting
Bursts of energy via the star nursery
These compulsions
Lead to impulsions
When the nervous system's wracked
I'll be here wrapping my head around
Trying to control the chaos
Organized crime in the mind of the attention deficit
Demanding change in this temple trashed by the afterparty.
Mar 23, 2013
Mar 23, 2013 at 3:12 PM UTC
Every touch of your lips to my porcelain skin flushed memories into my blood stream.
I choked back the drunken tears and apologies and replaced them with 'I miss you's' and the minutes I had the privilege of playing with your hair, I was at peace.
I missed your hands and the way you worry about my relentless insomnia.
I missed you squeezing my hand as if though my life was in danger.
Every second spent with you feels like my lungs are collapsing and I've never felt more alive.
God ****** every night I feel like dying but the fact that you exist in the big wasteland of **** is enough to keep my impulsions quiet.
The fact that you breathe and you sweat keeps my heart beating out of my chest and I can't get my vessels to find cessation.
I itch and i crave to be your favorite mess.
I want to kiss you where it hurts until it hurts even more.
I want to heal every wound that cuts deeper than your pores make you believe that your worth is so much ******* more than anyone who's led you to believe that it wasn't before.
I am the hollow tree trunk coffin where creatures go to die and you are mine.
Until I realized you were rotting.
You became cold and unaware that your impulsions could get the better half of you. Biting your tongue became a habit you couldn't break And I know I fed your addiction.
I was sick and you were quiet.
Your branches just couldn't withstand to hold the weight of my heavy heart and I dropped.
You cut off my leaves and pulled out my trust.
And it just wasn't enough.
We withered away.
They dug up your roots and I watched you decay.
And it was my fault, it had always been.
I am your rotten apple, your Pandora's box.
You cut me open and unleashed the chaos. And I'm sorry.
You didn't deserve that. No one does.
I'm a hollow body and I'm sorry my soul tried to swarm on yours and erupted.
I'm sorry about the buzzing.
I'm sorry I couldn't hold you up on my branches.
I'm sorry you didn't love me as much as you love her and as much as I love you.
I'm sorry I...
Apr 14, 2017
Apr 14, 2017 at 5:04 AM UTC
individuals spot her from a distance
sliding down the polished pole,
licking her cherry glossed lips,
she was a sweet beautiful sinner
lonely sad girls aspire to be her
wishing they had the confidence
hungry men with lust filled eyes
contemplate towards sleeping her
but never act on their impulsions
this is her bitter reality
at only eighteen
she has seen things
no young girl
should ever see
- she is a ruined soul
Sep 10, 2017
Sep 10, 2017 at 11:09 AM UTC
These words fumble out of my mouth
like building blocks of a clumsy child.
They are innocent, unaware;
puerile, if I dare.
But frivolous as they seem,
they have been uprooted from the
dusty corners of my heart.
They are defenseless and exposed.
I cup my hands in a poor attempt to
collect these impulsions that stream
from my lips.
Too late, they delved themselves into you
like daggers from my hands;
and for that, I am sorry.
I aim with good intentions, these weapons at the tip of my tongue.
May 26, 2013
May 26, 2013 at 2:08 AM UTC
a hopeless mind but not spirit, in search of darkness, by last mindful impulsions, to find the grail of youth and virility.
Jan 9, 2015
Jan 9, 2015 at 11:50 AM UTC