"inkstained" poems
i have an ongoing
love affair
with words
that roll around your
mouth
luscious, langourous
lilliputitian letters
sensual syllables
slick- sliding off
the tongue
ecstatic explosions,
erupting, erogenously
exciting, eager exclaimations,
of enraptured exualtations
organic, original orientations
of teeth and tongue
producing oodles,
of apogeic anomolies
my affair
accomplishes much
for little
it is you see
just a not so secret love
of letter, line, jot and tittle.
a casting eye upon a word
and i am set rushing
down a path
reserved for those
with terms, descriptive,
and names.
that in themselves,
decry
wordlove.
lexicographers and bibliophiles
phoneologists, linguists, polygots,
jonguluers, wordsmiths scribes
poets.
all possess this
heartstringed
tangled knot,
spiderwebbed
feeling,
for words.
which, we then,
endevour to spin,
into inkstained beauty,
to ensare
ourselves ...and others.
Apr 5, 2014
Apr 5, 2014 at 9:53 PM UTC
when, requisite pains reside
in the heart of the poet.
awaiting release by the gaoloring, racontuer or racontuese reclining, scornfully, within.
it is then, it happens so,
upon the granting of the id's manumission.
memories, maudlin or immeritous
are rescinded from the bitter, saltfaced mine,
of personal history..
when such are finally granted jubilation,
given proprietary parole,
on, the nib of a pen.
they then, take time,
as of now,
as in the present tense,
to, relieve themselves, copiously, onto to paper....
leaving only an inkstained
jumble of letters,
for you,(those left to toil)
to decipher, as you may.
before on the run for freedom's wind
they go....
like..... lemmings off a cliff.
May 29, 2014
May 29, 2014 at 7:39 PM UTC
Drop me a line, send me a text
it gives me such a thrill
to get a message, make a friend,
for when I've time to ****
The world is full of people
rushing through their daily tasks,
life running on a treadmill,
slowing down too much to ask.
So tell me how your day went
and I'll share mine with you
a little light of friendship
shines so bright when one is blue.
I'm just a kid, with an inkstained heart
My pen another limb
looking out for all the answers
to these times we're living in.
So I'll wish you all good morning,
may you smile throughout your day
and may love and friendship find you
as you go along your way.
Jul 20, 2014
Jul 20, 2014 at 4:14 AM UTC
These inkstained fingers
bare my soul
naked and spiralling
I deceive myself with your memory.
It was you,
the first touch
on naked flesh
too young to grasp
the magnitude.
It was I
that loved your every breath
never questioning that I belonged
right there
within the warmth of your laugh.
It was time
that showed me it was a lie.
Apr 6, 2014
Apr 6, 2014 at 4:43 AM UTC
a walking climb through
static lines
for location scouts
seeking Dignity that eludes
building blocks writing stutter with
shaky hands
impatient with unfamiliar terrain
and don’t mind screaming
out complaints
in (sub)conscious
assured the natural morphine
that kicks in during physical is also true in psychologicals
excruciatingly painful aware &
will cover the tracks left behind,
as diagnosis exhausts itself
because it hasnt met you, &
will not get
there.
all ologies in the world
are gonna fail
you.my
inkstained eyes
seeing ill plains and sowing light.
Apr 4, 2015
Apr 4, 2015 at 10:37 AM UTC
Laying here alone
upon a bed
of unread poetry...
inkstained fingers
smudge my eyes
and
taint my lips.
I scream in exclamation marks!
If only one line
one word
could describe my need
of you
would I even know it...
want...no
desire...not even close
Forever...forever tastes right upon my tongue
if only
if only
If only that one word could be ours
would I write no more.
Jun 3, 2012
Jun 3, 2012 at 8:19 PM UTC
educational
suicide bomber
took an in-class essay
to the jugular
pen to the heart
inkstained
fingers
fell apart
all the things
brain-washed into me
suddenly
dissipate
and float like ash
in the wake
of my explosion
or lack
thereof
ugh
Apr 10, 2013
Apr 10, 2013 at 2:23 PM UTC
fickle minded hearts with angel halos above their heads / mouths dripping with the taste of cherry soda, vanilla and smoke / words are knives that slice through your head / and i warn you /
do not fall in love with a writer.
dead poet boys, art obsessed hoes with handstrokes syncing in the rhythym of a ****** battle / girls who became queens and all your we-could've-beens / these are the people who writes your name in white paper sheets / like infants with their toys.
do not fall in love with a writer.
they will paint you as a god / as a saviour / as a holy man / apricot kisses making you feel lighter / black ink impulse to remind you / that you are their lover /
for fuck's sake / do not fall in love with a writer.
they will make you the most beautiful human being that ever existed / until you can't stomach their vision anymore / you will get tired of them / they will get tired of worshipping you /
do not fall in love with a writer.
they let you see stars with your eyelids close / you're all over them because you are the cow and they are the moon / spilled milk, warm, slick and razor etches heart sick / let me tell you /
do not fall in love with a writer.
just let them trace your outline for their plot because god you're hot / but you can't help yourself /
i said, do not fall in love with a writer.
you read their prose and you impose / break their trust / your love crumbles to dust / they made you feel alive / made you human / and you hate humanity / they made you love in forms of metric veins in your blood / god you should've believed me /
do not fall in love with a writer.
they will become obsess with the version they have dressed / mistakes erased like the cold november wind passed by a frozen lake / meanwhile you fall in love with their quirks / they plan to be perfect–
do not fall in love with a writer!
and maybe they are perfect and you are their defect or vice versa / trembling fingers flick the beat of your aching heart / oh you feel torn to be apart / let your molten gold and honey blood seep into the carpet / let them lick your feet / do not leave /
but your soul has departed /
i told you so / do not fall in love with a writer —
do not fall in love with me.
Oct 8, 2017
Oct 8, 2017 at 4:17 AM UTC
I wore my inkstained heart on my sleeve
For so many years
That the black letters soaked through
And stained my skin dark
Apr 28, 2015
Apr 28, 2015 at 10:26 PM UTC
i got lost on my way here, my mind stumbled over the underground lines
like a child's excitement for a new toy. WAIT
i'm not saying this is a game, no, no.
This is my first time i found peace not between dead inkstained-
oak or elm or whatever they use to write books where the characters-
are as alive as the train i traveled on to get here.
i'm not using you, no, no.
Forgive me. Now my tongue's the one all tripping over itself.
Can yours come over, and tell mine a good morning story?
(i'll pay for the coffee.)
May 22, 2016
May 22, 2016 at 4:28 PM UTC
White noise internally
Incessant cacophonous sound
Brown, violet, violent, vile
The phrasing of inner dementia
Stroking the crevasse ahead
Frolicking inkstained sheets
It is coming
Cram, cram, cram
Blue, black, block, blight
Curious apparatus
Tell me your ways when I slumber
It escapes in the light
Blank, blink, black, bright
Cease
I do not know
What I am doing
What am I seeing
I
Do
Not
Dec 13, 2017
Dec 13, 2017 at 8:30 AM UTC