"shedded" poems
.
*
Do I have a tongue,
Can I speak too?
In this strange world,
Am I a human too?
Do I have a heart,
Can I live too?
In this strange land,
Am I alive too?
In the midst of Oblivion,
I search my visions,
I once used to dream,
As a young teenager,
In Sea of Paro s
I try to remember,
The faces of people
I had once lived with
Father, mother, brother
Of all those people
I had once called family.
I came here as girl,
I am shared in the family,
I born plenty children,
I am sold and re-sold
In and around
To any men who
Can afford to buy,
I am kept but
Seldom married,
Each street have
it's own paro,
They all have
But the same story.
After some years
I cease to exist,
For the people
Who bought me
I am an old cattle
Who no longer
give them pleasure,
I am now a burden
A liability soon
To be shedded..
They don't throw
me though,
They leave me alone
In a small room,
I have become a mother
Of a girl or two
I have new family
But no identity
fits me ever,
When I come here
I became a Paro,
When my times up
I die a Paro!!
Paro is short for
Pardesi, a foreigner,
I am the girl
Bought for men
From another land
Into there land,
To born son's
For there motherland.
This is ordeal of
A soul that once lived,
Now it's just a body
With no role,
No fiction this
It's a real story
A reality of some
Distant land !!
That land for you
Is so very strange
Where eight young man
**** a pregnant goat!
And the strangest
thing is they
go away and
Roam scot free..!!
Soon the elders in the village
Will have a big meet,
They will give compensation
To the owner of the goat,
And free from the sin
There precious young boys
The martyred goat
Will also have new name,
And so it will soon
Be christened to
A new species of
"Paro"-
a first of it's kind
A Welcome from
an animal world!!
And so I ask again
Do I really exist?
What form of life
Do I have here?
In this strange land
Are they human too??
Does even a little atleast
A thing called
Humanity exist???
*
Sparkle in Wisdom.
1/8/2018.
Aug 2, 2018
Aug 2, 2018 at 6:32 AM UTC
Between now and then
A lot has changed
Or should I say grown
In and out, in every direction
Like it was just a matter of time
Like the change waited for seasons
The growth that need water and sun
The tree shedded it's leaves
It bloomed in the spring
Covered with snow for Christmas
Between now and then
A lot has changed
Jan 6, 2019
Jan 6, 2019 at 7:21 AM UTC
Into the bubbling blue bath of my bliss
my body breaks free of all bounds;
enchanted melodies cavort across my tongue,
unchained continents of merriment.
Shooting stars; cool satisfaction coats me completely.
I have lost all curiosity for torture technique,
while this melody bounces across the cosmos.
My imperfect lovely: Perfectly fractured,
all my shattered pieces fit your holes,
and even now, I glue pieces of you into the slots they fit.
A singular petal glistening with dew,
Deep crimsom; long stemmed tulip.
Black eyes, its stamen. Shedded insight,
I lowered my body before you, as offering.
How will you devour this dream of desire?
It is a feast to be consumed, in small bites,
and copious servings of seconds.
Do not allow this flower to fade,
it may save you from yourself.
Blessings bestowed before bedtime
often fade away by dawn,
give thanks for the present,
draw strength from the past,
take heart, what is meant to be
will always last...
in the end.
Sep 14, 2012
Sep 14, 2012 at 12:20 PM UTC
cons:
do you know how often i have to shave?
**** man i just want clean armpits
and then i turn into a giant dog every month and that hair grows back really ******* fast
i need to invest in one of those lint rollers for shedded animal fur because it is becoming a problem
also i'm pretty sure i chewed another pair of shoes up the other night i need to find a safer spot to put my shoes
shoes are ******* expensive to be constantly replacing i can't ******* do this
not to mention the need for meat okay meat is expensive unless you buy tons of cheap stuff and there is no way i'm eating something that tastes like a greasy foot
(looking at you, cheap sausage patties)
pros:
i've got self-defense pretty much covered now
i'm prepared to **** people up if i need to
and i'm pretty warm like all the time now so i don't have to spend as much on heating
(though at the same time there's the air conditioning in the summer,,,)
also i get to tell all my friends I'm a gay werewolf so i'm basically the coolest
Dec 6, 2014
Dec 6, 2014 at 10:27 PM UTC
Did I fall into a void for a minute while I was thinking?
Did I suddenly disappear away from here while I was blinking?
For so long my absence has played tricks on my mind
I was living every second and yet I forgot to breath
I was totally present and yet completely unaware
I am here and there and everywhere
Where am I now? Who am I?
Have I lost all memory or worse
Have I changed?
Like the leaves in fall or the shedded skin of a snake
I leave an old safe behind in my wake.
And all I feel is fear.
Nov 8, 2018
Nov 8, 2018 at 2:57 PM UTC
Traversing in between that few sweet hangouts
One to another in greater distance
Inside the empty universe
Having shedded ocean of tears
For Keep the moist of life
What life may feel
Staring stagnated beyond horizon
Earnestly towards a vision which can not be seen
For knowing the ingredients of life
The eye has being :
Exhaustede
Aug 18, 2018
Aug 18, 2018 at 4:09 PM UTC
And dreaming of Inisfáil, I was raised on Bolivar Pond.
Sheltered in my wake, I’d coo as the dewy’d morning dove
And fern in my bed, I rose to greet
The song-splayed sounds of light
And work, I made it dropping slow
Bright in the summers swoon, I was adorned in forest eves
By rings that rang from tree to rook, and flung the wingèd down,
Brambled in bay, garland in violet
When blades could ***** and not make bleed,
And I was brindled by the moon’d many shades, that liken
To a brook, and mottled in my main, noted among moss
In that glow, once knighted we must serve
Wood, let me comb in peace!
Colored in the mantled cloth of leaves
And bonny and red, I was the brave and the boon, the deer-
Ants learned me, and herons stood muck, on stands spearing all mite
And the vernal song sang lowly
Swaddled in azure’s unfolding dream.
At each turn was a season, nascent life charming in marsh
Forays that brimmed the hollow rood, in clover yards, I saw
The lilt of bees, sallied in clearings
Brown as the yellowed beech
Colored in sounds that beat the heart.
And forth into the field I sprang unto that shedded loam
And high was the sail that bellowed the raft that raked my pond,
Bullied by the har-umph of frogs
I rippled, rowing cat o’nine tailed tunes.
Windy and free in the hollowed bark round the ****** bay
I trailed the bear sniffing **** heard the hoo of a swooping vowel
And wild in hare, dug the fox-hole up!
Damp fires hailed the rising
Moon, as fire-flies dinted the troutling pools
And nothing I saw in my drowning sun could nettle or thorn
My piney ways, nothing could rot my wood-craving ears
For the kestrel’s qweet-a-quee rang holy
In the skunk-flowered fields of Bolivar Pond.
Apr 5, 2013
Apr 5, 2013 at 2:41 PM UTC
The dress left little to dream, a stained red
her sable hair veiled a porcelain skin.
A body well-toned to beauty's visage,
clinging to its youth in gentle fervor.
She danced with eyes, aloof of the madness
She danced with lips, a smile never faded.
The night felt as if it never faded,
despite that coming sunrise colored red.
With it comes a certain kind of madness:
that furtive creep and crawl under the skin,
that dark attacks all good sense with fervor,
silent beneath a cool and calm visage.
How I gazed on her elegant visage!
How she seemed to glow and never faded!
That way she danced, enthralled in sweet fervor,
twisting, turning hips below a flash of red.
How I wished a taste of that supple skin!
Temptation leading, leaning toward madness.
How hard it may prove to resist madness,
quick, short glances break a stoic visage.
The blood runs warm beneath my pale, clenched skin.
The space around her blurs, faces faded,
till nothing exists but that flaming red.
Hands convulsing in maddening fervor.
The hotel room shakes, same violent fervor,
With naught to do but give in to madness.
The bets are all off when the bull sees red!
Screams painted mute on smile-less visage.
All drowned out, all of everything faded
aside from the taste of porcelain skin.
The sheets peeled off slowly like shedded skin.
Quiet specimen, amidst the fervor,
lays unmoving on the mattress, faded,
left without signs of receding madness.
Sunrise reflected on a still visage:
Smooth porcelain, white now shadowed in red.
That desire for ripe skin, the madness
built in fervor, broke sanity's visage.
Till the smile faded, the dress stained red.
Oct 21, 2013
Oct 21, 2013 at 12:31 AM UTC
My shedded tears cover the earth
coating its green wonders in water
ice,
a word representing demons
ice
like your stare
crystal blue eyes
penetrate my soul
digging deep
reaching in
grabbing what's left of me
in your clenched fist
Ice
cold,
Sliding away
with my heart
May 7, 2017
May 7, 2017 at 4:55 PM UTC
And dreaming of Inisfáil, I was raised on Bolivar Pond.
Sheltered in my wake, I’d coo as the dewy’d morning dove
And fern in my bed, I rose to greet
The song-splayed sounds of light
And work, I made it dropping slow
Bright in the summers swoon, I was adorned in forest eves
By rings that rang from tree to rook, and flung the wingèd down,
Brambled in bay, garland in violet
When blades could ***** and not make bleed,
And I was brindled by the moon’d many shades, that liken
To a brook, and mottled in my main, noted among moss
In that glow, once knighted we must serve
Wood, let me comb in peace!
Colored in the mantled cloth of leaves
And bonny and red, I was the brave and the boon, the deer-
Ants learned me, and herons stood muck, on stands spearing all mite
And the vernal song sang lowly
Swaddled in azure’s unfolding dream.
At each turn was a season, nascent life charming in marsh
Forays that brimmed the hollow rood, in clover yards, I saw
The lilt of bees, sallied in clearings
Brown as the yellowed beech
Colored in sounds that beat the heart.
And forth into the field I sprang unto that shedded loam
And high was the sail that bellowed the raft that raked my pond,
Bullied by the har-umph of frogs
I rippled, rowing cat o’nine tailed tunes.
Windy and free in the hollowed bark round the ****** bay
I trailed the bear sniffing **** heard the hoo of a swooping vowel
And wild in hare, dug the fox-hole up!
Damp fires hailed the rising
Moon, as fire-flies dinted the troutling pools
And nothing I saw in my drowning sun could nettle or thorn
My piney ways, nothing could rot my wood-craving ears
For the kestrel’s qweet-a-quee rang holy
In the skunk-flowered fields of Bolivar Pond.
Sep 27, 2012
Sep 27, 2012 at 12:55 PM UTC
And dreaming of Inisfáil, I was raised on Bolivar Pond.
Sheltered in my wake, I’d coo as the dewy’d morning dove
And fern in my bed, I rose to greet
The song-splayed sounds of light
And work, I made it dropping slow
Bright in the summers swoon, I was adorned in forest eves
By rings that rang from tree to rook, and flung the wingèd down,
Brambled in bay, garland in violet
When blades could ***** and not make bleed,
And I was brindled by the moon’d many shades, that liken
To a brook, and mottled in my main, noted among moss
In that glow, once knighted we must serve
Wood, let me comb in peace!
Colored in the mantled cloth of leaves
And bonny and red, I was the brave and the boon, the deer-
Ants learned me, and herons stood muck, on stands spearing all mite
And the vernal song sang lowly
Swaddled in azure’s unfolding dream.
At each turn was a season, nascent life charming in marsh
Forays that brimmed the hollow rood, in clover yards, I saw
The lilt of bees, sallied in clearings
Brown as the yellowed beech
Colored in sounds that beat the heart.
And forth into the field I sprang unto that shedded loam
And high was the sail that bellowed the raft that raked my pond,
Bullied by the har-umph of frogs
I rippled, rowing cat o’nine tailed tunes.
Windy and free in the hollowed bark round the ****** bay
I trailed the bear sniffing **** heard the hoo of a swooping vowel
And wild in hare, dug the fox-hole up!
Damp fires hailed the rising
Moon, as fire-flies dinted the troutling pools
And nothing I saw in my drowning sun could nettle or thorn
My piney ways, nothing could rot my wood-craving ears
For the kestrel’s qweet-a-quee rang holy
In the skunk-flowered fields of Bolivar Pond.
Jun 4, 2012
Jun 4, 2012 at 6:46 PM UTC
And dreaming of Inisfáil, I was raised on Bolivar Pond.
Sheltered in my wake, I’d coo as the dewy’d morning dove
And fern in my bed, I rose to greet
The song-splayed sounds of light
And work, I made it dropping slow
Bright in the summers swoon, I was adorned in forest eves
By rings that rang from tree to rook, and flung the wingèd down,
Brambled in bay, garland in violet
When blades could ***** and not make bleed,
And I was brindled by the moon’d many shades, that liken
To a brook, and mottled in my main, noted among moss
In that glow, once knighted we must serve
Wood, let me comb in peace!
Colored in the mantled cloth of leaves
And bonny and red, I was the brave and the boon, the deer-
Ants learned me, and herons stood muck, on stands spearing all mite
And the vernal song sang lowly
Swaddled in azure’s unfolding dream.
At each turn was a season, nascent life charming in marsh
Forays that brimmed the hollow rood, in clover yards, I saw
The lilt of bees, sallied in clearings
Brown as the yellowed beech
Colored in sounds that beat the heart.
And forth into the field I sprang unto that shedded loam
And high was the sail that bellowed the raft that raked my pond,
Bullied by the har-umph of frogs
I rippled, rowing cat o’nine tailed tunes.
Windy and free in the hollowed bark round the ****** bay
I trailed the bear sniffing **** heard the hoo of a swooping vowel
And wild in hare, dug the fox-hole up!
Damp fires hailed the rising
Moon, as fire-flies dinted the troutling pools
And nothing I saw in my drowning sun could nettle or thorn
My piney ways, nothing could rot my wood-craving ears
For the kestrel’s qweet-a-quee rang holy
In the skunk-flowered fields of Bolivar Pond.
Jan 26, 2013
Jan 26, 2013 at 1:55 PM UTC
A low monotone ‘snip snip snip'
Drooping heads as in slumber deep
The mirrors reflect telling it all
The shedded strands quietly fall.
Goes on the buzz ‘snip snip snip'
Are they awake or in deep sleep?
Getting off-loaded here's no hike
Lines of souls sit vampire-like.
No one speaks it's nobody's call
Heads mildly roll, tissues fall
Shrouded white from world disguised
The snipper's spells have them hypnotized.
The stupor breaks once ends the ride
A cruel world is waiting outside
The spell was so short, it's a pity
Time again for reality!
Sep 3, 2013
Sep 3, 2013 at 5:39 AM UTC
What is between your thighs? Empty stares hidden behind masks of confused faces, those who are brave enough to speak out.
Wavering hesitation in the questioning of names, locations, attractional appeal.
Do I even seem real?
Does my body "pass" the notion binaries with lingering questions of male? Female?
Of course, but who am I to decide the way I should live my life, or how I've "become" when I've shedded the skin of someone I once was.
I am nothing, if not a charade.
Jun 10, 2015
Jun 10, 2015 at 6:02 PM UTC
And dreaming of Inisfáil, I was raised on Bolivar Pond.
Sheltered in my wake, I’d coo as the dewy’d morning dove
And fern in my bed, I rose to greet
The song-splayed sounds of light
And work, I made it dropping slow
Bright in the summers swoon, I was adorned in forest eves
By rings that rang from tree to rook, and flung the wingèd down,
Brambled in bay, garland in violet
When blades could ***** and not make bleed,
And I was brindled by the moon’d many shades, that liken
To a brook, and mottled in my main, noted among moss
In that glow, once knighted we must serve
Wood, let me comb in peace!
Colored in the mantled cloth of leaves
And bonny and red, I was the brave and the boon, the deer-
Ants learned me, and herons stood muck, on stands spearing all mite
And the vernal song sang lowly
Swaddled in azure’s unfolding dream.
At each turn was a season, nascent life charming in marsh
Forays that brimmed the hollow rood, in clover yards, I saw
The lilt of bees, sallied in clearings
Brown as the yellowed beech
Colored in sounds that beat the heart.
And forth into the field I sprang unto that shedded loam
And high was the sail that bellowed the raft that raked my pond,
Bullied by the har-umph of frogs
I rippled, rowing cat o’nine tailed tunes.
Windy and free in the hollowed bark round the ****** bay
I trailed the bear sniffing **** heard the hoo of a swooping vowel
And wild in hare, dug the fox-hole up!
Damp fires hailed the rising
Moon, as fire-flies dinted the troutling pools
And nothing I saw in my drowning sun could nettle or thorn
My piney ways, nothing could rot my wood-craving ears
For the kestrel’s qweet-a-quee rang holy
In the skunk-flowered fields of Bolivar Pond.
Sep 22, 2014
Sep 22, 2014 at 4:04 PM UTC
*Dark tracks of you follow me,
Taking the breath out of my lungs.
I choke on the thought of you;
Till my heart uplifts
To let you go.
Although you may think,
I'm Never to shed a tear for a past love;
I have shedded many
And felt unworthy of...
If you knew
How it made my heart feel
Each word of criticism
Peeling a layer of me off
leaving my soul left in the dark*
"Never to be loved for the scars of past loves."
Mar 5, 2016
Mar 5, 2016 at 5:12 PM UTC
And dreaming of Inisfáil, I was raised on Bolivar Pond.
Sheltered in my wake, I’d coo as the dewy’d morning dove
And fern in my bed, I rose to greet
The song-splayed sounds of light
And work, I made it dropping slow
Bright in the summers swoon, I was adorned in forest eves
By rings that rang from tree to rook, and flung the wingèd down,
Brambled in bay, garland in violet
When blades could ***** and not make bleed,
And I was brindled by the moon’d many shades, that liken
To a brook, and mottled in my main, noted among moss
In that glow, once knighted we must serve
Wood, let me comb in peace!
Colored in the mantled cloth of leaves
And bonny and red, I was the brave and the boon, the deer-
Ants learned me, and herons stood muck, on stands spearing all mite
And the vernal song sang lowly
Swaddled in azure’s unfolding dream.
At each turn was a season, nascent life charming in marsh
Forays that brimmed the hollow rood, in clover yards, I saw
The lilt of bees, sallied in clearings
Brown as the yellowed beech
Colored in sounds that beat the heart.
And forth into the field I sprang unto that shedded loam
And high was the sail that bellowed the raft that raked my pond,
Bullied by the har-umph of frogs
I rippled, rowing cat o’nine tailed tunes.
Windy and free in the hollowed bark round the ****** bay
I trailed the bear sniffing **** heard the hoo of a swooping vowel
And wild in hare, dug the fox-hole up!
Damp fires hailed the rising
Moon, as fire-flies dinted the troutling pools
And nothing I saw in my drowning sun could nettle or thorn
My piney ways, nothing could rot my wood-craving ears
For the kestrel’s qweet-a-quee rang holy
In the skunk-flowered fields of Bolivar Pond.
Oct 14, 2013
Oct 14, 2013 at 1:29 PM UTC
i know my grief was born
when i stood before a thousand deaths
of who the people i loved used to be;
i made a home to tuck myself in
within the depths of their souls,
i have memorized the corners of their being;
their stories, their scars, and their dreams.
now all that i have known and loved
lay peacefully under the caskets
in the graveyard of who we used to be,
almost like a shedded skin most prefer to forget.
i walked in this graveyard for months—
weeping in the flowers i leave before them,
until a slender hand laid on my shoulder,
"it's about time." she said softly.
"leave me flowers before you go." i replied.
IA
Jun 24, 2021
Jun 24, 2021 at 9:52 AM UTC
Battling against a tide of cars and trains,
Counting the lubs and dubs that grow faint.
Penning down each tear that dries on my paper,
Concealing the eye bags from every night under an intense kohl layer.
Braving the fences and trenches that hurt my feet,
Archiving the conversations that now go obsolete.
Witchcrafting the blood moon of its glee so deep,
Staining the red from my eyes to your feet.
Crawling down from where you let others push me insane,
Ripping me apart with the echoes of 'I'll never be the same'
Uncovering the sunken eyes, shedded oodles and revealing cheek bones,
Trying to be worth a coin in a city of precious stones.
Still leaping miles towards you when a step you take back in repel,
Tickling you in fantasies to cast on you a laughter spell.
Watching those hazel eyes drool in sleep,
Embracing your aura when even my pillow does weep.
Pressing the backspace everytime I scribble verses,
Replacing the oxymorons in us with oranamental metaphors.
Letting my veins go cold n numb enough to form a rope,
Hanging everything I have n to grave shall I elope.
Apr 12, 2015
Apr 12, 2015 at 3:47 AM UTC
On the first day of the year
I woke up on the wrong side of the bed
This year
Nothing changed
And yet everything changed
The bad obscured the good
Completely.
Governed by disorders
Trials galored
Tribulations were scarce
Shredding me were my emotions
As I ricocheted between mood swings
I took permanent residence in the doldrums
Walked on the razor’s edge
Sank deeper
The chasm is endless
Tripped by sorrow
I fell on my ****
Staggering, I rose
Fell then rose again
Only to be handed
Another ******* pill
Sempiternal thirst
For internal calmness
Remains unquenched
Refusing to take anything
Away from myself
Veering off the pessimism lane
Allowing the optimism
To settle in my blood
I feel compelled to admit
Irregardless of the turmoil
This has been a year of
Milestones
Transformations
Achievements
Realisations
And fractional clarity
On the blinding forest that is life
I shedded my second skin
As I went along
Not completely renewed
Almost...
Or not at all
I don’t know
I grew some *****
As they are essential in life
I blew out the candle
Lit for the one
Who will never be mine
I watched the flame fade away
But the thoughts of him did not
The road ahead is the toughest yet
I am placing the few good memories
Of the year in a jar
To carry with me
Into the forthcoming new year
These memories, it seems
Are for keeps.
Dec 26, 2013
Dec 26, 2013 at 6:11 PM UTC
My body is my
only canvas,
but my tools lack the
love and bristles of a
painter's brush.
I am a
masterpiece, an
abstract of scars and
freckled skin.
I draw lines of
blood along my
arms, carve words
into my thighs.
I tell a story in
broken lines
because my voice and
hands waiver.
The picture I paint isn't
pretty;
it's coated in
tears and
shedded make-up,
veins forever
pumping blood down
my cheeks.
But the tale it
tells is
beyond skin deep,
down to heart and
lungs and
moving limbs,
the way we
walk and the
way we sing,
how we love and
are loved,
despite titles and
the color of
our skin,
the meals we've
skipped or
how many times we've
made ourselves bleed.
You may take the
knife to your
wrist, or pour the
bleach down your
throat, but
you
are no less beautiful than the
models on TV who
bear their bones and
cover up the imperfections,
the girls at lunch who
eat whatever they
want and still are as
thin as the
toothpicks that hold their
sandwiches together,
the bigger kids who
learned to accept their
bodies before you could ever
accept yours,
or the face in the
mirror you've failed to
associate with the
one looking back.
May 8, 2013
May 8, 2013 at 7:56 PM UTC
A brief sense of history takes over my olfactory lobes
Sniffing, I smell ancient burnt bricks and lime mortar
My hands reach for the uneven floor piled with ages of dust and the ragged walls portraying a dull grey...
Reminiscent of the times lost and stabbed by cruel hands of destiny...
Pieces of carvings of flowers and animals lay scattered on the frozen grounds
An eerie stillness presides over them causing my heart to tremble in an unknown sorrow...
Statues, full and broken seem to lay all over as if knocked out by the ravages of time...
Time...
What enigma is this time? Like a vain ruler, it rules over the ruin...unaffected by the lost happiness of this once glorious kingdom...
Darkness is the new king and silence the queen
That reigns terror in this empty palace day and night
Roots seem to have penetrated into its giant stone of a heart...
And wild birds have found a shelter in its once forbidden chambers...
I wander aimlessly pondering over the sights I see...
The full moon shines on my face through a crack in the roof...
As if wondering about the purpose of my visit into this empty land
I remain silent feeling the chill of mystery that surrounds my soul...
I suddenly realise that I feel solace in this vacancy... That same vacancy tries to reign over my heart... shredding it into pieces...
Maybe that is why I can so much sympathise with this non living entity...
It is as if my mind and the mind of this ancient structure are one and the same...
We seem to connect to each other, like old lost friends...
For who better can understand the essence of a ruin other than the one whose life feels like a ruin...
Tired I lay over it's bare ground feeling the memories of the days gone by...The ringing laughters,the shedded tears ,the spilled secrets and the peace lost forever...
Time passed over on the wings of a bat...
And finally an ancient sleep took over...!
Nov 30, 2020
Nov 30, 2020 at 8:45 AM UTC
No frills tonight,I'll tell you why we hold so tight,
to yesteryear and yesterday and...and last fuckin' night...
before the sky broke open,
lately I'd been vaguely sorta hopin'(not doin shit,just hopin')...
that we'd get the magic back,that we'd bring back all the craic
when it was you for me and me for you again' the world,
I'm starin at the wall my mind aswirl,
Then I'm starin' thru a window to the past
when we KNEW that we would last
forever,never ever fall apart,
never ever pulled apart,
by life and time and fuckin' work,
we knew we were the ones to make it work!,
and now I'm staring through that window to the past,
like trying to piece a champagne glass,
back together when it's smashed,
*I'm kneelin' here with ****** fingers,
tryin' to make these memories linger*
REALISIN' how you'll linger there,
your scent...your smile...your shedded hair(seriously I find it EVERYWHERE!)
sorry hon I lost it there(but seriously your frickin' hair!)
your company was past compare,
I close my eyes and see you there,
I pound my fist against the glass
praying that you'll see the danger see the future Nuclear blast,
but you're just blissfully gracefully strolling past,
holding me,enfolding me
emboldening me like nobody past or present ever did or will,
the thrill begat the skill begat the quill of you so deep in me,
thought we were our Destiny.
you're under my skin like a Sinatra tattoo,
but enough bout me...how bout you?
Jul 30, 2019
Jul 30, 2019 at 10:38 PM UTC
The single tear
gliding to the ground
landing with a plunk
That no one can hear but you
That single tear
sailing down your cheek
that tear
can tell its story
the story of heartbreak
death
sadness
life and loss
That single tear
that you friends and family
can see with clarity
they will know
the story of that tear
as soon as they see it slide
down your pale face
just that one glistening tear
says it all
Apr 7, 2017
Apr 7, 2017 at 6:46 AM UTC