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Curled up on a too-small sofa
       Misery oozes from every pore
The fan, a giant spider on the ceiling
       Dimly seen in the pre-dawn darkness
Less dark than the shadows in my soul.

Another day of nothing happy
        Loiters just behind the sunrise
Daring me to find a way
        To build a life from broken rubble
ljm
Wrote this a month ago when I was in a dark place. I'm better now.
PaperclipPoems Jun 2017
I hate you so much because I want you so bad
It's always a loosing battle trying to erase you from my head
You cause havoc that wrecks me, your finger tips shake my core
A passion so deep you have me begging for more
All I want is to get rid of you,
But you seep through every pore
Slowly drip drop to my brain
It's only when I imagine you with me that I feel somewhat sane
You're just a demon that I live with now
I hear your voice and feel your lips
Asleep or awake, I can't see past you
You cloud my eyes like an eclipse
I don't know what you did to me all those years ago
I'm struggling to move past you because you block my every road
Without you I'm unfinished and deprived
I'm in a manic-like condition
Having had a taste of you, I can say with confidence
You are the worst addiction.
I'm just a love addict - attracted to love that just lust's me
Derrek Estrella Dec 2018
Before the world calls again
We must make amends with the wind
Look not towards, turn around
Learn to challenge your mound
The world is erupting in earnest
Pearls rim the bulletproof vests
Another bay of mammals
Stripped of their enamel

Watchful eye, clockmaker
***** hands on blood bakers
Stagnant relics of the past
Wailing worms on salted masts
Crowded church, bullet tears
Limping for the flaking fears
Mountains bring a gilded path
For the saints, a shallow bath

Handcuffed legs, boarded hands
Folded on a calm command
Rotting hope, livid arms
For the magnate, no alarm
Bracket helm, grainy green
Swords are drawn on gabardines
No God will eat a tear
And dead they flow, winded pier

Dead they crow, winded pier

Billowed fire, riverside
Cower under thickened hides
Excess arms upon the dock
Sandinista on the rock
Triggers sold in tragedy
Lilting light, youth will cease
Leaders sleep in padded wells
Suffer mother, drink from hell

Here’s the hero, banner flown
Ruby paper, nature grown
Skeptic in the eye of rhye
Naked comics sing to die
The site is exiled from the shore
Stricken by a fiery pore
Steel-laced curtains, hesitance
Infidels in happenstance

Here is fortune, there lays war
I have sold a solid car
Husband creaks, mother moans
Children bred to take a bone
With a blonded, slanted eye
Astronauts will learn to fly
All the while, a preacher seeks
A pinstriped caddie and a freak

I am born and I am weak
You are so beautiful I whispered in your ear
My sweetheart you are very near and dear
In our love affair no one can dare to interfere
Beauty is lucid and clear hence love is sincere

I love you ,I love you and love more and more
I appreciate your beauty and bound to adore
Please remain mine and never ever to ignore
Love travels in me, pace to pace pore to pore

Fits of insanity when touch streaks of beauty
Love dangles and dances to be just more free
My love has a plea I am in you you are in me
When love travels in beauty what state could be

Col Muhammad Khalid Khan
Copyright 2016 Golden Glow
Harmony Mar 2014
I wonder if you realize
The mark you left on me
When your hands were on my skin
And I couldn't even scream.
I wonder if you know
The trembling in my bones
When another touches me like you did,
No matter the intent shown.
Do you understand the panic
That races through my body,
The fear I know in every pore,
The feelings you've embodied?
Do you feel the anguish every time
I hear your name from a passerby?
The floodgates of despair and guilt,
Of disgust and dirtiness open wide.

Do you ever consider how I've been since then?

The hundreds spent on therapy,
Just to be unable to speak?
Two long years spent without a word,
Spent sad and lonely and broken and weak?
Nights spent lying in my bed
Trying to forget the terror of your touch,
How you ignored my every "no"
And my defiled brain became mush?
Forgetting would be a bliss,
Yet you continue to haunt me still
A ghost and horror of my past,
One which defied my every will.
This one was hard to write. Sorry if it sounds a tad awkward.
Jae Elle Mar 2012
she's mostly in a mood for the blues
spring is springing
here in slow bunches
trees are budding
grass molding from pale
yellow to lush green
sun beating majestic warmth
along every pore

reminds her of the field
& everyone drinking
a stage set up in the middle
guitars louder than whispers
& drums replacing heartbeats

jello shots for everyone
& dancing just for the lady
'cause she thinks no one's watching

we all watch in the woods
but there's too many bugs out here
& she loves the taste of summer
so much she forgets
about the bite

sink the whole bottle
& sink our feet into the clay
sing a swamp song
sing for our sin and gin soaked souls



hope it lasts forever in the
never in my veins
When I met you, I never intended on dancing for so long.  Every year I’d think, “this is the last time I’ll ever see him”.  And I would get all weepy and teary-eyed as we sent the boats out for the last time, partially dismembered and covered in old, ***** tarp.  But sometimes, I swear, I swear, I’d feel some warped sense of

Relief.

Like I could finally send all my lust and desires off with you to another tomorrow, where I would not be.  Every year was your last year.  And every year I’d say, “this is the last time I’m ever gonna see you” and you’d say “don’t be ridiculous, we’re gonna see each other again.” And I, “How can you ever know for sure?” And you, “I just got a feeling”.  Okay, maybe it wasn’t exactly like that, it was much more poetic.  You’re much more poetic.  And I’d melt like play-doh in the sun when you’d look at me lazily with those sky, sky blue eyes. And wither at the thought of you leaving me forever, my sunshine warming my skin to reach and grow.

But then like the tide, you would always return.

And then it was back to those hot, hot summer days, sweating ***** and drug cocktails out of every pore imaginable.  And in this state, being expected to attend to all the ridiculous tourists looking for a boat ride around the Public Garden. Yeah, can’t say pedaling a two-ton boat full of gossipy annoying foreigners is easy.  But the work pays for my play, so it’s back to the old wooden dock once more.  To your irritable character staining the dock Fridays through Sundays, as if your unbearable hangovers were my fault somehow.  Bloodshot eyes behind those ridiculous J-Lo-esque bright green sunglasses you insisted on wearing.  That is, until they broke and fell into the swampy glittering water.  Which started another screaming match between us, ending in me pouring disgusting pond water into your open, snoring mouth.  Yeah, it was mean, but someone had to let you know that you were being an *******.  You threatened to throw me off the dock, you even pretended to try.  But when you wrapped your cinnamon arms around me, the last thing I had on my mind was fear.  

I can’t even count on my fingers and toes the number of fights we’ve had, the times I’ve made you desperately rip at your thick blonde hair to try and quench the fire I started deep in your belly.  The times you’ve called me weak and naïve, stupid, childlike, to which I’d say you looked like an angry leprechaun.  That one always hit you the hardest.  But when we’d be up in each others’ faces bellowing and screaming, the energy passing between us was of such crushing force I could almost feel myself being ripped toward you, like a magnet to metal.  I could feel myself becoming a part of you, or you a part of me, whether I liked it or not.  

Between the fights and the hangovers and the thick ****** tension hanging in the air like smog, there were the “good days”.  The Mondays, the Wednesdays, when the only thing tainting the air was the rich conversation shared between us.  Some days we would talk for hours on end, about anything that crossed our minds.  “What’s your favorite color?”, “You don’t really believe in the end of the world, do you?” and “How do you say ******* in Italian?”.  You’d laugh at my silliness and I would bask in your happiness, drink it in like sweet nectar from a flower covered in thorns.  And then your happiness would transform into my happiness, and I would skip all the way home singing.  And so continues this delicate dance we began so long ago.

Three years.

Three years.   The difference between you and I, and time past.  Time I’ve spent watching you so carefully as you strut down the dock, muscles contracting and relaxing in rhythm with each deliberate step.  I watch devoutly for the white of your teeth to greet the sun shining so brightly in the sky blue sky.  Sky blue eyes.  All mine, sometimes.  This time.  In my mind I am forever living in the moments we spent entwined together on the forest green bench at the end of the dock, soaking in the sunrays in a content exhaustion.  I am living with your arms around me, you teasing my hair with tired fingertips.  At night I can still see you swerving down Commonwealth Ave and nearly knocking me over with your drunken embrace, then simply placing your arm around my waist.  It fit so well on the small of my back.  The days when you would loop your arm through mine as we finally got out of work and we’d practically run out of the place, as if we were chasing the remaining day through downtown Boston.  I always, always go back to the times you’d put your face so close to mine, as if we were living on a single breath between us.  But I’d blush and shy away, embarrassed, ashamed for feeling anything at all.  

These days, I find it hard to decipher what is me and what is you.  It’s as if we have been dancing around each other for so long we have morphed into one body, moving and mesmerizing.  Our time together is coming to an end, and minutes that once ticked by so slowly race through my fingertips, sand falling through the hourglass in an endless stream.  Days fall off the calendar effortlessly in a final solemn countdown to graduation day.  Every morning is one more morning without you, another moment wasted with you so far away.  Every night is one more night swimming in my loneliness, choking on words I wish so badly to throw at you, so you can finally carry the crushing weight drowning me.  Soon I will go looking to dive into the pools of your eyes and you will not be there.  I know the day I walk on the dock alone is coming, too quickly.  And to rip apart from you now might destroy me.

So time continues, and I continue. To watch, to wait, to covet.  Three years and I’m still hanging on to nothing.  When will you leave me and never come back?
Heather Moon Oct 2013
The Moons Child**
She sweeps the world
Like an old broom in a dusty corridor
If you slow your pace and take a breath
You will see
Her smile is anything but empty
Her emotions glimmer through her eyes
Like light filtering through glass
The Suns child radiates the light from every pore
She takes the warmth and shines like a diamond
The Moon’s child is cold and crushed
Serene and still
Yet she has such honest serenity
A patient understanding
She holds her ivory hand
To her heart then crosses her arms
Across her sweet chest
She smiles with reason
Her eyes are wide
She can feel the Earth
But she is the Ocean
The Moon’s child is deep and blue
To understand her you must seek deeper
For she exists in me
And she exists in you
after Edgar Allen Poe:

Feeling nothing but the arrow, as it’s biting at my marrow,
He smiles some sickly smile, and rides even harder than before.
I cry, clinching my teeth, trying to bury the pain beneath,
Trying to shake my disbelief, disbelief he found me on the moor.
He could not know! But still we rode together through the moor,
His burning arrow buried at my core.

Terror tickles my spine, as I feel my horrid horse resign,
The dark rider close behind, gladly grinning; anticipating gore.
Ears ringing with steel let loose, a sword my hangman’s noose.
Dismounting, I pray to Zeus, “Zeus, god of lightning’s roar!
Let loose your bolt!” I pray to hear that thunderous roar!
My request the gods do not ignore.

Bolts of searing heat strike the swift mount’s feet.
I watch him fall, drawing steel I wait for wicked war.
Quickly to his fearsome feet,  Darkness comes to make blades meet.
My heart begins to beat, beat with fear my faint face wore:
Death I cannot cheat, Death, whose face a smile wore.
Vengeance, his swift stride bore.

My blade met earth, along with honor’s worth.
Eyes still fixed on my fearsome foe, I turn and soar.
Laughing at my turning, lungs and feet now burning,
Stomach sick and churning, churning with his roar.
Him laughing at my yearning, and fear that fuels his roar,
I pray, “Gods save me, I implore!”

Laughter no longer sounding, just my heartbeat pounding,
I turn my head to see the smile, to view which I abhor;
No black eyes beaming, no sick smile grimly gleaming.
Just my mind now screaming, screaming for rapport.
Panic in my soul now teeming, sweat seeps from every pore,
I shake while standing, alone upon the moor.

Had I just been dreaming? Tears of joy now streaming,
I laugh and choke, these fields no one dare explore!
I look around relieved, but instantly aggrieved.
My horse is gone and I bereaved, lying on the moor…
An arrow I’d received.  Now another’s breathing I can’t ignore.
I look up, then nothing more.
Updated: 9-1-10.  A poem about guilt, sin, forgiveness.  Imitation of Poe's "The Raven".
stargazer Sep 2018
i was being carried along
by these waves you call life

i was content,
without any strife

but those waves
turned into chaos

i am thrown to and fro
drowning and lost

hurricanes approach
i'm not ready

i can't fight this battle
can't keep myself steady

i am hurled across the tide
salt burning in every pore

i'm not strong enough
i can't do this anymore
an eternal storm
~
Suddenly I felt!
Known voices passage near by
My friend, this touched me a long before
Maybe time slowly comes here

In the impulsive air the images grew
Snaps of springtime those claps of matches
Long, long ago the tune I had heard
Moving slowly as the wraps of the ripples

I see the life that I cut with a knife
Feel the earth that made my heart
Long, long ago the feelings had fallen
Again chocking which is knocking to my lost heart

Long long ago but yet not to far to go
A lonely shadow that ever been sat
On the cliff of the shore coming into a soft pore
As the little drops of anguishes
~
@ Musfiq us shaleheen
Jeremy Duff Jun 2015
his heart poured out of his mouth,
oozing and beating it bounced off his guitar and into the crowd.

blood sprayed from every orifice,
it was in our eyes,
it was soaking our shirts,
it made its way into our hearts.

from one heart to another.

love songs fit for a queen and young jewish girl alike, music transcends.

hail slowed us,
and only two were fed before.
but we made it.
we made it through high school,
wet made it through hard times,
and we made it reno.

the love that was given to us from the mouths of trumpets,
love that was sliced open upon a saw,
heart beats that pounded from a drum,
we returned.
we returned to the stage that which was given to us ten fold.
we spewed it from our mouths, we spewed it from every pore on our legs and arms.

we drowned in love,
we drowned in red, gushing love

and we loved it.
6/9/15
Sky Aug 2018
I.
perhaps
the stupidest love
the blindest love
is also
the purest love

(and perhaps
the stupidest
and blindest people
are also
the purest people)

II.
love for the sake of loving.

for the way your name stains my tongue
so berry-blue
and the way our gazes hold
tight like a rubber band

do not love for your sake or mine.

and most of all, love
at your own risk.

III.
i love you whole
from the top of your head to the
tip of your toe,
even the grime under your nails
(but that's gross man, please cut them)

IV.
i love you unconditionally
but leaving ***** underwear all over the house?
you're testing me.

V.
i want to love so much that
love drips out from my wounds
and out of every pore of my body,
and you'll say

EWW *** LMAOAOAO

...

f* you

VI.
i want my love to be flawed
like you, before that morning bed selfie
#wokeuplikethis

my ***

VII.
i want my love to take your form,
both your chocolate abs
and your flat ***
<3

VIII.
no, you're not special
i could love anyone-- just give me time
but i chose you

huh
you're special after all
a love poem
Petra Dec 2017
Become exalted among men.
That was his calling, down
To the fibers that made up
His consciousness.

Become a paragon of virtue.
Piety, prestige, power.
The three undulating commands
That invaded his dreams.

Hubris seeping from every pore,
He conquered his lands,
Spreading warmth from which
Came serendipity.

Will he die and leave his subjects
In a mask of pain?
Or will his benevolence remain
in the hearts of his loyal followers?

Such was the opaque fog
of his mind. Where he saw a perfect
Sphere of light
was an oblate cloud of darkness

Out of which seeped words
Of encouragement.
Prestige, piety. Power.
Benevolence. Destiny.
Just one more body.
Just one more royal cause.
They don't mind dying for you.
They will become martyrs;
You will become their god.

They call him a tyrant.
No. That word will not be allowed
In his country.
But
The darkness grows within him,
Becoming him.
Power corrupts people; most tyrants do not begin their rule with the intention of evil.
Nat Lipstadt Dec 2023
Had we but world enough, and time,
This coyness, Lady, were no crime.
We would sit down and think which way
To walk and pass our long love’s day.
Thou by the Indian Ganges’ side
Shouldst rubies find: I by the tide
Of Humber would complain.

I would
Love you ten years before the Flood,
And you should, if you please, refuse
Till the conversion of the Jews.

My vegetable love should grow
Vaster than empires, and more slow;
An hundred years should go to praise
Thine eyes and on thy forehead gaze;
Two hundred to adore each breast;
But thirty thousand to the rest;
An age at least to every part,
And the last age should show your heart;
For, Lady, you deserve this state,
Nor would I love at lower rate.
   But at my back I always hear
Time’s wingèd chariot hurrying near;
And yonder all before us lie
Deserts of vast eternity.
Thy beauty shall no more be found,
Nor, in thy marble vault, shall sound
My echoing song: then worms shall try
That long preserved virginity,
And your quaint honour turn to dust,
And into ashes all my lust:
The grave’s a fine and private place,
But none, I think, do there embrace.
Now therefore, while the youthful hue
Sits on thy skin like morning dew,
And while thy willing soul transpires
At every pore with instant fires,
Now let us sport us while we may,
And now, like amorous birds of prey,
Rather at once our time devour
Than languish in his slow-chapt power.
Let us roll all our strength and all
Our sweetness up into one ball,
And tear our pleasures with rough strife
Thorough the iron gates of life:
Thus, though we cannot make our sun
Stand still, yet we will make him run.
Sanjukta Nag Oct 2015
I like the way your last night skin
Burns the iciness,
When the first reddish ray of sun
Penetrates each pore of your bare back.
And every time I touch
The mocha colour of your skin,
Fragrance of caffeine
Seeps in through my nerves
To make me intoxicated.
Now, there is no doubt left, that
My morning is going be good.
Ofelia Rose May 2013
In my delusion
Words will bind
From pen to paper
Raw with insecurity
The truth is here
Resting in my bones
And breathing through
My every pore
My tongue has no chain
And will dance the steps
Of the songs in my mind
Like my body
These words move
They flow and pour
A waterfall in a garden
Hidden in my thoughts
Revealed in naked disposition  
The dance of my insanity
Put before my eyes
My human tendency
I'm awakened
By my own dream
I can see through the paint
I feel it all now
As hot as the sun
I've burnt the lies
And now I'm ash
Blown into the world
Not an ant
Just the kiss in the wind
Emma Jacobson Jul 2011
Down and down I go
I fall into a unknown rabbit hole
Welcome to the last number of this show
My hands haven't held anythings sturdy for quite a while
I can't seem to stop my self from ending up in empty piles
Nothing is bright to me anymore
Colors have been ****** like venom out of every pore
All I can see are the tears in my eyes
And all I can seem to do is cry
And further down this hole i fly
Into a bottomless sky
I wonder if Alice ever thought it would stop
That she might find an end to her darkened drop
Maybe that's the answer to my dilemma
And death is what I need to save Emma
Because Wonderland seems like the place to be
At the bottom of this fall waiting for me
Light unloosens itself. Space slackens.
A figure of a shadow I have conjured before
anonymous eyes. Lapping up the waiflike bleakness
of their elliptical faces.

                               I must teach the trees to let go
of autumn, and relegate spryness to the hearth
of cold without merit, this slow, claiming mutiny
with its face-oval peering through windows multiplying
lovelessly, a crunch of a leaf, suchlike, flourishing
in peerless company. Before me, the sound of footfall
preparing to make sense, a rotunda of bell – that movement
of somebody done for, so ****** the scald welt of ******,
the belch of the world like a pore clearing its squalor.
Or the toppled verdigris of gull.

    Autumn’s greater extension, the abeyance, smilingly
a facsimile of crowds – its roads adorned with laburnum
singeing through the morning’s cauldron, a waft of bald terrain
inflamed, drawing with absence
      a crippled drip of rain back into the world’s dim address.
murari sinha Sep 2010
( while taking a tour through those poems readers are requested to keep in their hands,  a feather from the pea-****’s tail )

Volga - 1

there might have been some provocation
on the part of the  rat’s bible  

it is not known when and how
every piece of sleep that spatters  
from the oesophagus of the dip-swimming  
has stick to the c-sharp
of the newly-purchased tooth-brush

the air within the wish-bicycle
figures nothing less

how much is it necessary now
to ****** the blue-hue  with the study
that can be saved by the depression of the Ganges-basin
to develop the snap-shot of the garland-exchange with the
antiseptic cream

would you think it for some moments
my lord
the lord of the market

before sending any secret e-mail
to the cyclone
residing in the room
behind the stair-case
let the Volga be read once more
with all its clothes
and hair-styles

Volga - 2

the winter of the water-canon
oxidised by the fireflies
wants to touch every bamboo-flute
of this soil, it seems

as if it plays
in the body of every cauliflower
the total memorising-skill
of  the blue and yellow pyramid

and if some lines of changes
in the planet be added
the birth-day of the bolster
that goes to the sea
may learn with a lesser effort
the pollen-efficiency of the nail-marked walls

how much should I scold the squirrels
who don’t want to swim
in the still-water of the black-board  

Volga – 3

the green-circuit of the fried-almonds
that was submerged
in the open-hair of the afternoon
the whole-night workshop
has taught
the thumb-impression is to be put
how far below it

if the autobiographies are planted
into the drawer of nature
the solubility of the river-reed
gets it done too late at night

all the plus-signs around
from their etiquettes
come down  

so many foot-notes
caused by the season-changes

so before planting life
to the address of the wall-lamps
it seems the cotton-flower
written by the oceans
began yawning

Volga – 4

to the homoeopathy phial
standing on the traffic-island
why it appears
within her womb
the number of germinated nights
stolen without a kiss
is too little

is then it true
if all the chanting of Harinam
can’t be withdrawn from the alcohol
the body-odour of the running tamarisk-shrub  
will enter into the circuit-house

and that devouring of the parchment
brings to the feelings of the non-veg ant-hills
the let’s-go-cure
gathering in the sauce-island

Volga - 5

coming to this ironed canal-side
every auto-rickshaw  
wants to know and let other know
the mystery
behind  the rice-rain
from the cirrus                                                

the shame in the eyes of the seal containing signs
supplies the whole-sale dealership
of the civil disobedience movement
to the locality

the role of the hammer also
wakes up early in the morning
to put under its own tongue
an antacid

is it possible that the spits
used in the observatory
be made a little more fast-moving

manuscript of the basement of a well

the biography of the pond-heron will be scripted
even-then the productivity of the merry-go-round
wouldn’t be uttered for a moment
no sir, such has never been expected

in the liquefied banana-blossoms
too many hot breads resulted from the season-change
continues to bat  vehemently  
and climbs to the peak of heart-throbbing runs

they in a group will go to the
aqua anetha of the mole hill
to organise a folk-song

to understand this
no arbitration of the cactus is required

notwithstanding
it is heard that the thread was pulled
by the violin of  the wife of the moon-god
from behind the screen

here in the eye-front
is the basement of the morning-well

on its one page lies the faulty  crow-caws
and on another some sun-shines
swinging on the hanger
after some pages in recurring …the chicken-pox … the boot-polish …

within the two covers of the dance-drama
also comes the creepers and herbs
grown around the melting point
of the arm-chair
whose legs are broken

if each pore on the skin of the river-lily
becomes so much known
then in the background of this low land

let us have one game more
midnight prague Oct 2010
I pressed my prancing ear upon the chest of the thin melancholic paper
the words dripped like purluded dreams of infants
I beckon to trace my invisible whispers deeper into the parchment
the pen touched the edge of tatter
and my veins pump the bluest blood through my fingers
Im bound by the seduction of the black art
mused by its very exsistence
Im in a constant dilemma of letting it persecute my very movements
hurl my insides to make them distorted
it is what allows me to walk straight
emotions spit darkness into the light
and I am basking in the harmonious sun
leaving splinters on every pore
and I beg for
more

be so kind to speak harshly
to lovely to think smoothly
and open your skin so I can peer inside everything you
believe in

waters thrusting without a sound
in my playful obstacles of the notes that bound my lips together
and I am purging thoughtful gazes in every direction
or so to speak

I stand and hear snaps applause for my devotion
admiration and unforgiving blunteness
into my perception on the side walk the brim of homelessness sits on
and I hum as I walk away from shaken lands
the happiest tune I ever learned

the findings are premorse
and the abstract facts are not enough
you see

when I speak, forgive me but I always try to transgress
logically
fame in the writing of words are a bore
and there is no cure in them
speech is in the pit of the abdomen
words are poetry spat out from the core of any woman
PJ Poesy Apr 2016
Inside I’m wet
With memory soaked
Trickling youth-filled woes
Which cause leakage
Into present
This spouts
Uneasy gushes
Visceral ejection
Out every pore
Sweat pulsing chemicals
Of that toxic touch
On place forbidden
On secrets hidden
It churns
This thing inside
What you took in stride
What I must now somehow hide
With gulp I swallow
My pride
You, my moist reminiscence
Akshi Hargoon Mar 2019
People always said, there's a light at the end of every tunnel - I never did believe that until I saw that light... In a person...

He brought out the best of me as well as the worst.
He could comfort me even though he was the cause of my untamed anger.
My calm exterior underneath which was a raging volcano of anxiety
One controlled by him so as to not let it possess my every pore and consume me

Being with him is like waking up to the sound of the birds chirping, the smell of fresh crisp air, the sight of mist covering the hilltops like a warm fluffy blanket. He is my sunrise on an overcast day. The rainbow after a storm and my *** of gold at the end of the rainbow.... He is my existence...
Ankush Samant May 2014
Lonely thorns,
Have caressed me,
And pierced me.

With extended arms,
They reached out,
Felt me beneath the skin,
And felt the agony.

Then they bloomed,
Sparkling flowers,
Gifting me,
A bouquet of joy.

Watching me smile,
They rejoiced,
Danced around,
And I danced along.

The million arms,
Dug into me;
And my heart soared,
Reaching out,
Every pore,
Till I was,
A loving being,
And they,
Were the thorny me.
You are full of blooming flowers ,allow me some to pluck
I am fortunate enough to touch your flowers it is my luck
Let my taste your juicy cheeks and allow me then to ****
This experience will make our love a remarkable epoch

My sweetheart when you say you love me I stand no more
The music of love then travels in me just from pore to pore
Totally taken over by beauty my love enchants it just encore
My eyes want to quench their thirst by asking more explore

Let me see my sweetheart all at once just in a sheer trance
Allow me my lovely sweetheart to take chance after chance
At times every thing goes in a fix just as price of a glance
This is a story of your alluring beauty and my fiery romance


Col Muhammad Khalid Khan
Copyright 2016 Golden Glow
michelle reicks Nov 2011
you smell the same way i always remembered you


like a sweet musk musty with sweat and heartache
every crinkle on your face
every single pore

was almost forgotten


but honey,
i will keep your lips from getting chapped ever again

just wait wait wait.
wait just a little longer

i know it's hard

but when we wrap ourselves in each other

and the skin of my hands
is your skin on your face
and the freckles on my knees
are your freckles on your shoulders

and the light that shines in my eyes is a greyblueblack

happiness
will evade us
we won't apologize to anyone

for the grains of sand under our fingernails

i will sigh every winter
deep, just like you

and we will breathe the same air

like we share the same lungs
same heart
same eyes
same face


same hands
chess mess Jun 2013
wet
can i taste you still?* it seems like      your tongue is slipping
from my mind as quick as    you left the room      /in a hurry
every   single               pore i want to feel:       a non-romance.
can i carry you through           every layer of dirt and soil    ?
i hold only your           pinky finger          through the crowd
of dead flowers and rotting mice                                     i cant
(don t want to) imagine your  face wrinkle in disdain for me
just          wait     until                 tomorrow               morning   .
Sarah Michelle Oct 2016
Graceless
You are graceless
She is wingless, like you
Only yours were honorary
Yours she gave to you, so generous
Hers you tore from her
Shoulder blades,
Pulled a feather from every pore
A petal every time
You asked whether or not
She had been in love with you

She was
And she wishes
You were missing the same pieces
That were taken from her
But at the same time
She couldn't hurt a fly
Not on purpose
Nor without consideration
Nor without consequence



Because she knows better than to do what you did.

You cut her
Yet your own blood
Doesn't run with guilt.

You're Graceless
Selfish

Yet not as Graceless
As the young woman
Whom you laid on a metal slab,
Dissected,
And sewed back together
With romantic detachment

You claimed her,
You cut her,
You maimed her,

Don't trivialize her anger
She deserves to feel something again
Let her fly,
Let her fly
*******,

She doesn't  want her family to watch her die
chaitnyanand Dec 2012
****
Bitter tears of pain,
this anguish of my broken soul.
Burning skin with scratches,
pride that will never be whole.
This unending nightmare
of being surrounded by wolves.
Devouring my flesh and innocence,
piece by piece, part by part.
Execrable faces changing like street lights,
lecherous with sarcastic grin, oozing with saliva.
That invidious stench of animalism,
penetrating every pore.
Noxious vandalism breaking every
fiber and destroying the very core.
Thrown on streets, like a soiled cloth,
smeared with ***** and blood.
Unconscious, unclothed, shattered
with unending seizures and spasms.
Wounds heals but scars remains,
And whenever I will touch them
I will relieve the pain.
This question of being woman,
I’ll ask again and again and again.
They say hang’em, but it will
Only be freedom from there hellish mind.
Why not let them be among thousand men
Who **** them, again and again.
Sometimes we have to speak
The language they understand.

bold(Poem dedicated to the victim of **** in Delhi.)**bold
You are
A soft blue shirt on a passing stranger
Soaked by wayward droplets of rain;
The silvery lake water
Rippling and lapping at the rocky shoreline;
The roar of a jet-engine
bound for distant dark places;
The knit grey material of my best jumper
sheltering my skin from harsh winter air;
The pining that comes so naturally to me
radiating from every pore of my being.

I am
Bruises on the knees of a lost child
Ever-present, worrisome ink-blots of pain;
Rocks skipped by young lovers
Lost, forgotten, and replaced.
The glow of the call button above seats in a plane
Belittling all those who respond;
The frayed sleeves of an abandoned jumper in Goodwill
Irreparably destroyed by whomever I have trusted;
Out of sight, out of mind
No object of your affection.

I ask you
*"If I watch you, will you boil?"
Dedicated to my current disaster.

— The End —