Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
"instability" poems
Published in The Quill on November 19, 2014: http://www.amazon.com/Quill-Fall-2014-ebook/dp/B00PNVT6PG ... On being overweight (whatever that means) Even if you were the moon, they would complain about how much space you took up in the sky, how you were too bright, wanted too much from the stars, demanded more light than the others. And when you shifted, from waning to full to waxing to waning, they would remind you of how instable you were, how much of a hassle it was to keep track of your instability, your need for attention. Have you tried to be a vegan yet? All the stars are doing it. You have tried. In fact, last week was your third try – an attempt, they call it – not enough, they emphasize, try again, they say this as if it is encouragement. That’s when you found them - the celestial crescent, the earthshine, the perilune, how the lacus are lakes without lakes, why the Gibbous is brighter either way, especially during conjunction – all strung together in pearls. You are a full the night you return. As you reflect off the lake, you see Selene, Hecate, Mani, Tsukuyomi, Iah, and Thoth. You tell the stars to look, to breathe your reflection, to succumb to the glow and the beauty of it all, that you are not alone— They laugh. Say how historical that is, how out-of-touch you are, how myths aren’t mirrors, how you - you are not a mystery at all. But when you died – if you died – (we still do not know) - they do not wonder where you went. They spin, spin, spin the entire night home, only once confessing to how empty the sky is without your shine. But every night they burn.
0
Nov 26, 2014
Nov 26, 2014 at 4:03 PM UTC
On being overweight (whatever that means)
Published in The Quill on November 19, 2014: http://www.amazon.com/Quill-Fall-2014-ebook/dp/B00PNVT6PG ... On being overweight (whatever that means) Even if you were the moon, they would complain about how much space you took up in the sky, how you were too bright, wanted too much from the stars, demanded more light than the others. And when you shifted, from waning to full to waxing to waning, they would remind you of how instable you were, how much of a hassle it was to keep track of your instability, your need for attention. Have you tried to be a vegan yet? All the stars are doing it. You have tried. In fact, last week was your third try – an attempt, they call it – not enough, they emphasize, try again, they say this as if it is encouragement. That’s when you found them - the celestial crescent, the earthshine, the perilune, how the lacus are lakes without lakes, why the Gibbous is brighter either way, especially during conjunction – all strung together in pearls. You are a full the night you return. As you reflect off the lake, you see Selene, Hecate, Mani, Tsukuyomi, Iah, and Thoth. You tell the stars to look, to breathe your reflection, to succumb to the glow and the beauty of it all, that you are not alone— They laugh. Say how historical that is, how out-of-touch you are, how myths aren’t mirrors, how you - you are not a mystery at all. But when you died – if you died – (we still do not know) - they do not wonder where you went. They spin, spin, spin the entire night home, only once confessing to how empty the sky is without your shine. But every night they burn.
Continue reading...
14
Where goes the time when it flies? Simplified by expression, and stained by clarity. Smudge by lucidity smeared by simplicity tainted by intelligibility. Tempus fugit as in time flies. Sharply distressing with painful feelings to the point of mental instability morning or night we become possessed with its mystic dealings. Where goes the time when it runs? Not a solitary explanation is found. It happens and it won’t stop until life terminates as well without cause. Derived of rationalisation lacking understanding short of justification bursting with vindication persistently and with conviction. Where goes the time when it sails? From the second that we’re born. Where were we existing? We cannot be so sure Cannot recollect the past Not for the first five of our years Memory so blur, so shadowy Hazy with distortions obscure and confusing Unit our mind starts slowly to recollect. Where goes the time when it escapes? The chronology of life so mysterious. Nothing can solve its ambiguity for time is a complex case with an infinity of secrets. What’s the obsession when we have so many setbacks drawbacks and obstacles obstructions and conundrums to take care of before time perishes away and leaves us stranded in oblivion. Oh time, you magnificent of all mysteries, the high and mighty of ambiguities. Show us mercy and explain we are not detectives of secrecies your spell with us reflects on the whodunits. Oh time of things past and yet to come give us a clue as to what is to derive! “Remember” it softly replies “Make most of your lives” “Once I fly away no one can have a replay”.
0
Apr 2, 2013
Apr 2, 2013 at 6:11 AM UTC
Ode to Time
Where goes the time when it flies? Simplified by expression, and stained by clarity. Smudge by lucidity smeared by simplicity tainted by intelligibility. Tempus fugit as in time flies. Sharply distressing with painful feelings to the point of mental instability morning or night we become possessed with its mystic dealings. Where goes the time when it runs? Not a solitary explanation is found. It happens and it won’t stop until life terminates as well without cause. Derived of rationalisation lacking understanding short of justification bursting with vindication persistently and with conviction. Where goes the time when it sails? From the second that we’re born. Where were we existing? We cannot be so sure Cannot recollect the past Not for the first five of our years Memory so blur, so shadowy Hazy with distortions obscure and confusing Unit our mind starts slowly to recollect. Where goes the time when it escapes? The chronology of life so mysterious. Nothing can solve its ambiguity for time is a complex case with an infinity of secrets. What’s the obsession when we have so many setbacks drawbacks and obstacles obstructions and conundrums to take care of before time perishes away and leaves us stranded in oblivion. Oh time, you magnificent of all mysteries, the high and mighty of ambiguities. Show us mercy and explain we are not detectives of secrecies your spell with us reflects on the whodunits. Oh time of things past and yet to come give us a clue as to what is to derive! “Remember” it softly replies “Make most of your lives” “Once I fly away no one can have a replay”.
Continue reading...
50
The world's on fire, peace is extinct Look how fragile peaceful minds can get All hostile minds are having a ball right now. It's like peace got embellished in chaos. Where's peace at, what happened to her? Regional, global local, peace is in short supply. This is the renaissance of a new world order Where partial peace coexists with total chaos People only search Google for mostly facts Not for solutions to some distorted peace What is peace then, how can it be? Just a routine rhetorical question Coming from the disturbed mind in me Listen, One-minute partial peace Bang, another minute total chaos! Nowadays, Instability everywhere is commonplace As unscripted hate rhetoric freely echos, From jihadic podiums to confused minds. The conspicuous birthplace of premeditated evil. The mind, soft spots of those totally confused Call it the hotspots and playground for the devil. I, the skeptic, to say the very least, See this quiet storm as a distorted peace! twitter @ivaclappers
0
Jan 15, 2018
Jan 15, 2018 at 12:44 PM UTC
Distorted Peace
I am the barbed thorn the serrated reward facing savage cruel winter; sedition in transmission. I am the only pawn on your chequered board facing a feisty queen; of restricting submission. I am the demonic exon a heraldic discord facing bleak futures; an inherent disposition. I am the stillborn reborn the aberration restored facing anomalies instability; violation on a mission. I am broken and worn a fallen sword facing a grim battle; outnumbered by division. I am the brass horn the out of tune chord facing orchestral expulsion; a musician in remission. I am history's forewarn the contrite accord ignored facing penitent absolution; clemency in transition.
0
Jun 22, 2014
Jun 22, 2014 at 10:32 PM UTC
Demonic Exon
Never tell the girl with messy hair and wide eyes that when her father sexually abused her they were, "fooling around." Fooling around is a consensual act between two lovers, friends, or strangers in which both gain pleasure and to make her feel as though that is something she did is degrading and destructive. She's already been through that once. When I got that anonymous question asking me "why is it when you fool around with your dad, no one gets in trouble, but when I do it I'm a ****** I almost snapped. The smell of cheap beer formed under my nose and the entire contents of my stomach almost fell to the side of my bed, however, I had not eaten enough to push all of my mental instability out of my mouth. I could feel my father's hands around my wrist, pulling, pinning, calloused hands scratching my nine year old skin. I could hear my young cries for help, and the tears staining my cheeks. I could feel the air on my ear as he whispered. "Tell anyone and it'll be worse next time." I remembered cleaning my own blood from the carpet that afternoon. And I almost replied with a defensive remark, but I stopped. There was no need for this private matter to be put on display on a social media forum, because then who's the girl that "fooled around" with her father? But then the question, it irks me to my very core, the reason my hands are so swiftly typing this poem between waves of hurricanes in my eyes. It's as if my dignity has been stripped from me again, no more layer of scar tissue to protect even the deepest layers of my darkest secrets. Nothing was safe anymore. And when I showed it to my boyfriend, the look in his eyes terrified me. It was as if someone had just dropped a match on a mile long pile of bone dry trees doused in gasoline. But someone had. Someone had dropped a match on me, just as fragile and capable of burning up completely. Never tell the girl with messy hair and wide eyes that when her father sexually abused her they were, "fooling around." Fooling around is a consensual act between two lovers, friends, or strangers in which both gain pleasure and to make her feel as though that is something she did is degrading and destructive. She's already been through that once.
0
Feb 5, 2016
Feb 5, 2016 at 8:59 AM UTC
PTSD: A Slam Poem
Never tell the girl with messy hair and wide eyes that when her father sexually abused her they were, "fooling around." Fooling around is a consensual act between two lovers, friends, or strangers in which both gain pleasure and to make her feel as though that is something she did is degrading and destructive. She's already been through that once. When I got that anonymous question asking me "why is it when you fool around with your dad, no one gets in trouble, but when I do it I'm a ****** I almost snapped. The smell of cheap beer formed under my nose and the entire contents of my stomach almost fell to the side of my bed, however, I had not eaten enough to push all of my mental instability out of my mouth. I could feel my father's hands around my wrist, pulling, pinning, calloused hands scratching my nine year old skin. I could hear my young cries for help, and the tears staining my cheeks. I could feel the air on my ear as he whispered. "Tell anyone and it'll be worse next time." I remembered cleaning my own blood from the carpet that afternoon. And I almost replied with a defensive remark, but I stopped. There was no need for this private matter to be put on display on a social media forum, because then who's the girl that "fooled around" with her father? But then the question, it irks me to my very core, the reason my hands are so swiftly typing this poem between waves of hurricanes in my eyes. It's as if my dignity has been stripped from me again, no more layer of scar tissue to protect even the deepest layers of my darkest secrets. Nothing was safe anymore. And when I showed it to my boyfriend, the look in his eyes terrified me. It was as if someone had just dropped a match on a mile long pile of bone dry trees doused in gasoline. But someone had. Someone had dropped a match on me, just as fragile and capable of burning up completely. Never tell the girl with messy hair and wide eyes that when her father sexually abused her they were, "fooling around." Fooling around is a consensual act between two lovers, friends, or strangers in which both gain pleasure and to make her feel as though that is something she did is degrading and destructive. She's already been through that once.
Continue reading...
6
Stressed out to the max Head uncontrollably whirring My patience being taxed My stomach is stirring Blood rushing, veins bulge Muscles tensed, tearing apart In this instability I do not indulge This madness, lost in dark thought I need to be alone Prevent any harm Lay like a cold stone To return to calm
0
Apr 2, 2014
Apr 2, 2014 at 7:42 AM UTC
Stressed
The darkness that consumed me made me feel like wanting to die, even before the age of nine. However, let's count our blessings that none of the individuals in the house owned a nine. I find myself engulfed in these thoughts, I make a desperate plea to hold on, just like hanging clothes on a line. The voices inside my head ring relentlessly, like an ominous chorus on this figurative suicidal line.             __1-800-273-8255__ Please could you pick up, it's feeling serious this time. My heart remains motionless, resembling a lifeless mannequin, and if you look closely, you may witness the damages. I cautiously open the door to my own insanity, but the idea of grappling with its dark influence feels overwhelmingly intimidating,— I can't handle this. Fear grips me as I contemplate unveiling my eyes, for I dread the somber reality that they will behold. Once again, I urge my thoughts to remain steadfast, like clothing hung on a line, as the echoes of the voices - The voices inside my head ring relentlessly, like an ominous chorus on this figurative suicidal line.             __1-800-273-8255__ Please could you pick up, it's feeling serious this time. A peculiar itch consumes my lips, almost as if I long for the  Death's kisses. Within the depths of my depression, I struggle to maintain a sense of identity, for this overwhelming sadness has become my greatest weakness. I endeavor to traverse the arduous path of mental instability, navigating the metaphorical distance of a "crazy mile". However, I feel invisible, unnoticed by the world as I bear witness to my own pain. The allure of escapism entices me, enticing me to run towards the temporary relief that a blade may bring,— cutting myself more this time. Once again, I beseech my thoughts to cling tightly, like clothes delicately draped on a line. The voices inside my head ring relentlessly, like an ominous chorus on this figurative suicidal line.             __1-800-273-8255__ Please could you pick up, it's feeling serious this time.
0
Dec 25, 2023
Dec 25, 2023 at 9:37 PM UTC
1-800-273-8255
The darkness that consumed me made me feel like wanting to die, even before the age of nine. However, let's count our blessings that none of the individuals in the house owned a nine. I find myself engulfed in these thoughts, I make a desperate plea to hold on, just like hanging clothes on a line. The voices inside my head ring relentlessly, like an ominous chorus on this figurative suicidal line.             __1-800-273-8255__ Please could you pick up, it's feeling serious this time. My heart remains motionless, resembling a lifeless mannequin, and if you look closely, you may witness the damages. I cautiously open the door to my own insanity, but the idea of grappling with its dark influence feels overwhelmingly intimidating,— I can't handle this. Fear grips me as I contemplate unveiling my eyes, for I dread the somber reality that they will behold. Once again, I urge my thoughts to remain steadfast, like clothing hung on a line, as the echoes of the voices - The voices inside my head ring relentlessly, like an ominous chorus on this figurative suicidal line.             __1-800-273-8255__ Please could you pick up, it's feeling serious this time. A peculiar itch consumes my lips, almost as if I long for the  Death's kisses. Within the depths of my depression, I struggle to maintain a sense of identity, for this overwhelming sadness has become my greatest weakness. I endeavor to traverse the arduous path of mental instability, navigating the metaphorical distance of a "crazy mile". However, I feel invisible, unnoticed by the world as I bear witness to my own pain. The allure of escapism entices me, enticing me to run towards the temporary relief that a blade may bring,— cutting myself more this time. Once again, I beseech my thoughts to cling tightly, like clothes delicately draped on a line. The voices inside my head ring relentlessly, like an ominous chorus on this figurative suicidal line.             __1-800-273-8255__ Please could you pick up, it's feeling serious this time.
Continue reading...
29
Your eyes are my weakness Your scent is my proneness Your lips are my vulnerability Your hair is my susceptibility Your voice is my instability Your touch is my humility Your lust is my inferiority Your love is my superiority ©
0
Jan 23, 2015
Jan 23, 2015 at 2:49 PM UTC
• Lust •
When the emergency room is at maximum occupancy, the nurses will lay down their clipboards and utensils, clear their throats, and ask for women and children to approach the desk first. To ensure proper care, forms still must be completed promptly, and as patiently as possible for the patient to be processed. There's the occasional backwards R. But all is acceptable with a signature by the X. Adrenaline coursing through veins may perhaps lead the cause of instability, some instances coarse skin. A child with the heart of a lion, shell of a turtle, will always overcome; rest assured, an insured child, prints their name with the unmistakable yet innocent backwards R still knows that words are as powerful as excruciating pain. Sticks and stones and words alone have been known to break through bone. With the twitch of a finger even Danny Torrance made the word "Redrum" seem like a word to reflect on, if not only a feeling of constant déjà vu. Intensive care is a surgeon not leaving a wristwatch inside of a patient, if not a cadaver whose time ran out.
0
Dec 19, 2013
Dec 19, 2013 at 8:31 PM UTC
Emergency Doesn't Mean Vacancy
nineteen the age of uncertainty underdeveloped prefrontal cortex development of morality nineteen inside, still a child outside fully pubescent on your own nineteen too young for the real thing but slowly learning the landscape to the world of adulthood nineteen the age of beauty blossoming realizations living nineteen the worlds not what it seems experience things in a new way that you never though existed nineteen the peak of psychological disorders anxiety and depression heartache fear, instability and restlessness nineteen last year as a teen a year filled with mystery and hope life love not a breath wasted if you know how, keep breathing
0
Dec 26, 2010
Dec 26, 2010 at 7:42 PM UTC
Nineteen
I treated my skin like a goddess Legs shaved, hands moisturized, Any spot of acne scrubbed away and covered over with pale sheets But I hid from my spine, like a snake always a few inches behind me, waiting to strike This skin there was a poorly applied veneer, Exaggerating the flaws it was meant to hide The snake is in constant motion, waving an S up the core of my being, Displaying my instability It's curved, like the ridges of the Grand Canyon Only more unnatural, Un beautiful, More like a line you tried to draw straight Only when it wavered just a little too much, you threw it away and started over I cannot start over My snake drags venom along its body, instead of drooling it into a bite And he is always biting, So the skin on my back has never been touched Never been pampered, or savored.
0
Jan 7, 2018
Jan 7, 2018 at 10:48 PM UTC
Scoliosis
Manitoban Skies Clouds are the mountains of the prairies Towering cumulonimbus masses Incredible backdrops across an otherwise plain blue sky Warning call that rainstorms may approach Vertical reminders of atmospheric instability Jetted upwards into vast formations stretching miles and miles Promises of unrelenting lighting and thunder Cinematic sequences is country folk are lucky to view Humidity in the summer, ah What would we do without you? Rolling clouds are a fair trade for the lack of rolling hills Clouds are the mountains of the prairies.
0
Jul 27, 2015
Jul 27, 2015 at 4:56 PM UTC
Manitoban Skies
You're a tornado- You spin madly around and sometimes carry things off with you. People and objects fall into your vortex and spin around madly with you. You spin yourself dizzy, to the point where standing still sometimes isn't possible because you might have forgotten how. You hit the earth below you and blaze a trail ahead, leaving your mark wherever you go. You rustle leaves 100 miles away and send some flying just as far. Sometimes you feel like a tornado- You jumble things up and feel like when things hit your path, you run through them and scatter them around. You spin so fast that no one can slow you down, that you're always spinning on your own and finding someone that could adjust to your spin is one in a million. You never stop spinning because that how your mind works; it spins day and night, endlessly. You're always spinning new scenarios and thoughts in your turbulent mind. You feel like you may destroy people you run through, and sometimes they try to tell you to spin a different way or cease to spin at all, and that hurts. They don't understand that if you don't stop spinning, you may just cease to be who you are all together. When I say you are a tornado, I mean well- Not everyone looks at a tornado and sees what I see. People see chaos, destruction, instability. Sometimes I know you see that in yourself. Sometimes I see it in you too. But as a tornado, you have what others don't- Someday, someone will step into your storm and be your calm. They won't be afraid of who you are, like you are sometimes of yourself. They'll see what the luckiest people in your life see in your storm; Absolute beauty, uniqueness, individuality, empathy. Not everyone can see the beauty in a storm- It takes a special eye, and a special kind of person to love you. Not because you're undeserving, but because you're different than the rest. You're one of a kind, that's why no storm has the same name. It's why no storm hits the same ground. Every storm differs, but there are only so many. So when I say you're a tornado, this is what I imply- You're scary to some people you're powerful and provoking and interesting. You will sweep someone away someday. Someone will look at you like you're the best thing to have hit his life, literally. Someday, a man will be able to see the beauty in your storm and spin with you, always by your side. You're a tornado- You're one hell of a sight, Unmistakably one of a kind, Wild, crazy, enticing and beautiful all in your own, With a storm inside of you that someone is going to find someday, and that person will be dizzy with how different you are, and will ultimately get swept away by you. I promise.
0
Dec 26, 2013
Dec 26, 2013 at 2:33 PM UTC
Tornado Girl
You're a tornado- You spin madly around and sometimes carry things off with you. People and objects fall into your vortex and spin around madly with you. You spin yourself dizzy, to the point where standing still sometimes isn't possible because you might have forgotten how. You hit the earth below you and blaze a trail ahead, leaving your mark wherever you go. You rustle leaves 100 miles away and send some flying just as far. Sometimes you feel like a tornado- You jumble things up and feel like when things hit your path, you run through them and scatter them around. You spin so fast that no one can slow you down, that you're always spinning on your own and finding someone that could adjust to your spin is one in a million. You never stop spinning because that how your mind works; it spins day and night, endlessly. You're always spinning new scenarios and thoughts in your turbulent mind. You feel like you may destroy people you run through, and sometimes they try to tell you to spin a different way or cease to spin at all, and that hurts. They don't understand that if you don't stop spinning, you may just cease to be who you are all together. When I say you are a tornado, I mean well- Not everyone looks at a tornado and sees what I see. People see chaos, destruction, instability. Sometimes I know you see that in yourself. Sometimes I see it in you too. But as a tornado, you have what others don't- Someday, someone will step into your storm and be your calm. They won't be afraid of who you are, like you are sometimes of yourself. They'll see what the luckiest people in your life see in your storm; Absolute beauty, uniqueness, individuality, empathy. Not everyone can see the beauty in a storm- It takes a special eye, and a special kind of person to love you. Not because you're undeserving, but because you're different than the rest. You're one of a kind, that's why no storm has the same name. It's why no storm hits the same ground. Every storm differs, but there are only so many. So when I say you're a tornado, this is what I imply- You're scary to some people you're powerful and provoking and interesting. You will sweep someone away someday. Someone will look at you like you're the best thing to have hit his life, literally. Someday, a man will be able to see the beauty in your storm and spin with you, always by your side. You're a tornado- You're one hell of a sight, Unmistakably one of a kind, Wild, crazy, enticing and beautiful all in your own, With a storm inside of you that someone is going to find someday, and that person will be dizzy with how different you are, and will ultimately get swept away by you. I promise.
Continue reading...
36
It’s okay, I only cry sometimes, I lie, Because being honest and admitting to Days filled with endless tears is Unattractive And nobody likes a weak girl with wet eyes Tears mean Instability In the eyes of stones who masquerade As human beings. It’s okay, I only cry sometimes, I say, Like when reading a book and it hits me Harder than expected Like on drunken nights when I’m lonely and My past haunts me Like the times when I’m really, truly, kind of Very happy Or when I’m numb to everything And sometimes when nothing at all has happened but I’m still moody But it’s okay, because honestly, I only cry sometimes.
0
Aug 19, 2016
Aug 19, 2016 at 9:03 AM UTC
only sometimes
I'm learning Learning to be human To color in the lines To not be my emotional centered self To be like the rest No multy colored leggings No braids in the middle of my head No me No you Plain blue jeans To bad... I'm failing..... No one seems to be able to change my crazy I sit still in anticipation of another try Still.... I sit with a satisfied mind of who I am meant to be Instability It helps me sleep at night I am a mess It will be my accomplishment if today ends
0
Oct 11, 2016
Oct 11, 2016 at 10:09 PM UTC
Instability
i wonder if my suicide attempt did in fact **** me and this is hell. with each one, it seems to get worse. time always moves backwards and then suddenly it’s forward. i live in my memories. flashbacks. nightmares. nightmares if i sleep at all. and when i don’t, the friends behind my ear keep me company. the roommates in my head drown me and blur my vision. i feel red in my eyes when i get this way. the stars fall like the burning fireballs they are and the screams are unbearable and the cries are aching and my heart is being pulled out of my chest like flowers off its root. when i’m this way, i’d rather die. parties isolate me. loneliness swallows me in screaming and begging. how did i get this way? i don’t want it. take it from me. maybe then i’ll be able to live happy.
0
Jul 18, 2022
Jul 18, 2022 at 10:08 PM UTC
affective instability
1437 A Dew sufficed itself— And satisfied a Leaf And felt “how vast a destiny”— “How trivial is Life!” The Sun went out to work— The Day went out to play And not again that Dew be seen By Physiognomy Whether by Day Abducted Or emptied by the Sun Into the Sea in passing Eternally unknown Attested to this Day That awful Tragedy By Transport’s instability And Doom’s celerity.
0
2.5k
A Dew sufficed itself—
what do i have to do to be noticed by you would i catch your attention if i crashed a car yesterday i climbed on the roof and did twenty jumping jacks does my incredible emotional instability repel you do you want to cuddle me until i never have those thoughts please just answer my text
0
Dec 5, 2014
Dec 5, 2014 at 8:56 PM UTC
anxiety
Brown eyed God driven Family matters Devoted to art Electric piano Traditional Off beat guitar Mercedes Car High humidity Cut grass Atmospheric Instability Technologic Quarter rounds Day dreaming Sleeping soundly
0
Sep 30, 2015
Sep 30, 2015 at 2:09 PM UTC
Trail of Crumbs
Darkness came before the sun fell, I never saw the eclipse in your heart Fate turned you against me quietly, Like the flattered fool I played my part From the depths of surrender you resurrected grace, My siren song, your heartbeat Only I never understood exactly what I had become, Just a convenient source of heat Fire and light were born in the space between our eyes, My soul the freely given fuel But ice found purchase, in the abyss underneath lust, Driving love into a frozen pool Kicking furiously, driven by some Romeo complex, I would have reached dry land Yet as my eyes dropped below the surface I saw you. And you never reached out a hand. My eyes have betrayed me before though, love. And I'm willing to assume they have again... Our kiss is more important than our lips now, A symbol of something that's never been. My words are a never-ending ocean of instability, Dark water like cursed wine And at this Mass of souls I'll remain in sin gladly, If only you are still truly mine Because the words are something more than I am, Clutching blindly at your sadness They are the eternal record of your perfect beauty, And a chronicle of my madness I once believed that I could stop the world for you, That such power would win you; But my faith was never enough to break destiny, And, in my heart, I always knew. So when the first flowers of hope are finally dead, And you have already forgotten my eyes; I only hope one constant truth remains with you, None of my promises were intentional lies. Remember, when you feel thunder shake the world, That something like this never truly dies.
0
Oct 23, 2012
Oct 23, 2012 at 6:46 PM UTC
A Chronicle of Madness
Darkness came before the sun fell, I never saw the eclipse in your heart Fate turned you against me quietly, Like the flattered fool I played my part From the depths of surrender you resurrected grace, My siren song, your heartbeat Only I never understood exactly what I had become, Just a convenient source of heat Fire and light were born in the space between our eyes, My soul the freely given fuel But ice found purchase, in the abyss underneath lust, Driving love into a frozen pool Kicking furiously, driven by some Romeo complex, I would have reached dry land Yet as my eyes dropped below the surface I saw you. And you never reached out a hand. My eyes have betrayed me before though, love. And I'm willing to assume they have again... Our kiss is more important than our lips now, A symbol of something that's never been. My words are a never-ending ocean of instability, Dark water like cursed wine And at this Mass of souls I'll remain in sin gladly, If only you are still truly mine Because the words are something more than I am, Clutching blindly at your sadness They are the eternal record of your perfect beauty, And a chronicle of my madness I once believed that I could stop the world for you, That such power would win you; But my faith was never enough to break destiny, And, in my heart, I always knew. So when the first flowers of hope are finally dead, And you have already forgotten my eyes; I only hope one constant truth remains with you, None of my promises were intentional lies. Remember, when you feel thunder shake the world, That something like this never truly dies.
Continue reading...
38
There's a darkness in me I mean, probably only figuratively We'll have to wait and see Seven masks of sin but one entity All splitting a single fractured personality Head spins wildly I've searched quietly I've asked loudly I've had to cry and scream internally Keeping it caged and locked inside has caused me to break down repeatedly No outcome that I've found is a guarantee So, I guess it's a guaranteed mystery Of course it is, fuuck me... Something that quite possibly will only make sense to me in a different plane of reality ...uh...that doesn't help at all actually Hopeless is often a stand-in for the elusive positivity It comes along so rarely one could hardly be blamed for questioning the authenticity Then there's this two way brutality It devours not because it's hungry but because it's so god daamn greedy I'm not suppose to let it out of me I'm told this as I feel it under my skin ripping up the already dilapidated basic human anatomy This is a one man operation so it breaks out occasionally But the goal though, if it were to ever be left up to me, my preferred destiny The socially dreaded monotony I embrace it knowing it will never be enough to right such a severe mental instability Didn't think it was destined to be a doomed mission but maybe it was done vainly It's not easily put into words but it feels like thievery It's stolen chunks of life from me and didn't have the decency to even leave me a silver hair sliver of a memory Turned me into a mockery of Jeremy Right back to the old me My own worst enemy A part I've played so absolute I almost destroyed me I've explained it to me slowly Barley made it this far and the next 40, They're looking to be just as iffy Half devils reject, half whatever you see Sprinkle in a little lie here and there as a preserve for longevity Worry about it later, only if it bites me 100% broken but realistically only maybe half evil so, you know, 333 ©2024
0
Feb 6, 2024
Feb 6, 2024 at 7:07 PM UTC
~•§•~ 333 ~•§•~
There's a darkness in me I mean, probably only figuratively We'll have to wait and see Seven masks of sin but one entity All splitting a single fractured personality Head spins wildly I've searched quietly I've asked loudly I've had to cry and scream internally Keeping it caged and locked inside has caused me to break down repeatedly No outcome that I've found is a guarantee So, I guess it's a guaranteed mystery Of course it is, fuuck me... Something that quite possibly will only make sense to me in a different plane of reality ...uh...that doesn't help at all actually Hopeless is often a stand-in for the elusive positivity It comes along so rarely one could hardly be blamed for questioning the authenticity Then there's this two way brutality It devours not because it's hungry but because it's so god daamn greedy I'm not suppose to let it out of me I'm told this as I feel it under my skin ripping up the already dilapidated basic human anatomy This is a one man operation so it breaks out occasionally But the goal though, if it were to ever be left up to me, my preferred destiny The socially dreaded monotony I embrace it knowing it will never be enough to right such a severe mental instability Didn't think it was destined to be a doomed mission but maybe it was done vainly It's not easily put into words but it feels like thievery It's stolen chunks of life from me and didn't have the decency to even leave me a silver hair sliver of a memory Turned me into a mockery of Jeremy Right back to the old me My own worst enemy A part I've played so absolute I almost destroyed me I've explained it to me slowly Barley made it this far and the next 40, They're looking to be just as iffy Half devils reject, half whatever you see Sprinkle in a little lie here and there as a preserve for longevity Worry about it later, only if it bites me 100% broken but realistically only maybe half evil so, you know, 333 ©2024
Continue reading...
40
The music Somehow Managed to be Manifested By the duo A deaf girl And a blind boy Worked To create this work Of art One reads The notes allowed While the other strokes The keysIn synch They play together Brail fails To satisfy the imagination And the The hand signs Signal Your handicapped Incapabilities In case instability Isn’t enough To remind her Reminders forgotten By forging talents Forming As a Shaper of souls The Lost and found They create a presence Presented As a musical performance The conformants Go with the flow And accept their fate Society tells This peculiar pair’s Tale Is unlike any other Fate begs for a chance To show her powers While the duo denies
0
Sep 30, 2010
Sep 30, 2010 at 12:36 AM UTC
The Duo