"melatonin" poems
tonight,
i will lay my head on my pillow
and my mind will be silent
and i don't know if that's
better or worse than
a thousand disarrayed thoughts
keeping me away,
because regardless of
whether or not
i'm thinking of you
and wondering if
you're thinking of me,
whether or not
i'm thinking of this
or that or anything
that makes me feel,
it still takes forever
to fall asleep
Jul 31, 2013
Jul 31, 2013 at 2:44 PM UTC
Serotonin
Oxytocin
mu-2
Kappa
Melatonin
Acetylcholine
Dopamine
Epinephrine
Your love is a drug
your touch is an addiction
with pupil dilation
and body feeling free
I really do
even scientifically get high
when you are next to me
The hormones and pheromones
flow in through my nose
sink into my skin
and flow through
then out again
as we lay entwined
smelling
tasting
and touching each other.
To explain love
is both intangible
illogical
and unknown
while at the same time
a scientific
and physiological study
of the way our bodies interact.
True love
versus
lust and arousal
which is more addicting
and which is something worth predicting?
These must be the reasons
why when we are together
we cannot seem to think
we just want to sleep
we laugh about nothing
and smile for miles
we both go limp
and hard at the same time
sending us both on a ride
that leaves us flying high
I must say
that addiction runs in my family
and I am not sure
I will ever be able to give you up.
Worse than nicotine
caffeine
pills
and alcohol
Your love truly is a drug
and I will never leave you under the rug.
It is said that what is between two people,
is something no other will understand
even the most in depth conversation
can never explain
….and yet here I am
writing ten times a day
to try and convey this feeling to others
all in complete
pride and vain.
Jun 26, 2010
Jun 26, 2010 at 3:25 PM UTC
Today I'm annoyed not because I'm perpetually unemployed or that I have all of the appeal of a penniless mayweather named Floyd. Anyway this sketch deals with the subject of skin debate, so if it's offense I create in your home please don't throw your phone
Lightskinned Vs. Darkskinned? What a ******* stupid debate
Seriously why debate about how much melatonin your skin creates? It's just pointless why Argue and divide a community that's already split up as it is...
but I'll finish here all of us follow different guidelines and were made differently designed so going for universal appeal is a pointless endeavor
Jul 11, 2015
Jul 11, 2015 at 12:56 PM UTC
silence
except the soft piano riffs of classic 60's covers
and the summer wind slipping past the parted windows
as we drive through a different world
where the daily countryside encapsulates
and the sentinel stars coagulate
into a calming blanket of condensation
where serotonin and melatonin miscibles reign supreme
silence
except for the soft squeeze of my hand in hers
the symphonized beat of two hearts stitched as one
and the subtle sigh of mother nature's languid lullaby
beneath the masked face of the full moon
we drive through a different world
and wonder how something so special
can be a secret
kept between
only us
Apr 15, 2017
Apr 15, 2017 at 11:27 PM UTC
Melatonin is a conduit,
a flux for regeneration;
an endocrine neurohormone
that really only likes to secrete
when the Eyes are not stimulated;
that is to say
Sleep and Meditation
in this way
are Medicine of the Body.
Sleep more;
****** Self!
Sleep more.
If not, at least
Meditate more.
May 8, 2013
May 8, 2013 at 7:59 AM UTC
⚠Trigger Warning; the following poem contains subject matter pertaining to suicide, self-harm, and eating disorders⚠
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how do u know if ur having a nervous breakdown
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signs of a nervous breakdown
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can u be hospitalized for having a nervous breakdown
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grounds for admission to a psychiatric ward
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what's it like being admitted to a psychiatric ward
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thirteen reasons why hannah baker suicide scene
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how do u know if ur having a panic attack
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are panic attacks and anxiety attacks the same thing
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whats the difference between a panic attack and an anxiety attack
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generalized anxiety disorder symptoms
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thirteen reasons why hannah baker suicide scene
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borderline personality disorder symptoms
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thirteen reasons why hannah baker slitting her wrists
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why are my hands always cold
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prozac side effects
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thirteen reasons why hannah baker slitting her wrists
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bipolar disorder symptoms
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seroquel side effects
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does seroquel make you gain weight
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thirteen reasons why hannah baker slitting her wrists
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how to refrain from eating
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how to force yourself to throw up
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eating disorder symptoms
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binge eating disorder symptoms
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bulimia symptoms
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anorexia symptoms
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thirteen reasons why hannah baker slitting her wrists
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insomnia
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can you overdose on melatonin
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thirteen reasons why hannah baker slitting her wrists
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how did sylvia plath **** herself
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carbon monoxide poisoning
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thirteen reasons why hannah baker slitting her wrists
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how many advils do I have to take to **** myself
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thirteen reasons why hannah baker slitting her wrists
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major depressive disorder symptoms
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suicide warning signs
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IS PATH WARM
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thirteen reasons why hannah baker slitting her wrists
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tortured artist
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why did vincent van gogh cut off his ear
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virginia woolf suicide note
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thirteen reasons why hannah baker slitting her wrists
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songs about suicide
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thirteen reasons why hannah baker slitting her wrists
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thirteen reasons why soundtrack
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billie eilish lovely lyrics
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thirteen reasons why hannah baker slitting her wrists
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why do I feel so empty
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thirteen reasons why hannah baker slitting her wrists
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empty
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thirteen reasons why hannah baker slitting her wrists
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i wish i was dead
Jan 13, 2019
Jan 13, 2019 at 1:49 PM UTC
Sara not so plain and not so tall
Daydreaming in the shopping mall
As blond as a summer day
Speaking of herself in a peculiar way:
"I'm pretty, yes, but I wish to be better;
To be the admiration of a love letter."
But her beauty is the kind that lasts
And makes your heart beat especially fast.
Finland born but London found,
Lovely, sure, but greatness bound.
And the nights grow more tiresome,
as her chest beats a tattered drum.
Her mood too dreary for speckled eyes
that will dim if night blurs into sunrise.
"Sleep why do you run from me,
as my memories grow.
Eyelids, be a blanket,
And melatonin, a pillow."
Victoria Lucas in her head,
as the bell does ring until fed
by the words that sound soft to us
but are actually strong and thus
she is misunderstood-lips are red-
Like Greenwood inspired, kissed dread:
She can save herself before jarred,
Before feathered, before tarred.
And it is my faith that lets me know,
That her happiness will one day grow
Because Sara not so plain and not so tall
Is the strongest of them all
Nov 20, 2014
Nov 20, 2014 at 1:51 PM UTC
When did I start looking at life, as vitamins and calories
I remember back before it was just, hours and salaries
Now I Zombie about, burned up, and burned out
Stress makes me itchy, bitchy, I wanna shout
It's all chores and bills, obligations, feed the cat
Run down, Run over, clean this, do that
Time warps, bends, now its tomorrow
Better sleep soon, or work will be sorrow
Melatonin and liquor
Make it happen quicker
**** down, pass out, cycle through
Not sure anymore, what else to do
Feb 14, 2014
Feb 14, 2014 at 1:51 PM UTC
my splitting hands
shake,
gaining vigor
with each calendar page,
whether caffeine induced--
whether nicotine induced--
or hunger pang,
the tremor grows ancient,
dies in a fit of boredom
as I sip on warm ***
and watch the sun
scrap my scattered stars,
I take fifteen-or-so melatonin capsules
and sink into my sheets--
still smelling of perfume,
still smelling of sweat,
stilling my head--
if I don't wake,
I walk the dark lane
to the next stomping grounds
with miniscule regret.
May 2, 2011
May 2, 2011 at 12:19 AM UTC
Half asleep on my walk to the bus stop,
The Texada clear-cut smiles like the gap-tooth of the Georgia Strait
and the 3 pops of melatonin ingested 11 hours ago still have me waning on the down-low like a somewhat solid ghost in a Labrador windstorm.
I send you paragraphs
And all of my heartbreaks make me worried I've finally scared you off
But logic trusts itself to you and says, 'Cabo San Lucas, tantrastic,'
I'm no stoic. Otherwise this poem would still be sleeping in alphabet.
It's only the middle of the week but it feels like it's been a month,
At least
At little
The weather is Hyde again,
But as of right now I don't really mind
I just wish you had sunk into my chest last night as we slept together,
Finding our mind within its memory foam,
I dreamed of you and wondered
If Mexico really existed.
Feb 20, 2013
Feb 20, 2013 at 11:39 AM UTC
Autonomous Sensory Meridian Response
It is quite mysterious the origin of such pleasure
Common is the multi-culturally adopted belief
That large fractions of massive populations
Label themselves as insomniacs
If anything this newfound viral sensation
May very well exist to cure insomnia
ASMR comes in a variety of different sounds
That help to release melatonin and aid the body in sleeping
Such sounds include inaudible whispering, gum chewing, table scratching, match lighting,
Ear to ear whispering, tapping, brushing, and crinkling.
These sounds are beautiful, inventive, ground breaking and a relevant discovery
Within the continuous cycle that is known to us as evolution
A vast majority of us have talking brains
Some of our brains talk more than others
Resulting in sleep deprivation on numerous occasions
We have been given a unique, sensational gift
That aids those in times of misfortune and grief
That aids those in emotional tribulation
Though it is through this global phenomenon
and it is through these talented individuals
that we are able to possibly if not entirely
conquer said debilitating times
A way to persuade peace amidst a callous world
That is what ASMR means to me
May 14, 2014
May 14, 2014 at 12:02 PM UTC
I fell in love again
it's still left
unsaid, but I know
because my credit
card bills are lingering
in lingerie sales and
I'm trying not to get too much
black
and I'm trying not to
think too far back and
I've been having these dreams
where I tell James to
**** OFF
and I've been having these dreams
where the horses don't
dress like horses
the horses dress like
elephants
they own the streets
of Paris, of Indonesia, of Calcutta
and the all the Asian mothers
make a fuss
about feeding me
everything they've got
one says she can tell
brides should not be skinny
they should be happy
in their own skin
and I tell her
"no"
but she insists, she can tell
I'm empty-
bellied
so she fills me full of rice
and strange pickled vegetables
spice
like a summer morning
when all the lilies come to life
and outside I hear
horses screeching by
painted up, bejeweled and
shiny
crying horse-tears under their
elephant-suits
and I'm in no mood
to talk to the missionary
seated beside me
preaching at this foreign country
so I tell him I can see God
I tell him I can BE God
There's something divine
in just being alive
And then our plane lands
flat in St. Louis
and the dream ends
.
I'm awake
and starting to feel alive again
and maybe I'll tell him
how I feel loved
again
Feb 17, 2013
Feb 17, 2013 at 11:28 PM UTC
I can’t sleep at night
I’ve got elements I’m facing
And in my dreams I need it most to see this vision that I’m chasing
And if I wander deeper against this grain
Will I split this earth in two,
Maybe I was born in cycle, maybe I am recycled youth
Still
I can’t sleep at night
That’s when the lost come knocking
Sleep is what is needed most
A rest from a view that I am blocking
Resist the temptation to be tired
Because it comes and goes throughout the day -
Sleepless nights, up late wondering when I will stop standing in my own way
But still
Sleepless nights
I can’t sleep
Sleepless nights
Set me free
Sleepless nights
Lie a-wake
Sleepless nights
Stand in my-way
And tomorrow is here but for the moment so I get up to live the day
Another round of forgotten souls harvest the moon’s decay
And these sleepless night keep me from seeing a life from a brighter point of view-
I can’t sleep at night
So the next day is never new.
~Bre Womble
Sep 4, 2020
Sep 4, 2020 at 1:59 AM UTC
welcome to this dream
I will spin you in c
es ir
cl
with me trying to fall asleep
melatonin completely absent from my veins
voices blur in messy paintings
(Goya total sense does make
compared to cinnamon gum
washing
the bitter sweet taste of someone away)
sirens scream too loudly
mesmerizing half of me
slowly spinning
spinning
(little me with a top on the porch in the summer sun)
except there's no sun
and this spinning cannot be stopped
life
too tangible now
and I suddenly need
cinnamon gum again.
Mar 11, 2015
Mar 11, 2015 at 1:21 PM UTC
I hold my tears
As I fall into you
Your arms so inviting
Your heart out of reach
I let myself dream
That you have always been
The one
For me
I know
That when the sun rises
You will push me away
Once more
And I will fall back
Back into you
And endless loop
I will never be enough
And I will always
Fall
Apr 22, 2018
Apr 22, 2018 at 2:10 PM UTC
Love Everlasting
Until the last gasping of my life suit
United we savor life’s sweet fruit
Free our minds from the pains of the winds of change
Life is grand and love is strange
The water that flows in a universal way
Regardless of time and space
Unseen intelligence maneuvers the actors on stage
Like Melatonin and DMT in a dreaming brain
No matter what the situation they all relate
Just metaphysical metaphors to the cosmic state.
Aug 6, 2012
Aug 6, 2012 at 9:01 AM UTC
acid pools in stomachs mingling
with melatonin and valerian.
struggling to displace oneself in the scheme of things.
there is no question that Mitchum was the man,
or that Farewell, My Lovely is still too expensive for me to buy,
but I do question the length of time we spent
pondering the truth with empty schedules and JWH-018.
we etched an identity from a corner-store drug era
filled with colorful characters and interesting flavors;
burning spare change and time probing the annals
of creativity for something to pop up and speak to us.
I know I shouldn't have stopped texting,
but you should have let the schoolyard bully stay home.
artsy flicks just don't have the same charm anymore,
and the struggle to stay seated is hard to purge,
pleading, wailing in a crowded cinema,
when we both know you could've prevented yourself
from never getting a chance to see this.
you hover still over the lights lining the aisles.
the phases of the moon have stayed loyal,
chili and tabasco are still great on a cold January afternoon,
and there is still some charm to cranking the stereo
on the stretch of highway out by Rock Springs.
Big Boss Man still asks "do you believe in God?"
before he asks an unsuspecting face for a dollar.
they still put on concerts in the summer over by The Winery,
but I haven't ever heard of any of the bands.
someone else manages The Smoker's Den now;
some kid I've never met, so I probably won't go back in.
he doesn't appreciate the comedy found in the face of Perot,
or the elusive, dark sweetness of the huckleberry.
in passing we exchanged a miraculous favor,
and in passing we managed to become different people,
in passing I walk on top of uncertain footprints,
and in passing you dream of film noir.
Jul 19, 2015
Jul 19, 2015 at 12:29 AM UTC
I've tried to record
The way your name falls out of my mouth
When I drop glass onto the floor
Like my mothers list of forbidden words
In spreadsheets
Counting with fingers and letters
Every time I pass a red pushpin in a map
Of where you told me
"You're so young and immature"
Like a compliment traced with
Sobriety and melatonin
I've picked up pencils
That end up in pieces
After scrawling your dialogues
Onto "it's your own fault" paper
I've scrubbed myself raw
With people who wont
Look me in the eyes anymore
With your goodbye words
With the flashbacks of
Your hands manifesting
The uncharted areas
Of my brittle hips
How my ****** syllables were
Dinner party jokes
There's nothing that can hurt
A god of power
And business suits
Someone who's never told no
Holds a child
In a way that erases the thought of comfort
And now
I lack the maturity to refuse requests
And you tell me
I'd make a good corpse
At a funeral catered towards
Twenty-nine year old men
Who never learned the difference
Between property and personality
And my promises
Tighten around my throat
Gratefully
Like your hands
Fostering the
Aurora Borealis of love
In a way that
Makes me choke on
The things you've shown me
The things you've ruined for me
The words I will never get back
And I sit
With you surrounding me
In and out of every crevice of my body
You've claimed for yourself
Helpless
And defeated
Like a child
Just how you like me
Jul 12, 2015
Jul 12, 2015 at 6:12 PM UTC
I'm likely to breath in
diesel fumes on Sunday
than ever the soft efforts
of spoken word saints.
Burnt out eyes from blue lights
and empty coffee cups full
of muddy rings.
Melatonin bleeds out blending
a wasteland of words.
Off season is
oft spent without thought,
gone in subtle joy.
Heavy knee across inhale
in a flesh crush,
so much, so maybe
it is the best moment I've ever had,
or heeded, until tomorrow
is sought for with a fresh smile.
I do have morals regardless of god.
I peel off layers of time,
hot and reeling in exertion.
I'm putting together something and
it just might be me.
As it was the time before,
but each time- a little better,
at least in this moment.
You say live in the now,
as if I should live in fear
of a future gone sour.
I don't fear a loss of power,
of limbs sawn off,
psyche sent scrambling, insane.
We are all in the red rend,
whole and writhing
ripped from lapsing grip.
I rasp that, for now:
it is all mine.
Feb 3, 2014
Feb 3, 2014 at 2:45 AM UTC
I met an old woman on Leander Avenue
who told me, “Don’t breathe or the earth
will swallow you whole.” I
stayed very still and didn’t move.
A butterfly could have landed on my nose
but I sneezed so I may never know for sure.
After that I remembered that my generation
doesn’t have to follow their elders, so I
walked to the corner store.
I bought three candy bars that I would
never eat and tied my shoelaces on the front porch.
My neighbor watches old films. He calls them
Lumières, and sometimes invites me over.
I watch the hand-cranked film flicker
black and white over his screen.
A troupe of acrobats flip about and wave
the French flag, large women kneel and scrub
endless linens in the still river, the gardener
punishes the mischeivious boy. I smile every time
they look at the camera.
The slats in the blinds yawn widely
and seeing them, the melatonin strikes.
Flowing, forcing, endocrinal.
The wind whispers Greek words in my ear.
Helios, zoetrope, khaos.
The trees outside of my window
spell out foreign letters.
They only make sense one at a time.
I can’t spell a word but I speak and
realize I can still make a sound.
I fall asleep.
I never wake but dream
of exquisite lavender pillows doused
in holy water from the lips of a
spouting statue. A Carnevale clown waves
at me in the corner and takes off mask after
mask. Confetti rains softly from his eyelashes and he
quietly laughs into his palm. I want to hold your
hand but remember that I am just
a raindrop streaking down your car
window in a mountain spring storm. I
open my eyes.
Jun 12, 2011
Jun 12, 2011 at 6:05 PM UTC
A hippy child by birth
Preordained as a psychic,
Gyspie of thieving church.
Dandelions art their thirst
Days groweth colder
Downtime gets worse
Smiling faces sicken them
When others smile back
Melatonin
Vitamin d
F
And c
Sickened by mailing
Babble trawling
Click lick chatter
Bit wit batter
Shocked to sloth
And madness of creepiness..
Jun 27, 2015
Jun 27, 2015 at 5:19 PM UTC
Snowflakes from sleepy land land on my eye lids
creeping in and on and out and over I'm melatonin silenced,
feeling serenity,
I'm supposed to be writing
but "actually I'm not regretting it"
Dreams are inviting me like I've been spiked with ketamine
Should I let them in?
I love sleep too much
So I didn't make it to bed again
It's not a want,
It's a need a necessity,
It's something I need to achieve what is best in me
So if you're waking me bring bacon
I won't just be ****** off your life is forsaken,
Especially if I was dreaming about flying like a plane again....
I like a snatched sleep on the bus or the train,
But I love the car no risk of sleeping too far
and waking up in staines
One time I fell asleep on the train...
I was stuck on it for ages...
One outside tesco where your supposed to put 20p and a baby in it
Seems to be happening alot to me lately
But I have always falling asleep in public places
One time my mom thought she'd lost me,
I was asleep on a the sofa in Laura Ashley
"Dear, where's your mommy? The shop assistant asked me
I didn't know and I didn't care all I wanted was to go to sleep
Strange memories rethunk,
Relayered and rewired
twisting and turning until they become suffering,
time for bed again, I'm tired.
Sep 27, 2013
Sep 27, 2013 at 8:26 AM UTC
Lean out and contemplate the Empire State.
After all, there's nothing else left to you.
The spider-web paths of the city
Branch out too often to form the whole
picture in your head more than a few
stems out.
Where do your lost hours go?
Is there a heaven for the good ones?
The ones you spend reading Harry Potter
in Spanish?
As if it's really so much better than reading
trash like 1Q84 or Plato's Republic
for 1200 page-intervals of excess language or
A bunch of questionable assertions
backing up logical conclusions on the most essential questions,
Respectively.
When I sit with the bright light in my eyes,
it triggers the breakdown of melatonin molecules in
my blood,
Among other things.
Will this restore my Brooklyn Majesty
in swells of lightwave tides
Or will it lack the broad spectrum necessary
to push my half-developed form out of the tidal pool
to make a swim amongst
frail men in shark suits?
Apr 9, 2014
Apr 9, 2014 at 5:45 PM UTC
rusty knees folded under a
quilt weaved by the calloused hands of
particles of grandmothers' grandmothers,
head heavy on a
down-breasted pillow,
rising and falling softly
in a bedroom den,
whispering relative semantics of
a testament revised
while outside, tornadoes uproot trees
and displace plywood houses
with charred pies frozen on the windowsill,
entombed from the harsh winter's frost
and incubation in false ovens;
i recall seasonal naps of
drifting and wakening
and colourful mosaics
painted across the dreamland sky,
drinking cups of melatonin-laced chamomile
steeped in an angel teapot that induced
psychosomatic apparitions in constant relay
from earhole to earhole and
assisted with pulling an endless rope out of my
mouth which had been tied to the pit of my ulcerated stomach,
my head twisting in a corkscrew spiral,
meeting a longing gaze
and twisting back again,
oh! my bottled neck!
you retell poems softly spoken loudly
with my kisses on your heavy eyelids,
before we drift through the sheer veil
into unified consciousness,
taking a glimpse at our crowning home in
an infinite land,
enveloped in time-honoured Love
bestowed upon us in
pure, Divine fate,
watching endless words of
'i love you', 'i love you'
trickle like sand though a
heavenly hour glass figure;
to wake, a chance to celebrate,
to die, a chance to find each other again.
Mar 10, 2014
Mar 10, 2014 at 10:27 PM UTC