"resurfaces" poems
Lemons- in fanfictions, a gritty or ****** scene.
I watched your Adam's apple bob
As you swallowed your arousal.
My head was swirling with the scent of lemons,
And I couldn't help myself
As I tottered towards you on my intoxication,
Inebriation.
My hands hit your chest,
And in our unsteadiness,
My extra push sent us tumbling...
Down onto the Citrus yellow sheets of your bed
My mouth on your neck,
Wanting only to taste your Lemon sweat.
Your eyes wandered freely,
And your hands soon followed.
Touching my *******
The perky *******
You put your mouth on one,
Extracting from it some sour mix of sweetness,
The lemon in my veins.
We mashed together,
Your member against my cavity,
Pictures of lemons in my mind.
Your hand round my throat,
You began to speak harshly,
Lemon tainting your soul.
The acid in your words,
Acid on your fingernails as they tore my skin...
It hurt,
But it hurt like the beautiful Lemons that brought me here.
You put yourself in me,
Again and again
You forced my body into submission.
My tears burned with the citrus,
My eyes now yellow,
Like the lemons.
In this lighting,
Your skin looked yellow too,
I could almost say your head was a lemon...
Pain resurfaces,
Blood,
The sensation that something was flowing into me,
I knew your lemon juice had filled my pitcher,
Now it was available for drinking.
And you did,
You drank your lemon juice with my sugar,
Lemonade of us two.
Pleasure rocked my body,
And I felt your lemon invading me.
But you yourself,
You were drawing it out of me.
My walls pulled in,
They clenched,
I let out a shrill.
The smell of our lemon sweat
Once again,
Pervading the room.
You collapsed beside me,
The drug wearing off,
Lemons exiting your mind already.
I wasn't done though.
I'm still obsessed.
Still obsessed with lemons.
Nov 15, 2013
Nov 15, 2013 at 6:26 AM UTC
A veil, placed upon your eyes, somewhere behind them, a deep hidden mystery, lies just beyond those lights. A gentle look, glassy eyed, this night, this night is flying by. Sweat, liquor, regret; this place reeks of years and years of bitter tries. The lies you tell, masked with red. A shade of black, changes to dread. Deep inside your heart, you always carry it within.
Laughter, pain, I can see it on everyone's faces. Beautiful, everybody in here, glistening, glowing, covering up what's really surfacing. Just let it out, until your ankles bleed. You can feel the music, running through your veins. Euphoria, it kicks in. She's hiding, over there in that corner, waiting to let you in. All these cold dead hearts, none of which beat the same. But we're all sitting here, standing here, coincidentally all on the same page. We came here looking, searching for something to fit, to fill that empty place called emptiness. We hope and hope, heels clicking on the cobblestone. Laughter, music, it fills the air. But there's something, something missing here. There auras, there energy, bleeding colors, wash away onto pavement. And we don't know why, we don't know why we're all still here, dancing, laughing, waiting to disappear...blend in with the strobes, the flashes, and grins.
He's waiting right over there, waiting to let you in. Her eyes covered, hidden, and you can't see the want, the look, the pain she's in. Fifty shades of him, of her, of I. When will this end? Dawn's just around the corner, and no one's left but him. Sitting, wondering, thinking, he can still win. In one mere movement, you'd uncover her whims. Everything, everything she wants to bury, resurfaces again. Her eyes; they leak with hurt, with lust, with want, but you can't see it. Remove them, just take them off and you will see. Everything you ever wanted, is hiding right here, deep inside of me. Off to the left, under the breast, is where you'll find me. You've been holding the key all night, won't you just unlock me? Sunglasses, it's no wonder there so expensive, but these, these were free.
© 2013 Christina Jackson
Jan 26, 2013
Jan 26, 2013 at 3:59 PM UTC
I scare myself with bitterness:
Mersault found within him
an invincible summer in the midst of winter
but I do not want even to pretend
that that is what I am looking for.
I am numb beyond existentialism.
But not numb with cold.
In my youth, my favorite colour was green
because of spring and trees and turtles and frogs
and when the weather turned
and the leaves grew back
I would whittle the time away outside
barefoot, on the grass,
loving the warmth of sun-kissed skin
and the breeze on my dry cheeks.
Today the leaves grow back
and the green resurfaces
and the warmth has the world walking
with an optimistic spring it its step
but today I think that maybe I do not like green
that maybe my favorite colour is orange.
Dark but bright? Or yellow,
because it can be cheer to some
but the moment you place it beside white
suddenly yellow is impurity
and for all the pure innocence of spring,
everything is, is it not, washed over in a
translucent coat of yellow, stifling sunlight.
So I yearn for winter
and for cold
for numb fingers
just before they are thawed by yellow fires
for sweaters and scarves and hot cocoa
for bare trees outlined with snow
and for the world blanketed, from
green grass coated with frost
to yellow sun obliterated by clouds,
by the sparkling snow,
white in all its gloomy glory.
Apr 15, 2013
Apr 15, 2013 at 2:56 PM UTC
The child trapped within me, wonders
She still does…her heart filled with curiosities about the world around her
She still loves the smell of concrete after it rains
The feeling of velvet, the sound of Velcro as it detach itself
She is still intrigued about the intricate bends on an elderly face
And finds herself dancing among strangers to the tunes on her head
She still likes to feel the cold floor under her naked feet
…and at times she allows a smile without reason to fly away
The child trapped within me, still sings the songs she learned decades ago
When innocence couldn't make sense out of the corrupted lyrics
…she dares to invade my brain in search of herself
and tries,oh how she tries to take ownership of absent things, that no longer belong to her
The child within me doesn't understand
It is time to disappear
Lost among the day to day
She cannot add the weight on the shoulders
the creaking of the joints, the sleepless night of a busy head
the tired feet
rhythm-less arms that forgot how to fly, and now…now can only float guideless
among thousands of face, hitting the shore
lingering in an ocean of responsibilities
drowning, my child, refuses to sink and resurfaces
intrigued by a reflection of intricate lines
Lost, I find her
Hidden deep inside, she escapes at times
To remind me of what life ought to be,
…afraid my child, hides again.
Oct 12, 2014
Oct 12, 2014 at 12:52 AM UTC
At the back of my mind,
there are many thoughts,
There's always that one voice,
The voice convinced me of things,
If not all the time, it will be some of the time.
I never thought it could harm anyone,
In particular, I never thought it could,
But I underestimated the small voice,
I misunderstood its determination.
It takes control of me, feeding me,
With thoughts that hinders me from living,
Deters me from my path,
Bind me from reality.
I give in to it a couple of time,
My weak self can't seem to win over it,
Their determination overthrow my rationality,
Controls my life and action.
It tells me I'm not good enough, it tells me,
I'm not worth it, it tells me things that hurts.
It retreats sometime, and when it does, I get so happy.
I could be happy with no second thoughts, I can respond.
I can smile, I can laugh.
It felt liberating to do so.
It felt as if everything are perfect; my life is perfect.
It made me forget.
But then, it didn't want me to forget.
The chain that held them captive wasn't strong enough,
So they broke free, they resurfaces.
"I'm back" it claims.
- ponder
Jul 30, 2018
Jul 30, 2018 at 10:32 PM UTC
The delinquent infrequent resurfaces with a soul purpose, no direction except insurrection, conquering self and self conquering come hand in hand. It takes a lot to be a man, it takes more to not be sore. Lessons learned come from hands burned and life moves as the wheels turn.
Feb 15, 2011
Feb 15, 2011 at 12:33 AM UTC
Continue to complain about how insane I’ve become,
I commend you for not running away.
I defended you
When the offensive ones pointed crooked fingers.
Now I linger in a hollow heart that cannot love,
A heart destroyed by the bitter forces of regret.
I bring you the sweetest peace after the loudest storm.
And in return I receive,
Sorrows borrowed from yesteryears
Carried onto the morrow.
Don’t bury the hate that resurfaces, destroy it.
And don’t carry the weight that brings down, drop it.
Oct 2, 2010
Oct 2, 2010 at 12:09 AM UTC
The quiet nights spent alone
Cold as the iciest winter
Wandering wondering
If things had happened in reverse,
Would they be somewhat better?
True Affliction
Unwise decisions
Regretting forgiveness that was once given
Faulty thoughts
Impaired judgments
Logic flawed with justifiable reason
Transgressing to levels uncertain
A tornado of doubt destroys every light in sight
With every dreadful memory that resurfaces
Of the darkest times in her life
The anxiety clouds her mind
Uncertainty glares from behind her eyes
Scars of past loves, past exes, past wounds, past lies
They cover her face
Shown in the bags above her cheeks
The darkness behind her pupils
And the depression contained in them
A midnight black
A dark hole only caused by deep sorrow
Unfathomable Heartache
Overly afraid of the unknown
How will she learn to let go?
As if instinctively hesitant of others intentions
She treads vigilantly amongst
Those of even the utmost caliber
Stern refusal to release her guard
Such little remaining to give
She clings sacredly onto the last of her
To think,
Never again will she slip and fall
Blindly into loves tainted cage
Never again will she be trapped in loves locks
Like an animal untamed
Internally shattered in a zoo of impure emotion
How will she decipher the wrong from the right person?
Passively awaiting
The next bearer of alleged variation
When history has too often chosen to repeat
The differences in being different
Eventually turn out to be exactly the same
Jul 16, 2014
Jul 16, 2014 at 7:49 PM UTC
And he traces her inner thigh with his lips, eliciting a moan from her as he teases her entrance.
He slides a finger in, pressing deep inside her. She bucks her hips up to meet his knuckle, he growls with feigned arousal. He resurfaces, attacking her mouth, owning her. She surrenders to his tongue, if only to allow nostalgia passage. She rubs herself against him, a mewling kitten in heat, crying harder. She fakes an ****** to satisfy him.
He presses his **** against her and she realises how little she affects him. Determined, he forces himself past her barrier, grunting and growling. He assaults her mouth again and she reacts accordingly, trailing her nails down his back in a futile attempt to rekindle. She is unsure of how this came to be. She fights back tears as she threads her fingers through his hair. She knows she is still and always will be second best. He grows soft. A tacit agreement. Neither of them finish.
She rolls over to face the television. An old british comedy is on loop, making the same stale jokes that may have been funny a decade ago. And here she is, on repeat, making the same mistakes she made a decade ago.
Oct 16, 2013
Oct 16, 2013 at 9:53 PM UTC
I have a theory.
My theory is about frailty. Moments of frailty. Being fragile to the core that it shakes you to your bones. Being weak and standing up on your own just scares the hell out of you. Despite all these, you try to keep the one thing that keeps your weaknesses intact and in one place. It is hidden inside their throats and at the palm of their hands, at their neck and behind their ears. It is sitting in their lungs, begging for escape but longing for the hold. Flaunt and retire. Flaunt and retire.
My theory is about frailty. Moments of frailty. You started unbuttoning my ribs around you. Watched me try to untangle myself from your subtle embrace. Exposed my weakness, my fragile strings wrapped on your pinky finger, ready to release, ready to detonate. I unzipped your thighs wrapped around my waist. You left me alone with your scent. Watch me try to scrub away the heat you leave on my skin. See the buttons slowly falling on the bed we shared.
My theory is about frailty. Moments of frailty. How I want to destroy anything that dared touch me and took a piece of my lonely. It is about open palms giving vague dislike. It is a table for two but only an empty seat stares at your eyes. It is feeling the awkward breaking that is within your fingertips but never seemed to be enough for preparing you for the fall. You finally wake up choosing to breathe but still flinching at the sound of something coming near. Your subtleties dance on her tongue's words. Soothing as they are, they're poison.
My theory is about frailty. Moments of frailty. How being brave is nowhere near your grasping distance. You try, every single day you try. You try to always go for the long term but the universe decides what you get, right? And you're always left with dust, shadows, and empty bottles of what ifs. You're always left with the questions, the sitting alone, the cold coffee in the morning. You're left with the sad playlists on your Spotify. You're left on your own. If you were in The Fault in our Stars book, that will be my always.
My theory is about frailty. Moments of frailty. Fears. Trembling hands holding out cups of secrets. Awkwardness in every written letter on paper hidden under the pillow. Loneliness sitting next to old books bought on a favorite bookstore. Depression long gone but resurfaces every now and then. It's one of things that stayed. Self-hate. It is one thing you run towards to when things get rough and when doubts are heavier than anything you laid your hands on and tried to carry.
My theory is about frailty. Moments of frailty. Of how I recently started loving myself and slowly drowning my hate in formaline. Of how I keep on repeating I never need the reassurance. Of how poems are all I need to feel like I can feel air inside my lungs again.
It is one thing to have a theory, and another to face it in practice.
Jul 18, 2015
Jul 18, 2015 at 2:07 PM UTC
"It comes in waves"
More like it resurfaces
You know, because depression is always with me,
Just not always where you can see.
It is the angsty teen hiding in his room until the guests leave.
It is the bad poetry he keeps in a notebook under the bed.
It is the pack of cigarettes he buries in his underwear drawer;
Someone must search to find it.
Depression cannot come in waves.
If it could, wouldn't I be able to ride it out -
Or is drowning my punishment for not learning how to surf?
You see, because I have never surfed in my life.
Everything must wash over me.
I bathe in the ocean instead of the bathtub,
I scrub saltwater into my paper cuts until they are more painful than an open wound in an attempt to validate the sadness that stays with me.
Because even though it is nameless, it is as daunting as the dinner guest,
Hidden, yet embarrassing letters on paper forming words resembling a poem,
Intangible, but quickly filling my lungs and spreading into my bloodstream
Imitating pleasure and escape while slowly releasing dangerous chemicals
While exuding toxins that ****** my relationships and self-worth.
If depression were waves, I could find beauty in them.
Instead, my perception views dismemberments of values,
Shattered pieces of what "before" looked like:
Before the anxiety.
Before the embarrassment.
Before the shame.
If depression truly comes in waves, give me time between to learn to ride them to shore.
Feb 23, 2018
Feb 23, 2018 at 6:41 AM UTC
the worst kind of Sad is not when Sad tries not to be Sad.
it is when Sad hides in your closet,
threading it's claws through the slightly healed,
fresh scars
that litter your entire being
the way that Freddy claws
at his victims of sleep.
it is when Sad creeps up upon you
as you listen to your favorite song
and it suffocates you -
suffocates you with your own scarf,
letting you fade in and out of life
as you lose yourself in memories you'd like
to forget.
you know which scarf Sad uses, don't you?
it's the red one, with the black stripes,
the one you threw in the furthest corner of your closet
because it reminds you of that day,
and summer sweat,
and the aching empty feeling that consumed you
until you were swallowed up
completely eaten alive.
Sad is only Sad when it keeps you from precious slumber
and drives you to the brink of drowsiness, all the while
weighing you down with
bone crushing, eye drooping heaviness;
Sad hibernates there, sound asleep behind the cavity in your chest
and it makes you think you're okay again.
the worst kind of Sad
is when it resurfaces -
though only when you're alone -
and replays your entire day,
a constant loop through each dragging second,
until you doubt it ever happened.
the worst kind of Sad
is not Sadness itself;
it is not even the chest clenching feeling
that it brings, forcing you to think
about each breath as you make it
but rather, the worst kind of Sad
is the one that breaks your ribs with the strength
of a wrecking ball
and prematurely reminds you
that someday
they will be gone - for good, forever,
a ghost haunting your life.
the worst kind of Sad is the
inevitable and unalterable reality
that there is nothing you can do
to stop it.
(I bit my tongue a thousand times, but had we reached the thousand and first, I would have told you the truth. Why are we allowed to become close now when you are sure to be gone before I can blink my eyes and gather the courage to say goodbye?)
-a.c.
Nov 18, 2013
Nov 18, 2013 at 4:53 PM UTC
We were once better together
When we were madly in love
All we have are broken dreams
Memories of what this once was
At night visit photo reels
Happiness left in the past
I was a citizen of your world
Instead of immigrant trespassed
Toss and turn in twisted torn sheets
Up late because I can
Don't sleep next to eachother
Holding grudges with gentle hands
We used to share same mattress
And blankets as well
Awake to face every morning
No reason to argue or yell
Into memories I retreat
With no success
Sound of your laughter a mocking song
And half-hearted at best
The day we promised to always be
Friends no matter what
Forever lingers on my heart
Perfectly etched with sharp cuts
The way you looked at me stayed different
Tone of your voice when you'd say my name
From touch to your kiss to everything in between
Only blue eyes remained the same
Our soft skin no longer free of marks
Nowhere near as fit
Smiles on rosy cheeks
Naive and unaware of the coming ********
Back then conversation was not forced
Felt comfortable baring our hearts
These days hardly speak to eachother
Were much happier at the start
And darkness fuels nostalgia
Resurfaces in its daily routine
Screaming when exactly and where along the way
Did you start forcing what you mean?
I miss the couple we were
Passion without the pain
When your heart was still golden
I wasn't half-insane
Hours and minutes spent in a hurry
And cigarette packs
Problems that seemed so significant
Give anything to have all of that back
Nov 16, 2020
Nov 16, 2020 at 6:30 PM UTC
Your words---love , deserve, forever---
Cling to my skin
Like clothes sopping wet,
******* futilely at my neck,
Impossible to shelter from
The torrential nature
Of your need
Your need,
Like the clamoring cries of an infant,
Screechy, demanding,
Hanging helplessly on my arms,
You pine for affection
From this absentee mother figure;
Futility resurfaces.
I feel the weight of you,
Pressing on my chest:
The crushing force of responsibility,
Of dedication, of obligation eternal.
I have written nothing
Since your frigid winter crept into my home
And ravaged my bed, my body, my dreams.
You created my hollow life.
You carved your name
Into my tender wrists
With teeth honed to knives
And fingernails like acid;
You seared it with a kiss,
Poured your toxin in my veins,
Planted rue in my garden.
Ruined.
Never before have I wished more
For death's swift embrace
Than when I hear
My name in your mouth.
Apr 9, 2013
Apr 9, 2013 at 11:51 PM UTC
Flowing under winter
Is the warmth of a fading love
That once was on the surface
But now struggles to be shone
Cold hearts once bled red
Broken, they needed repair
Grey was too stiff for the aching heart
So blue was the color of the broken part
But Jotunheim and its giants can be melt
By the prowess of Asgard and its heroes
As the icy, depressive cover has formed
After the heart had been healed
So, many times passion becomes a fuel
To extinguish the fear of the person who never knows
And this gas perpetually ignites
And the water that once thawed the rime
Won’t remain covered, buried under ice
That is why love always resurfaces
With the heat of hope and will
Querying if the person the heart beats for
Doesn’t has her beating in sync, still
But like a snowflake, love falls in pieces
To find a place to regrow, as fear overpowers the fuel
Where memory and reluctance troubles the loving soul
While life seems dull to his aching state, as time never ceases
My appreciation for her burns wild
Maybe its youth that feeds the flames
Or the personality bonded to her beautiful name
But, which is enough to love her, the air that I inhale
Will soon be few as I drown in the water, doubting if “we” will ever be true
Jan 14, 2021
Jan 14, 2021 at 8:59 AM UTC
I see you
gentle red and white
peach blossoms
delicate like the life
one holds in one’s heart
like the name and beauty in
each one we know
and the transience of oneself
that we see in the quiet of each passing day;
gentle red and white
peach blossoms
I see you
quiet ones
like life in all forms one observes
that blossoms and takes its place in its day
and that resurfaces in the energy of species;
I see you
gentle red and white
peach blossoms
the same radiance runs
through you and me
Oct 5, 2010
Oct 5, 2010 at 10:42 AM UTC
I am raw, plucked
bare and overexposed;
ashamed of my emotions and
too vulnerable, too fragile
I am not threatened but I do not
feel safe, I ache to hide but where can
I hide from my own mind? I need
time to decay my histrionics and my
need for affection so that it never
resurfaces again, so that I never
resurface again -- I am drowned in
something benign but chaotic, replicating
it's mutation endlessly, perpetually, until
I cannot breathe because I am overexposed --
bare and
plucked raw.
Jul 23, 2017
Jul 23, 2017 at 2:35 AM UTC
I feel it....
The urge,
The scratch,
The knuckle,
The crack,
The sound,
The glimpse,
The silence....
Change, inwardly evolving into every step I make, every word I say, every breath I take.
What is at stake?
I struck myself at a forsaken introspection.
Becoming, someone new.
Someone dark, and someone light.
Someone who I never thought I could be.
Intensity strikes and the magic I have been hiding resurfaces.
I am many forms...
Of me.
I then, start to see.
She was just a cover, but now I unfold and surface at my most enlightened peak.
I feel me, I know me.
Yet, it's a monumental battle of self, constantly changing, having different outlooks.
Allowing perception to take shape into different formulas.
I found myself, lost in the darkness, and lost in the light.
The substantial view of solitude has awoken a part of me that was lurking in the shadows of what I thought I was losing.
Space, moving slowly, at a pace, with no fight or race, but a high vibration of intentional awareness that I now foresee, down, and high, the pits of me as I grow to actually be.
The me I had lost, the new version of what I thought me would be.
Profusely intertwining with chaotic yet peaceful mindless thoughts.
I feel it...
No hassle,
No chase,
No worry,
Just peace.
I accept me.
Apr 5, 2021
Apr 5, 2021 at 11:09 AM UTC
Humid August Morning
Packed in my mind lies, all betrayals of my past
It shows on my face like a ****** mask
Over the passing years nothing seems to change
Not even my wore out tattoos nicknames,
I seek answer; I search for peace,
I am caged, I am seized
With my innermost thoughts and convictions
What’s my purpose, which one of my petals is going to fall now?
Who’ going to step in and staged an intervention?
I am caged, I am seized, I am so loving ******
Surrounded by happiness, laughter and some forgiveness
Once again, here I am taking another summer test.
Open bars, aged faces, cold frosty Banks beers
An islander tradition nothing changes,
not even my tattoo nicknames, Bajan Yankee
Caribbean Queen and Meany heartbreaker,
However, when the laughter fades,
and the music stop in the most romantic setting
A black heart, a broken soul, makes old memories resurfaces;
I see so much, I heard so much and
I overthink so much about worldly things
How can I not go back to the land of the flying fish?
Or where the Bank beers are four for ten
Or where the rooster wakes us up at the crack of dawn,
where humble people just smiling
and saying hello makes a different.
The annoying mosquito buzzes under the protected nets
Till I reach for a can of repellant with anger and yelled who’s next!
I‘ve heard the annoying barks of the neighbor dogs
The unsettling morning news, but nothing as soothing
As watching a black bird singing in the apple trees.
Speaking to the heart of the humans souls:
Once again I am an Island Girl
*See how the nature trees, flowers, grass grow in silence
See the stars, the moon and the sun; we need to be able to touch souls*
Sep 4, 2016
Sep 4, 2016 at 10:17 AM UTC
there was never anything to believe in to begin with
my faith is a delusion
visions to erase
my mind distraught and at ease
deep confusion
here I am again, sulking in this great despair
in my dream we named her Adela, and I remembered a reality before that
Imagine dreaming of a daughter unborn…
visions of her crying in your stomach… to feel that… to feel it all
Part of me remembered that I discussed that with you (my love)
A glimpse of her face
My universe changed, it’s always too good to be true…
my longing resurfaces when I browse through our photos, a broken journey
I never feared loving too much
Give myself away to see this through
Give myself away through honesty
Repercussions out of thin air
Dreaming with you always
Don’t want the memories to fade away
I want to remember what it feels to watch you enjoy a meal, sweet little moments that help me sleep
I don’t want to forget, but I can’t take it
Crippling sensations
It’s been a long day, it’ll be a long week…
Month… year… shattered dreams
My imagination runs wild when I think of the possibility of us…
Intentions gone to waste… time I’d never give back for a trillion gazillion times 4 plus infinity dollars…
I’d take an hour with you in my arms over a life where I never met you… so I wouldn’t feel this way… this… broken…
Though the pieces are scattered… I must know I’m whole
Misconceptions will destroy me…. To believe she is gone
To be a ghost in this world… my love
I think you’re gone…
What’s a lasting love
I’m going to end this one here
Imagining what it would be like to be laughing together
My world… senseless
Little memories that’ll last me a life time…
Happy knowing I can love someone this way… even if they don’t want to love me back
I must
I will…
i hope it isn't a crime to long for the only truth i want to believe
you
Jul 28, 2022
Jul 28, 2022 at 1:23 AM UTC
A sheer pink lip balm
A harsh light bulb-lit reflection
Deep, tired, dark circles
That outermost omnipresent aloofness
Dark 00's and midriff
The cold, 6:00 am, hollow and dim living room
Seriously demeaning and only aware introspectively
Noble-felt, harshly observed silence
First, the summit most deeply craved and sensually submissive to
Clarity and optimism
Motivation and kindness
But impending soon after
A permanent loneliness, soullessness, sadness and a vast emptiness
The every day conscience
Hours spent absorbing the stillest silence possible
Not being able to think full thoughts or talk to oneself
All that's distinguished is feeling paralyzed in the mind
Harsh bathroom lights
Loud, rough water filling the bathtub
Staring as the repetitive breathing moves the water line back then forth
Up then down
Slow moving and eerily melancholy
Continues
2 am... 3 am... 4 am...
Physically exhausted and still
Lethargic bones
Mentally continuous, even rapid, and imaginative
Consisting of only slightly heavy, controlled breaths and an idled pause
Everything is paused except the mind
The body goes without
Naturally retracting from the mind
Counting the minutes until the alarm goes off
Arises to feel disoriented
Resolves with more
A light-dark shimmer and brown boots
Perfectly placed lips
A sharp nose and a sunken aura
That craving, comfortable normal attained
It all resurfaces
The smell of that time
The mentally formed associations
Cold like the winter, early mornings and the fluorescent light
Cigarettes like the emptiness, somber, bitterness and silence
Oppressive but so liberating
Depressive but so enthralling
It smells malignity pleasure-filled
A sheer pink lip balm
Oct 13, 2014
Oct 13, 2014 at 3:58 AM UTC
Pieces of me floating in cyberspace
each like a part of my flesh
alive and awake
i’ve forgotten the password again
and i’m locked out from me.
Need to hack into my own
Something stays lost
Just isn’t anymore
only a shred of what used to be
some memory resurfaces
bittersweet-it itches
and gets relegated
to whatever corner from whence it emerged
too surreal too fresh too crazy
to be remembered
couldn’t be moi?
could it?
-Vijayalakshmi Harish
29.08.2012
Copyright © Vijayalakshmi Harish
Aug 29, 2012
Aug 29, 2012 at 2:59 AM UTC
I miss Sleep’s gentle touch.
Her kiss against my ever greedy cheek; becoming swamped
in the tide of cover and quilt,
entangling myself in her dreams.
I long for her as each days drag on,
but forget her as I lie
in sweetest, softest sheets,
surrounded by the blackness of my mind.
She has a bitter streak, Sleep, that is.
For she drags me down to icy black depths as I let my anchor loose.
She holds me in writhing hands that
poke, and **** and bruise.
When my self resurfaces - at the beep of new day.
My soul gasps for air
in the screaming, sweating freedom,
when I break from her night-time snare.
Dec 10, 2014
Dec 10, 2014 at 4:56 AM UTC