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zebra Apr 2017
i always imagine you so very graceful
through the masochists ordeal
a god form of supplication
seeing your face
in love
fascinated by shimmering kisses
that hurt, yet please
wet lips and sharp teeth  
glamors that excite
cold blade licks dragged across
tender bellies
naval
buttocks
and flexed toes
stinging
then radiating outwards
wounds become lilies
mouth sucking
tremulous weeping kisses
ecstatic cruelties
blood glitter sacrifice
your supplication
loves pangs

i'm shaking apart over you
your countenance
a cascading dream
moved to tears of adoration
your  limitless
yielding
like surrenders caress
an infinite communion
with fragile limbs
silky wrapped spools
innerness of desire veiled in a shroud
a faltering star that glistens crimson
nymph of purgation
ash volcanic
cells en-flamed with tongues that bite
subsumed in scented vapors
a confection of cunt and ass
waves embrace ineffable shores
passed the discontinuity of life  

I have the most immense feeling of love for you
am i not
the saint death  
quietly following you
through life's labyrinth
innocuous  
waiting humbly in the wings

i am all ache for you
a vice of kisses
a brief encounter
that eats your sight and senses
ushering you to immortal freedom
a swooning garland of fire that enlivens
the body electric
a mist of molecules
your tears intoxicate
i am new life with in you
budding embryo
that consumes its mother for nourishment
and saturates like dew drops  
as it echoes through oblivion
My poems remain explorations of the subconscious erotic
If i where a film maker or a novelist  you  would see me telling a story, and yes  i admit to my paraphilias.
These poems  are lunar anamorphic streams of consciousness from the deep chaotic subterranean glitz of transgressive  impulses we all share
Read them if you dare...You might find that part of yourself that you don't want you to know about and then again  you may feel more complete some how if you do....I always loved that dark thing that sleeps with in me
Amarys Dean Jul 22
I often wish that I was still a child.
So many things change when we grow up.
Innocence becomes lost,
days become shorter,
the nighttime still scares me,
playing house becomes a game of survival,
boys become men, men become frightening,
I become sad, worried, anxious, and self-aware,
friends will lose their half of the necklace or their friendship ring,
being loved by someone will determine my worth,
I no longer feel small next to the kitchen counter,
but in the presence of everyone around me,
“Forever” loses its meaning,
everyone will eventually leave,
death is no longer a myth,
I will not smile as often as I did,
I will not cry as little as I did,
I will not feel safe in school anymore,
I will not go outside and play anymore,
I will try and pick the imperfections off of
my skin until it is red and bleeding,
suck in my stomach whenever I walk,
work myself into exhaustion,
feel overwhelmed by every task,
have anxiety attacks in public places,
and wish that I was a child again.
MeanAileen Mar 2017
It's my best friend,
and my nightmere-
it's all that I love
and everything I fear.
It's my fulfillment,
my bottomless sorrow-
bringing dark thoughts
of no tomorrow.
It's my strength,
my greatest plight-
this evil addiction
I try to fight.
It's my oblivion,
my heartbreaking pain-
this toxic cloud
is killing my brain.
It's my protection,
my paranoid lies-
the Devil himself
in crystal disguise.
It's my sanity,
my endless strife-
this methamphetamine
destroying my life.
It's my reality,
my make-believe bliss-
I just never imagined
it'd be quite like this....
Truth be told....
Lesley Jun 22
I lay on my back, staring at the ceiling wishing it wasn't there,
I hear the thick, heavy rain hammering on the roof,
It drowns the silence,
I hear nothing but the cold drops free falling from the sky,
I like the rain, I like to stand and let it wash over me,
Cleansing me, waking me up from my haze of darkness,
I like to feel cold bite my skin,
I feel awake, alive something that I haven’t felt in a while,
Something so cold shouldn't feel so gentle,
But it does,
It trickles through my hair onto my face, blending with tears as it goes.
It does not go deeper than the surface, it does not rid me of my inner self,
It does not wash away my inner demons that taunt me with dark thoughts,
Whispering at the back of my mind,
I’m held together with stitches that barely close the cuts,
Old and new blur into one, the rain does not heal them,
But burns them making them bleed,
Only I can see these cuts and deep they run,
No one notices I’m falling apart,
No one cares, I’m invisible no one knows who I am,
I hide in the dark that I’ve been banished to,
It seems comforting now,
I spent so long fighting it not wanting it to win,
But I’m tired and weak, I cannot fight anymore,
I beg for oblivion, for complete nothingness,
To feel no pain to be numb,
I give in, it caresses me ridding me of my fears and anguish,
I float away.
Wayne Wysocki Sep 27
by Wayne Wysocki

I live in a place called Oblivion,
Its location matters not;
You'll not recall or think at all
Of this forgotten spot.

But this is where you left me
When you and I were done,
And here I dwell, an empty shell,
While are you having fun.

I know your frequent fancies
Should have clued me from the start
How easily your love for me
Would vanish from your heart.
Copyright © 2018 Wayne Wysocki
Marina Kay Mar 2014
You left me,
stranded in bleak oblivion,
Despite all the love
I planted in your core
In faith for summer daffodils to bloom through your barren soul.

Your wielded words had crippled me time and time again
Paralysing my senses,
Until my sanity began to decay.

But now I've bled you out of my veins
And unto my paper for the last era,
Inking your name away
Untangling myself out of these chains.

The moment has come for me to let you go
After fifteen months, you’d think I already did so.
I'm finally letting you go after fifteen months of agony. I won't be writing about you any more.
Choderlos Aug 12
The sun sets on the little huts
Made of mud and roofs thatched
The African child
With smiles on his face
He hasn't a cause to worry
Running to and fro in the scorching sun
Lost in the midst of tall trees
Humming to the gentle breeze
He is a happy child

He is oblivious of the hard truth
That a sad future awaits him
Full of challenges and misery
Little does he know
Those smiles he once had
Widely drawn on his face
May dissolve into frowns of anguish

Committing neither an offence nor crime
There may come a time
The beautiful fantasies
The hopes, dreams and aspirations
Everything he once believed in
May come tumbling down

Nevertheless, he is relentless
There is a ray of hope
In this utter darkness
Full of vigour and energy
By might or magic
He will fight his way through
He is the African child.
Telling the tale of the underprivileged Africa child through poetry; from personal experience and encounters.
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