"longside" poems
if looks could ****
i'd be slaughtering the masses
and if these walls could talk
they'd probably never stop laughing
but if that ***** of a mattress should crack
and leak the secrets of mine that she keeps in her chest-
like tightly bound metallic coils-
so help me lillith
i'll burn this house to the ground
i'd rather see all that i've built turn into ashes
than to hear her voice rehasing all the whispers i'm slinging whilst fast asleep
or how i cry in bed for weeks
or the way i flinch when the sun crosses my face
like a shadow i can't name
i'm a mess
a natural disaster with whirlwind hair and a lightning strike pulse
in a second-hand dress that doesn't fit right
i'm fine
i'll survive
but should you be the boy i find
and i bring you home tonight
just know that i'm better than alright
know how very much i feel alive
regardless of the subconscious soliloquies you unleash in your half-silence
divulging secrets whilst you slumber
i wake like the waves lapping at a fallen empire's shoreline
and quest to test your lyrical limitations and the possible personification of your breath
and your chest
heaving like the sea himself
Dec 16, 2014
Dec 16, 2014 at 2:34 AM UTC
the **** came boatsick and I made to light it with the marshmallow burning at the end of my shaky stick when father pinned it at the neck with his right foot and kicked it longside in the beak with his left and then brought the left heel back to break for the second time its neck and the **** hummed and then died and then I thought it hummed again but it was my father lowing in the soul he didn’t believe in as in life he finished nothing so couldn’t on faith have something that everyday waited and I remember thinking later after learning the word rabid and of the affliction rabies that authors swan to the dying animal from the shallows of knowing that the animal mourns maybe nothing and definitely does not mourn this that happens no other way.
Jun 30, 2012
Jun 30, 2012 at 10:58 AM UTC
Thy recesses of heart bestowed upon thee
Art the work of a Master, a prodigy forsooth
Thou hast the complexion of that which is pure
Harbingers of hell doth cower ere
Thine beauty of thee; shalt prosper evermore
Allow me to apologize,
For a queen art thou to me,
Whom ‘gainst one could not make delations
Long after yon, at which hour thou art gone
But if 't be true come the day, forced; thy queen walk hence
Shalt thee leave me, nay!
Still wilt ye reside ‘longside me
Beest t in flesh, or beest t in heart
The love I hath for thee, wilt nev'r fall apart
Mar 2, 2019
Mar 2, 2019 at 3:26 PM UTC
Sorrow casts a lazy eye
through a passing cloud above
remorse has found a place to rest
longside my one true love
bitterness whispers
then fades gently
into the sea of truth be known
she gave her soul to one unwilling
and fed that love alone
the color of the dream she knew
whilst I slept deep and blind
kept hampered by a governed heart
afraid to beat in kind
yet in the waking hour she shines
enduring light through great despair
I'd gladly trade the days I've left
to kiss her honey hair
Mar 1, 2016
Mar 1, 2016 at 10:49 AM UTC
Yes?
(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMDCCXXIV)
Seems ice cream would be grand, a cake from hence
Thick frosted too, my breakfast lying sans bail
Neglected, eggs and bacon, hoummus stale,
Where how the cats are napping in defense.
Did movies leave me dull? My porridge' sense
Of good food quite dispensed with, how avail
Me now? Lo, cheese and pasta haunted frail
Hopes ere: are noodles fuel for ole pretense?
Velveeta winks at me, the noodles fer
'Loved mac and cheese 'longside. Talk of this cue
With Cynthya til mere talk'd suffice. We were
Not set on any choice. Roast beef might woo
'Cept I am on the fence. While she'd bestir
Lo, tater tots, LORD, what shall we 'non do?
09Sep25b
Sep 15, 2025
Sep 15, 2025 at 12:46 PM UTC