"scintillations" poems
Everything is happening so quickly
so many negatives surpassing the
insignificant glimpse of positives
that never seem to suffice,
there’s always this light at the
end of the tunnel that everyone
speaks of, yet i continue to see darkness;
a journey down this long tunnel brings
no illumination but only a continuance
of nihility, the damp walls
seem to bring the chill humidity
closer and closer with each step,
the droplets echo the narrowing,
flickering lights dissipate at passing,
the gag sparking stench of sewage
and ***** make the voyage to
light even more unbearable than the
previous hesitant inching towards
the so called spoken about bearability of life,
sudden scintillations of light bring sight
of russet, worn doors, consecutively placed,
discoloured of crimson roadkill,
I open the first door and see a woman
tied and bound, gag in throat,
beads of sweat turning the white gag
to watered milk,
the dirt beneath her nails entwines with skin
and blood dredged by her own fingertips,
to front is a tray of what seems like
torture tools
*intrigued, I slam the door
and avoid a kiss
from Judas*
The next door, I open and see a man
sitting facing the corner,
wrapped in a flickering fan,
staring at a wall of carvings of ticks and dashes,
to see arms of cuts and gashes,
with a tray next to him
comprised of razors and knives
he sits picking at skin of bruises and hives,
tempted to grab the tool and corrode self,
with the reflection of whats within, I slam the door
and avoid
Finally the third door
eagerly stares to
me with anticipation boiling veins,
I press my ear to foreshadow,
I hear a cries; a man of hatred
and a woman of pain
I open the door and find a bottle of whiskey
I take a swig and feel as if Judas kissed me,
Within the third door; walls
with peepholes to confirm the calls
on the left I see the sliding knife
over-panting roadmaps of russet to
the neck of the bound woman,
the screams are deafening,
they present a vibration,
stuttering thoughts, and releasing the fixation,
prompting the admiration
to view the second door,
I see myself, in door 2
tremors and convulsions
seeing blood expel every vein
as the verticals
halt oxygen to the brain
Departure brings me
to the abysmal realm of society
where the burden of negativity
proves to provide no proof towards what
differs between the endless, narrow
tunnel-visioned cesspool of bone marrow
and psychosis driven visions and the
narrow pathed voyage of life.
Oct 25, 2015
Oct 25, 2015 at 1:37 PM UTC
She tears through
her insecurities
on fridays and saturdays,
shameless small talk
with bouncers,
and she dresses to ****
railing lines at pre drink,
and talking up free drinks
with ***** hawks
circulating the scintillations
of spotlights for victims
of a cockcrow regret,
she picks and chooses
and it’s easy for her,
finding a jawline
in a haystack seems
almost inevitable
when she did her make up
in front of a mirror,
not 3 hours prior,
she fills her empty
bed with cheap cologne
and sweat and gel
to only empty again
not 3 hours later.
Jan 1, 2017
Jan 1, 2017 at 6:02 PM UTC
You were the forests
birds fled through your *******
you enclose oceans
the earth
the skies
i was just an acetic star
shards of light fled me as i burned
faded
as they disgraced my body
not even the scintillations could linger my soul
i was contained within you
i was only a wave in your vast ocean
i was only a splinter in the earth
only a scintilla in your vast skies
Now Im pushing up daisies in the same wind
Buried beneath the hurricanes
which i would once call gusts
tornadoes which i used to breathe in
now rise from me
now
as i lay dying
Aug 8, 2015
Aug 8, 2015 at 4:37 PM UTC
Slow wind,
hair raising
scintillations...
hands plashing
magenta pools.
Trying depthless
depths.
Nov 16, 2015
Nov 16, 2015 at 12:30 PM UTC
Viral orchestrations
spread like wildfire,
swallowed her up until her body was a cage.
The deft ministrations
of threadbare desire
burrowed into my skin as I choked on my rage.
Rhythmic scintillations,
flesh as hot as fire,
the book closed before she got to read the last page.
The end of trepidation,
alert the town crier:
her white blood cells fell before a vast macrophage.
Nov 19, 2013
Nov 19, 2013 at 1:15 PM UTC
I pull the clouds across my shoulders
As I turn from my head
You shouldn't take them,
The nightmares in my bed.
I look around at the things
That are there to be
but all I really see
Is the space in between ,
I wonder when they got there,
The sparks and the static.
When did I notice them?
Or is there's a difference?
Save and cancel
Cancel and save
Maybe one time it will be different
But it's always the same
And at any given point of a circle
The end and the beginning
Keep doing what they do
We're trapped in our freedom
The old and the new
Aug 2, 2014
Aug 2, 2014 at 1:11 AM UTC
Ataraxis
River bottom beds
beautiful scintillations
some glimpses of Sat
© P.M.H 2008
Jan 31, 2019
Jan 31, 2019 at 4:15 PM UTC