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"romanced" poems
Breeze bellows, leaves echo in quivering psithurism, dithering like unbroken smoke, this approaching omen goads. Dozing crows slumbering in rows, droves of locusts' silenced drone, almost comatose in repose; nighttime overtones choir of toads' raspy croaks answered by alto of crickets' orchestral strokes. Gust encroaches; robed boughs cloven open, bring into scope and focus me juxtaposed, suspended apropos. Although motionless and petrified in stone, provoked by zephyr coaxing to and fro; swaying pendulous and no longer frozen, locus gently thrown. Death rattle moan evoked from throat, reflex can't say no to rigor rigidly posed, final sigh in silence, awoken vocal, expelled and disposed. Smote by morose emotion, gun loaded then exploded by neurosis, now bloated necrosis decomposes into gross ochre. This trophy and this ode both an opus to my inability to cope; romanced i proposed, eloped and betrothed to my own inappropriate composure. Pocket full of posies plucked when luck bestowed and tears in a cup, a toast; crying copiously, tempest runneth overflowed, eyes swollen and soaked. Dipped my toes in the coast of this ocean's amorphous folds, gripped by undertow holding control of my soul; swiftly shipwrecked in shallow shoal, an old atoll. On sandy floor, water burrows roads; digging, carving, roams through unmarrowed silica and sandstone eroding into a cove. A host for opal geode trove, enclosing a technicolor rose, from the depths a glowing mosaic shone Unopened lotus floats on foam of lapping waves, a boat; prone to no grandiose notion or motive, adrift as wind stokes. I suppose this only shows the total corrosion into which I dove, the only foes to oppose are those of burdens, so only weightless can I atone- I must let go.
0
Mar 11, 2024
Mar 11, 2024 at 11:02 AM UTC
Note to Self (Part 2)
Breeze bellows, leaves echo in quivering psithurism, dithering like unbroken smoke, this approaching omen goads. Dozing crows slumbering in rows, droves of locusts' silenced drone, almost comatose in repose; nighttime overtones choir of toads' raspy croaks answered by alto of crickets' orchestral strokes. Gust encroaches; robed boughs cloven open, bring into scope and focus me juxtaposed, suspended apropos. Although motionless and petrified in stone, provoked by zephyr coaxing to and fro; swaying pendulous and no longer frozen, locus gently thrown. Death rattle moan evoked from throat, reflex can't say no to rigor rigidly posed, final sigh in silence, awoken vocal, expelled and disposed. Smote by morose emotion, gun loaded then exploded by neurosis, now bloated necrosis decomposes into gross ochre. This trophy and this ode both an opus to my inability to cope; romanced i proposed, eloped and betrothed to my own inappropriate composure. Pocket full of posies plucked when luck bestowed and tears in a cup, a toast; crying copiously, tempest runneth overflowed, eyes swollen and soaked. Dipped my toes in the coast of this ocean's amorphous folds, gripped by undertow holding control of my soul; swiftly shipwrecked in shallow shoal, an old atoll. On sandy floor, water burrows roads; digging, carving, roams through unmarrowed silica and sandstone eroding into a cove. A host for opal geode trove, enclosing a technicolor rose, from the depths a glowing mosaic shone Unopened lotus floats on foam of lapping waves, a boat; prone to no grandiose notion or motive, adrift as wind stokes. I suppose this only shows the total corrosion into which I dove, the only foes to oppose are those of burdens, so only weightless can I atone- I must let go.
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95
NOTE  -  The largest animal in Great Britain, a red stag named Emperor who stood over 9ft tall, was last night shot dead by a trophy hunter. The antlers of the majestic deer are highly prized, and after pictures of the stag appeared in the national press last week, the animal was tracked and killed in Exmoor, Devon. These mist covered mountains of the highlands, ‘twas here that I once freely wandered upon nature’s pasture grounds, Now I lie shrouded in the mournful fog of the lowlands, ‘twas here that I was met by a pack of bone breaking hounds. The fresh dew upon the harvest of autumn’s final flowering, ‘twas here that I chewed the grass of sweet nature’s offering, Now I grow cold upon the ground where I was stalked by dark doom, ‘twas here that I left life’s rocky way under a hunter’s moon. The air of the early morn moor with the sky above my dome, ‘twas here that I ran and with joy loved and royally roamed, Now my legs will nevermore click or clack over my domain fenced with tree gates, ‘twas here that I wooed and won my shy majestic mate. She, my queen of the green woodlands, she was my wife and my empire, ‘twas here that we romanced in the fading summer’s fire, Our charming child, my princess of these grassy hills now cloaked in shade, ‘twas here that she saw her father the monarch in death finally fade. In the chorus of the dancing dawn awakening upon the horizon’s golden rhyme, ‘twas here that I sang the tune that will drum till the end of nature’s time, They will come with stakes and wood and cross and bow me to the beams, ‘twas here where they hacked and tore off my enchanted crown of weeping dreams. The scent of the freshly mown grass mingles with the green pine, ‘twas here that I drank the perfume and nectar of the divine, My eyes glaze, my breathing falters, my clay chills, my soul no more sings, ‘twas here that I finally returned to the hands of my Beloved, the eternal King. *"...I shall now graze upon the sacred acres of my Creator, I shall frolic and run free in the tender fields of endless splendour..."* ©Rangzeb Hussain
0
Oct 27, 2010
Oct 27, 2010 at 3:08 AM UTC
Upon hearing of the death of the Monarch of the Moorlands
NOTE  -  The largest animal in Great Britain, a red stag named Emperor who stood over 9ft tall, was last night shot dead by a trophy hunter. The antlers of the majestic deer are highly prized, and after pictures of the stag appeared in the national press last week, the animal was tracked and killed in Exmoor, Devon. These mist covered mountains of the highlands, ‘twas here that I once freely wandered upon nature’s pasture grounds, Now I lie shrouded in the mournful fog of the lowlands, ‘twas here that I was met by a pack of bone breaking hounds. The fresh dew upon the harvest of autumn’s final flowering, ‘twas here that I chewed the grass of sweet nature’s offering, Now I grow cold upon the ground where I was stalked by dark doom, ‘twas here that I left life’s rocky way under a hunter’s moon. The air of the early morn moor with the sky above my dome, ‘twas here that I ran and with joy loved and royally roamed, Now my legs will nevermore click or clack over my domain fenced with tree gates, ‘twas here that I wooed and won my shy majestic mate. She, my queen of the green woodlands, she was my wife and my empire, ‘twas here that we romanced in the fading summer’s fire, Our charming child, my princess of these grassy hills now cloaked in shade, ‘twas here that she saw her father the monarch in death finally fade. In the chorus of the dancing dawn awakening upon the horizon’s golden rhyme, ‘twas here that I sang the tune that will drum till the end of nature’s time, They will come with stakes and wood and cross and bow me to the beams, ‘twas here where they hacked and tore off my enchanted crown of weeping dreams. The scent of the freshly mown grass mingles with the green pine, ‘twas here that I drank the perfume and nectar of the divine, My eyes glaze, my breathing falters, my clay chills, my soul no more sings, ‘twas here that I finally returned to the hands of my Beloved, the eternal King. *"...I shall now graze upon the sacred acres of my Creator, I shall frolic and run free in the tender fields of endless splendour..."* ©Rangzeb Hussain
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28
Isn't it ironic? The purest love I've ever found is platonic.
0
Jan 4, 2015
Jan 4, 2015 at 11:32 AM UTC
Over Romanced
Standing underneath a Billion Stars, I looked down at the Roaring Sea. Something jumped out of the Water, I wondered What it could Be. I leaned Myself a bit further and tried to figure things Out. A Mermaid caught My Eyes and I had no time to Shout. I thought I ought to save Her, from the 'Sharks' there out at Sea. Then I changed My Mind, as Her Beauty enchanted Me. I waved out, My Hands to Her and that brought, out Her Smile. She said to Me, "Let's go Diving, so U can Romance Me for a While". With a Splash, I was in the Water. Holding on, to My new found Love. She was a Soft as Cotton Candy and murmured like a Snow White Dove. At times I've Romanced in Sunshine, At times I Held Hands in the Bitter Cold. Today I was at Nature's end Swimming, With a Mermaid and Her Heart of Gold.
0
Sep 23, 2023
Sep 23, 2023 at 9:37 AM UTC
A Mermaid and Her Heart of Gold
*if only I knew how to love... for my Victoria winces-grimaces, that these words even leave my fingertips, reminiscences, a chrome bookmark tab full of decades of near misses, instances, subway sideway stolen daily glances of she who would be the only, the one, but one day failed to appear, left to dream peer, and/or decades long of romanced lasses, flying spectacular super crashes, when my heart-blanched, lanced, and the lawyers danced, poems shriveled as dried ink crack'd and words rusted shut, cut by so many p'raps, and ugly motives, beautiful covered up, disguised as synapses of sin and insincerity, and I, the sad man, both the sinner and the sinned against, totalities, of shoulda-woulda-asked/kissed-her-gallantly, activities, when kisses were doorways to trap door rooms and an over decorated monte cristo prison cell ah well the 'and yet,' the 'but for,' a single finger, sealing silenced lips, passions mourned and irrevocable sensations, frittered, fractured, all that I calmly called love was sprigs and broken branches, cut flowers destined to shrivel, not of what I believed in, something akin to a tree rooted, an oaken strong unbreakable love of this certain, all approximations, all failed incantations, for surely, if but only one escaped, could have been saved, and if truthful love it was, I would have known it, for would I have dared to let slip away?
0
Jul 14, 2017
Jul 14, 2017 at 6:05 PM UTC
if only I knew how to love
You had too many choices. To chose from. No one of thee bunch knew. Who was the lucky one? All competed to get the chance. That they be the one that you romanced. And the winner is-yet to be determine. Through rumors and innuendo. We still isn't clear on who the winner is. Some say it him. Some say it's me. But the final decision's is with you. About exactly the man that you choose. And the winner is. The man that you give your heart too.
0
Sep 4, 2012
Sep 4, 2012 at 10:12 AM UTC
And the Winner Is..
I know you think about me on the way home I know you think I want to be alone I'm accustomed to calling on the phone I'm accustomed to making it on my own But I've dreamt of places you've roamed I see the same passionate soul You've romanced me in your loving tone Your fiery moan, your satisfying groan, And with it a price, mortality a loan So my eyes I have sewn, To my porcelain skin and my doll-like bones, My true light has shone- China Doll, a title for the throne. I can be yours if only you would know, Just know if you break me you can never let me go.
0
Apr 1, 2015
Apr 1, 2015 at 6:40 PM UTC
Doll House
You were the greatest neuronal reorganization to ever happen, of course I don't know who I am anymore. What was plastic seems changed to stone in a gargoyle brain and beneath a microscope the shimmering glia spell out your name over and over in little green lights, fossilizing the neurons that say: Him. The earth has an edge. Nobody wants to fall off. So call me Homer, because the gods themselves could not convince me my situation's a sphere there's far too much fear in this flattened plane that understands only primitive desires and just wants you near. Everyone knows the romanced brain could be mistaken for a ******* addict's. But perhaps if you look more closely into my eyes you will see my irises have turned stormy, that cyclones of energy are becoming patterns that scribble and scribble arcane suggestions for a new cartography. A new story. A new being. Supplies needed: One strong pencil. Enough oxytocin to unlearn an addiction. Enough optimism to overcome an affliction, my diction is code for the way you kissed me and it underlines every sentence like the way a voice rises when asking a question. I have so many questions. And even though the notion of who I will be when I am not you terrifies me, like Cathy and Heathcliff I will not be doomed to roam the moors, already I know there's endlessly more, and with or without you the best is yet to come. Just as they say. No, I don't know what's in store. But I think that's okay. Turn golden, Grey Matter, light up 'til you burn. Reboot. Restart. Rewire. Relearn.
0
Oct 12, 2013
Oct 12, 2013 at 1:06 PM UTC
The Break, Part VII: Relearn.
You were the greatest neuronal reorganization to ever happen, of course I don't know who I am anymore. What was plastic seems changed to stone in a gargoyle brain and beneath a microscope the shimmering glia spell out your name over and over in little green lights, fossilizing the neurons that say: Him. The earth has an edge. Nobody wants to fall off. So call me Homer, because the gods themselves could not convince me my situation's a sphere there's far too much fear in this flattened plane that understands only primitive desires and just wants you near. Everyone knows the romanced brain could be mistaken for a ******* addict's. But perhaps if you look more closely into my eyes you will see my irises have turned stormy, that cyclones of energy are becoming patterns that scribble and scribble arcane suggestions for a new cartography. A new story. A new being. Supplies needed: One strong pencil. Enough oxytocin to unlearn an addiction. Enough optimism to overcome an affliction, my diction is code for the way you kissed me and it underlines every sentence like the way a voice rises when asking a question. I have so many questions. And even though the notion of who I will be when I am not you terrifies me, like Cathy and Heathcliff I will not be doomed to roam the moors, already I know there's endlessly more, and with or without you the best is yet to come. Just as they say. No, I don't know what's in store. But I think that's okay. Turn golden, Grey Matter, light up 'til you burn. Reboot. Restart. Rewire. Relearn.
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19
I woke up on a ship upon the sea , Thinking I had finally found my sailor. You had maps drawn with lines and X's marking spots of interest, And I thought I was your favorite treasure. Romanced me from land to sea, but turns out you are just another pirate looting girls hearts for pleasure. Capsized, we've been hit, and you abandon ship, And I abandon my anxious breath. Drowning in emotions I become swallowed in the waves of tears.
0
Sep 15, 2016
Sep 15, 2016 at 6:14 AM UTC
A Pirate Stole My Heart
He’s trick, like enrapturing Wherein lies the paradox of his pantheism parapet’s paragon Extraversion embezzlements and euthanasia extortions Diction’s enunciation echoes of opaque opulence Its redolence a savory waft The evolution of psychic clarity’s élan vital Bizarre dichotomous augur the singer’s aural austerity Gypsy Queen, his guitar’s moniker, romanced aimed intention Elaborate elliptical empathy endeavors for posterity’s predication Pandemically  phatic  propriety venerations Their apex crux axis beyond finite solution Carousel ceaselessly ceremony chaos character charisma Cerebral cortex’s ****** matrix The individual must remain sacrosanct Traipsing through the fallow furrows of assimilation’s xenobiotic barratry Like capillaries' capricious and intravenous intrepid Incalculably sensual beyond emotion’s expression Impetus intrigue's intuitional verve Ethology’s entelechy, theosophy’s theophany Zoomorphic zoolatry's social contiguities Futurity's corporeally preternatural fatidic
0
Jul 20, 2015
Jul 20, 2015 at 7:13 AM UTC
Salacious mesmerism's endemic impromptu
Romanced by beautiful words that carry me to another time, I let myself be dressed in a flowing gown, stitched together with the delicate memories and intentions of the master craftsman. He makes it possible to live in a brilliant haze of nouns, verbs and extravagant adjectives. My mind is full of wonder and my heart is full of longing as the dress is stripped off and folded away. I'm ****** into my street clothes, into my daily drudge, but I know my escape will be made again, thanks to Mr.Fitzgerald.
0
Jan 6, 2014
Jan 6, 2014 at 12:34 AM UTC
Mr.Fitzgerald
You didn't mean it, You didn't mean the pain, The agony caused by your actions. You didn't mean it, You didn't mean to hurt her. You bullied and dehumanized, Turned her... Turned her into you, A MONSTER! She wept and cried, You tortured and cursed. You didn't mean it, You didn't mean to hurt him. You seduced and flirted, Turned him into a lovesick fool. He chased and romanced, You left him heartbroken. In the end, Was anything true? Were the sweet words, Uttered by you lips, True or false? Tell me I got it wrong, You did not mean to hurt, You didn't mean to abuse, You didn't mean to curse. Tell me I got it wrong. TELL ME, IT'S NOT TRUE!
0
Mar 1, 2018
Mar 1, 2018 at 5:52 PM UTC
It's Not True
Her Diamond Mind Rests in Pure Carbon Mine Shining Fluorescence Never left her with obsolescence Light refraction Quite the distraction Ice rink on her finger A monetary stinger Gem best friend How much did he spend? Frozen Pond reflection of the hardest affection Ice rock speaks to only her Don't be a gem amateur Clear crystal quartz won't do Sir with its dim blurr Follow the four C's Scintillation gleams Cut determines its prism At first sight brings hypnotism Color - a rainbow brilliance Smiles with each glance More clarity for radiance All eyes may be romanced Be prepared for a trance Carat weight Might be the bait Year after year Continual glimmer With every light flicker
0
Jan 26, 2019
Jan 26, 2019 at 3:04 PM UTC
Diamond Mind
I am nothing, nothing but oblivion, a vast emptiness within a breathing host. If you were to rip me open, cut me down the middle, crank apart my ribs, there would only be a numb void. Maybe the world would be inhaled into my stomach, for me to regurgitate, stripped of all it's essential beauty. No more stars, I will keep them for myself, let the moon shine it's dull light in the spotlight, with no one to share it's empty stage. Let the sky be dumbfounded with loss and void of illumination, and maybe with star-filled guts I will shine again. Everything I am, everything i touch, is robbed of love and joy, for I am nothing but an afterthought left by the shadow of death. I'm surprised I can be seen at all, for I am transparent to myself. My dreams and goals seem a whisper from the past, warm and inviting, their words tickling my ears with skeletal promises, concrete at the touch, but with no deeper substance. Filthy liar, tease. I reach and grasp and tear my limbs, praying to feel even the vague memory of hope upon my fingertips. I long for escape, escape from an insomniacs dream, the lines of reality and ficiton blurred into one, for only nightmares and goblins await me in my bed of anvil pillows and maggot ridden matresses. Escape, for even the stroke of my pencil, once so lively as it romanced me into a verse, paints a tragedy. But mostly,I want to fly into the night sky and explode, burdening the world with all the negativity I've gathered over the years. And release all the beauty and potential I've stolen and hidden away. With the anarchy that is my psyche, I will restore balance. I am everything.
0
Nov 13, 2011
Nov 13, 2011 at 5:23 PM UTC
Anarchic Balance
I am nothing, nothing but oblivion, a vast emptiness within a breathing host. If you were to rip me open, cut me down the middle, crank apart my ribs, there would only be a numb void. Maybe the world would be inhaled into my stomach, for me to regurgitate, stripped of all it's essential beauty. No more stars, I will keep them for myself, let the moon shine it's dull light in the spotlight, with no one to share it's empty stage. Let the sky be dumbfounded with loss and void of illumination, and maybe with star-filled guts I will shine again. Everything I am, everything i touch, is robbed of love and joy, for I am nothing but an afterthought left by the shadow of death. I'm surprised I can be seen at all, for I am transparent to myself. My dreams and goals seem a whisper from the past, warm and inviting, their words tickling my ears with skeletal promises, concrete at the touch, but with no deeper substance. Filthy liar, tease. I reach and grasp and tear my limbs, praying to feel even the vague memory of hope upon my fingertips. I long for escape, escape from an insomniacs dream, the lines of reality and ficiton blurred into one, for only nightmares and goblins await me in my bed of anvil pillows and maggot ridden matresses. Escape, for even the stroke of my pencil, once so lively as it romanced me into a verse, paints a tragedy. But mostly,I want to fly into the night sky and explode, burdening the world with all the negativity I've gathered over the years. And release all the beauty and potential I've stolen and hidden away. With the anarchy that is my psyche, I will restore balance. I am everything.
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50
the setting moon slips close to its watery grave and she finally appears walking slow carrying her broken shoes she says that the night jumped her and she had gotten lost in the vast differences between what she hoped and what the world always left her longing with tears spread from her still young innocent eyes i held her to reassure but as i wait for our fears to subside i see the lights approach of thouse who would claim lordship over her wallet and over her soul bankers of the material world doubling as demons from hells coldest corner no fleeing the version where you need to change batteries they are dead as the souls who manufacture them she slips a pair of double a's from her pocket rocket personal massage device and plugs her mind back into the need to get on with her day the moon has reached its last gasp and she has romanced her way out of her dress and you out of your noble intents we all reach this impasse with our pen and page having sold off our forward momentum for a desperado gamble at claiming that elusive perfect written word we flounder at waters edge unable to pull ourselfs back unable to manufacture method to crawl further we make mad dashes round and round the proverbial gallows pole hanging on a single idea or ideal trying to express it clearly it need not more clear than it is in mind's eye but her face lingers in your soul urging you you recapitulate your dire love to craft a better master plan for tearing yourself down the moon has reached its invisible zenith on the worlds opposite side and you have yet to reconcile your good natured laugh to her dark predictions she slips away again to seek her rightful place in her world view and you are the captain of your sinking rowboat once more sexton in hand plot your thoughts and row king james home the moon will rise soon and you need to be home when she comes in need of a hugs and a shoulder to weep on
0
Oct 12, 2013
Oct 12, 2013 at 1:25 PM UTC
dead batteries
the setting moon slips close to its watery grave and she finally appears walking slow carrying her broken shoes she says that the night jumped her and she had gotten lost in the vast differences between what she hoped and what the world always left her longing with tears spread from her still young innocent eyes i held her to reassure but as i wait for our fears to subside i see the lights approach of thouse who would claim lordship over her wallet and over her soul bankers of the material world doubling as demons from hells coldest corner no fleeing the version where you need to change batteries they are dead as the souls who manufacture them she slips a pair of double a's from her pocket rocket personal massage device and plugs her mind back into the need to get on with her day the moon has reached its last gasp and she has romanced her way out of her dress and you out of your noble intents we all reach this impasse with our pen and page having sold off our forward momentum for a desperado gamble at claiming that elusive perfect written word we flounder at waters edge unable to pull ourselfs back unable to manufacture method to crawl further we make mad dashes round and round the proverbial gallows pole hanging on a single idea or ideal trying to express it clearly it need not more clear than it is in mind's eye but her face lingers in your soul urging you you recapitulate your dire love to craft a better master plan for tearing yourself down the moon has reached its invisible zenith on the worlds opposite side and you have yet to reconcile your good natured laugh to her dark predictions she slips away again to seek her rightful place in her world view and you are the captain of your sinking rowboat once more sexton in hand plot your thoughts and row king james home the moon will rise soon and you need to be home when she comes in need of a hugs and a shoulder to weep on
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56
Through the masks and obscured within the lies, lays the truth unsaid in which all despise Too much had been appraised, and much was fitfully un-right, so vastly dark within folded light He was King, and she forever his Queen, still they hold each others hands, a thrilling vice in which they teamed Their faces lit with withering sight, flightless eyes instead of cocky fulfilled and streaming plight They tangoed to flooded phantom operas and darkly lit scenes, set with bloodset roses and heartfelt keys Bowing inside the night they longfully romanced, ballerined on fruitless olden toes that would soon become cramped Whispering together, they flee against the mournless sounds, that crept and prowled outside the bounds' Deciding a long time ago to dance their lives away, to live within the fleeting joy and feel their heartbeats sway
0
Nov 4, 2013
Nov 4, 2013 at 1:33 PM UTC
The King and Queen of Romanticism
He’s trick, like enrapturing Wherein lies the paradox of his pantheism parapet’s paragon Extraversion embezzlements and euthanasia extortions Embark embargo extraditions Diction’s enunciation echoes of opaque opulence Its redolence a savory waft The evolution of psychic clarity’s id conclusions Bizarre dichotomous augur the singer’s aural austerity Gypsy Queen, his guitar’s moniker, romanced aimed intention Elaborate elliptical empathy endeavors for posterity’s predication Pandemically  phatic  propriety venerations Their apex crux axis beyond finite solution Carousel ceaselessly ceremony chaos character charisma Cerebral cortex’s ****** matrix's vertex vortex The individual must remain sacrosanct Traipsing through the fallow furrows of assimilation’s synthetic synthesis Like capillaries' capricious and intravenous intrepid Incalculably sensual beyond emotion’s expression Impetus intrigue's intuitional verve Ethology’s entelechy, theosophy’s theophany Zoomorphic zoolatry's social contiguities Futurity's corporeally preternatural fatidic Elan-vital's apotropaic apotheosis
0
Nov 7, 2016
Nov 7, 2016 at 3:20 AM UTC
Salacious mesmerism's endemic impromptu (reworked)
the aperture opens low watt bulb hanging on a chain rocks slowly in a perceptible breeze coming from a hole in the wall a dark odor permeates the room time has been spent here desperation has sweated its own flavor of fear in this room laughter that had no joy has spent hours spilled on the floor evil has romanced good and plundered its favors on the stained mattress in the corner left its once ****** form heaving with the ****** taste of hedonistic self destruction slow and pure pleasured for her like a ribbed one lubed with promises of a hot carnival of sated fantasy the aperture closes slowly the view fades into a single grey line of wary perception moments tick by as the room changes faces the aperture forced open by her deft fingers spun monkeynuts she is seeking something to occupy her madness with or she will end up like the rest in the mirror picking skin 'oh god, please don't let me be a skin picker' she whispers over and over as she prys and pulls at the thin metal covering at the thin eyelid of perception this perception chain one moment of reality spawns the next its clarity the passed on poisoned gene pool of all your yesterdays the languid drifting from year to year all the treasures gathered turned to dusty memory all the lovers fled along the ever enduring wind of change and as your days have burned slowly down you begin to realize that each had its place in the tapestry of your life and here in this last room of your life you come face to face with what you have created and it is unrecognizable to your mind the walls are covered by ever mutating versions of a dope shooters regrets of a spike house roll call of thouse who have cashed in and are now remembered only by there survivors i open my eye and look about in the shadow and leave you there because you were never there you discarded your real self in a spent ****** needle in the alley behind our once happy home along with the used ****** from your
0
Aug 11, 2013
Aug 11, 2013 at 8:23 PM UTC
this perception chain
the aperture opens low watt bulb hanging on a chain rocks slowly in a perceptible breeze coming from a hole in the wall a dark odor permeates the room time has been spent here desperation has sweated its own flavor of fear in this room laughter that had no joy has spent hours spilled on the floor evil has romanced good and plundered its favors on the stained mattress in the corner left its once ****** form heaving with the ****** taste of hedonistic self destruction slow and pure pleasured for her like a ribbed one lubed with promises of a hot carnival of sated fantasy the aperture closes slowly the view fades into a single grey line of wary perception moments tick by as the room changes faces the aperture forced open by her deft fingers spun monkeynuts she is seeking something to occupy her madness with or she will end up like the rest in the mirror picking skin 'oh god, please don't let me be a skin picker' she whispers over and over as she prys and pulls at the thin metal covering at the thin eyelid of perception this perception chain one moment of reality spawns the next its clarity the passed on poisoned gene pool of all your yesterdays the languid drifting from year to year all the treasures gathered turned to dusty memory all the lovers fled along the ever enduring wind of change and as your days have burned slowly down you begin to realize that each had its place in the tapestry of your life and here in this last room of your life you come face to face with what you have created and it is unrecognizable to your mind the walls are covered by ever mutating versions of a dope shooters regrets of a spike house roll call of thouse who have cashed in and are now remembered only by there survivors i open my eye and look about in the shadow and leave you there because you were never there you discarded your real self in a spent ****** needle in the alley behind our once happy home along with the used ****** from your
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51
She walked with me Joined me in my laughter Bowed with me in gratitude Cried for the wanton desire She romanced me Torrid, exulting She followed me Slow, shadowy, bouncy too My destiny My birth-mate Death The only one who never left my side
0
Feb 19, 2013
Feb 19, 2013 at 2:59 AM UTC
Yours Truly
no more than a boy trying to be a man i once had come a crusader down from a far country proud and strong with a sword swift and sure wrote my name in the battles and beerhalls but as my years travelled i began to wonder until in the failing embers of a nights snowstorm i came to this place to her where i had come a crusader to this the last mystery where i had come a warrior set to do battle with some dire foe only to surrender with willing hand in the chapel of her soft face in the sunset birthplace of all mans deepest desires in the fragile breath she leaves upon the very air i dare not breath lest i disturb its soft flight she tells me of a love that had forsaken she tells me of a land from which she has fled her eyes a dark fire like ancient pools of magic's her lips supple like heaven creased with tender folds in the chapel of her tender face i did waste away my former days wandering in the starlight musings of her soft laugh dazed by the intricate dance of her deep words she romanced me into the quiet of a man forgotten of himself laid aside my sword and took up the ploughshare laid aside my warring nature for the robes of a gentle man now on this far distant night with the crisp winter eve a deep snow leaving a heavy silence all round us the sound comes to me from a far land the drums of war calling all true sons to defend hearth and home i came to this place a young man crusader to this mysterious place where such dark fires burn in the eyes in such beautiful women now old i pull on my armour and unsheathe my sword and sharpen the arrows to fly true and swift for even the chapel of her tender face cannot undo even this the fairest of women cannot deny what dark wind has laid at our door come a crusader with his stallion and steel come a crusader to reap the careworn and the strong come a crusader seeking his glory in the sun i must go out to meet him i must stop his plunder before he reaches her i must slay what i once had become a crusader no-more
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Feb 9, 2014
Feb 9, 2014 at 9:00 AM UTC
come a crusader
no more than a boy trying to be a man i once had come a crusader down from a far country proud and strong with a sword swift and sure wrote my name in the battles and beerhalls but as my years travelled i began to wonder until in the failing embers of a nights snowstorm i came to this place to her where i had come a crusader to this the last mystery where i had come a warrior set to do battle with some dire foe only to surrender with willing hand in the chapel of her soft face in the sunset birthplace of all mans deepest desires in the fragile breath she leaves upon the very air i dare not breath lest i disturb its soft flight she tells me of a love that had forsaken she tells me of a land from which she has fled her eyes a dark fire like ancient pools of magic's her lips supple like heaven creased with tender folds in the chapel of her tender face i did waste away my former days wandering in the starlight musings of her soft laugh dazed by the intricate dance of her deep words she romanced me into the quiet of a man forgotten of himself laid aside my sword and took up the ploughshare laid aside my warring nature for the robes of a gentle man now on this far distant night with the crisp winter eve a deep snow leaving a heavy silence all round us the sound comes to me from a far land the drums of war calling all true sons to defend hearth and home i came to this place a young man crusader to this mysterious place where such dark fires burn in the eyes in such beautiful women now old i pull on my armour and unsheathe my sword and sharpen the arrows to fly true and swift for even the chapel of her tender face cannot undo even this the fairest of women cannot deny what dark wind has laid at our door come a crusader with his stallion and steel come a crusader to reap the careworn and the strong come a crusader seeking his glory in the sun i must go out to meet him i must stop his plunder before he reaches her i must slay what i once had become a crusader no-more
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I hold the flames with my left hand Whilst I mould you with my right So you may be the deity I planned A masterpiece, a perfect sight. Into Olympus I carve you You are a Muse, a golden fleece A tradition polished until fresh and new All that I that I seek, my missing piece. I shall fight for you my dear, For your ambrosia, I shall quest Challenge me, send me far or near Put my loyalty to the extreme test. Let me be your hero, my love I will paint you in the stars We will travel past clouds and far above We will look down on our love from afar. For I have served many gods Romanced with many a goddess But Cupid cannot enhance you For you, I would trade my immortality You are my heaven upon earth
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Jul 26, 2013
Jul 26, 2013 at 2:29 AM UTC
Aphrodite
like a hollow version of bobby dylan she peeks out into the alley before dashing out to dance in the ***** rain its grey face stains the asphalt with strange designs i wait for her to grow weary before i try to rescue her from the wet alley someday she will get to replay her misspent youth but not today the agents of mystery remind me she sits on her college textbooks and towel dries her golden dreadlocks as she excitedly tells me of her adventure of how light she felt as the ***** rain danced with her how it romanced parts of her that would make a good girl blush she finally slows down with a great big yawn put her to bed wrap her up in my loving arms and gave her a lullaby in perfect country english she will cherish this like she cherished the ***** rain seeing things in our moments that no-one else can ever know magic is your lovers eye
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Jan 14, 2014
Jan 14, 2014 at 6:32 PM UTC
in the ***** rain
You told me a story Of mass destruction, Then romanced the idea Of self destruction. You told me of a world Filled with corruption, Then added sugar to the taste Of self corruption. You told me of a people Wrapped in infliction, Then taught me the ways Of self infliction. You told me of a home Trapped in desolation, Then brought beauty to the thought Of self desolation. You told me of a family Held back by ruination, Then offered me a handful Of self ruination. So when you told me of a killer And his tools for termination, You suggested a simple gun: Self termination.
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Jul 17, 2015
Jul 17, 2015 at 8:46 PM UTC
Self Termination (A Suicide Note)