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Arke Jun 2018
I walk through my room
touch each book on my shelf
thinking of you in the shower
touching yourself

With an open book, I wish
these pages were your skin
I'd caress each one until
our narrative could begin

with your hand on my knee
and your lips on my wrist
I'll beg for you to take me
in our sweet summer tryst

your fingers trail lines
up and down my thigh
until I can bear it no longer
my lips produce a shaky sigh

a hitch in my breath
as I become wet and ready
and you'll push into me
keeping me steady

and whisper the filth
of all you'd like to do
tell me I'm beautiful
watch my pages unglue

and all my bindings break
and all the books shatter
leaflets fly through the room
you always knew how to flatter

and when my daydream cracks
alone, hour after hour
wondering if you think of me
when you're in the shower...
All I ever write is **** now, thanks.
Alyssa Underwood Nov 2015
We're awakened to our insatiable longing for heaven
through both beauty and the painful marring of it.
For beauty hints to us of that for which we are truly made,
and its marring shouts that we are truly not meant to find it here.

We can be eternally grateful for beauty lost when we realize
that it's one of the great secret-tellers of the universe.
Still we fear it so and often fear even to hope for the beauty itself,
though they are a necessary cycle that fuels us on and drives us home.

We cannot deny or diminish our intense longing for beauty--
to see it and have it and be it, and we cannot pretend that its
dreadful loss does not press down upon us like a crushing weight.
We must let it crush us until our ache for heaven is excruciating.
Maxime Apr 2017
If all appears to be harmony and coexistence in this garden enclosure,

All that means is terrible truths have not yet suffered proper
exposure,

Might you wait a little bit and watch it completely lose its
composure?

Intruding into this once peaceful garden,
digging down in the soft tissue of the mud, is absolutely
the most maniacal bug.  There he goes, he jumps he dashes, he sets devastating fires, but not the kind that leaves behind ashes.

Note that this heinous invader is white and black,
spots of red pepper this raider’s back.
Small with spiny legs ending in sharp claws,
his eager jaws ooze venom that chews and gnaws,
as he ravenously feeds on the garden’s flaws.

Faking harmlessness, you haven’t seen what lies beneath,
like a longsword hidden under its sheath.
This insect is a minion of discontent,
the harbinger of torment.

Every day he lurks there among the tangled grass,
sinking his teeth in unsuspecting plants,
to make them into his loyal sycophants,
He corrupts them farther and farther,
to the point where they even despise being watered,
because his new instruction gives them a thirst for
mutually-assured destruction.

Can you see the garden deteriorate fast, the green turns
brown and the fibers that hold everything together
cease to last?

Toxicity courses through the vegetation,
and now, plants with no evil inclination
are being swallowed up by fear, hate, and indignation.
This once beautiful botanical cultivation
has become a ******* abomination.

Every vine and leaf slowly becoming decayed and grisly.
Has excising the infestation become far too risky
because the plague has manifested and spread,
and the first wave of his victims are already dead?

Definitely people will wonder, even though he’s turned your garden over and under, how could such a little insect make you go completely insane? Well because there is no garden, he lives in my ******* brain.
lila Mar 26
you were my medicine
but now im overdosing
straight to the brain
when i take you in
doses so large people wonder
how im not dead yet

and my friends are in my ear
screaming, crying, reminding me
that all you caused was hurt
but your love was just so blinding

maybe our love was laced
because darling, im high on you
and youre high on me
our romance became chemical

****, u were my medicine
and now im overdosing
everytime you go
it leaves me jonesing
for one more hit
the sweet sensation of acidic touch
i couldnt afford to believe in
such thing as too much
euphoria

the sting, the drip, the pain
the energy i get
only lasts a fleeting moment
so i crave something harder

my need for pain
became insatiable
i dont know if im capable
of staying sober  
3/26/2019
patty m Jul 2018
Beyond the reef
                     in crackling amber
the sun rises above the earth,
                     kissing river beds strewn with lovers

Passed mouth to mouth they whisper innuendo
the possibility of  living *******.
Bobbing bodies mimic boats on waves
and soon delirium penetrates a new country.

Heat and fire flare in bandied breeze
                          igniting insatiable shadow;
Pure and venial, the air incarnate
excites the ocean and ****** sing.

The quivering above ground
slithers silkily spilling watercolor rhapsody,
                         in a gush of white a fertile tsunami
reeks reckless abandon.   Once by moonlight,
they rubbed sleep from eyes, hugging hurt
as they clamored high in ghostly pallor.
Some leading the dance, hungered for knowledge,
others played shadowy roles.
Yet wafting still, comes the foreign fragrance,
fragments of spirituality,  a longing to touch,
as abundance rolls in shorelines green.
                         Offered mercies, fragile as wings,
shades of truth cascading like water, breathless
in sensual splash;
                       how tremulous
                       the image of truth,
                       the threshold of tomorrow.
Jesse stillwater Jul 2018
there are the ones
that feel it climb up
the shadow towards the light,
hesitation on every rung,
each wave of the arising
      overwhelms  unabated ―
and woe betides those
who are on the run
from a storm's deluge


A rousing ocean breeze
stirs inside the memory
of an unframed seashell
lying on the hearth mantel;
heightened sensitivity
lapping soundlessly,
spindrift plashing
the shoreline
of another world's
feigned peace


Perhaps the muted voice
of guilty pleasures,
hushed by their own
hidden truths
Feeling the unfelt textures
of every stifled vibration
left unbreathed


The naked truth befallen
so cold and lonely
Running in circles,
volatile as all those
     unspoken excitations raging ―
and the whispers of those
who hear not
the voices in the wind


An emotionally enslaved  heart
tarries,  marooned high and dry
in a memory on a distant sand bar
     lain fallow for so long ―
stagnant darkness
of an unsated soul
gathered on the back
of a parched tongue
sullied wordless


Rising up through
a dusty hieroglyph corridor
through an unlocked
labyrinth gate;  vestige echoes
from somewhere left behind
in an incomprehensible
abandoned wake


It's getting harder and harder
   for an insatiable soul to breathe ...
   climbing up a tree trunk―
up within the silence
of the listening tree


  Toes dug into
the rough bark furrows ―
fingers reaching upwards
beyond their deepest known grasp


A shadow stranded
out on a hangin' bough
hearkening without ears that hear:
“perhaps they’ll listen now“  
the wingless bird sings
in psalms that fly away
on tattered feathers
over untamed waters roil


Back to nature’s waning youth,
the bough bends unbroken
to taste the freedom
of the wild absolving seas



Jesse Stillwater
June     2018
Notes:                                                                                                          
a friend sent  a link to a deeply thought provoking modern classic 70's song about Vincent Van Gogh and the complexities of imperfection some of us relate .... i'd listened to the words prior but never heard before now.

  Title is last final lyric line from:  "Vincent" (Starry, Starry night) 1971
Writer(s): DON MCLEAN, ENRICO NASCIMBENI,
ROBERTO VECCHIONI
ryn May 2015
Let me be captured by the night.
Engrossed in the conversation
between the stars.
Syncopated twinkling like...
thousands of fireflies
trapped within sealed jars.

Let me be enslaved by the moon.
As I drink her glow in
greedy insatiable gulps.
Crestfallen...
Her beam with an agenda...
As the landscape she sculpts.

Let me be ensnared by my solitude.
But I hear crickets...
Chirping and chipping away at my
bastion of dreamstate.
Persistent calls
I try to shun
that never abates.

Let me be trapped in my thoughts.
So I could harness...
And immortalise them in
indelible careless scribbles.
Erecting and...
Rebuilding them from the
rubble of conflicting squabbles.

Let me be overwhelmed
by the mess of my being...**
Let me wallow
Then emerge strong from this
decrepit state of mind.
Let me breathe heavy from my
punctured lungs.
So I could heal in time before
true solace
in this dark,
I would find.
Kellin Jun 2018
I need something to fill this
void,
So I will beg for your
figure
And I will take to try and fill this empty
insatiable
inquietude
But still I am still greeted with empty hands
and
dejection
CK Baker Jan 2017
leg on the table
you red face recruit!
put on the offensive
and break down
the bolted door
you are the soul saver
the peddle maker
the calibrator
with colored handbills
and front line
rhetoric

join the masquerade
in ivy league style!
politicking with
cunning guile
invisalign smile
blackened vile
bleeding the funnel
with gold plate omegas
and crocodile shoes

get on stage
and dance you fool!
you are the headline maker
the pantomime juggler
the compromised closer
pull out that 5 page review
(bullet points only please)
and polish those weathered lines

did you give it your all?
the door tags
and candies
the tidings
and clippings
the irrevocable claims
and postured blames
all the impressionable basics
put to the test?

you know the call
(straight from
those cold academics)
the pie chart gurus
and contract killers
(complete with bone in finger)
whipping their
frenzied crew
in an all night
charade

old yellar
and the gatekeeper
sure seem amused
(sharpening their inquest
behind closed doors)
firing up the **** storm
with hostile ******
and a slew
of insatiable
cures

there’s laughter from the back room:
the dripping nose
and wavering hand
the cut white lines
and checkpoint tales
the pipeline romance
and lacking form
(of a basic essential
character!)

soundboard
and narratives
for logging time
slouching on the
steel case
over moot points
ready to play
the 3 weight
butter card
(if need be)

might I remind you
it’s only an inquiry
(with a slight hint of concern)
surely no
malfeasance
or deception intended
so step back from
the melt down
and cut to the chase!

headlines to breadlines
penthouse to outhouse
those immoral pursuits
have taken their toll
(haven’t they?)
madman or rogue
(you take your pick)
for the scores
and tabulations
are final

shame on you
for the foul play
the bold hypocrisy
and order desk games
the back stabbing blames
and spurious names
just sign on the dotted line...
this banter
is killing me
It is true
When they say
You're not you
When you're hungry
It ruins your day
When your belly is empty
Of plentiful joy
Then the slightest disturbance
Can leave you annoyed
And in dealing with others
Be flippant and curt
And in making progress,
Listless and inert
It reverts you to primacy,
Primitive need
And converts sharing, caring
To hording and greed
And will lead you to do
What you wouldn't dare deign
To consider permissible
Ways to attain
Your next meal
When you hear
Only your stomach rumbles
Succumbing to them
Just as the
Cookie crumbles
Until irrepressible
Monsters emerge
To devour whatever in sight
Can encourage
You to
Once again
Crack a mollified smile
Until the resurgence
Beguiles the bile
And after a while
Elapses, redaction
For while it grasps
At your brief satisfaction
You think only of
What remains
You can ration
As later-on's pangs
Boomerang
Right back atch'ya
The moment the flavor
Can no more be savored
And cravings enslave you again
To the anger
Alyssa Underwood Jul 2016
O Lord Jesus,
I want to live and walk and bow
in constant awe of You,
but I am so easily distracted and waylaid.
Fasten my eyes and heart on You,
for You alone are worthy.
I am not worthy to even peek at Your beauty,
but by Your own worthiness You've invited
me to dwell forever in Your presence,
yet how often I refuse the privilege.
Why would I ever do that?
What is wrong with me?
How hard-headed and hard-hearted I must be!
Save me from my messed-up self
and from this messed-up world,
for I am sorely helpless and lost without You.
Draw me by the force of Your love
into the light of Your glory and goodness,
awaken me to the healing touch of Your Word.

Capture and change me to the core,
for only You can, my Savior.
Rid my soul of its blinding
filth, muck, rot and *******
that I may freely sing, dance,
swim and soar in the wonder of You.
Cause me to crave You with an insatiable,
desperate appetite that expels my fleshly hunger.
Teach me to ever feast on You!
I need You and long for You, Jesus,
but send the burning, ripping ache
deeper, deeper, deeper until nothing
remains but desire for You.
Come and satisfy me, O Delight of delights,
in that glorious and awestruck place
of endless fascination and total possession
where my will is finally drowned in Yours.
zebra Aug 2018
the witches
they don't take no ****

feminists with a wand
made from a femur
wrapped in ***** hair,
fingernails, and spit

no
not good little passive girls
although amused by a good spanking
for laughs that titillate
from a red wicked dicked old man
with slippery fireballs
like a spicy cherry pepper
that slurps filths coves
through a black tongue
and open-mawed bite

******'s queens
oiled torsos and bond fires
drenched ornaments for laughing snakes
that spread like spider webs
while the whips flash licks
hells tender blood kiss

insatiable prayers
and
******* rituals
mixed like bones in broth
with intricate sigils and saliva red
menstruum her holy sacrament
that shapeshift crones into young girls prancing
and bind water to stones

her spell can crack your skull
like a mules kick
and melt your eyes
like nuclear skies

no
the witches
they don't take no ****
ryn Sep 2014
Me
I am the entourage
Of a fantastic mirage

I am the agent
Of my mind's figment

I am a believer
Of mythical creatures

I am a builder
Of splendid architecture

I am a drunkard
Tripping on futures so absurd

I plan construction
Of my own destruction

I am the feeder
To dreams of grandeur

I am a magician
Of wild, potent concoctions

I am a tycoon
Of emotional typhoons

I am an adept
Skilled in exploiting concepts

I am a parasite
Brandishing fangs that bite

I play host
To a monstrous, hideous ghost

I am an addict
Of thoughts derelict

I am the dreamer
Incapable of anything lesser

I am a diver
Sinking deeper and deeper

I am an insatiable thief
Claiming trophies without grief

I am an emotional hermit
Hoarding my all in a bottomless pit

I am a weaver
Fabricating tales that meander

I am a Neanderthal
Adopting behaviours and habits that appall

I am an ape
Mending wounds that gape

I am but me
I'm blind, fighting to see

I am rhymesmith
I lie through my teeth
Getting hard to breathe
Heart to words, I seethe...
Francie Lynch Nov 2018
As a young man in love,
I was selfish.
I walked with you,
I shared food,
I slept with you,
It was my insatiable thirst;
Desire, and
I needed to gulp it,
At any cost,
For survival.
Perhaps you felt likewise.
I didn't know.

Now, being older,
That
Which I do
Out of love,
I do for you.
Heavy Hearted Nov 2018
"Listen up" addiction said, viciously hypnotic

Statue in bed-

"Im still that shadow, etched into your head. And here Ive been growing, forever unsaid."

"Notice virtue no more
But the violence instead."



I'll quickly write down, how exactly I feel, hoping that I learn
that this yearnings not real-
with these words I have read,
oh,
Insatiable dread
no more of this chaos, tonight,
the Addiction is fed.
I'll keep the life that I've got
Puissant piquant and predatory
And observant from afar
He looks down on your slumber
Like a door that's left ajar

Plying with his manly vice
A reckless male visage
A rogue of masculine device
Seeks entrance to your mind

He saunters with a swagger
A macho savvy moxie
To personify virility's incarnate
His dream zone's metier

He sifts your ****** entourage
In search of sprawls recumbence
To tantalize climactic fervor
With lambent photic scenes

Grasping at your revelries
He spies the wanton lust
With swanky strut appealing
Your primal urge to sate

He leaves undone resistance
With innate resilience seized
The lavish wayward implications
Of unrequited livid deeds

Like passion's lurid lecheries
An insatiable torrid sooth
You wrestle with his adamance
Your  carnal ecstasies revealed

You pounce on his exsertion
You splay your agile form
wriggling like a supple nymph
You accept his blatant storm

You writhe in your abandon
In a euphoric supplication
His machismo ****** enveloping
Your wildest latent needs

With no regrets or reticence
you awaken from this dream
To find yourself alone again
Like it had never been
I of we all create our own incubi and succubi and we should pay attention to their parameters
Steve Jun 2018
I’ve been thinking all of my life
I find I’m thinking still
It’s taken me all of this time
To realise I think
And I think I always will

Eternity is a lover
A friend who came to stay
Eternity is a place I’ll go
To persist
And repair the break of day

Darkness is in everything
It’s in the setting sun
Darkness is an opposite
A beginning
For when the day is done.

You’d think a thought was a prisoner
A captive of the mind
But it seems it’s fluid
Insatiable
And often hard to find

I’ve been thinking this over
I think I always will
I’ll be thinking this in buckets
On beaches
To think I’m thinking still

Those lonely thought bubbles
That pop in the sky
They're torn on clouds of despair
When thoughts are nil
And thinking, like sand, runs dry.
A lot of thought went into this!
The letter I never sent,
I write my valentine on your beating heart,
And send a perennial prayer,
That you could know without knowing.

Petals on your doorstep,
But no signature,
Pink Rosehip on your bedsheets,
Spying through your window blinds,
At someone unreal .

A label that travels as my desperations move it,
How I value the sick,
The unnatural,
The corpse and the consent.

The tenacious nature of a train,
With a hundred destinations,
None finite,
Moving and passing every station,
Leaving like it never stopped,

The will to pull me off it,
The weight of every expectation,
The ommitance after the deprication,
And the incommodious silence after the exposè.

I lust for that iced libation,
The roseate water of ivy and redemption,
A clay to fit inside my insatiable skin hunger,
A welcomed error of continuity in my own beliefs.

The rain of rapture will flood the streets to the chorus of weeping,
The composition of the crestfallen,
And my perennial prayer,
For an ardent antiphon.

-Unabaitingly, The Romantically Inept
isabelle saloom Nov 2015
red* - her lips tasted of wine and blood and all the pain she felt in her heart. she was driven by wild passion and survived solely on her intensity and strength. each breath she took was like fire; so absolute, so empowered.
orange - her hair was crafted from the bright ashes of a phoenix, kindled with streaks of gold. she always seemed to be her own lick of flame from the embers that burned in her heart to the coals that touched her soul.
yellow - her smile was light at your darkest hour, sunshine after a rainstorm. inspired by everything and nothing at all. she was the sun personified, the epitome of radiance.
green - her eyes were so deep and magnificent and ethereal, whilst still lit with puerility. she could look at you and suddenly show you that she cared so passionately for you, no matter your mistakes or your faults.
blue - her skin drowned in an ocean of tears, storm after storm, each wave wracked her body. she trembled with heartrending sobs, each breath heavier than the last. her sorrow painted the depths of her, unseen to those who had not genuinely looked into her eyes.
purple - her organs were stained an **** shade by the darkness she consumed. her hunger was insatiable. she filled her mouth with glass and swallowed it with a smile on her face. the air traveled from her bruised lungs, through her macerated throat, and out her smiling, stained lips.
gray Mar 30
the girl who never had it all felt numb every sunday evening
because another week had passed and she still wasn’t living
a clockwork routine of staccato
detached from reality
the build up is beautiful
but when you only give half of your heart the ****** is just another week gone
a monday meltdown of never finding your place
touch starvation
for me by me
Krysel Anson Sep 2018
Metal bones dropped over another
clashing sounds across the night of smoky denials
in a city of thieves, paupers and scholars.

Worn down and without memory, someone's father
brushes off the dust of a young person's tombstone.
The oblivious student bends over information
into another alarm bell of insatiable chases.

Huddled in a street corner
like sprites of another dark jungle,
workers in uniform and hard hats share
stories and spare time as if nothing else matters
but this fading incomplete point in time.

Overhead looms the impending bright dangers
and dim warnings being built
From metals and soil into another giant promise
trying to excuse itself as it rips through
the city lungs, calmly abiding
and seeming always ready to die or live through.
A Harris Dec 2016
No more need to fill this void,
my soul once insatiable, now redeemed;
far from destroyed.
To think that I was searching, mostly lost and hazy,
Had I only sat still and became comfortable with myself,
time could have been saved,
Although they say there is a time and place for everything..
So, here I am, someone freed, this person with no more need.
©A. Harris 2016
12/5/2016
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