"latching" poems
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
Oct 2, 2014
Oct 2, 2014 at 11:53 AM UTC
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.
Jun 19, 2015
Jun 19, 2015 at 4:27 AM UTC
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.
Feb 14, 2011
Feb 14, 2011 at 12:06 PM UTC
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!
Feb 20, 2013
Feb 20, 2013 at 2:15 PM UTC
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.
Aug 6, 2015
Aug 6, 2015 at 5:01 PM UTC
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
Oct 10, 2010
Oct 10, 2010 at 5:58 AM UTC
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.
May 2, 2018
May 2, 2018 at 10:57 PM UTC
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.
Oct 14, 2013
Oct 14, 2013 at 6:38 PM UTC
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,
Jul 25, 2014
Jul 25, 2014 at 9:46 AM UTC
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
Nov 15, 2013
Nov 15, 2013 at 7:21 AM UTC
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
Feb 4, 2015
Feb 4, 2015 at 10:21 AM UTC
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.
.
Aug 22, 2023
Aug 22, 2023 at 1:30 PM UTC
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.
Oct 10, 2016
Oct 10, 2016 at 11:18 AM UTC
This crusty blood,
seeps into my every hole,
Latching on to my hairs,
Creating a home for ************* to form.
Mar 15, 2013
Mar 15, 2013 at 7:54 AM UTC
lofi hip hop decorates my brain
notebook formulaic and profane
anxiety seeps my malleable mind
latching onto anything it finds.
Mar 17, 2021
Mar 17, 2021 at 8:24 AM UTC
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.
Jul 11, 2011
Jul 11, 2011 at 2:14 PM UTC
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.
Aug 19, 2013
Aug 19, 2013 at 10:43 PM UTC
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.
Nov 9, 2011
Nov 9, 2011 at 9:30 PM UTC
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.
Jul 17, 2015
Jul 17, 2015 at 10:17 AM UTC
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.
Oct 1, 2013
Oct 1, 2013 at 8:33 PM UTC
"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
Oct 16, 2014
Oct 16, 2014 at 2:33 PM UTC
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.
Nov 10, 2013
Nov 10, 2013 at 7:52 AM UTC
Blame is a highly, highly strange thing.
Latching onto anything, it sews itself into the weak, the strong, the inbetweeners.
{Like fire-flies to light. Vice-versa. }
Simply because the world needs a bad guy.
In the same way, we need good hearts.
Jun 20, 2015
Jun 20, 2015 at 8:59 AM UTC
at the navel
part me
with your tongue
lickstrip the human
until primal claws
my soul undone
a shuddering peak
of milky peach
carnal prowess
rippling beats thru me
marking territory
in teeth and cream
latching onto
every inch
of salted slick
tentacle binding
your swell
into my
deep
I drink
your being
coming
raw
shaking thighs exorcise
leaking all I'm not
in glisten streaks
we pry
the edges
and escape
our bones
worlds parting
at ripe lips
surrender me
in drip glitch haven
where your every
eye roll, ****
and murmur
sends me further
than I ever
knew
I could go
Feb 15, 2017
Feb 15, 2017 at 9:53 AM UTC
Like a sponge, latching on
to anything.
Squirreling everything away inside
Its heart, porous,
with all the holes. Maybe
They can be filled like this.
They can't.
Eventually, we put the sponge under
Pressure.
And then watch,
Sickened,
As everything hidden away in the
porous heart of a sponge
Comes gushing out.
Jan 29, 2014
Jan 29, 2014 at 11:47 AM UTC