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Terra Marie Oct 2014
Screams in the pitch black
Turn to butterflies, moths
Lilac wings beating wisps of air
Like wisps of ghosts
Invisible people, touching, reaching
Grabbing, pulling,
gnawing, curling around
Each part of the body at all times
The feeling creeps into the mind
Each and every day

Tossing on the blankets in bed
Latching, anchoring to them
Hands hold so tightly that the
Knuckles are white and
Ache with a deepness,
Like the deepness of
An endless black hole
And falling, nothingness surrounding
Every part of the body
Every part of the mind

Violently flailing, scratching
Clawing, dragging, raking,
None of them win the battle.
It grips us in the times
That our resolve falters
In our own darkness
Our own corner somewhere
between the synapses
firing terror
Our own abyss
Rachel Baines Jun 2015
She’s the girl who you'd always run back to,
You’re the boy I’d always run back to.
She’s the girl who gave you the chills with her beauty,
You give me the chills with yours.

It’s funny how times change,
People you once loved now become strangers.
But- she’s a parasite,
Always latching onto you and taking what she can.

A symptom of a parasite is disturbed sleep,
She disturbs my sleep.
When I close my eyes I see her eyes,
Staring into yours.

One cure for a parasite is coconut oil,
But no oil or remedy will remove her.
The thought of her makes me aggravated,
Intimidated because really I’m giving her what she wants- you.

I’d like to say everything was fine until she came along,
However, she was always there.
We are smooth like foundation,
Then she comes along, our plates collide and the bumps in the road grow.

Now, I’m not one to gamble,
But I bet you’re talking to her right now.
Sorry I mean, I bet she’s talking to you,
Because we both know she can’t get enough.

I know you feel bad for her and I know you love me,
But why do you feel the need to type to x’s and give her promises I’ll make sure you won’t keep.
See, bless her, she’s having trouble moving on,
Clearly she loved you more than you loved her because you turned a page and started writing a new song.

The girl doesn’t threaten me,
I know we make each other feel new.
The only thing that makes me hurt,
Is how you aren’t letting her get over you.

You compliment, flirt and put kisses,
Just so she stays tame.
But to her you compliment, flirt and put kisses,
Because you clearly want her again.

She’s the girl who you'd always run back to,
You’re the boy I’d always run back to.
She’s the girl who gave you the chills with her beauty,
You give me the chills with yours.

One cure for a parasite is coconut oil,
You know her a lot better than me.
Maybe she’s allergic to coconuts…
Maybe.
Thomas Newlove Feb 2011
The pick
All the stress that an orange has caused is painful.
It is painful for the tree from which it came.
Snatched away with promises of sweetness.
A tree mostly green, engulfing
Small speckles of that deceptive orange.
It was such a bright colour – high hopes!
Handpicked by a man only looking for the best,
Choosing poorly not for the first time.
The green leaves frantically try to reclaim what’s theirs.
Branch after branch reaching out, trying to uproot him.
Close, so close. But they are a sea apart,
At least an apple has a core, a heart.

The peel
Now it is pilfered, the painful process begins,
Never quite ending: disappointment beckons.
To try and taste these orange juices
You soldiers must bear the burden.
Each soldier, a finger digging themselves
Into the tough stressful shell.
Fingernails stained with orange blood,
Eyes blinded by the same tangy juices.
It never slips off in one go
Like a roomy balaclava,
But crumbles like the remnants of a bombing.
Brick by brick, orange by orange it crumbles.
Now it is finally undone
But neither tree nor man has won.

The preparation
The crust collapsed, but now
It is time to untangle the web the mantle holds.
First, a division – the separation of brothers
Who served side by side at birth.
Dissected by these soldiers
Acting as a bomb squad,
Searching for those hidden pips.
Found, but not without casualties –
Sticky fingers with no taps in sight.
Once removed the web is untangled.
Tired, he hopes that the stress will swiftly end
Unaware that the sweetness was just pretend.

The pain*
Finally the moment has arrived
And illogical ceremonies commence.
I fear the celebration is far too soon,
For as white touches orange and tries
So desperately to unite,
The tartly taste slays the poor man’s buds:
Igniting like petrol on his burning tongue.
He wishes he could return that orange
To the green tree to which it belongs,
To return a bullet-sprayed windscreen is not an option.
The orange, once bitten, enjoys its trance
Latching on to those pained tingling taste buds.
His orange, a disaster to undress:
Bad taste – a foolish price for such a mess.
Hint: I am English. I have lived in Ireland for most of my life. The colours are Green, White and Orange.... To sum it up in one sentence:
"What a complete mess the man made of things!"
ShenequaMonroe Feb 2013
I prided myself on never hating anyone
I let their negativity roll off my back
Bit my tongue until it was split in two
Took their criticism and took the high road
I see that was no use
Your negativity is a poison
Seeping into whatever crevice crack it can find to invade
A parasite latching to its host
Wanting to bring down my drive my spirit
My mind you want to raid
You glance at me smirk with contempt
because you see in me what you lack in yourself
Personality maybe?
A smile that shines so bright the very sight of it sickens you
But in true fashion
I never brag or boast or thrive on the vision of another's misfortune
Even though you would love to watch me suffer
I use your negativity
As my creativity
My fuel to leave you in my rearview
And as i drive away I will throw up the deuces
Make my own way
No excuses
You wont bring me down!
Harsh Aug 2015
Tim O'Brien had the right idea
about carrying people and ideas;
we all have experiences that live within us
like a stain on our grey matter.

I carry with me every insult hurled at me,
caught by my web of sensitivity;
I lift them onto my shoulders,
my back creaking as I trudge on.

My insecurities are shackles at my ankles,
the chains tangling themselves and chafing my legs;
my knees knock and pop and shake,
my back creaks and groans.

The ghosts and spirits of the self-departed
dance their ethereal ballet about my soul
and howl their eerie opera through the night,
begging for forgiveness and understanding.

The heaviness of the future rests
inside the caverns of my cranium,
latching on to my thoughts
and chipping at my hopes.

Past loves plague our emotions
and rest in the deepest corners of our hearts,
reminding us of who we once were
and asking us what could have been.

A cloud of sadness condenses in my body,
little drops of dejection slide down my lungs.
My chest constricts and grows heavy
and pointlessly hopes to see the sun.

Everyone together carries the weight of the world,
but I'm not sure what is heavier:
the mass of the planet,
or the things its people carry.
Inspired by Tim O'Brien's book entitled "The Things They Carried" and  http://everybookisaquotation.tumblr.com/post/107062246764/tell-me-atlas-what-is-heavier-the-world-or
Wanderer Jul 2012
Waking up startled, to battering wind and rain.
Tide marks surging to great gasping heights.
Catching breaths stolen by the wind.
Ashes to ashes and dust to dust.
Watching idly by while pieces of you dissolve into the shadows.
I want those clouds weaving through my fingertips.
Their curious renderings like powdered ***** sugar.
Taste it and they fall heavy with gloom like **** death in the aftermath of such storm.

Counting the miles to the storm.
Ticking, tocking, and clicking.
The clock waiting in anticipation for the next thunderous sound.
Cold shivers up my spine like a thousand Carolina insults.
Your ghost still haunts and seeps into my pores lastly at night.
I taste defeat in the way you love.
It's like weaving clouds between my fingertips
Trying to grasp and hold onto every flowing motion of you pulling away from me

My cold, cracked walls are surged.
Towered over in their crumbling decay.
I want to taste your rain.
Your lips gently sink into mine.
Crushed velvet smooth and warm waking up the army of dead hearts ready for battle.
I am no warrior but there's blood painted across my sky.
Red sky in the morning, sailors warning, as I float on out into your turbulent seas.
Looking back on shore I realize that I'm finally home.

These seas roll uneasy.
Queasy.
Watching thru the mist towards our lighthouse that guided us to these depths
Trembling away like an afterthought.
The land has disappeared into the mouth of the shark.
Digested in the belly of a whale of angels.
Our sorrow holds us here, anchoring us to the tumultuous waves.
We battle our sea sickness with kisses of death lingering.
The soft pull of our exile turned oblivion.

Navigating with open wounds the silky expanse of midnight unwinding above us, within us.
Knowing us through and through.
An island of quivering vulnerability breaks the static horizon.
Lights, smog beginning to choke the sea air in my lungs.
Too long you've been left unkempt, grown comfortable.
That will change with new currents,
North winds bringing the frigid breath of winter.

Licking the sun off of the salty expanse of our sunburned red flesh.
The ****** of desperation lingers thru our moaning fingers
Feeling and pleading for our SOS call to be heard by anyone’s ears but ours.
The shores of this icy water leave my mind beneath the dredges of polar sleep.
We've grown strained, frost bitten, and distant in the few feet we are able to part.
The growling of hunger satiates our parched thirst.

I am rendered speechless adrift without you.
Hurricanes a coming.
Stand fast.
Secure the riggings.
Solaris brightens to light the way into calmer seas.
Those tepid shores of wonder and new beginnings fade into the horizon.
It's just you and me left to face the swelling tide.
Hang on.
The water is rising.
No one left to pull us saturated and insatiable from these waters of shadow and secrets.

The siren's song will bring us to our sharp shore end.
Resist the silky flow of nocturnal snakes wrapped around chilled flesh
Pulling closer to our aquatic hearts.
Hades and Persephone bond.
Glowing abysmal rage.
Holy grail veins.
Bleeding back into the orange crush dawn.
Night gives way to hollow rebirth
But once again we are inside one another.
Infinite.

These waves crash on overboard.
Trying to drag us back into the frigid depths with each ebb and flow.
With each crash of wave I can feel our resolve growing weaker.
The sensation of just letting go and giving in.
Should we let go and just give in?
Leave ourselves at the mercy of shipwrecks.
This hurricane dance we've perfected on the endless depthless ocean
Left us weak and willing to pull ourselves apart.
To taste our insides on the outsides.
How many times I've wondered have you noticed my stare.
The lustful licking of my sun blistered lips.
I want to taste the way you think and feel the warmth of your life to keep me alive.
The oceans call, I have heard, brings out the worst in sailors.
Always searching for the elusive siren to sing us a song.
A song from the depths of mythology to lullaby us away from our status adrift.

Our bodies collide in the tide once more.
Salted skin heated and torn
Latching on to something greater than just depths of starless prose.
You were a wicker man, weaved strong and whole.
I was a water girl, slipping straight through your bowl.
Wishes flow to and fro on tepid air laced with promises.
Our fingertips will never lose grip again,
the melody writhing between us like staccato heartbeats
Seeking solace on the endless seas.*

These waves rock us to shoreline.
Rock strewn and littered with the ribcages of whales
And the bows and sterns of shipwrecks long ago.
We pick up these pieces and hold them closest to our chest
Realizing the possibilities of a new home and a new start to this oceanic life we've drifted into.
We build a fire to warm our hearts and suspend our thoughts
Cradled and nestled in the crook of each others arms we leave our sea and our island
Soaring high into the clouds and the sleep we’ve begged for with our parched lips and swollen tongues.
Our dreams at night are the call of the sea begging to be drowned in our sand encrusted lungs,
To be one with us and our failures
The bequeathing cry of the seagull wakes us dully from our slumber
We peer out with sea salted eyes and realize it was all just a dream
We shout for help with all the voice we can muster
Letting in lungs full of icy ocean and dead crustaceans
Filling our bodies like bags of sand immobile
We’ve been sleeping with our anchors held closely
Down in the depths of the endless ocean rolling.
Plain text BK Barnes
Italicised text Brook Ilges
Brandon Jul 2012
Waking up startled, to battering wind and rain.
Tide marks surging to great gasping heights.
Catching breaths stolen by the wind.
Ashes to ashes and dust to dust.
Watching idly by while pieces of you dissolve into the shadows.
I want those clouds weaving through my fingertips.
Their curious renderings like powdered ***** sugar.
Taste it and they fall heavy with gloom like **** death in the aftermath of such storm.

Counting the miles to the storm.
Ticking, tocking, and clicking.
The clock waiting in anticipation for the next thunderous sound.
Cold shivers up my spine like a thousand Carolina insults.
Your ghost still haunts and seeps into my pores lastly at night.
I taste defeat in the way you love.
It's like weaving clouds between my fingertips
Trying to grasp and hold onto every flowing motion of you pulling away from me


My cold, cracked walls are surged.
Towered over in their crumbling decay.
I want to taste your rain.
Your lips gently sink into mine.
Crushed velvet smooth and warm waking up the army of dead hearts ready for battle.
I am no warrior but there's blood painted across my sky.
Red sky in the morning, sailors warning, as I float on out into your turbulent seas.
Looking back on shore I realize that I'm finally home.

These seas roll uneasy.
Queasy.
Watching thru the mist towards our lighthouse that guided us to these depths
Trembling away like an afterthought.
The land has disappeared into the mouth of the shark.
Digested in the belly of a whale of angels.
Our sorrow holds us here, anchoring us to the tumultuous waves.
We battle our sea sickness with kisses of death lingering.
The soft pull of our exile turned oblivion.


Navigating with open wounds the silky expanse of midnight unwinding above us, within us.
Knowing us through and through.
An island of quivering vulnerability breaks the static horizon.
Lights, smog beginning to choke the sea air in my lungs.
Too long you've been left unkempt, grown comfortable.
That will change with new currents,
North winds bringing the frigid breath of winter.

Licking the sun off of the salty expanse of our sunburned red flesh.
The ****** of desperation lingers thru our moaning fingers
Feeling and pleading for our SOS call to be heard by anyone’s ears but ours.
The shores of this icy water leave my mind beneath the dredges of polar sleep.
We've grown strained, frost bitten, and distant in the few feet we are able to part.
The growling of hunger satiates our parched thirst.


I am rendered speechless adrift without you.
Hurricanes a coming.
Stand fast.
Secure the riggings.
Solaris brightens to light the way into calmer seas.
Those tepid shores of wonder and new beginnings fade into the horizon.
It's just you and me left to face the swelling tide.
Hang on.
The water is rising.
No one left to pull us saturated and insatiable from these waters of shadow and secrets.

The siren's song will bring us to our sharp shore end.
Resist the silky flow of nocturnal snakes wrapped around chilled flesh
Pulling closer to our aquatic hearts.
Hades and Persephone bond.
Glowing abysmal rage.
Holy grail veins.
Bleeding back into the orange crush dawn.
Night gives way to hollow rebirth
But once again we are inside one another.
Infinite.


These waves crash on overboard.
Trying to drag us back into the frigid depths with each ebb and flow.
With each crash of wave I can feel our resolve growing weaker.
The sensation of just letting go and giving in.
Should we let go and just give in?
Leave ourselves at the mercy of shipwrecks.
This hurricane dance we've perfected on the endless depthless ocean
Left us weak and willing to pull ourselves apart.
To taste our insides on the outsides.
How many times I've wondered have you noticed my stare.
The lustful licking of my sun blistered lips.
I want to taste the way you think and feel the warmth of your life to keep me alive.
The oceans call, I have heard, brings out the worst in sailors.
Always searching for the elusive siren to sing us a song.
A song from the depths of mythology to lullaby us away from our status adrift.


Our bodies collide in the tide once more.
Salted skin heated and torn
Latching on to something greater than just depths of starless prose.
You were a wicker man, weaved strong and whole.
I was a water girl, slipping straight through your bowl.
Wishes flow to and fro on tepid air laced with promises.
Our fingertips will never lose grip again,
the melody writhing between us like staccato heartbeats
Seeking solace on the endless seas.

*These waves rock us to shoreline.
Rock strewn and littered with the ribcages of whales
And the bows and sterns of shipwrecks long ago.
We pick up these pieces and hold them closest to our chest
Realizing the possibilities of a new home and a new start to this oceanic life we've drifted into.
We build a fire to warm our hearts and suspend our thoughts
Cradled and nestled in the crook of each others arms we leave our sea and our island
Soaring high into the clouds and the sleep we’ve begged for with our parched lips and swollen tongues.
Our dreams at night are the call of the sea begging to be drowned in our sand encrusted lungs,
To be one with us and our failures
The bequeathing cry of the seagull wakes us dully from our slumber
We peer out with sea salted eyes and realize it was all just a dream
We shout for help with all the voice we can muster
Letting in lungs full of icy ocean and dead crustaceans
Filling our bodies like bags of sand immobile
We’ve been sleeping with our anchors held closely
Down in the depths of the endless ocean rolling.
Normal text: Brook Ilges [http://hellopoetry.com/-brook-ilges]
Italicized text: B K Barnes [you're already here]
Bold text: Written by Brook, Edited by B K.
Zachary Dec 2013
We have all loved skeletons at one point- maybe as lovers, a person with benefits, or a friend. Skeletons that looked just like us; zombies walking the same path, no longer caring for their way. Pieces of a soul that were so shattered no amount of band aids and peroxide could heal it

Your expressions that entranced not just I, but many past lovers. Ones that are not intended for me, but if I try hard enough, I imagine they are so

Your hands were delicately carved work, and your bones, your bones, the finely formed structure of intricate words, whispered in the dead of night to the crook of your neck

You overtook my thoughts; shadowed me in my sleep, molding my dreams to nightmares. All I can think is “would they like this?” or “that?”. You are a dictator with an iron fist on my heart of weathered steel. You are the reason I write; why I wrote until the crack of dawn when no other soul was awake except for the lonely and the in love

My nightmares and reality merge into one, until I do not know which is which, but I do know that wherever you are, I am searching for you in the deepest corners of my mind to find lost memories, waiting to create new ones

And I know that, despite our differences, you are buried deep into my skin, a fragrance that I cannot wash away with tomato juice no matter how much I match the sticky substance

The one beautiful thing I have not gotten bored of; the one person I have not walked away from. When you have an obsessive personality, which quickly turns to boredom, it is hard to find that one person who keeps you from that

You are the one beautiful thing I never regretted latching on to

But the minute I saw you, I knew I would not do the same, no matter how much I would want to. The second I saw you, I knew I wanted to be the one who was the first to see your face each morning, and the last at night. I knew I wanted to be the one to kiss your wrinkles between your brows away, to wipe your salted tears off your cheeks and wash them from your pillows; I knew that if I were to meet your family, I would say “Thank you for him. Thank you for this great person who not only brings light to my world, but is a sun to many others.”

I knew that despite all that, you would never be mine. For you see, you are a star, a planet bigger then the solar system that contains your tiny toy of a body, and I was simply orbiting you, pulling farther away with each passing day

You wield a weapon, dangling from your fingertips that no one sees, but you can feel inwardly, pushing deeper and deeper until it is so embedded I no longer feel it. You morph me between your nails like the water cuts through rocks and forms them into sand, leaving nothing but the past remains of centuries of wear and tear and pushing and pulling and-

You control every turn I take- “Do not walk out in front of that car” and “Do not push yourself so far down you cannot see the light at the end of the tunnel”

You are the reason I wake up each day, and vow to myself to survive, for if I survive today, one day I will live

I count the days until I will tell you; fearing each day that you will find someone who could love you better then I, a person who is not a whirlwind of emotions and hair and everything negative in the world but is beautiful and a doll and will become the grass on your core, melting the molten rock and oozing out on late nights when no one is home and not a soul is awake

And I cannot sleep knowing there will be someone who will love you better than I; cannot breath knowing there will be the doomsday of my heart, when it falls to pieces and is crushed like marrow with the same nails that molded me to be something I was not; cannot stay in one place as long as I know I have one in a million chance of winning you, a piece in the lottery that is greater then the reward; cannot scream for my lungs have given out, my throat has dried out and there are no more tears left to spill for a man who does not look at me twice

You are the first beautiful thing I have latched on to, and you will not be the last I will let go of
D Conors Oct 2010
We scream
for ice-cream,
crunchy cones crisp,
cream and sauce drips down your wrists,
those sweet calories latching to your hips,
but, 'who cares?' you state, licking your lips,
we scream
for ice-cream,
                             drip,

                                       drippy,
d
r
i
p


s.
___
Drools:
http://beautyineverything.com/5065478350
d.
10 oct. 10
JR Rhine Jun 2016
The soda can rumbles in the bowels,
tumbling into the gaping mouth
into which I enter a hand
to protrude my sugar rush.

sssni-kah, then the slurp of an obnoxiously pleasing sip.
I let the carbonation tickle my tongue,
reveling in the effervescent sensation.

The smell of old tires,
malodorous oil and gasoline,
and stale cigarettes fill the air.

My vexatious sips go unperturbing the dense atmosphere
that thickens outside the small air-conditioned office
and into the gas station,

where the mutters and sputters of drills,
kakadoo, kakadoo,
the squeaking and squawking of rotors and axles,
the interjections of swears and grunts
fill the air.

I peek through the ***** smudgy glass window in the door
to see grimy overalled ants meandering
under the body of our red mini-van
hiked up into the air like a figure skater,
suspended by the rusty clawed accompanist,
not a tremor of strain, unflinching,
letting the greasy men crawl underneath, hiking up her skirt
to examine her anatomy.

I walk outside and sit on a dusty tire stacked with others
on the side of the building--
some growing forlorn in tall grass
weaving in and out of the aperturous rim,
the fingers latching onto fissures and pulling it down
into the hungry earth.

Another slurp and I set the can down
to step onto my skateboard--
rolling across the gritty pavement,
snapping ollies and pop-shuv-its
to add my timbre to the cacophony
leaping out of the open garage doors.

I look over to the barbershop adjacent to the station--

The off-white single room squat allowing the cylindrical swirl
perpetually pirouetting atop the door-frame
to dazzle in a placid manner.

It is there I get my close trims
and pull a lollipop from the cavernous bowl
sitting atop the counter.

The barber, working silently behind his dull gray mustache
and dull gray eyes.

Outside the barbershop to the left,
Leicester Highway ambles onward,
diverging at a fork just ahead of the lot,
and the road adjacent that winds down my neighborhood,
Juno Drive.

I've never embarked down either divergent,
and I wonder which one is the less traveled.
(Frost, guide me.)

I go to the mailbox teetering on the edge of the highway
and hastily grab our mail,
the wind slapping at my *** as the cars whisk by
in their infinitesimal haste.

I feel like time slows once you step onto Juno Drive.

I turn around and saunter back to the station to see Billy,
my Working-Class Hero,
who I mostly see strolling up to the driver's side window
of our dull red mini-van
to loosely rest his arms crossed atop the window frame,
resting his sweaty forehead on his sticky hairy forearms.

Leaning in,

his blackened hands with his greasy smile
behind a scruffy scattered beard caked with dirt and grime,
atop a dark red leather face--
but eyes bright and merry.

His laugh, a phlegmy two-pack-a-day sputter
hacking and pummeling through the van,
all the way to me in the backseat peeking around mom's shoulders
to catch a look at this superhero anomaly.

And his southern drawl wrenching out of lungs
caked in tar and exhaust fumes,
that torpid slur that executes like the garbled hum
of an Oldsmobile engine chugging restlessly--

His laugh, an engine that won't turn over, sputtering to life
but falling right back down into the dirt,
lying on the oil-stained cold concrete floors ***** boots slipping over
and sticking too like wads of gum.

The charismatic mechanic who knew the answer to all things,
always ready to flash me that crooked greasy smile
stretching across his ruddy leather face.

I step back onto my skateboard, with soda in hand,
mail in the other,
and silently say goodbye to my Greasy Eden
before making my way down Juno Drive
towards the first house on the left,

following the road as it snakes past the trees,
alongside the creek, around the bend,
and out of sight.
Childhood memories.
mitus May 2018
Spilling the juice all over the floor,
Missing you each day more and more.

Listening to music- new and old
My decisions getting a bit more bold.

Shutting the door louder than usual,
My mind is starting to get delusional.

Loving you without a doubt,
Hate seeing you with other girls out and about.

Scrutinizing every mistake I write,
Only to view every poem I spite.

Luring the unknown into my room,
Chimney blows wind in with a bad fume.

Securing my own locks on doors so fragile,
My body always wanting to move so agile.

Leaving your life and entering his,
Wisdom hit but so did his fist.

Sobbing on the cold ground,
I wish I still had you around.

Listening on what to do - my friend’s advice,
Maybe I have to start trying more than twice.

Sending mixed signals and causing trouble,
Will only ever lead to a burst in the bubble.

Lacking thought or too many to count,
So many problems I have to dismount.

Serving my old yet new figure,
My body tired, and oh-so-bitter.

Latching on somebody to stay,
Words cannot explain my feelings at play.

Shouting loud but not loud enough,
My brain's gone into a severe slough.

Crying for extreme help,
I cannot do this by myself.
Emma Amme Oct 2013
Love is pretty much every single person involved
turning into a ****.
Curling, griping, grasping someone so tight
that they squirm.
We like to say that this is an act of affection
but really, whats so lovely about latching on
to something that always changes?
because as far as I'm concerned, that is not lovely at all.
That is just plain self harm.
Ember Bryce Sep 2013
We write because there is an unexplainable magical phenomenon surrounding us called conscious.

It is what expanded in the very beginning, it's will evolved everything living.
It invented these elements, that binded to create compounds.
With the help of gravity and expansion, these natural chemical compounds slowly started structures.
Other elements were produced, binded, and reproduced, exponentially manifesting other life.

Thankfully, consciousness is beautiful.
And it has an exquisite pattern that boggles the mind. Astronomers, mathematicians, scientists, artists, and other mortal men are astounded by it (even if they don't know 'it' yet). Because of this pattern, known as The Fibonacci Sequence, also relates to geometry, dimensions, and space, creates "The Flower of Life".

Look up into the stars and you will see them all pointing out, all moving still as one, there will be one brighter star that seems to serve as the center point for the flower. But focus on another and you will see the flower there too. Howl at the stars and you will see a dimension of movement as they shine a tail reacting to your vibrations. (I wonder if that's what wolves always see).

It is because of this pattern that the compounds "fell" into place. They happened upon a dimensional line and shaped nicely into spheres that includes all their elements they were attracted too. They followed the Sun and other stars for the light and a leading center point. Our rock (this planet) just so happened to be perfectly away yet close enough to the Sun, and had the right kinda elements, that it was able to form a livable habitat for something..

It was the first four main elements that came alive with activity on the surface of this land. Earth, Water, Fire, and Air started oozing, spilling, swimming, forming, into a place that gave way for the compounds that make up the cells of plants to sprout. Bacteria grew also out of cells and atoms and ****. Bugs and other simple creatures where the first to be bestowed upon this mass. This consciousness just wanted to grow, however way it can or does, it did. Even as reptiles, as dinosaurs, as birds, as sea creatures. The consciousness that started the craziness was snot stopping any time soon. It was going through trial and error, how we, everyday, always do. The consciousness just wanted to grow, to do, to be, it needed to replenish it's energy through eating whatever else it had created, it needed to reproduce so as to continue, and it needed to die to make room for the new and improved. But this consciousness is always there, always around, flying everywhere.

Other habitants of this universal consciousness has seen our Planet, and they were pleased. Good and Evil wanted to help or destroy.

The weather, and geology, are also still a part of this consciousness, and with their elements and the expanding evolution of the atmosphere and core of the Earth, were able to evolve as well. Other animals came about as a reaction and adapted to the ever changing environment.

Finally, the consciousness that exists in every thing that tells it to move, to change, to do, to be, to create: started having emotions.. Thus, humans were created. We still have that older consciousness of wanting to do, to be, to create, to reproduce. We have viral qualities of latching on to a host and slowly destroying here (Mother Earth), we have plant like and animalistic qualities becuase we have a male and a female that reproduce, we feed, we grow, we protect, we crave the Sun, we crave acceptance. But now we also crave Love. We encompass compassion. We have consciousness, and we KNOW we have consciousness, we not only think and make decision, but we know that we are. Isn't that crazy!? I believe many animals are starting to think this way too..

We embody emotions, the greatest being love. Fear was an emotion for the first creatures on this Earth, it is slowly evolving to Love. Fear made us make more. As bacteria and viruses, we fear deceasing to nonexistence, so we become stronger to keep up with the cures. As plants we feared being over powered by others, so we reached out our limbs and branches to touch closer to the Sun. As animals we fear other animals. As humans, we know what it is to love and be loved.

Some Earthlings know the powers we carry, and of the Mother and Father.
Some give praise to these every day, because we are the children.
Some don't, some have lost what it means to be.

Some have evolved in the opposite intended direction. Which is silly to say because as consciousness' only meaning is to grow, be and do, with this statement, consciousness is going in the 'right' direction. I do not know yet why there is good and evil sides of consciousness. did one come as a result of the other? were they nth part of consciousness at the same time? Can we all agree we need both? (cannot feel pleasure without pain, etc) or can we see what it is like with just good surrounding.. then in that case, who is to say what is good: The child dancing in the rain, watching her garden grow, catching droplet on her tongue, would say the weather is 'good'. The lovers' getting washed away in the flood trying to save each other, would not. But all this is 'the way things are'. Anyways..

to be continued
I'm trapped in sun scourged  skin
Fighting to get out. Screaming for  benevolence
Confound by the  phobia of my appearance
Struggle for success should I be a street opportunist
Sale dope like my Dad did
Walk the line between life and death can you believe my dads dead
A walking  stereotype and be what there assuming
You ever try to swing at a fast ball disguised as an underhanded pitch
Swing and miss pain sets in
I'm bleeding in hopes of true equality
You see my people were still in chains
Deaf to the freedom bells
Colonials were children of a country
Battles fought for freedom released from there parents reign
My ancestors were  stripped from  soil dragged across the sea
To new plains force to be slaves
Some my view this as tasteless and lame
But it’s the truth
Asphalt skinned products working in fields barefoot no timberland boots
I send prays up and salutes out to the troops
Cause if we switched shoes
 I’m not sure if I would do it for you
Cause I don’t see innocent faces
I see innocence taken
Cops are cruel cults cause communities to be complacent
Conditioned to be racist
A people treated like Jesus stripped naked
A people where knowledge use to be sacred
Now money driven like I never made it to my graduation
But you see this money I’m making
I am caking
Cards of independence
An illusion it’s really assistance
Do we know that its fraud
To trade money for independence cards
Taking tax money doesn't erase the odds
Liberty by the hands of man is flawed
I was formed in this soil pushed out of America's womb planted my feet from birth
Kiss with this dying flesh destined to be treated like dirt
America a false independence since its start
You will only find freedom in the face of God
Pursing him with a  passionately postured heart
Angels sing when we say yes
Independence in Christ he paid for our freedom with his flesh
Despite all the political jargon
Screaming and freedom marching
Gods independence is like stars and space its infinite
Earthly independence in all its splendor compared to that is limited
Latching to this life's liberty is like licking
a limp liquored in leprosy
A  detriment is a  understatement
Put more hope in a representative than Christ . below the mason dixon an under states men.
Wars get fought for freedom
Bodies stack up for freedom
Money gets spend for freedom
How does peace gets forsaken for the sake of freedom
A fable is still a lie..
I wonder if animals in a preserve can recognize that they not in the wild
Gates open and chains broken when aligned with Christ in his Kingdom
Kurt Kanawa Jul 2014
You are the itch I can't ever scratch,
you trickle and ***** my thoughts
like sandpaper to a match,

latching onto the roots of my head,
you are the one stalking my thinking space
in and between the hours I lay on my bed,

and I tell myself that you're nothing to me,
a dusty web on the corner of my mind,
you are, I tell myself, nothing to me,

that you are the vexing fly I can't catch,
and I tell myself you are nothing to me,
nothing but the itch I can't ever scratch,
Marco Batista Nov 2013
I Jammed the pain inside, to wait for the defects to reside. Today strays and wanders away until it's stuffed down inside the void of discomfort. Let's roll our imagination onto light able paper, light it, and watch it burn..

See because that's what addiction does. It overrides your body latching on your inner artistry for its fuel. Pretty soon you become a machine, something mindless. Fasten your seatbelt because your on auto-pilot.

Now the transactions of your body really start to inaugurate. Your internals no longer has what it takes to fight, to resist, so now come the alterations.The tips of your fingers go hand in hand with the tip of your tongue. How your saliva's lust for substance dismantles the chemical compounds. Your taste buds loving that all too familiar feeling. Your greed full blood consuming every inch of it. As the destruction slowly trickles down your throat your anxious. Then the finale comes, the moment you've been waiting patiently for  the manipulation and overhaul of your brain and your reality remodeled, your home.

In those seconds pain is never an option, never a thought. Your lost out at sea. But that's all it really is, seconds, minutes, sometimes hours, just a little more time to stick the dysphoria on the back burner. When in truth you've just deepened the scar and exposed it to infections. When it's gone your left with broken thoughts that feel unrepairable.

Addiction doesn't just come from pre-packaged materials, they come from every entity you wish that blocks the truth out. They come from unfulfillment , pain, and soak themselves until you are left with no control. You have to fight, fight for your life. Face the music
LJ Chaplin Feb 2015
We place ink on paper
The way we swallow a pill,
Hesitation,
Fear of bitter taste and
Dissatisfaction,
Failure to expel what truly
Eats us alive.
We try to wipe away the fever that stains
Our body
The way that the ink stains the pages,
Seeping through and latching on
With no hope of removing it
Until we grow a deep immunity,
A force that dissolves all absolute
Decay and bacteria
Until we are clean.
One dose of imperfection
And three moments of inspiration a day
Will make you healthy again
Haley Harrison Aug 2023
Just ten days but it feels too long,
being without you's way too wrong,
and I miss you lips latching onto mine.
.
Miss your hands sliding on my skin,
miss the taste of our sweetest sin,
four long days 'til the finish line.
.
Your honeyed voice is what I need,
feel your strength as you take the lead;
gotta melt again in your arms.
.
I feel so safe when you're holding me,
the warmth in your eyes - all I see,
getting lost in your charms.
.
The way your laugh lights up the room
will raise me up, out of my tomb,
like the Universe is all ours.
.
Oh my love, my soul, my light,
I can hardly wait for that night,
So I can breathe your scent for hours.
.
20.08.2023.
(for G.)
Grace Jordan Oct 2016
Frosted lips met rusted leaves,
Surprising both parties at its rightness,
Between the freezing and the warm,
Between the snap and the crunch,
Between Autumn and Holly.

Hearts met in the mix of November,
A tossed salad of a month where both coexist,
They met with eyes of brown and blue,
And to their shock and everything else managed to meet too,
Between Autumn and Holly.

As the eons went by,
They muddled through ice ages, warm fronts,
Surviving only in the holy sanctuary of each others' arms,
And even when their battling storms came,
They came out with hands locked,
Gladiatorial victors of all things wicked their way come,
Possible love strung between them in the month of November,
Between Autumn and Holly.

The world grew below them,
and they did their work exactly as the atmosphere demands them,
They can nearly feel it in their bones when each meteorological tide must come,
It is the way their work happens,
And the way their world, our world turns,
Between Autumn and Holly.

Yet as humankind appeared and grew there was something stirring,
There were mechanisms and smoke clouds and an unbelievable flurry,
A heavy weight of some subversive demon latching itself lightly onto the lovers,
Then deeper,
But they refused to open their eyes; their earth and humanity won't either,
So the demon festered and grew to breathe noxious fire,
Eventually making the air too caustic in their ignorance,
Between Autumn and Holly.

Words could not be spoken after the inevitable occurred,
Autumn's world is near dead from a new, ferocious Holly storm,
A touch of the hand is all each heartbroken season wanted,
But they and the world stayed silent when everything's wrong,
And those fingertips and their vast love and brilliance created this hell,
A silence and death fell onto the possible love that possibly could have been forever,
Between Autumn and Holly.

Silence is their new normal,
Quid pro quo, in a way,
Holly's eyes scream her sorrow and guilt,
Her lips, on the other hand, say nothing,
Instead of their beloved, romantic November,
They now only meet for work,
The world becomes more chaotic and its weather distressed,
And the chasm between them grows larger with each atmospheric catastrophe,
The squalls screaming like their broken hearts,
All created by their ****** brilliant fingertips,
Between Autumn and Holly.

All they have left is staring down at their world and their humanity,
Hoping one day their November, their seasons, their world can be its own again,
It is too late for them to change the tides of the atmosphere,
But across the chasm they both somber and hope one day, some day, something can bridge the divide and:
Calm the atmospheric disaster,
Calm the storms,
Calm the world,
A maybe even fix the possible love that is left,
Between Autumn and Holly.
DP Mar 2013
This crusty blood,
seeps into my every hole,
Latching on to my hairs,
Creating a home for ******* to form.
pandemoniac Mar 2021
lofi hip hop decorates my brain
notebook formulaic and profane
anxiety seeps my malleable mind
latching onto anything it finds.
wrote this to procrastinate
Jessica Woodward Jul 2011
cyber forces glitching,

itching,

scratching,

hatching,

inside… inside…

further deeper,

latching,

onto body…

onto body…

mind,

soul,

body…

cyber forces becoming

transferring,

creating,

hating

the old,

the old.

new cybernetic soul

born modern,

born modern,

progressive process,

tradition’s torn,

torn.
Francisco DH Aug 2013
The rain pelts the window,
The Boyfriend who tries to get my attention,
Throwing its rocks at the window,
But I ignore and continue on with my work.

Mrs. Livingston wants a paper written
A 5 page paper
And Things like annoying rain mustn’t distract me.

Though the rain is easy to ignore
There is one thing that I can’t ignore.
Him.
He is there in the back of my mind
Occupying the space where numbers from math class should be,
Where my History homework on Napoleon should be,
Where He shouldn’t be.

Golden eyes flash before me once the room goes white,
A scent seduces my nose though it’s in my mind
Just a memory brought back to life
A ghost intruding when it need not.

Why? Why can’t he leave me alone?
Yet I know it’s not him that’s in the wrong
It’s me
And My gay ways.

Latching onto him
Clasping his words in its hands
Soaking up every syllable
Every word
Everything about him
Like a sponge soaking up the bubbles , suds, water, and germs.

The paper! I must get back to the paper!
He can’t be in my mind when I have much writing to do.
But
I like him.
More than like him.

I remember when at first I dug my heels into the ground
Refusing to fall
Then as time went on
The heels got eroded
The ground beneath me got eroded
My determination was eroded.
And
I
Fell.

An object forced to the ground not because of gravity
But because he had something about him
Something that made my body sing,
With bulking, twisting, and jittering.

Was it his smile?
That one little curve.
That one little curve with such shine
And such sweetness
It could melt ice
And have more sugar than a pack of Hershey Kisses.

Maybe his hair?
The constant loops
Of Wheat
Of sand
Of soft wool.
Taking me on a ride that never seem to end.

Or perhaps his Words and Speech?
The constant dragging out words
The sweet tune of the Hillbilly in his vocals.
Lost in his words that never made sense
Until I thought more of it.

Or maybe his demeanor?
The laid back student who dreams of going cross country in a van.
The one who seems to have everything figured when he can’t figure if he is up or down.
The one who attracts the negative and it turns to problems
The one who surprises me with his out of the blueness.
And takes me on such a high that it shatters by heart when he drops me.

I have to stop.
He is taken from me
That is a thought I mustn’t forget.
Why spend this time
Thinking
Wanting
Loving
Liking
Wishing
Hoping
When he has been taken from me.
I must finish the paper.
I don’t have much time.
Was working on my paper but then my mind drifted
Emily Martinez Nov 2011
Inward anger inhibits.
You keep pushing, knocking,
finally yielding determination to disinterest,
to frustration. Foreign concepts
like undeveloped film.
Until, barely latching onto the fabric,
you happen upon it
at some odd hour, the light
adjusts and your perception,
and you may grasp it,
knocking through rotten wood,
collapsing into understanding,
and free within hollow enlightenment
to finally progress.
Lawren Jul 2015
I am peaceful when my mind is still
And my heart is gentle.
My actions must align with my beliefs
Tall and orderly like the vertebrae in my spine
During quiet meditation.
I am not accepting of labels which others place on me,
That are in dissonance with my inner self
And what I know to be true.
Because only when I am genuine can I find clarity.
Clarity to discover my serenity
And be able to watch my emotions
Pass through me like vagabonds,
Instead of latching on for dear life
As my knuckles turn white
And my lungs turn blue.
The virtue of peacefulness
7-13-15
Tim Rosborough Oct 2013
In the moment just before wake,
The last fragment of a dream eludes my grasp.
As I cannot distinguish thought from memory,
I am astounded that my imagination could conjure such bliss.
If only at will…

Not every night, but some,
I see what I am capable of.
Mind at ease and running free,
Latching on to these ideas
That exceed my perception.
And my attempts to recall or review,
Are but failed attempts, futile.
Deemed too beautiful for consciousness,
But from what I can remember-

I fight, I play,
I sight, I run from beasts.
I find, I make,
I lose, I have the world.
I live, I breathe,
I meet, I die sweet deaths.
I fly, I kiss,
I smile, I love it all.

The fluidity of instances, the current of time,
No-these do not exist in my mind.
Or are rather transcended,
Bent, broken, then mended.
Allowed in my altered state
To transform and create
A world where everything is designed to please me,
While, simultaneously, my fears run free.
Ah, but not too much to handle.
I have fragments, puzzle pieces, crumbs…so little.

Oh sleeping self! I beseech you
Spring alive and come and teach me
All the wonders you have known,
But sadly do always withhold.
Revise my mind, what poor creation.
Have mercy on my indignation.

Am I really to believe
That you are so wiser than me?
Smiling, sleeping beauty, I
Foresee the dangers of the eyes.
Masterfully handicap
My body to this nightly trap.
Thus looming possibilities
Of habitual retreats,
Delights in excess to relieve
Me of my duty to receive
Signals from reality,
Abundant sensory deceit,
Of forlorn mental interactions,
Of achieving distant affectations,
Obtaining hopes and admirations,
Beholding nonsensical perfection,
All this, too more, are so designed
That my mind can never wholly dine
On the enticingly addictive
Highly imaginative symptoms
Of the body’s hidden fluid source
That rarely tends to make its course.
But holds great power menacing,
As well as gently flowering.  

I envy you, my resting mind,
My well worthy unconsciousness,
Whose power is tempted unconstricted,
Whose fascination’s limitless.
Who teases me, a window shop,
An ocean reduced to a drop.
The very inkling I most relish;
Waking memory’s a feather precious.
Delicate and dancing ‘round,
High hopes, in journey, treasure bound.
Miki Oct 2014
"How do you keep so unattatched?"*

What do you mean?
I hear this question so much.
I guess you just dont see.

I'm not holding back
Or doing anything
I just don't know how
To hold onto anything

I never had a home
Or any long term friends
Letting go is manditory
Everything ends

This isn't a good thing
I don't know how to love
Don't try to be me
It hurts. It's numb

I'd rather be attatched
Sown at the hip
Helplessly heartbroken
Longing for your lips

Instead i despise you
For latching on so tight
I just want to run
I know that isn't right

So don't ask me that again
There's no special trick
If i could love i would
If only i could stick
An explanation
g clair Nov 2013
Not to be the only one who feels
that it's important
to keep your shirt on
to keep your patience
of this I'm certain
with understanding
in quiet waters
are sunken
treasures
found.

Catching wind of something that you said
I'm quite relieved that
you are the type who
can see the end from
a rough beginning
and in forgiving
you make it clear
that there's no
fear in
love.

Reaching out for something that is good
and latching onto
discarded socks you
are thinking clearly, "Hey!"
(they don't deserve you)
but still you serve so
it will continue
you'll never
alone
be.

Letting go of what is left behind
I might be freed from
my vain devotions
and silly notions
the useless worries
about the future
and of all
temporal
things.

— The End —