"incisions" poems
within the solitude of the dreadful span
of the blackened and bowed sky
the deep withered grass bends in the moonless dark
quieting the cold and murmuring earth
hushing her into fitful sleep
the air is hard
and the wind lacerates the night
razor incisions left behind
in the icy flesh of obsidian hours
open wounds howl like wolves
on the trail of prey in flight
I hunger for you
under the restless stars
Feb 4, 2025
Feb 4, 2025 at 11:29 PM UTC
Asleep alone
I got the light scare
Of a nightmare
With my plight there
Which wouldn't fight fair
Awake awaits
Chirping is all I hear
Dragging life into focus
Getting the lens clear
To see things are hopeless
My aches and pains
Are my body's refrain
To remind me of existence
Despite my mental resistance
I am lucid
I take my shoelace
And loop it
To run a new race
Timidly trembling
The violence in my dreams
Matches the silence and screams
That defile us and our team
Making the nightmares real
And the pain I can feel
So it's love I steal
A devil's deal
Hell unsealed
I can hear the vultures chirping
Or maybe they're just burping
Out the demons I ignored
My forgiveness they implored
To meet a silent scorn
Like a muted tribal horn
Banishing them to another realm
With my ostracism at the helm
Until the lonely are overwhelmed
And I see the error of my ways
Once I'm part of this chaotic haze
Practically paralyzed
I am lost
In this game
I've met the boss
He and I the same
He is a voice
Chirping in my ear
Saying I have no choice
I should give in to fear
And just drink beer
Until the end is here
Carelessly comatose
The birds that once sang beautifully
Now retreat dutifully
When they see my thoughtless anger
Turn me into a ruthless stranger
Creating danger
For those living righteously
They start fighting me
Trying to enlighten me
Which is only exciting me
Because I lack the sight to see
What the world could be
If we could harmonize
Like the birds
Not using argent lies
But soothing words
Yet there is no tax exemption
For my reluctant redemption
So my mind invented
No incentive
Soul slaughtered
The tear jerking
Birds chirping
Constantly remind me
Inside my sleep they find me
Thrusting me into a life unwinding
Through my window the sun is blinding
When I start to fear my brother
After seeing mirrors in others
Reflecting my attitude
Of ingratitude
I had a nasty nightmare
Of Camp Crystal Lake
Filled with misfit flakes
Paying for their mistakes
With pain and suffering
As deep as a submarine
Being torn apart
For every decision
Hiding their heart
To avoid incisions
And once all these losers are slain
The birds chirping start a new day
Jun 29, 2018
Jun 29, 2018 at 4:14 AM UTC
careful incisions to the heart
/ cutting the main artery /
nearest to the heart/ making this odd thing occur /
feeling numb in a non-circulatory form / static insanity is a common side effect
Jul 28, 2014
Jul 28, 2014 at 8:40 PM UTC
108
Surgeons must be very careful
When they take the knife!
Underneath their fine incisions
Stirs the Culprit—Life!
4.2k
I have secret skeletons
That haven't seen the Sun
From things supposedly fun
Now all they do is make me run
Skeletons exit my closet
And enter my jury box
All of whom I've met
Then put behind locks
Now they throw rocks
Or find ways to mock
They are ruthless
Until I'm toothless
I face a skeleton jury
I face the skeletons' fury
They seek vengeance
Or perhaps repentance
I play lawyer in my mind
This job has become full time
And I must laboriously linger
Through skeleton stingers
Until my mind is rattled
By skeleton saddles
They come from my past
To shatter my glass
The skeletons are attacking
My bones are cracking
Under their weight
They are my freight
They judge me
And begrudge me
I made many moronic mistakes
I left laying at the bottom of lakes
Now they are at the surface
Of my fruitless furnace
Skeletons remain
Like a stain
I look across the plain
To see skeletal rain
Precipitated by my dumb decisions
Droplets make numerous incisions
Each one callously cutting me to the bone
Until the skeleton jury is my humble home
Oct 27, 2017
Oct 27, 2017 at 4:41 AM UTC
She may be our metronome mother
But when was rhythm first discovered?
Did ancient nomads hear it in the sounds of walking?
Did they like how it sounded over them talking?
Did they view the melody
As a felony?
And start to sway their hips
To the crack of whips?
Maybe that wasn't good enough
Maybe we needed more stuff
So we started crossing swords
To create more violent chords
That interested us more
Violence has a catchy hook
That can't be found in a book
But started with a ***** look
Until our brain begins to cook
And we learn to love the beat
As the harmony depletes
We take concert seats
At a darkness feast
There's an iambic pentameter
In the middle eastern theater
That sounds all too familiar
The troubling treble
Of mothers screaming
While superpowers meddle
And innocence is leaving
The reaper is reaping
To a situation heating
Empathy fleeting
Fascist seating
Rhythm beating
Our soundproof homes
Create acoustic cones
That our cries can't escape
Taking the container's shape
Filling our mind
Until we're blind
And only see political teams
Instead of childhood dreams
We fall into a rhythm
Based on deadly decisions
With lethal precision
Like surgical incisions
That don't make us healthy
But support the wealthy
Who whistle a different tune
That will **** us all soon
And as the world crumbles
Their bellies still rumble
Creating a disruptive bass
Their music we must face
With an impossible grace
Or else we'll be replaced
I hear instruments of percussion
Causing concussions
Deflecting discussions
Making us harmfully dance
So we'll have a fair chance
Which seems wrong at first glance
But it's actually a pragmatic trance
Provided by Mister Rhythm
Who carries misery with him
Apr 12, 2018
Apr 12, 2018 at 12:22 PM UTC
A ***** drills inside my core
It nags, graps, pans, the hands
They knot in spins and twists
My crux left at the river side
Breathing,gasping fast, faster
Body out in the open rawness
Persisting resistance of the force
An outward shield winning
Winged left,right, up, down
Another day, a greater pace
A passive taste, ranting in haste
In bricks ***** all I taste is hate
All walking in dead silence
Heads shouting with dreams
A roll of sweet and sour sate
Echoes of taxes and budgets
How will they evolve us?
Snatching more from pockets
The rockets burst to mock us
Pulling our all to fund them
Nuclear bombs creating tombs
Distribution of lies and wars
Missiles disposing as lyrics
An objectification of reason
Figure brushes on magazines
Incisions of bits and **** hoots
To boost of the hot posed ***
No truth is scaffolded as real
A psychological brainwash
Pollutes and limits indefinately
Mar 16, 2016
Mar 16, 2016 at 2:59 PM UTC
I'm born
Airborne
Forlorn
In war torn
Discord
My ripcord
I pull for liberation
Alienation aviation
Away from a station
Of no relation
Where their elation
Lies in degeneration
The fright fair
Nightmare
In sight there
Is a right scare
But light flares
From an illuminated theater
I dive into art
To fill my meter
I consume
Darkened tomb
Screen in room
Is where I loom
Inspiration blooms
From a sense of doom
My separation reparation
That will lead to veneration
My artistic fervor
Drifted further
Drifter's murmurs
Lifted learners
But gifted murderers
Shifted girders
Of shame and honesty
To my grave of modesty
Where they prey upon me
This plagiarism
Layered schism
Cratered rhythm
Of great decisions
Now I make incisions
With repetition
And the definition
Of words stolen from me
They're all I can see
And I can't get free
Or just let it be
Consumption disruption
At this junction
I can't function
A plagiarist
****** mist
Grips my fist
Makes me wish
I don't exist
I must resist
Before I miss
My chance at bliss
They're ****** me
By aping me
Making me
Shaking trees
Of bumblebees
With rumble pleas
On humble knees
Drinking antifreeze
Nobody cares
What's fair
They bear
And share
Blank stares
Up stairs
Of artistic compromise
Integrity lost in lies
They're not that wise
I hypothesize
My baby
Caught rabies
From Hades
Now ladies
Flock to a thief
Giving me grief
Beyond belief
In my coral reef
Sword in sheath
I drown discreet
Aug 28, 2018
Aug 28, 2018 at 2:29 PM UTC
i want to peel the skin from my limbs
strip by strip
with broken glass making jagged incisions
then watch the blood drip
down my body
dark red is pretty.
i want to scratch my eyes out
i've seen too much now
they'd look better splattered on the floor
just like ***** blotched decor
i want to pluck my nails out from the beds of my fingers and toes
and with a torch burn it all, melt the cartilage off my ears and nose
its too much extra baggage
for when i jump off the ledge
i like to mutilate myself
i’m a ********* as well
i love slicing deep into my skin
or puncturing myself, with a needle or pin.
seeing my blood escape captivity
makes me feel more alive than if it was still inside me
even more so when i carve out an artery
it falls so gracefully down to my feet
i want to display my own bones in my home
and replace them in my body with metal poles
i think feeling pain is better than feeling nothing
and seeing a sharp razor to grate my skin is always enticing
i love how it stings.
blood is the liquid of life yet symbolizes death
i corrupted my soul, now an expired body is left
i want to reach inside my chest
and grab my heart
and squeeze so hard
it oozes like jello through my fingers
and stops beating forever.
Nov 20, 2022
Nov 20, 2022 at 7:54 PM UTC
Refuse to follow
give in to your constant torture
cause more harm than intended
seek leverage and comfort in loneliness,
seek joy + pleasure in the rich's failure
I'm not weird I'm just trying to cope with my problems.
Seek pleassure from seeing my enemies guts shredded
hear them beg and plea
Do I bother you?
Yes, then it's working.
Happiness is the reason I despise Humanity
denying to conform to your mainstream ways
shut-up, shut-up, SHUT-UP!
There isn't that better
silence was always a friend of mine.
Hand me the knife now
I need to educate this inhuman
by making a few incisions
How else does one learn about emotion.
You need to shed to gain......
Oct 4, 2014
Oct 4, 2014 at 1:57 PM UTC
is it love
or the parasite ?
my pilot bulk
aims for relief
it pursues this via
your romantic correction
in public arena
a library stair
(i never prior encountered you)
one step as foreigner
the approach
and upon a swift internal pendulum
i make witless incisions
hurried mended sentences
directed stuns
invasive
i demand the compromise
of your company
hastily push at boundaries and
you're not so accommodating
but
on a further occasion
same building
we exchange a battering of conversation
that
then
matures
into barter-like use of language
despite my harassments
a civil cultivation is unearthed
tongue within this intelligence effort i lessen
loosen my demanding appearance
disregard my dignity
a skin suit about the ankles
you're open in a vein of similarity
you flesh out your own controls
we've progressed quickly
there's an aped conduct
and flashing attitudes
this time we share table space
a nearby café
we have become quite unmanned
repeated meet ups
upon humours we adjust small habits
and shake on perceptions where we overlap
it becomes
more an overlay of rationalities
than resented promises
fast time passes and
i move into your living space
i pick a wildflower
and put it in the tiny vase on your dining table
we agree on its colour
we agree on a book to make our bible material
we agree on the pitch of the tinnitus we share
the clothes i am to wear
i switch to your diet
and you cease taking medications
we sleep on your lawn like children
and bring down the night sky for comfort
during the day we wear our sleep
like a lubrication for our chores
and go about our productivity
in genuine partnership
yet
i feel we're just out of reach
of some dark harm
we are an excellent sample pair
it is all vital
we grow stronger the more we quiz it
recycling our **********
refine our agreements
await further impulses
and come closer to plug
so..
do we please love
or simply indulge a parasite ?
Nov 23, 2021
Nov 23, 2021 at 10:28 PM UTC
I wish it was easier for
people to forget, if things left their
mind as easy as they let
them in, tough skin
wouldn’t wear thin
as easy as it is right now,
my past is full of imperfections
and bad decisions, leaving unstitched
incisions beneath the brink of sanity,
but who’s isn’t? every time falsities
start, my mind races
with my heart to contemplations on
when to finish, they tattoo the past
of others on their insecurities,
fuelling the fire that burns a hole
into respect and reputation,
creating a vicious cycle
of revenge and envy,
each gossip verbally vomited
into naive ears pulls the marionette
strings of perception into the road normally
taken, two roads may have diverged
at a yellow wood, but when the ignorance
burns yellow to ash, the road less taken
seems blocked, so the next time you hear
something about another, don’t be too quick
spread the word, the game of
telephone can get a little distorted when
the next phone call
you get is that they
were found hanging from
a rope.
MJB
Feb 17, 2016
Feb 17, 2016 at 1:37 AM UTC
The human soul, as vile as bile,
Savage Cruel disturbed infected and distort,
The human soul, obsessed with foul style,
Sinful confused mishandled and extort
Devoid of ethical human feelings,
Inflicted with raw sadistic hatred,
Grotesque depraved dismembered killings,
Ungodly occultism, unsacred
Sickness requires resolute treatment,
Stitches to repair ripped incisions,
Reducing the risk of dismemberment,
Catastrophe fractured by excision
Ceased decaying crippled in dreadful despair
Emerging from darkness, disturbed and aware.
William James
Oct 20, 2015
Oct 20, 2015 at 7:30 PM UTC
Make sure your heart isn't heavy from unrequited love,
Or from love letters with "return to sender" staining the front in dark, black ink over your own meticulously crafted words.
Make sure your heart isn't heavy from holding onto lost causes,
And too full from tears and whispered curses when you're holding yourself at 2 am.
Make sure your heart isn't heavy when you lose someone else's,
Or when you see them walking down the street hand in and hand with another and you might just hold your own so that you don't feel too lonesome.
Make sure your heart isn't heavy with the weight of the world
And everything you've ever felt too strongly about.
Make sure your heart isn't heavy with regret or hatred
Towards anyone who did you wrong and left you heavy hearted in the first place.
Make sure your heart isn't heavy-
It'll weigh you down to the notion that you can't reopen it once the incisions have healed.
Make sure your heart isn't so heavy
That you fall to it's weight and forget what it means to be light.
Make sure your heart isn't heavy-
It'll lift you in more ways than one.
Apr 23, 2014
Apr 23, 2014 at 2:34 AM UTC
Phantom Fierce Pierce
For Sally
Do have the courage of fear?
What!
You heard me.
Admit that we are all inhabited,
Admit that we are all inhibited.
Fear, the eleventh plague visited upon the Egyptians,
Nothing more paralyzingly complete.
Walking down an average day, an average street,
A median day, a medium day that a
Black disease from whence unknown,
And you are a froze shadowed chalk figure
Drawn upon the concrete, unable to move.
What would you pay, anything,
What would you give, everything,
Cleanse it all
Cut out the incisions
That with precision
Haunt your every
Waking and sleeping moment.
The deeds that did not get done,
The deeds that cannot get undone,
Both your undoing.
A plague on both, a plague on me,
My plague, unique to me,
Free me from this whatever the cost.
But it can't be arranged.
No devil to sell back the things
Of which you are ashamed,
No stain stick extant to guarantee success.
When the hollow is so great
You feel non-existent.
But you do not see what I see...
Courage, raw and plain, admits
These phantoms are not phantoms at all.
Those figures try to break you.
There is a beach, a path, where you know,
Safety.
Not easy to get there. The bus schedule unpublished.
But the bus line exists.
And you have the courage to wait, patiently
Until it arrives.
There is value here, if you read between the dashes
And the dots.
I see you for who you are.
You are the phantom fiercer piercer.
Shown us the way.
Oct 24, 2013
Oct 24, 2013 at 12:46 AM UTC
I venture outward
Past those devoured
Through endless hours
This adventure tower
Holds uncensored power
In higher spires
And liars' desires
Ending when I perspire
In a fire retire
I must live
When lust gives
A chance at love
I glance above
A dusty cloud
Through a crusty crowd
To see love must be found
In transcendence
And dependence
So I must trust
And ignore rust
To import thrusts
Of night's passion
Despite fashion
Time vortex
More or less
As time runs out
I must decide what it's about
Others help with that decision
They help by making incisions
And letting time bleed
My emotions they read
For their corporal greed
I tried to plant a seed
But their environment is frigid
Despite my attempts to bridge it
I become detached
From my potential catch
By days and years
And waves of tears
That stave off peers
Until I'm an old man
Feet buried in cold sand
I'll say that I tried
Once I'm used to the lies
Dec 16, 2017
Dec 16, 2017 at 6:47 AM UTC
"And when your fourth love leaves you. You will want to **** yourself, but you won't Because you no longer think of suicide as a house you will build one day" ~ Future Tense by Neil Hilborn.
I keep hoping
That if I keep writing enough about you
About us
What happened and what you did
It'll be written out of the existence of my conscious
That the memories will melt away
As if they were frost coated blades of grass
In a lukewarm spring morning
I care you know
About if you're happy now
Maybe
I keep hoping that if I bleed enough ink
Everything will finally stop
And fall
And reorder itself
That the past five years
Will fade out
Through the tip of this pen
The insecurities will be gone
The trauma will be gone
The memories will be gone
You'll be gone
For good
Never existing
A total and complete stranger
Because who you are now
Isn't who I first met
But that's life right?
People changed
I changed
And it hurt like hell
But after that
Everything melded
Faded together
The sun and moon
Will no longer fight for supremacy behind my closed eyelids
Sadness will finally move out of happiness's home
The unwanted roommate
Never paying their rent
Leaving behind tidbits of loneliness
That would always cover
Your vortex infused days of sun
Cozy winter mornings have reappeared
Snuggled in a blanket
Snow caressing my window sill
A gust turned into
An extinct lovers laugh
Because my days are brighter
My pen is lighter
And the ink that I've bled
Over the past five years
Has finally been staunched
From the incisions
On my ugly blue battered
Gun powder heart.
Jul 24, 2018
Jul 24, 2018 at 1:48 AM UTC
i could go to the courtyard, if i wanted to.
i won't, but i'll pretend to, so i get the heady rush of possibility.
but i never told you why i love the smell of rain and you never told me why you love like rain
i guess we're even,
i guess we can't rely on karma to get by.
i think you should know that i love you, or used to love you, or will love you
i think you should know about the incisions. three over your heart and around it
and, and darling, is it too late to tell you about the fireplace? i hope not.
it's ashy and unused. we make a fine pair
you can be the puppeteer, if you want
i your perfect marionette (pale and pretty,
pearls at my throat)
your mind is racing. do you remember the cave, princess?
sorry, i know, you hate it when i call you that.
do you remember the blood on my hands? do you remember tipping my chin up, drinking it in
first the blood and then me
it was fast, but i understand. self control is a luxury
we can't all afford to be precise.
but, sweetheart, you misfired, didn't you? or didn't fire at all, meant to fire but forgot.
you don't like hospitals. you don't like orders and you don't like order
i know this. we both do.
(i know why you sit the way you do, back ramrod straight.
you're afraid of falling.)
you're afraid of your reflection
you ask me to paint you and when i'm finished
you bite your lip. "you look like your
father," i lie through my teeth
you couldn't be more different. i love this about you.
you listen to the same three albums on repeat
when i get tired of hearing them i ask you, measured
to please turn the volume down.
you turn it up,
smiling like you know a secret that i don't.
i stop asking you for things. it's okay,
this is normal.
you stopped answering me a long time ago, anyway.
when i turn to look at you, your fair hands are stained red. i do not breathe.
we stay like this, quiet and unsure
you filling the silence for me.
if you do love me, it's not in the way that everyone talks about
it's a hurricane love. this is not like breathing
it's like drowning
but you taught me to swim twelve years ago in a kiddie pool in the backyard
and i know i will never leave you. my strings are clutched too tight in your fists.
i move around but not beyond you. this is how it has always been.
when you kiss me, i taste metal on your tongue.
my mouth comes away red and i do not care
loving you is a blood sport anyway.
i will fold into you, become a bullet,
cry myself hoarse.
this is the only way i can be close to you.
i could go into the courtyard, if i wanted to, but you're there
and i don't want you to know about me.
Jul 25, 2014
Jul 25, 2014 at 9:10 AM UTC
At trees reunited or the Great Timber-yard in the sky
There are certain branches
who remember the incisions made
to fell their growth.
spurts & seasons,
and the wind rustling
through imagined leaves of
appendages long gone
All the gunge
symptomatic of sap coagulated
won't replace the
holes in the sky
© Copyright David Bosworth August 2013
Aug 24, 2013
Aug 24, 2013 at 7:42 PM UTC
I still deny the rules and social ties of citizen spies
that i televise by shouting chanted anthems into the sky
yet to comply with the codes of conduct i defy
as you synthesize the number and size
i am careful not to compromise the lost light within my eyes
my cold gaze reflective of your demise
and i
scrutinize them until they realize they're being penalized for the lies
until maggots monopolize your corpse through your cries
until pulled away by the hissing of shadowed flies that fly into the lost light in my eyes
until my pupils cauterize
locking you inside
institutionalised
and i
am imprisoned in a prism of realism
as anti social collisions have me pulling my soul through verbal incisions
seeping radioactive emissions
from the legions of religions
from the season of rhyme without reason
failure to pay darkened tuitions is now treason
as catastrophic cataclysms lock me away in my primal visions
my verbal inflictions as though holy missions to infuse friction
smashing through my divided contradictions and feeding my addictions
good riddance
Jul 5, 2012
Jul 5, 2012 at 10:45 PM UTC
*He'd always leave at 2:53 P.M.
Swoosh fwoump.
It was only a matter of time,
Tick-tick-tick-tick-tick-ti*
*I wanted to be free.*
He'd strap me to a chair and whisper,
sweet stories that you'd coo to a child,
with sour breath running down my neck,
his greasy forehead pressed against my tear-stricken cheeks;
it'd deteriorate and culture in my ears.
*His scent engulfed my mind,
my body, my soul...*
He made a grave mistake,
dressing me in grimy socks,
making me dance skin-to-skin,
forcing me to kiss him, call him.
*Oh no, you see,
he should have known.*
*I betrayed his trust, I'd pay the price,
"Isn't that right, Leila?"*
That's not my name.
*"Now Leila, darling, you're going to be a good girl,
for Daddy, aren't you?"*
That's not my name.
*"Leila, sweetheart, I can trust you, can't I?
Hmm? This will be our little secret,"*
That's not my name.
*"Aw, don't tell me, dear, beautiful Leila,
you aren't scared, are you?"*
That's not my name.
I knew him well,
after a few months,
and his smell was musty,
only when I let it be.
*He always liked sweets,
like me.*
He was disgusting,
and my wrists ran red with incisions;
he'd lick them clean.
*He'd always leave at 2:53.*
*"Oh Leila, sweetheart, I expect dinner when I get back,
won't you be a good girl,
and do as Daddy taught you?"*
That's not my name.
So I did.
This kitchen was charming,
as much as his worn dining ware,
lined with cracked roses painted by Chinese overseas,
wondering when they would be used.
This was the first time I'd seen him genuinely smile,
*"You look especially beautiful, tonight, Leila,
perhaps it's the sparkle in your eye,"*
That's not my name.
He took a sip.
His glossy eyes hovered above his glass,
and his gaze drifted over to me,
in my grimy socks and brown-stained apron,
my long, dark hair drapped over my shoulders.
**Another glass,
another glass,
another glass,
glass,
sugary sweet,
sweet,
down his lips,
lips,
lips,
teeth,
throat,
liver.
He liked sweets,
sweets,
sweets,
dripping, sipping,
sweet,
sugary sweet, nectar,
cool, smooth,
antifreeze.
He'd always leave at 2:53.**
*Silence.
Tick-tick-tick-tick-tick-tick-ti-*
**2:53 P.M.
Silence at 2:00-
2:00
2:00**
*I'd heard him cry,
"Leila, Leila, Leila,"*
That's not my name.
**He'd always leave at 2:53,
2:00,
silence.
He would never leave at 2:53,
2:53 P.M.**
I left at 2:53. Silence.
Apr 16, 2016
Apr 16, 2016 at 8:28 PM UTC
Inhale.
The icy air cuts your throat
Like shards of a shattered past
The incisions sting you
Like the remembrance of her
The mere thought pains you
As they rush through
Like a train,
Leaving nothing behind.
Exhale.
Your breath leaves a cloud
You hope it begins to storm
Like the thundering emotions
Rumbling though your soul
Your breath leaves you empty
With nothing left
Just like she did.
Inhale.
You begin feeling sick
Her perfume is like poison
Its intoxicating scent
Seeps into your blood
Leaving you wanting more
That you will never receive .
Exhale.
You are seeing more than stars
The lights are spinning
You feel faint
Her look has you dazed
And you fall for her.
Hard.
Inhale.
As she walks past you
And out of your life forever
Then you are overcome with sadness
From the thought of what might've been.
Exhale.
For the last time.
As the rope tightens around your neck
And you kick the chair over
And fall again, for her
With a sickening snap
All because of her.
Jun 22, 2014
Jun 22, 2014 at 8:58 PM UTC
~Poet V-Ink (Viewtiful)
Inside my head
inspiration wars for
territory/ my eyes
inviting any and everything
in it's path inside with a story
that I'll tell it's story
My mood doesn't
always shelter my
desires to be creative
but my eyes never stop
working constantly supplying me
with inspiration...
some times I don't
wanna write.....
so what's inside
becomes impatient...
So things decide
to up and leave
through the crevices
in my face and....
It spills in its
desired form so
it's ink my skin is
tasting.... I apologize
ahead of time my gift
and it's vision care nothing
of your time it's wasting
~Rebel Flower
Inside my head there is a place
awaking the purpose to write
like incisions on a platter
like a golden sizzorr
Cutting in time wasted
where it could be
used in skills practice
to free a prisoner of rest
Like leggos we stack purpose
And speeches never frail
There are times of a nothingness
for ink flows and poetic thoughts
yet naturally words
yell at my window for spills
a welcoming and re-entering
Paving for my souls exertion
editing exact details
carrying in a song in my psalms
I don't live in the gift
the gift lives in me
touring like a concert to sooth
or even to feel
Like a record playing on repeat
This is my mental obsession.
~Poet V-Ink (Viewtiful)
I'm obsessed
with all the talent
god has left me to
possess but sometimes
I get upset at the lack
of control I have over
the information my mind
accepts/ granted a gift to
project messages hidden
in the mess life lessons usually
left but I stress because that gift
sometimes forces my tired hand
to respect
I struggle...
some much on my
mind absent the intention
to invest... How do I turn
off the switch to how my
registry was blessed..
~Rebel Flower
Blessings of such a skill
at times may be overwhelming
I picture the gift of words a performer
When need of pros we feed our drive
as well as the audience
We plumage into a well
of urgent tunes
then we tiré, and we are restless
poetry never dies
it will come back when need of a place
of itself to live again and again.
Every poet needs a light
and the switch will dim in any time
I'd worry more when it flips back on
How great the light will be.
© Copyright 2014 Poet V-Ink &
S.T. Rebel of Eden.
Sep 14, 2014
Sep 14, 2014 at 4:27 AM UTC
Amid the morning traversal
Isolated movement in peripheral optics
Flashing visions caught my attention
and passed so fast, then behind my back
This contrast casts playful blasts
Wondrous attacks upon question
But the sights ****** with me,
in a scarring way
like cutting into me
these incisions intent
Almost as if she's demanding me to prefigure
to anticipate her resolve in steps ready
Trap and trace her shadowy inhibition
An illusory female in swift glided mission
She wouldn't be paying me attention
If she didn't want me to see her
in an apparitions condition
Back and forth between ups and downs
Omission transmits imagination,
on repeat
As she comes and goes
Appears and disappears
In a childlike hide and seek
Transition to remission
My jaunting disposition was put to shame
While trying to chase and catch
This, her silhouetted composition
All the silent while
I cursed blame on my beloved,
for coming so close to smell her
but not letting me hold her
But in real time
She kept reclusive
in a remote wood...
So many days without
I would long and ache
While her abilities are endlessly innate
As determination continues to persevere
She is alive, just away
out there
This figure I imagine is only that
My need to see her presence is a desperate one
Creating her graceful body in modes of bliss
Any way shape or form these divine bits
Her transparency I am offered
Only it's the tangible I am wanting
Her actual body and hair and hillside profile
My style is my struggle
As is this continual desire
Jul 20, 2018
Jul 20, 2018 at 2:26 AM UTC