"intensification" poems
What Relapse feels like
Relapse- a proper noun that steals your attention and commands your obedience
Every person that was a part of your recovery had been lying
The recollection that it did not **** you but it did not make you stronger
Reliving the moment it stopped your living and when it prevented your dying
The feeling that you will not survive much longer
That is how relapse feels
The first taste of fruit after a long and barren winter
A moment of peace in a life measured in seconds
The perfectly straight lines of a newly aligned printer
A demand for piled servings and SECONDS!
That is how relapse feels
The need of a familiar place; of a familiar face
Desire for someone to hold you tight
The need to go far away; to go to outer space
Desire to leave this world for the light
That is how relapse feels
It's a ripping motion
Between wanting it to end and wanting its intensification
Between having to much and too little emotion
And the worlds between the brain speak languages with no translation
That is how relapse feels
It feels so good just to be so bad
The beauty in the human body's ability to mend and to break
It feels so bad just to be so sad
And the repulsive face of being awake
That is how relapse feels
It's a tearing
It's a tugging
It's a pulling
It's a shoving
Relapse is looking at the sky and thanking God for the ability to be alive
ten minutes before a battle in the head
asking if it's worth it to survive
ten minutes before tears stain so silently alone in bed
It's a promise broken
It's every moment spent clean wasted
It's the truth unspoken
It's the loss of happiness that had barely been tasted
That.
That is how relapse feels.
Apr 16, 2015
Apr 16, 2015 at 12:17 AM UTC
How can love by way of death gratify?
To a slumber so inviting
Sharing a ghostly hostess
Who shares me
Alone with no timeless treasure
Withdrawn
From worldly behavior
As my heart bleeds
For resurrection
Exhausted
Going endlessly
Bearing a painful punishment
That takes me
Shouting to the heavens
With great intensification
While tears continuously streaming
A conclusion I must face
Ashamed
While I kneel at her gravesite
Dec 23, 2009
Dec 23, 2009 at 8:26 PM UTC
Have I ever told you about infinity?
I had never seen such a thing, not once
not even a glimpse or a reflection,
or a shadow. Not even a ghost.
.
Until one summer day, while on the bus
I finally saw it, infinity that is;
I saw it in the colour and the light
of a pair of sun-filled brown eyes.
.
I saw it in the way those dark pupils,
contracted whenever light was upon.
I saw it in the way the irises moved,
seemingly changing colour and shape.
.
It reminded me of breathing, inhaling and
exhaling, and the light was the oxygen, and
the irises the diaphragm, moving in order
to let in as much vital energy as possible.
.
As I moved closer to those round infinities
I felt, the vital energy they absorbed was mine,
it was in the way a galaxy was being born
from the clash of invisible light and brown.
.
An endless number of swirls and turns,
an unimaginable number of movements,
the unexplainable intensification of colour,
it was the perfect symmetry of breathing
.
But it still was something incomprehensible,
something that still seemed like a theory.
Infinity was so close but it was still too meek,
that was until, without warning, infinity saw me.
Nov 3, 2015
Nov 3, 2015 at 9:41 AM UTC
**it would seem
that the sufferer engaged in suffering
might process her suffering
through one of three gates..
gate 1: the sufferer becomes the suffering
and attempts to wiggle free..finding temporary
relief..or perhaps an unsought intensification..
gate 2: the sufferer enters into the pain..looks for
boundaries..finding none she notices that in which
the pain resides..and comes home..
gate 3: the sufferer bypasses the suffering to
immediately arrive home..then returning to
the suffering..she saturates it with the infinite
peace of her home...
and we note..suffering stimulates a search
for any gate yielding relief and peace...
our culture seems to rely on gate 1..with ongoing
search for those other gates...**
Jun 29, 2018
Jun 29, 2018 at 6:49 PM UTC
I Can't help it,
I know I'm self destructive and horribly putrid.
I accept who I am,
glorifying the monster like no-one ever did.
I know you are growing to hate me,
but honestly; I disembodied you to keep my self free.
To me you are a ******* ***** who doesn't see the right of way
and it is in your hate for me I play.
For the pain you cause,
you will see returned to you in the intensification of all your self-flaws.
Nov 12, 2011
Nov 12, 2011 at 3:21 AM UTC
Oh that I had wings of a DOVE, for then
I would fly away and be at rest!
“They came here to get away from false promises,
From dictators in their neighborhoods,
When they wanted to they would arrest them,
Hope was to leave the violence and endeavor a new life,
They no longer wanted fear for their families,
Not much different here migrant intensification within,
The doctors don’t care as our bodies decay,
Our minds deteriorate we learn nothing of value,
Our lives don’t get better our spirit fails quickly,
Our cages is crisscrossed with tattered clothing,
Clothing we have hung or lying below on dirt floor,
There are no blankets or heat for warmth,
Maybe I would have been better off in my Country,
I ask a man next to me if he could spare some soap,
I look down and see new immigrants coming in,
Mattresses rolled up and on their shoulders,
New migrants coming in looking around wondering,
Each with the same dream in their hearts,
Thinking they’ll get a chance here change their lives,
As they came in they wonder as did I but in the end,
Our phrase would be what GOOD am I NOW
Just a migrant in a cage?
By Andrew Guzaldo © 09/24/2019 #166
Sep 26, 2019
Sep 26, 2019 at 3:02 PM UTC
The flittering, fluttering, flibbering, flubbering of my palpitating heart overwhelms every sensation and motivation in relation to any realization outside of this conversation as I peer into your glistening, glittery, dazingly dazzling, daringly dashing eyes.
This sensational melt dwells within the weary wells of my wailing heart, as it pinpoints the probable possibilities of pain and perilization, all because of that pittering, pattering, positive possibility that you may move closer.
Every inch anticipates an increasingly pleasing tease, appeasing the leaps and heaps of appreciation in relation to this same revelation: the desperation for that sensation, the precipitation of complication revolving around this intensification.
Mar 8, 2018
Mar 8, 2018 at 2:26 AM UTC
“Upon one reaching the Bloom of love,
There is very little to change those feelings,
It may be the goose bumps on your skin,
Or the rapid palpitations in your heart,
Your mind wonders day and into the night,
Into a voluptuous euphoria of dreams,
Like never before,
The intensification of thought about her,
Is bewildering ,
And being with her takes your eupnea away,
And the thought of making her happy
Brings jubilation to your Soul,
Enchantment exuberance for the
Women you Love So EXQUISITELY”
Dec 4, 2017
Dec 4, 2017 at 5:09 PM UTC
At times, in my
yet brief,
and ordinary life,
I have felt
wholly,
that all that there is
to anything
is inertia;
a reaction
that begun, ends: and
all I have felt
of beauty
is but the
latest iteration
of atoms.
It is like this,
sometimes,
that all the world seems empty,
or worse
that in everything around there is light,
but in me
only darkness,
corruption,
deficiency.
I have tried to be beautiful.
I have tried to hold
about me,
in me,
the mantle of righteousness;
of tolerance,
empathy,
and all that
seems
the trappings of the wise.
I have held to
old words,
verity,
and been content.
Not long.
For always there
has been some snag,
some frayed end,
that in the end
has been the cause
of my fall.
My very own fall
from grace,
in the endlessly
renewing
microcosm
of myself.
And in falling,
I fall always
into myself;
and there all the walls
are mirrors.
If you tell me
that there is still beauty in the world,
I will say yes,
I see it too,
and when I do I see it everywhere
and all the world is beautiful;
it's only
that I can't all the time,
that's all.
If you feel
that I am unhealthy,
if you worry; don't.
For even when it seems
that I will be crushed by darkness,
it is a truth,
that I love
the darkness;
seek it,
yearn for it.
Not always,
but sometimes,
I love it:
For it allows for
circular reflection,
for positive feedback loops,
for the intensification
of those id emotions,
without which, I feel
I could not live.
So thank you,
but don’t worry:
I will take care
of myself.
Nov 15, 2020
Nov 15, 2020 at 9:31 AM UTC