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B L Sep 2018
Devilish torment -- her body is my lament.
She crawls beneath the cracks and finds
The dark cellar my "worst" ferments.
She feeds it as it rots, just to make its wine more bitter...
Squeezed from the finest lies,
Designed to make an addict from a quitter.

Like a dark and tempting vacuum that my soul cannot escape,
Attractive in its repulsion,
Its a part of me that loves the way it hates.
Masturbatory and selfish, With a thirst that can't be quenched...
She finds the spots within me, that make even deities flinch.
Their knees crack and crumble, at its all-consuming "nothing"...
I never knew my zero could be so wholly unbecoming.

She, or it, will surely be my undoing.
Yet, somehow, that keeps me moving.
So uncomfortably I'll admit...
It's the brutal nature of it all,
That I find so disturbingly soothing.
My indifferent shelf of admonition
Sets a precedent for a series of irrational
predilections,
Particularly, drops of consumable poison

This poison, you see, induces tranquility
But instills aggressiveness into your
psyche
My words are incoherent and
blurred like my deteriorating mind

My indifferent shelf of admonition
Sets a precedent for a series of
broken shards in the glass of life,
Particularly, drops of poison that
kills us to make us feel alive

One bottle of blithe at a time



Melody
3/6/19
Keep those bottles up on those shelves.
Michael Marchese Mar 2018
She was sad, numb, cold, and just not into my
Not my vibe reality
The first other woman I told her I love
But her warmth, I’d console her
In my image mold her
Hatch ohhh, my evilest plans to control her
But never let go though
Keep letting her grow slow
Until she cared to join me in a stroll Through the time flow
It’s a miserable truth
To know everything is borne
On the mind’s river
Inert pictures, sterile frames
Loveless leaves, idle mountains
The beauty is the eye
And if the eye holds no lustre
The soul will wither
In place of the mind
Which birthed it all the same
In a one-sided frame
Never had a Valentine I'm 27 pathetic right
First kiss was a dancer by profession
Not professional just dim lights and cheap velvet
I was 19 she was 45
Told me I reminded her of her daughter
She's still pushing up daisies in her suicidal garden
I wanted mine to be covered in four leaf clovers
I'm a self proclaimed oddball
Reclusive nature is my cowardice
It leads to uneasy easy comfort
Long for contact from other humans
Yet detest them at the same time
I love music like every breathing being loves water
Still I dance with two left feet
Fashion sense resembles a jester
Yet again it's uneasy easy comfort
Finding balance in chemical imbalance
Had plenty talents
Still too trapped in my own cerebral functioning
Biggest accomplishment is that I'm a caretaker
Oddly enough I barely take care of myself
Thought it just fine as long as I had a wicked liquid buzz
Or heavily ****** like a witch in colonial times
Now I jumped state but I really couldn't flee
From my problems
Said plenty of times that I hate people
Said plenty of times that I hate girls that fawn over
Guys I consider schmucks
Truth is I must hate myself
Most days
Lora Lee Mar 2
just when the dust
settles round my lust
and the thud
of despair hits bottom
just as I flail
and swim in this
blood-caked,
         soulless earth
soup of the lost
abyss of unbirth  
you plunge my wilderness
charred with remains
from hellfire
and we breathe
                 halos  
our bones lighted sticks,
colors rising in
angel arcs

Your rib cage
is open
for my tremulous offering
as my lips imprint
a crimson O
upon the earthquake
of your chest
I am still down with the
                           earthworms
wrist **** sopped
                    by soil
arteries, bashed
split to the root
by verbal hurts
in a sliding psyche of oil

yet here you are
suturing wounds
with whiplash kisses
saltlick moans in my throat
You wrap me in gauze
through the imprint of your eyes
turn my cuts
into fresh brook
gaze upon my
deepest darkness
like goddess worship shrine

my **** is a funnel
for your whipped light
sacrifice ****** prayer
skinned to the core
all layers exposed
your lips slick
with the drip
of my bliss,
deep juice of
freshly-caught
jungle hum
all is bared
we stop at nothing
paint our tongues
with tears
adorn the face of death
with ripe guava
and, as you scream
my name into
a blown glass whisper
my soft fruit
falls into
the heat of
          your palm

somewhere
in distance
a
        moon
explodes
Explicit
writerReader Feb 2015
And
his rumbling voice resonates deep
within my
psyche
my chest rattling with
glee
my
heart thudding
jane taylor May 2016
pain knocks on weathered doors
fastened ever tightly
cryptic access is denied
it camouflages in the shadows

stealthily it watches
hypervigilance enhancing
catastrophe awaiting
it strikes in latent graveyards

the gale begins to form
and unleashes its fierce torrent
the latch shattered and torn
there’s now an open entrance

creeping in it slithers
engulfing to encompass
digging up emotions
buried underground there

hovering and foggy
tho’ murky does not smother
but fleshes out the psyche
entombed and cobweb covered

it crawls along the edges
and peers in secret ledges
seeps into sequesters
like dust settled in feathers

it slides through every feeling
and when it’s at its blackest
it carves the darkness out
and let’s in sunlight’s presence

© 2016janetaylor
maureen Apr 9
army green sweater
skin as frisky as leather
is there a feeling any better
than touching our thighs together?

friction and depicting
confusion from intrusion
i heard you write about me,
is that quite an assumption?

in moments gazes would meet;
masks of ice, to your eyes would shield —
is it to keep you from the seething heat
from the pits of my psyche?

with your coffee left too long in the open,
all you held was your soul and a pen.
struggling to find words to describe your sentiment
of feelings discerned with eyes so sunken.
(circa 2017, for an old friend)
in complete melodies
the frequencies i hear
can not be contained by anything
love is drifting through the hills
and you are home to its trills
she dreams of light, the fire bright
and full of crystal skulls and eyeballs
dozens of monuments are built
just to mark the moments
when we could have said i'm sorry
merge with the mountains
find the source of fountains
shine the diamond compass
if that's what you are really here for

broken dams are our business
feed the swans their luminescent lunch-boxes
duck for cover, its a wonder that we are all together here
that's clearly redundant
the tendency to dream
is the most important human faculty
its a tragedy that the lack of nuclear power
showers the atomic world in rainbows
as forlorn teenagers in the ice-age of America
govern our equipment from their parent's basements
and carouse with comfort upon chairs, cushions and couches

a million times the victory
a million miles of rope to weave
a million are the paths to god
and a million more are the souls
who've learned to cope with tragedy

i come cherishing and bearing gifts
figures of speech are my playthings
i am furniture remodeled daily
and intuitively placed around your home
the finer things in life are free
so see me there upon your television set
i am electromagnetic static
within the black and white of advertisements
i am figures of forgotten speech
so record the unwatched programs
in your mind’s virtual memory
the hard drive of work and play
creates hundreds of new retirees each day
hundreds of haunted expatriates
knuckle-headed people
that couldn't tread lightly
even if they wanted to
so will you please untie me
and remove these binds and chains
it's time to free the lover from the psyche
for that is all she wrote

i am a silent p
i am a violet apogee
i am a cosmic minority
i am a message in your tea leaves

but if you stand too long in my shoes
you’ll likely drown in solitude
Can he cry
Knowing the winds won’t stop
Feeling his heart pulse achingly
Listening to the sounds in the other stalls
There are others crying with him
He still can’t cry

Can he cry
Knowing the failures will stick like duck tape
Felling his snot paint his sleeves white
Hugging himself in his time of fright
He still won’t cry

Can he cry
Knowing this is one out of too many
Feeling the burden settle so heavily
Breathing in timing to the tapping on his knee
The tears won’t come out

He can’t cry
Knowing it’ll always be the same
Feeling the drain on his psyche
Listening to the silence in the other stalls
He’s still the only one

And the winds still won’t stop
And the clouds will pass by
I’m pretty sure I failed my math test lol
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