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Heather Feb 2012
Cry, Pain, Tears of blood
The red on all wrists will begin to flood
Don't try to hide, Don't try to run,
'Cause in the end I'll get you ***!

I'll slit your throat, cut out your eyes, and bring your head back down to size.
I'll make you scream, I'll make you cry, throw you in a fire and watch you die.

The anger built up and a monster was created...can't you tell it's everyone I hated?
No one is my friend...its all a bunch of lies! So, I'll hold you down, and cut you up.

No one will hear your cries!!!

This is great, new found power! They'll see you hanging in the shower.
You'll all squirm and I will laugh...as i saw your bodies in half.

You ****** me off, set off my fuse...now I'll think of new torchers to use.
Looking at you fills me with disgust...Here we are, a knife with rust.

Now I'll cut off all your fingers and toes...a look on your face no longer
It's froze...

To **** with me you all are fools!
Guess what? Now I make the rules!
Matthias Apr 2011
He is an Autumn shower, he loves me.
He is a Winter freeze, he loves me not.
I am his queen on the throne, he loves me.
I have no home but this dungeon, he loves me not.
Words fill my heart causing it to float, he loves me.
Words fill my heart poisoning it, he loves me not.
His voice speaks so soft in my ear, he loves me.
His lies spill so easily, he loves me not.
I always knew without doubt, he loves me.
Turns out to my dismay, he loves me not.
N E Waters May 2013
look at us
dreaming, unsleeping.
Vibrant broken, ever-enlightening youth.

Singing dirges as if we knew the dead,
as if we had no friends.

Shower me with your wisdom,
your ever widening meaning.
Like this fractured mentality wasn't what the world was reaching for.

Pushed past the point of no return,
came back full circle.

maybe this time we'll find an end
or maybe we can meet again at the middle.

Wherever whispers ruled,
that's where I'll love you.

Wherever fear befriended those who stood unoffended, who reached
for something.
Who understood the currencies of blood,
of screaming into the wind;

of challenging the world to ******* harder.
That's where I'll always love you.


My benign chaos.


My finest rage
my purest angst,
my greatest sadness,
my only meaning.

You can't feel unless someone tells you that you're feeling.

When I grow up I don't want to:
I told you I'd wait by the window, all I ever wanted was forever.
I'll never close it, never.

Here, in this sadness, in this panic that what we feel will last forever?
that's where I'll always love you,
forgive you,
wait for you.

dear peter.
Nico Reznick Jul 2017
Brew tragedy tea
and drink without
tasting it.
Keep checking the meaning of
'forever',
in case it's been redefined
in less absolute terms.
Shiver through the heatwave and watch
the colour bleed out of the summer.
Dig a hole that won't be deep enough.
Shower off the crazy sweat and grave dirt
and pretend like maybe
you'll do the dishes.
Rupture your inner workings
as you scream at the universe
for ******* up so badly.
Lapse into the cold, sterile embrace
of catatonia, grateful
to feel nothing for a while.
Cry so long and so hard you forget
why you're crying,
then remember and cry
longer and harder.
Try brokering a deal with fate's
Appeals Department: offer
your organs, your eyesight,
however many years off your life,
to get him back.
Search for meaning and find none.
Rage against the perversity of it all.
Howl that death shouldn't feel derivative.
Remind yourself that this
isn't just a sick joke.
Hate Elisabeth Kübler-Ross for being right
and yourself for being so generically human.
Realise how little
knowing helps.
Reacquaint yourself with anhedonia.
Try not to hate the blue sky
or the birds who have returned
to sing in his back garden.
Just lost a really good cat friend.  Grieving pretty ******* hard, if utterly unoriginally.
John F McCullagh Dec 2011
It’s the bottom of your Liter
And you’re feeling little pain.
You stopped with friends on Baker Street
to get out of the rain.

London has a winter chill
That seeps into your bones.
So many people live here
Yet you feel so all alone.

The bottle lies beside you
And you fairly reek of Gin.
You muse is tugging on your sleeve
impatient to begin.

You long to live a simpler life-
perhaps a piece of land.
A place out in the country
with your woman close at hand.

But that’s not going to happen
There’s the trouble with the band.
Lawsuits flying back and forth
with unreasonable demands.

The alcohol helps dull the pain
of a lifetime of regret.
No one said it would be easy
And life’s not finished with you yet.

So you try to get two hours sleep
And you need a shower bad.
You’re heading back to Glasgow
For the best Sax you ever had.
A tribute to Gerry Rafferty and his signature song, "Baker Street". Rest in peace. May your music play on.
Tutrterl Feb 2011
The scrape of the
Shower curtain’s slide is
Music to my ears.
This old cliché
Comes true when I
Hear the sound sampled in some
New song today. Every
Other up-beat makes
My speakers buzz, I
Spin the dial and
Breathe static.
Natsumi Nakai Jul 2016
6:00 a.m.
It was her 28th birthday
She loaded the ***** laundry into a washing machine
and looked at the toilet that she needed to clean
She fixed her hair, she took a shower
without even looking at her own reflection on the mirror
She grabbed a cup of instant coffee
and gulped ounces of it to steer away the terror
She tossed the cup in the bin
but missed because her hands tremored
And as if time was racing with light speed
she saw the sunset fading away in retreat
She goes to work the next morning
with layers of concealer under her eyes
but she could never conceal her wistful smile
She comes home with her daughter sleeping in her bedroom
And on the sofa was her tired husband
still in his party clown costume
At the corner was the telephone with five voicemails from her mom
but she never found time to listen to her qualms
She glanced at the night sky from her window
with an almost unnoticeable sorrow

One day she woke up and she was 70
Still doing the same laundry
Still drinking the same instant coffee
She looked at her daughter walk down the aisle
with her father who almost never smiles
She brought flowers to her mom's grave
but she couldn't hear her from the other side with the distorted soundwave
She still walks out her doorstep with the same shoes
Almost getting tired of hearing the same news
She still sees the sunset from that window
And she looks out from them with the same almost unnoticeable sorrow

She woke up and she was 28 again
She started to make an effort to notice her face on the mirror
She took time to look at her mom and cheer her
She hugged her husband more and this time tighter
She sank her lips into her daughter's soft cheeks
And never dared to miss a moment when her innocent lips speaks
She walked out the door before the sun could set
to finally buy a new pair of shoes, they were red
She walked the earth as if it were her first time
and she locked her gaze into the golden sunshine

Time passed and she's now 92
And on her deathbed, she said
'If there's one thing that sunsets had taught me,
It is that transitions can be beautiful too.'
When I feel sad, I hide my hands in my sweater.
When I feel alone, I hide myself in my blankets.
When I feel hurt, I hide myself in the warm water of my shower.
When I feel nervous, I hide my face behind my hands.
and when I feel mad, I hide my screams in my pillows.
-o.b
I'm pretty good at hiding.
Can you find me?
Jiminy Cricket Jun 2013
My night sky has turned into a distant blur.
Staring out
I manage to lick the edge of it.
And I receive a now common taste
of numbed pain and sleep full nights.

Everything is a haze
and I'm the center of it.
Feeling everything I needed.

But what was that again?
Oh yeah, nothing.
Feeling better than before
I crawl into bed
and my dreams blossom more than the sun's sky.

Every morning I wake with the taste of the night before.
Feeling everything that wasn't wanted.
Feeling everything.
A sore head and an un easy tongue

I crawl into the shower
and thoughts start to fall on me.
I see the distant sky
and poke my tongue out at it.
Mr. moon tugs at it, and pulls me in.
Audrey Maday Jan 2015
I remember when we were in the shower after the first trip to the sauna, and you got down on one knee and asked me to marry you. And maybe we should have ran far away from this hellhole town right then and there and maybe got hitched in Vegas and got our apartment and published our books because I think we would still be happy if we had left right when you asked.
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2020
drinking warm whiskey... isn't so bad...
it could be much worse:
it could be warm *****:
     not cold enough to reach a gomme syrop
consistency...
life's so tragic... sometimes...
       a warm ***** is like a warm beer...

what am i supposed to say?
i'm just tired of wanting to be in love...
i'm tired of hating...
   i'm tired of being angry...
i'm tired of being preditable and also:
slithering in pickling juices...
i am tired of love because...
               when it was "love"...
it wasn't dog eyes and a leash...
         or: never mind the solipsism of cats
when they still desire to mark your
forehead when sniffing it...
or come up and greet you:
with a "bodzio"... a head-****...

    so much of my cognitive capacity
became a wasteland from having
both woman and love on a peddlestool
of the ideal...
                   it's terrible waking up...
but that "terrible" sometimes becomes
as... exhilarating as taking a cold shower...
or watching a flock of sparrows chirp...

and the ***: cocoon ***... under bed-sheets...
all my one-night stands happened this way...
under the bed-sheets...
i'm happy to give a comparative literature of:
well... at least in the brothel we did it
under dimmed lights...
****-naked on the sheets...
having showered first
and downed a slacker of ms. amber:
oh you know it's bad...
that i have to call whiskey a very personal
investment narrative...
it's not whiskey... it's... ms. amber...

i should have been drinking long ago...
come shoulder to shoulder with
both my paternal and maternal grandfathers...
cocoon ***...
and if you don't think a man can be "*****"...
at the brothel?
  there's the concept of: creaming-up...
if the oyster isn't salivating enough...
yes... "****"... cocoon *** with a sawdust ****...
sanding paper **** more like...
oh the agony: but to my liking...
yeah bud: stick your lesser want of limbs
into a meat-grinder:
is that penetrating enough?
      who would forever suppose...
it's a kangaroo pouch of safety...
the nadir of lucifer's birth:
     free-falling: head first... but not through
a ****... not some floral pattern...

     cesarean... cesarean... are we going to give
births to kaisers or dull-eyed: deer...
i very much like to imagine a band
of mad-laughter hyenas...

               coal-burning black eyes...
      i am tired of giving up my thinking to any
and all ideals of love...
i could have invested my (th)ought i
into... conjuring up an electric bulb...
        a frankestein...
                i became so tired of love...
i had to come across a brothel:
to steal kisses from prostitutes
     and attempt a theft of the halo of st. augustine...
mummify letters in books...

which i have done...
        but love is such a never-dog...
                    one relationship that involved as cooking
together: beside the already necessary
prerequisite of *******-for-free...
her period, the ******, and cooing her
to do it in the bathtub with the water running...

or this: moment when enough ms. amber
is in me... and i turn to...
         the chants of the templars:
            crucem sanctem...
                   dum pater familias...
          da pacem domine...

that clarity of a transaction...
              the growling dog overwhise
teased with food already presented to him
in a bowl...
          count of fingers...
                    
     i'm tired of love... of all of my body...
this nail blunt head from being hammered
too often...
           it escapes me:
why should my libido be compensated
when it requires: exhaustion...
to find the most fanciful thought:
only when the libido is exhausted:
   and if i have to do it myself: so be it...

but of so many people worried:
i am indeed... "worried"... when will it...
subside... die off...
this quills': marquis de sade:
leverage of: to read books using only
one hand...
                        if the acne is so prolonged
to make me...
belzeebub's favourite ***** of:
what precedes ****** / anti-wrinkle creams...
one maggot 'ere... another...

it is simply exhausting to love:
as one is expected to love via fiction...
and it is too costly to love:
poetically... anything but language...
esp. acquired language:
a language learned... most certainly
not passed from a grandmother to a mother
to a son...
some could claim to call these words:
in vitro...
         and on that matter...
which part of me is experimentally "dead":
the mind... or the body?
i am not... a native of these parts...
a native...           a native...

this is the part of the year when
winter is crucified... and reborn as spring! no?
all ******* rose buds and sparrows chirping!
who can love... so... ideally...
idle though: to make the burdens
of the most... boorish matters needing:
stressed concerns for "detail"...

  am i one of the last ones that still
bought a *****-mag when
the free **** was available online...
                     twitch... i'm an old ****:
in a 34 year old body... because:
keeping up... became synonymous with
being distracted...
                  cam-girl... etc. etc.
            "soz": but there just isn't any bragging
to be minded...
or a:        h'american striptease... d'uh: tease...
the carnival of the wriggling maggot
came to invoke
kissing the eyelids... gently teasing
the tip of the nose with a bite...
                             this body... or that body...
an a sculptor...
   in the brothel i was only robbed... once:
well... "robbed"...
this coke-head distrated me with:
do you want to use this *****...
          the proprietors' henchman...
a little turk by the time: i presume to be:
Osman came up with a bundle of stolen cards
and asked me: which one is yours?

that's a pretty good effort...
        i must have been up to no good...
once we stopped ******* because: she started
seeing downton abbey in an epileptic flicker...
yes: and me ******* her wasn't,
exactly... a ******* chocolate fondant...
          
it seems so... pristine when...
two bodies are allowed to touch...
without all that extra baggage...
that is desired to... "beside" the otherwise...
readily available carnality of the act...

e-girl vidoes: teases...
                                    what can be the best
compliment... one could possibly give to...
byzantine culture / the "modern" greek?
   ah... Αγνή Παρθένε... the singing...
                          
   mulier... no... not a woman or wife...
             hardly a property right...
something to boast and concern oneself for
the rattling of feathers of peacocks...
     mulier... the french playright...
ugh... molière - yes, him!
            molière donning a mullet! yes...
and not one of those charles II wigs...
from one wig alone...
               you could have made...
oh... roughly... an orchestra's demand
for violin and cello bows...

              pissy-pant french of 14 year old
past: one direction fandom...
                            for every male fan of tool...
a declared ownership of a *****...
better still... a screwdriver...
    that would be something...

                                or when stand-up comedy
was communist enough to entertain:
a cabaret form... an **** oddity (bottom)...
can't enough not tire of
stand-up solipsism...
the stand-up solo project of...
back-and-forth with an audience of canned
laughter?
cabaret... doesn't have to be switz
ja herr doktor voltaire...
         but some sort of ping-pong...
a game of squash...
i do not know... of a single concept of
sport... where there's only one...
concept-riddle of engagement...
can comedy... or rather... should comedy
have "evolved" beyond the cabaret...
famously: in theatre-land...
stones in his pockets...
two bodies on stage...
  with a plethora of...
how the sequence went...
   BRONSON...
bronson "vs." or rather:
"nursie" vs. "mr. petersson"...

          two names: Conleth Hill and
             Sean Campion... oh look... capital! letters!
yes: of note... circa 2001...
and that's when...
   this... stand-up... hard-on "comedy"
of stand-ups...
no... no cabaret format...
internal-monologues extending into...
an octopus attempting cliff-skimming:
climbing... failing miserably...
   if it's such a "comedy"...
    where's heidegger's hammer?
last time i heard: even by ol' martin's standards:
you'd require two people to talk
about philosophy as a "side-project"
when hammering in nails...
how can one person tell a joke?
oh but they can...
on special occassion(s)...
         the joke is better translate via a dialogue...
rather than a monologue...
last time i heard...
  
comedy doesn't require these stand-up
geniuses...
imagine... ******* is actually...
a *** act...
taking a **** is actually a...
        get together meal for three...
and that's the loaf... equally spread...
for the devil's dozen...
   ******* will satisfy any champagne socialist
get-together...
      
   i have to become bored of love...
the sort of love that would never come with:
the impetus of darwinism's ideologues...
for: now that i have become a father...
           i'm less and less: a ***** satyr!
               wish me 70+ age and being freed
by dementia to curse like a cobbler
and a seafaring man...

              that overbearing: no room for impromptu:
when solo...
otherwise... no otherwise...
just that strict: regime of... an expectation
for and with: canned laughter...
all that's missing are two tin cans
and a placenta of stiched-up tongues...

... for all the movie buffs...
it's not enough to blunt your eyes on movies...
actors: and their subsequent roles
in 3D... why did up stand-up...
the grand mass-orchestrator of giggles be
allowed to cue the audience...
like any minor dictator might: from
argentina or romania?

                 back toward the ***...
yes... stealing kisses from prostitutes...
this was never going to be one about Wordsworth's
"celibacy"... which you would be expected
to partake in... just having bit into
the forbidden fruit of ****** with your sister...
or so... they might say...

daffodils and that "doris" of the...
will the word ****... somehow prevent
you from seeing ****** ****...
or ******* ****?
then at least there's the hope...
to make minors of ettiquete standards
of the: proper social contract approach:
with civility... or therefore: none...

i am finding a rare occassion for:
an as to why, i would ever do anything to begin
with... grow a beard (1)
grow a beard to stop myself shaving (2)
grow a beard to hide my double-chin (3)...
grow a beard because
growing my hair long became boring (4)...
grow a beard because i wanted
to scratch my ***** on my face rather than
scratch them on my "eden region" (5)...
the other reasons congregate under
the status of... rubric and tally...

(6) to grow a beard is better than growing
the hair long...
no chance of becoming bald...
long hair attracts too much female attention...
last time i heard a woman who grew a beard
became a circus-act...
a beard is the safest territory to mind...
when there's a woman that...
somehow needs to compensate!

         all of a sudden: i have forgotten *****
envy... when i came across
beard envy...
   i am... very much so...
envious of mel gibsons beard...
in general: but esp. so in the role...
of prof. murray... with him donning
a cravate and a top-hat to boot:
the epitome of what all men of the world
could have wished for:
the victorian gentlemen...
fiercer still: an autodidact...
a dog without a leash... eh?

     i pity the tattoo of ethnicity:
given that: i would be english...
an ukranian would be scottish...
or a lithuanian... the tattoo of ethnicty or a past...
that i would be the ******...
and there was this tide of cossacks...
i would be... the ******...
           and there would be some
ingenius pict equivalent...
            in my abode...
                      
    i am tired of love...
the most attired love of idealism...
as i am tired of hate:
and anger...
i am tired of both of these latter:
when there's no boxing match interlude
to match-up with...
i'm tired of love as i am tired
of retribution and of justice...
i am tired of gambling...
what right is there fore me:
to steal from the blind?
           i am tired from: expectations...
i am tired of ideals...
i am tired of hate because:
if i wasn't i'd still find it...
egregious to spot the minor offences
of citing the prefixing n-...
                                        as... nothing short
of an "oops" of b-               and -igger!

i'm tired of being: a civil monkey...
if i'm tired of love...
if i'm tired of hate...
i can never tire of language...
but if i become:
zoologically kept: inept...
                      ha ha! ha ha! ha! ha!
i: dodo: tire: and Tod:
of: ******: improm:     p'tooh!
         savvy or the sinking ship?!

                       RATZ!

better a concern for prostitutes:
seeing that... there's no...
jackie ol' myth to be cooked from my "affairs"...
i thought about:
how about... now was the best time...
to not **** prostitutes...
i stole kisses...
an exercise in making videos...
bring back blockbusters!
             bring back blockbusters!
**** the content creators of youtube!
give, me, back, my, *******, jukebox!
give, me, back, my... thesaurus algorithm!
give, me, back, my, *******, jukebox!
give, me, back, my... thesaurus algorithm!

           once upon a time: dubbed:
paupers... the homeless...
prostitutes... now... eh... one sly loss of calling
these... the... leeches of: welcome tomorrow!
so the price of... being...
astounded... that's it?!
                the magnified statement
of karma-phobia...
there has to be a concept akin to:
karma-phobia when islamophobia is already
too bogus to touch...
there has to be: karma-phobia...

a ******* a canvas:
i went down this alley because...
i just... wanted to show-off...
for myself...
the most better part of myself i could never
show with... a girlfriend...
and showing my best:
armed with merely a dog and a leash:
just wasn't enough:
or a fabergé egg: missing a matryoshka doll
"detail"...

like kicking a dog in the *****...
like... attempting to catch a mosquitos
by the ******* donning boxing gloves...
the lowest of the low:
of picking the "fruit"...
jackie ol' burrow: ripe-kipper...
and that merry-o-round of...

                give me enough upper-body volume
to rummage and ruminate...
to clearly identify the psychopaths
leisuring themselves over a thursday's
afternoon worth of sun-soaking
a metaphor of bath...
         and all those minor grizzly detials
of swathing a mosquito or two...
because we are inclined
to spare the flies...
because: we just, are... thus inclined...
i hear an argument: i will: without a doubt...
also hear a guillotine do us all a favor
of detailing the: "chopper"...

my my: that ripe keeper of a pulsating
neck's worth of a rhubarb...
salmon teriyaki...
                                       n'est ce-pas?!

in between: calling it learning to tie one's
shoelaces...
having no better synonym detail
of comparison other than...
             with depeche...
                                no song to be worth
any particular: sort of... originality...
and or in... detail...
                   there's only a hope for
giving a particular sort of wind:
associated with a month...
and with a month: a sorting-out of a year
within and beyond a decade...
a century...
                    
this had to be forever: and one...
enough for the worth of tonight...
and with it... no other, better, compensation
other than my own input;

ha ha!                          grace?!
preservationman Nov 2020
The highway thru bus to love, and as the curtain has arisen, so is the story.  It’s a hot day in the midst of summer when two musicians are about to find each other, and the analysis of Chemistry 101. The story takes place in Downtown Pittsburgh at the Pittsburgh Transportation Center on Greyhound for a journey to New York City. You see, Judy Smith, an accomplished Pianist is about to venture at Carnegie Hall for a concert. Because Judy hit all the right notes of melody, it was University of Pittsburgh in their amateur night sponsored by the Music department under the guidance of Professor Geoffrey Tuner. Now John Minichiello, an accomplished Violist from the Pittsburgh music arrangement society sponsored by the creator, John Carey. Back in his day, he was an extraordinary Orchestra Leader. Joseph was also going to play at Carnegie Hall.

Before the bus even arrives in New York City, there will be a music harmony of its own having a love tone and tranquility in a relationship in the making while at a Rest Stop. At Gate 18, a Greyhound Prevost with the destination in bold letters, NEW YORK, NY was ready for boarding for a 10:00 am departure. It the trip would take 7 hours. The Greyhound Driver was busy exchanging passenger Tickets at the gate, and the Baggage Handler was loading the bus. Judy Smith was in front of Joseph Minichiello, which he accidentally bumped into Judy Smith, which Joseph apologized, and Judy stated no problem. One begins to wonder, was the bump really an accident or a way of getting Judy Smith’s attention. The bus was backing out of the departure gate on time precisely at 10:00 am. The bus was going through the downtown streets of Pittsburgh heading for the Pennsylvania Turnpike.

Finally, the bus was moving swiftly on the turnpike passing cars and trucks. At about 2:00 pm, a rest stop was made at Breezewood, PA. The Greyhound Driver announced that the rest stop would be for 30 minutes. Oh good, here’s my chance too stretch my legs stated Joseph Minichiello. As all the passengers had gotten off, Joseph Minichiello and Judy Smith seemed too settle for another area of the rest stop, where Judy Smith was reading her music that she was going to play at the concert. Mind you now, none of them knew each other, but that is about to change. Judy looked over her shoulder, and asked Joseph, “What instrument do you play?” and Joseph replied, “The Violin”. Judy responded that she is a Pianist heading for Carnegie Hall. What a coincidence Joseph responded, he told Judy he was heading to Carnegie Hall as well to perform. They talked and talked, and almost missed the bus at the rest stop. They boarded the bus and proceeded onward to New York City. The bus was now on the New Jersey Turnpike. In the distance looking close was too far was New York City. It is now 5:00 pm, and the bus has entered rush hour traffic going into the Lincoln Tunnel. Finally, the Hound bus enters the Lincoln Tunnel heading for the final destination of New York City within the Port Authority Bus Terminal. The bus pulls into Gate 64, which the arrivals are Gates 62 through 66. When everyone is disembarking, Judy Smith asks where Joseph Minichiello is staying, and he said, “He will check into a hotel, but Judy suggested, why don’t you stay with me at the Carnegie Hall Tower complex as her University supplied everything, and Joseph said yes, why not.

It was a subway ride to West 57th Street on the R train. Up they went in the elevator to their room, which had a panoramic view of numerous New York City Skyscrapers, which the Big Apple is known for. Joseph stated he wanted to take a shower. So he showered then later came out of the bathroom in just a towel wrapped around his body. It was wrecking Judy’s senses of curiosity as to what size was under that towel. The ripped abs didn’t help either. Out of the blue, Joseph began to kiss Judy, and she became weak under his spell, and wanted more. Joseph then picked her up, and escorted her to the bedroom for unstoppable loving action, which added the tones of sequence with the playing of her ivories of melody.

The concert is tonight, and the music accompaniment is about to begin. Judy smith on the Piano with soothing sounds of peace and comfort, and on the Violin was Joseph Minichiello call of the wild and embracing the soul into taming the beast from within. Then the entire orchestra joined in for a musical night that for the entire audience that they would never forget. Loud applause and standing ovations rang out. This was a night Judy Smith and Joseph Minichiello will always remember. They played musical notes of their own, but not for the audience. They kissed behind the curtain, and it was music of the skies that brought them together, and the intermittent Hound bus for bringing people together.
WHEN YOU HAVE BEEN LIVING A LIFE OF UNANSWERED QUESTIONS
POWER OF FAITH
TURN TO THE POWER OF THE LORD
READ THE WORDS OF THE BIBLE IS WHERE
THE TRUTH LIES
LIFT UP HIS WORDS IN THE
POWER OF FAITH
SHOWER THE LORD WITH LOVE
HE IS WATCHING FROM ABOVE
WHEN YOU HAVE BEEN LIVING A LIFE TRYING
TO FIND YOURSELF
TURN TO THE POWER OF THE LORD
HE WILL SHOWER YOU WITH HIS LOVE
EVERY STEP, EVERY BREATH
HE IS WATCHING FROM ABOVE
IN THE POWER OF FAITH
Joshua Nov 2019
Place where my thoughts and decisions are made.
Place where I can cry freely,
without worrying that someone will see me.
the sun that bleeds through your blinds
     and makes your eyes burn

I want to be
     the cold shower that wakes you up
          and makes your skin tingle

I want to be
     the cigarette smoke that inhabits your lungs
          and makes you calm

I want to be
      the wind that makes you shiver
          and whispers sweet secrets in your ears

I know I'm just
     the blanket that you cling to
          when your cold
                                                            ­                        
                                                                ­                           but I want to be so much more
Neo Madime Jan 2014
My image of you is the eternal echo of sorrow, of a door closing in a big empty room.
My eyes are blinded by the residue left from the tears you shed when I broke your heart.
My heart tears with pain, fakes joy because you're smiling with someone else because there's nothing more you hate than to be alone.
I just hope they don't hurt you like I did.

I know I never really wrote you love letters but,
I pray the pain I've caused doesn't change you cause now your wall is so high I have to search for who I fell in love with.
I hope the dreams you uttered to me In the chaotic cadence of the night remain because we birthed them together.

When there are no lights and its 11:11,
I dream a life of us
Together growing old.
Its always you and my dreams
I even believed in 'till death do us part'.
I saw the world in your eyes and it gave me hope.
Your tranquil voice took my fears and put them to bed. You shook the very core of my being to life and time became irrelevant because our world couldn't be measured.

I wont shower you with fluffy poems littered with insignificant adjectives that don't even pay you justice
But god I MISS YOU.
And I hope the universe conspires against you so you'll end up with me because you'll always be *my konstantine
I want you back because giving up was harder
Mortecai Null Nov 2018
Lines of scar tissue trace from the edge of your lips back to the end of your teeth. You run your tongue from one corner to the other. Right to left. You can’t be the only one to have this. Your desire to probe another’s orifices has close to overwhelmed you in the desire to relate to other people. Was this normal? When the fan runs wind over your skin it crawls to create peaks and divots. As they fade, one patch remains on the outside of your forearm. You pick at every little one until the whole population turns red to purple to green. Was this normal? Your teeth poke holes into each other. A corner of a molar no longer holds up a roof and with your tongue’s help you can just barely make out the inner cavity. It felt like porous webbing. It reminds you of the animal skulls you looked at in your biology class and their delicate nasal cavities. Looking at those cavities used to make you very sad. Was this normal? You once had a hangnail on your hallux. They had to numb your foot to break under your skin and pull the left section of it out. It took twice the amount of anesthetic for you to not feel it. It felt good to know you were being mutilated.  Was this normal? You always felt a dip in the upper back of your head. You once heard that newborn babies had a soft spot in that area of their skull, but that the hole closes as they get older. Pressing on yours incites headache. Was this normal? You once formed a cyst on your thigh. It did not want to be drained like its smaller companions that littered your back and face. You are determined to remove the blemish. You dig around the outsides and press inward to find the source. It seems deeper than you thought. You continue to scratch away at the layers of skin as you start to bleed. It doesn’t really hurt. You just want to find the cyst. After about thirty minutes you give up. You’re not really sure why you couldn’t find it. You must have took at least an inch into your leg. Was this normal? For weeks you slipped in and out of lucid dreams. You only got up to use the bathroom, check the news, and take your medicine. Some of the dreams were enjoyable and others less so. You almost started to forget which world was more real, but it all started to become unsettling. Even when you didn’t care where you were, every state felt as if it were decaying around you. And when you did care, the panic caused you to start to shake. In quiet, disabling anxiety, you spun counterclockwise to the world around you. You grabbed the razer from your shower. You gently rubbed the blades against your forearm. Erratic slices cut through the outermost dermal. There was no blood, just redness. It was only to make sure you were still there. But it wasn’t quite right. Your arm was there, but maybe the rest of you wasn’t. You had to make sure. Was this normal? You raced the blades up your arms, over your chest, down your torso, down and down. Certain curvatures ran strange and caused blood to pearl to the surface. Others barely upset the dead layer. You looked at yourself in the mirror. You always felt like your face didn’t look quite right. And right now, it was the face of some sort of estranged family member. Was this normal? You gently glide the razor sideways across your face. It’s the most sensitive yet. You remember some random piece of trivia about the temples on a human head. You start to slide the hand razor to the right side of your temple. It doesn’t hurt as much as you thought it would. You experiment with more and more pressure until blood starts to arise. The little bit of it running down the side of your face made you feel the most comfortable in your skin for a long time. You start to rotate from your forearms and your temples and your stomach and again. You’ve forgotten about the dreams. You’ve forgotten about the world. You’ve forgotten about the trivial division between reality and non-. You’ve forgotten about normalcy. You feel good. Was this normal?
Jason Michie May 2021
Raw

I've scoured off my skin needing to scrub it out
I've exfoliated to the bone wanting to rub it out
I've been used and abused hoping to love it out
I've put on twenty pounds trying to grub it out

BUT
(Who doesn't love a big but?)

There's no infomercial-Oxy-booster to clean this stain
(Your absence a dark blotch in my sight)

There's no late-night ShamWow-savior to absorb this pain
(This displaced grief and fright)

There's no thought deep enough to wash you from my brain
(Nor the contrail of confusion behind your flight)

There's no shower cold enough, it weathers even this caustic rain
(Love's inexhaustible light)

© 05/10/21 Jason R. Michie All Rights Reserved

Started this one a few days ago but couldn't get it to come out right so I never finished it. Not sure if it's right, it probably *****, but it's finished! ;p
Been kinda slow to write anything lately, and I've fallen behind my own internal challenge, but oh well.  Depression has been ringing my bell like a prize-fighter whose mother I just insulted.  Viciously insulted, apparently.
Ahl be bahk.
She is a poetic muse
Her poems I always choose
Like an electrical fuse
She sends out great power
And like a sprinkling shower
She makes me shiver
A perennial river
Who has cosmic power
She sits at the tower
From her wonderful quiver
She shoots the arrows of flower
Like an angel’s delightful wings
Her writings are imperishable sayings
She is a divine rose
And makes me doze
Her poetry is intoxicating wine
Far brighter than sunshine
She is lovelier than moonlight
And makes our souls bright
She comes from heavenly light
To cause all of us great delight
She belongs to the universe
And is immortal in her verse
I sit at her tender feet
Wondering at her poetic feat
Let us all give her a big hand
As she makes our lives so grand
She is a nectar ******* bee
Could you guess who that muse could be?
Some thnk it is mere flattery and others may appreciate it.This is a poem on poetic muse.It may be personal or universal.This poem is appliicable to all those who write verse
JL Nov 2011
To Em
I’ve been tryin to send you letters for the longest time now
But they’ve got me movin  
Bed to bed
Hospital to hospital
Everything is dirt here
They say Im gonna lose both my legs, Em
Truth is I’m scared
I’m far away from home
In this ****** jungle
And I’m just trying to survive
I don’t wanna die Em
I wanna see you so bad. I Know
This is all a dream and in a minute Ill wake up
And you’ll be layin there next to me warm
Your hair all soft on my face
I can smell your perfume

Teardrops

Tell me Em that your waitin for me
That I ain’t comin home alive
For you
And you ain’t there
Em, your my life
Your my angel
Savin me from all of this
I lay here and listen to full grown men cry and beg for death
Men screamin for their mommas

Teardrops

I lay here quiet with my pillow over my head just dreamin about you
Bout us
In my bedroom wakin up in the morning cause the dog wont shutup and has to ***
And I can just get up and let him out
I just wanna walk on the grass in the front yard
Inside your wearin my Led Zepplin  shirt just smiling at me standin out there like a fool
I just wanna hear the dogs bark down the street again
I just wanna see my room
**** in my own toilet
Sleep in my own bed
Brush my teeth in my own sink
And for ******* christ’s sake take a shower

I think about you all the time Em
And if I die
I promise no matter how bad it hurts
Ill be thinkin bout you
Takin me to heaven
Kissin me on my shoulder.  Huggin me on my neck
Ady Mar 2015
Hope was selling
dreams to the hermits
on the street.
Empty stars filled the carts
paying a price that was too
high.
In debt they left
and came back broke with
butterflies in their dusty pockets
and moon kissed smiles upon their frowns.

Aspiring the rocky dust of crushed stars,
feeling high, feeling new
shooting up, falling down-
A shower of meteors lighting up across the horizon.
Crashing the earth's crust,
addicts for another fix.

Dreamers stealing the stars,
tasting paradise for a little while.
Just playing around
KTN PRL Sep 2016
Birds singing melody,
for you to awake.
Pull yourself out the tent,
and everyone shall celebrate.

Step onto the land,
move wherever you please,
your footprint shall mark
history that you exist.

Towering trees,
swaying along the wind.
They await your presence so
they can finally breathe.

The sun acknowledges you,
his rays shine brightly upon you.
Ready to surrender his reign,
for you to see the glorious moon.

When fate plays game on you,
don't feel any gloom,
for the flowers will send their scent,
you can lie with them as they bloom.

The clouds will unite
to shower you rain,
to wash away your worries
and let your happiness invigorate.
ceara Jan 2011
These sporadic
slow white
flakes fall
like a shower
of ash
in a town
with no Vesuvius
Published on Wordlegs, an online Poetry Magazine, 2009
Amethyst Fyre May 2016
He’s been here since I was a kid
All dark hair and unreadable eyes
Together we played at magic in the woods
Sometimes the rag-tag heroes, sometimes the fairy tale prince and princess

I don’t know when things changed,
When the stories became more dark, more real
When I started isolating my true self from everyone but him

The only one who never seemed to ask me for anything.

He never asked, per se
He was always just there, patiently waiting for me to fall
So fall I did

His mouth is raindrops against my lips
I adjust, folding into his heat
Hands sliding across my waist and chest
For once, I let myself melt

His lips press together, so tight and cruel
I know he knows every secret I own, know he’s breathing in my doubt
Yet I can’t fear him

My lips quiver
A gentle brush of air and he moves aside the hair by my ear
‘Close your eyes’
He whispers, the voice of a waterfall

He’s stronger than me, taller
In a downpour, he rushes into and around me
‘Close your eyes’ he whispers
So I do

AND HE MAKES ME SEE STARS

The heat builds to the thud of my heartbeat
I push up into him until
With the mist, he’s gone

Sighing, I stand and shut the shower off
I swipe at the steam forming on the glass

In its reflection, I see the boy from inside my mind
Ottar Jan 2014
shut it down, shut it down,
but it will not,
try on a bed, one pillow under your head
                                                            ­       not two,
how about a cot,
                          no naps on the spot,
                                                           a glass of warm milk or two,
warm water won't make you ill what if
a warm shower instead,
                                      a routine, hour by hour,
                                                           ­                until it is that time to stop,
stop caffeine, after two in the afternoon,
read Moby **** or War and Peace, be with you as you rest,
maybe eat earlier instead of late, no deserts after eight PM,
praying may help, read a Holy Book with time to listen to God
for your soul or physical stretching too, failing all that,
systematic muscle relaxation from toes and feet
                           up through each muscle group
                           to the eyes and face then fall asleep,
                           clench the muscle full, then halfway
I know I am repeating my self,
this is indigestion for the lack of digestion of what I said before,
count sheep,
count rocks.
count horn beeps,
try electrical shocks (with your doctors approval),
oh did I forget medication (ditto see your doctor),
left side, right side or back side,
change the bed direction,
or how about a quiet music selection,
less video screens, I am not even talking games,
phones and tablets are to blame,
tap your chest over your heart, in time, in beat
breathe so that the emphasis is on emptying out,
the lungs will on automatic refill themselves,
dust your room, empty shelves (before bedtime)
warm the bed or have *** instead,
write out a to do list so when you
sleep you won't lose what is
important to you,
like sleep.


©DWE012014
For those who are, to lose what may never never be caught up,
maybe read this 25 times might help
heather Oct 2013
my body:
she sits with me under the cold water of the shower and wipes the tears from the lines under my eyes. she lifts me up and wraps her arms around me. she tucks me into bed at night and wakes me each morning, peeling off the comforter and sheets. she tells me i'll be okay, because my lungs still work and my heart still beats. she loves me when nobody else can.
renniedreams Nov 2017
I love my dear,
Her name is Emilia.
Gazing at her from far away,
Just makes my day.

Jet-black silky flowing locks,
like the Milky Way which never stops.
Bursting with the scent of a quaint flower,
Most undoubtedly from a morning shower.

Mere curtains but, those are,
To the cutesy face with eyes ajar.
Her skin, infinitely youthful, flawless and luminous,
In comparison, even cherubs appear longevous.

Prismatic obsidian orbs suspended in opal,
Whisks you someplace else⸻a portal.
Thin clear lenses in a sleek black frame,
Masks wild vivacious eyes to look tame.

Hereunder lies a dainty nose,
With a soft hue like a pink rose.
Cherry lips so full and round,
Even a light kiss will be sure to astound.

A euphonious voice reberverates,
through every heart it penetrates.
Resonant, crisp, and fine,
Pleasant, like a ring of a windchime.

Slender and tender,
Are her hands and fingers.
Deft and skillful is her fingerwork,
Weaving melodies as bright as firework.

If the world was a blossoming garden,
Sunflowers would represent this maiden.
Her presence unquestionably amazes,
blooming wide smiles on countless faces.

A brilliant joyous yellow lustre,
Is the aura that defines her.
She's a dazzling ray of light,
So bid all your worries good night!

Magnetic is her personality,
And attractive is her positivity.
Loved and respected by all is she,
friendly and cheery as all should be.
oldbutnotwise Oct 2013
six a.m. her eyes popped wide open,
stretching her body, she closed her eyes for a a few minutes to
adjust her mind and prepare herself for another dreaded Wednesday working day:

"oh gosh, mid-week" she grumbled.

six thirty a.m. her kitchen was filled
with the smell of sweet honeyed french toast (with a slight smell of overcooked eggs).
she packs them nicely into her paper bag:

"hope it won't sog up fast" she thought.

six fifty-six a.m. her bus arrives promptly,
the commuters seemed oblivious to her
they start nudging and pushing their way up the bus:

"i'm in black and so i'm invisible?" she questioned.

seven o'one a.m. her seat has finally warmed up,
her hair was still damp from her morning shower,
and she looks to the front blankly:

"what's new" she mumbled.

n.y.
Phoebe G Nov 2017
You paint me up with colors
That don’t speak to all my flaws
You airbrush bits of who I am
And look at me in awe

I am your prized possession
Your trophy and your muse
Within me rests your vanity
and things you cannot lose

I used to want a love like this
To shower me in praise
Your flattery is dreary now-
It lacks the warmth I crave

This love it leaves me empty
Like I’m only halfway living
How could you ever be my vessel
If you can’t touch my inner being?

If you can’t trace the patterns of my soul
To the creases in my brow
How could you love me one day
If you can’t truly love me now

See, all I ever wanted
Was someone who would say
“I see through all your brokenness
And still, I choose to stay”
Rough Draft
ryan Nov 2016
Awake again, another day
Coffee as brown as her eyes meet me from
The mug she made me.
The heater keeps the cold away
But not as well as her breath
Or her skin against mine,
The shower head begins to spray
Steaming water that I ever wish were
Her fingers, streaming down my back.
Our frustrated feelings start to fray
As we play witness to others begin life together
As we've worked so hard to achieve.
But I will be the ceramic and not the clay,
Steadfast and unyielding until mine is mine
And hers is hers because by god --

Awake I will be in the suns first rays,
Wrapped in arms and light and soft brown hair
And eyes like coffee that will beg me back to bed.
Timothy Clarke Nov 2010
Formula forgotten and
Equations lost,
I want them back
Whatever the cost.

I go to school,
And learn every hour,
Yet all them **** theorems
Wash off in the shower.

So take pity upon me
And treat me real kind
'cause soon all that I know
Will fall out of my mind.
Arabella Oct 2013
I can't stop fidgeting.

My stomach is going through a repetitive cycle of being turned inside out.

The voices of bratty adolescents are muffled through the floor.

In front of me are three self portraits.
None of which are happy.
What are you doing.

It's not time to go out yet.
I don't think i'll shower, either,
because there's no real reason.
I wont be seeing you tonight.

My nine year old sister and her friend are cackling in the room over.
Your smile comes to mind.

All these medications are driving me insane,
but in a way i've come to love it.
Being able to talk about things,
even though I really don't want to.

Why do so many people say live every day like it's your last,
yet judge the ones that do.

I feel like I'm sinking in a ocean of growing up,
and doing work.
With only a slice of playfulness out of the corner of my eye.  

what on earth is going on outside my door.

I've chosen to stay in
because today,
I like the company of my thoughts.
Even if they're not pleasant.

Right now
me:
girl
at desk
can't stay still
ankles crossed
light blue jeans
on the edge of her chair
gray shirt
long blonde wavy hair
glasses
energetic fingers
makeup run down her face.

Being in love with you has slowly killed me over the years,
but I still don't mind it.

I only wish that I could be for you
what you are to me.
sorry
that this is
so bad.

sorry.
RA Jan 2016
i. I've never really believed
those people
that say we are made
of stardust. but the
constellation
of bite marks
you left across my chest
might just change my
mind.

ii. I'm glad a shower
is on my plan, because
instead of me
I smell like you. and don't get
me wrong, I love
the way you smell
but it might drive me
insane
with longing.

iii. being the one to leave
in a way
is easier. but please
don't think walking away from you
doesn't break me
a bit
every time.
January 8, 2016
brandon nagley May 2015
Fortify this Amozanian square,
Wherith Baldheads are anguished,
No other place shall compare!!!!

Altered skin wearers,
Sleeve wearing tribesmen!!!

Amourostity don't leave me to far gone,
Showeth me love,
Showeth me loving kindness,
Shower me thy grain!!!
And thine finess....

Fruition comes suddenly,
Studdingly the airs wind stays chill,
Dead/lock exhibitions of fan fare latitude!!!!

A blonde chapter of northern affairs,
How changeable is ones man I can smile!!!

Defilement she hath seen,
Derider,
Non abider,
Doesn't fit on thine circuited scene...

What a guise to all wherin whom sleep!!!

Guardeth thy soul,
Their mind is of allotrope,
You'll whimper as they weepeth!!!!

Flourisher,
Nourisher of nutrientral push!!!
Snappish,
Irenic, lover of pre school books!!!!

Sorceries own solvent,
Dissolvent of surmise talk,

Your a new age Delilah thou fresh smelling mucosa you!!!!!
Harmony Sapphire Feb 2015
Stay happy.
Stay safe.
Sometimes go shopping.
Sometimes it's okay to change something that is the same.

Always take your trash out daily.
Always use toothpaste & deodarant.
Always bathe & shower daily.
Always wear sunblock when near large areas of water like beaches, pools, rivers, lakes, or oceans.
Always stop at a red light or a stop sign.
Always pay your car insurance & phone bill on time
Always do your dishes daily & your laundry weekly.
Always be calm & polite.
Always wash your car every 2 weeks.

Don't trust any strangers.
Don't answer the phone without caller id.
Don't pick up hitch hikers.
Don't take rides from strangers.
Don't gamble.
Don't get drunk.
Don't breathe second hand smoke.

Never smoke around children.
Never shoplift for nothing or no one.
Never let anyone watch your children.
Never let anyone borrow money or your car.
Never call in sick to work.
Never request a day off from your job.
Never be late for your shift.
© Harmony Sapphire . All rights reserved
Yesterday was rough, but today is gentler.  
Today the fog tells me it's okay.  
It seeps through the open window,
wraps itself in the curtains
and finally curls itself around me.  
The peppermint air embraces
my ankles,
my knees,
my tailbone,
my shoulder blades.  
It whispers, it tells me you are not far.  
You remain in the breeze, just like me.  
You haven't been scattered to the wind, you've become it.  
In the morning you rise from my raspberry tea,
and you nestle above french toast in a pan,
you coil through the glass of my shower,
you perch on the front window of my car.  
And before I drift to dreams,
you wander through the fan
and sink back into the basement,
you lightly brush the edge of the counter as I close the sliding door.  
But, always, and forever
you linger just above my head
and whisper like the fog.

— The End —