"slideshow" poems
Scene one, Childhood
I never really learned to emotionally regulate,
Taking clues from Nickelodeon more than parents who set good examples,
Screaming fights and bruises and broken glass
Too much drinking, the smell of cigarettes
Moms broken bones
Make yourself small, make yourself gone
They may not notice you.
We played family a lot, curtaining blankets over a bunk bed to block the outside, and in family, I always took care of my babies.
Scene two, 18
I never really learned to emotionally regulate, taking clues from the friends around me more than parents who set any example.
A false father leaving, a mom losing her cash cow
The smell of Arbor Mist and ***** still makes me sick, mom’s incoherent fists still make contact in my sleep, I still wouldn’t have given her the keys.
We don’t play anymore. We’re mostly estranged. But we work. And in family, I always took care of my babies.
Scene three, 28
I’m trying to learn to emotionally regulate, the slideshow of couches and faces of therapists trying to set an example.
A son born to trauma, a marriage of consequence, I’m still learning to love myself, please, the sound of yelling still makes me sick,
I don’t know how to do this.
We are grown now, we are mostly put together. And now we live. But this is my family, and I will always take care of my babies
Sep 21, 2022
Sep 21, 2022 at 10:47 PM UTC
I loved you in the timeless hours
of a dark city.
In the morning, who you were
had been replaced;
the people that we were together
no longer there.
All the memories erased, so you
could love somebody new.
But the shadow of you still lingers
incompletely;
wandering through my slideshow memories
like the glimpse of your eyes fleeting
round the carousel.
A flash under the cinema lights,
over before it began.
Now I'm on someone else's mind
but I'm still under you
in mine.
Apr 9, 2019
Apr 9, 2019 at 9:12 PM UTC
tinyurl-dot-com/d-m-latest-poems
That's a shortcut to my poemhunter poems.
The search my poems option helps ME find my poems.
Visit the standard webpage or the print-friendly text version.
The end of October 2013 has meant quite a few poems were added.
Some were about the Stephen Gayford wildlife prints.
They are being sold on UK TV's Shopping channels.
I visit their websites and view the images and watch the TV demos.
Since joining hellopoetry, I visited several members' blogs and websites.
I've also visited the youtube-dot-com website to see members' videos.
My Stephen Gayford blog is here: denis-martindale-dot-blogspot-dot-com
I've checked Google for any websites that have used my poetry.
The images search also found lots of fantastic websites, too.
The deviantart-dot-com website features lots of fantasy art images.
They can lead poets to brand new poetry description ideas.
Just use the search site option for a desired poetry topic.
My Fantasy Art click-a-pic slideshow has some Superhero artwork,
view the wonderful galleries here: jennifersjpgs-dot-shows-dot-it
and some of my Superhero poems have been published based on these.
The Google image 'my name' search found lots of images like never before.
Regards, Denis Martindale.
Oct 25, 2013
Oct 25, 2013 at 9:01 PM UTC
your George Klooney appeals to your filter.
you brunch with Tungsten and straight up toxic marriages.
the mob rules the Jupiter, so therefore and ever after
you mop Hell's kitchen while you slideshow
your thumb through the wreckage
of your tender aggressions in the marsh
where the hard sky lobs acid and false globs
of character... we blur the chi chi's and wiz bang
the last dirge
we incur the wrath of our blissful innocence
and sweeten the Lama
with our Lambda, " all back of the bus, and **** "
we betwixt the twain.
and that's the grease
in the varmint. the tuft of luscious.
you gob-smack the kiwi and chip away at the porcine thunder
of our pagan banquet.
the lungs you drum with; are even now
less equipped to sermon the mount
where your meek inherits
lengua tacos.
and your life means nothing, really....
Mar 6, 2013
Mar 6, 2013 at 10:41 PM UTC
god stood by me, he hid in my pocket like a piece of amethyst
when i ran he turned into the forest to envelop me
his spirits became soft grasses, scented woods and colorful flower
The elderly woman in her garden in the early morning before the sun rises too high. She never sprays chemicals to get rid of the snails, instead she works and plants for and around them. This garden is to celebrate life, not to take it away. The wooden fence bordering her property is low and unoffensive enough to allow through woodland creatures who are never shooed away for taking a walk or a bite through the herbage. Perhaps she is atoning for a life of death and destruction. Or perhaps she is a saint.
They enjoyed things like making forts out of sticks and blankets and cardboard boxes and dressing up and going to the opera.
Memories, fresh like a wound.
Sometimes something so small. Going to the post office. A slideshow of post offices in my life. The disinfected paper smell, the lines of people waiting to mail a package, the solid colors of the interior, gray, black, white. A scrubby short haired black carpet, well worn.
I turned into a set of wings made out of crayon or colored pencil markings. As if pushed and pulled by the wind I stunned through the air, waving in the sunlight, pencil dashes of red and blue and purple. Like an animation from Reading Rainbow.
Thrown and tossed about like a lightweight wale in the sea. An enormous behemoth of grey and blue leaping like a kitten among the waves. It should be terrifying and would be if its teeth were any larger or sharper and if there was not such a happy gleam in its huge eye.
Mar 21, 2016
Mar 21, 2016 at 10:49 PM UTC
Was I maudlin over our breakup? For a minute.
If I think of you now, it’s like a slideshow of unflattering images.
At the time, my breakup buddies reminded me you were a bad
choice - like a brand of deodorant that gave me a rash or fashionable shoes that chafed, even after they were stretched.
“Ruca,” my girlfriends would say, “you’re shootin-terrible, they’re a million pork-swords in the sea.”
Finally, I pulled the trigger - double-tapped us.
At first, reminders of you, those siren whispers of nostalgia, were everywhere - like the moon - which, I just had to live with.
You passed from memory though, that’s how memory works. Events fade, like last week’s chemistry test, or yesterday’s lunch.
Now, if someone asks me, “Hey, remember, what’s his name, your big love from high school?”
I say “Nope.”
I chose to laugh, dance - and shoot birds at the moon.
May 30, 2023
May 30, 2023 at 8:37 PM UTC
It's when your stomach
hurts
and you dont remember why you were sad and
nothing is really super important
except yourself
and you just laugh because you can and the sky is so pretty
and you can feel sunshine's essence exuding from the holes in your skin
and your bones are filled with electricity
but it's rubber
and you can do anything
ANYTHING
anything because you're you and nobody else can be you
and the world is there to look at, so full of pretty things
and it doesn't matter if there's somebody or nobody or everybody by your side
because it's just that perfect moment when the love in you body is a droplet
it hits the ground and wrenches itself into shapes
patterns that coalesce
you are enraptured, the sight is burning
into your retinas the perfectional bliss that is
being
the will'o'the'wisp that is your soul entangles with the white light and branches
the creature that is imagination and folly
folly with soft ears and kawaii smirks
*****
patches of grass
the birds are landing in your branches now
congregational hazards
social anxiety
disillusioned, giving in
but you don't mind the flocking free-loaders
YOU'RE A STAR
stellar beings never slow down
for a moment
unless they are enjoying the view
witness the retching as
spectrum slideshow
the colors spill out, tumbling
across the sidewalk
out of her veins
she is god
we are free
be happy
lift your arms
be happy
May 8, 2014
May 8, 2014 at 9:45 PM UTC
Certain people see things
differently.
Now why do we do that?
Is it a lack of closeness?
Maybe communication?
I have questions
for the pastor/Pete Campbell clone
at Immanuel Bible Church.
Like,
why does your sermon feel derivative?
How often are songs played in-between the sermons?
Are these songs a necessary transition?
A slideshow?
A distraction?
I still don’t know how to sing,
or keep tempo with claps.
Pavlov’s dog is hated,
by you.
Do you hate the dog?
Or do you hate the results of the experiment?
Is science,
a deceitful ex-girlfriend to you?
Someone you don’t trust?
If so I can understand you.
But I don’t understand you.
Because you have your truth.
And I have my truth.
Peter said to me truth is an abstraction.
I’m telling you your truth is yours.
But,
cup your hand and press it against the wall of my truth,
listen and you will hear a man and a man talking to each other.
Their naked bodies are sealed by an anchor that you have never seen.
The first man leans forward
and
kisses the second man on the nape of his neck.
Then, the second man kisses the first man on the left part of his chest.
Should I stop?
Am I scaring you?
Do you want to watch a blonde girl stick her tongue down another blonde girl’s throat,
Until her breath cannot escape and float and trail off her lips.
Like the dove white spaceships that launch into the expanding horizon of darkness.
Am I making sense?
I want you to follow my words.
I want you to respect me.
The first man is talking. The second man has his arms folded behind his back like a
Korean man, and he’s looking out the window, gazing at the dove white spaceship
Propelling into the incredible shadow, the one that is swallowing up everything we love.
Pete Campbell is the shadow.
Do you care about POV?
Are you bothered when another person is talking about a person in the third person?
I consider your opinion,
Even when you don’t consider mine.
Does that make me weak?
“Television turn off the mind,”
that is a quote that shot out of your mouth,
like an arrow from the Green Arrow dressed in Cupid’s apparel.
Or is that the flesh?
Carnal.
I digress.
Tangents happen.
I was rude. I am sorry,
And I know sorry is a word,
And you do not value words.
But I am a poet.
Words are my salmon and red wine
Rewind the cassette.
May 2, 2016
May 2, 2016 at 2:43 PM UTC
A frail old man wanders aimlessly along the boardwalk of a deserted beach
Hunched over like the the boughs of an oak tree weighed down by its branches
Things burden this man.
Heavy in weight on mind and body
Once swarming with tourists in a way similar to flies around a porch light this beach is now dank and dismal to the eye
The preconceptions of flashing lights and rowdy parties filling its strip just reside as a distant memory in the depth of the deep blue.
On which he gazes out to after taking a long wheezing breath into his shrivelled lungs.
He stands alone reminiscing about previous conquests from his long distant youth
Thinking about all his relationships with friends and loved ones
Perusing through his memory bank as of he were a granddad proudly giving a slideshow to his only grandchild
And as a tear slowly trickles down his weathered face he reconciles with himself that like seeing the last copy of an acclaimed novel being sold he definitely let the one get away.
As this fact dawns on him, knowing he shall always be alone
He takes a deliberate pace towards the steps leading to the sandy wasteland that used to be so glorious and golden.
Gradually picking up speed and stumbling over himself he makes the journey to the edge of the water
Fully aware of the desire that is overtaking his mind, body and soul
The sea begins to seep into his shoes then dampens the tip of his trousers
Now with the water up to his waist he is shivering and struggling to catch his breath
But onwards he walks becoming stronger as he battles the waves cascading against his body.
Is this really what it has come to,
but as the last strand of his silky grey hair disappears into the salty blue
He feels the weight of the past float away and he is at peace
The water has cleansed his soul, rinsed his mind
Deep in the depths of the sea shall his regrets remain forever.
And as his body floats to the surface his soul rises higher and higher up to the clouds
Reaching the end his eyes catch a glimpse through the pearly whiteness
Of a silhouette he recognises
It stands facing away seeming to exude beauty like a single rose in hand of a romantic gesture
When he steps through the gates
The silhouette senses his presence and turns
He knows in that moment, he has made it
He is in Heaven.
Feb 24, 2013
Feb 24, 2013 at 3:53 PM UTC
When the sun goes down and everything gets quiet
The slideshow begins to play
A flashbulb memory of you dancing wildly around the piles of decay
Forever tormenting me and feeding on any bit of happiness that dares to shine through
Shining a light on you kissing her, and me kissing you…
I feel so disgusting…
I feel so used…
I feel so worthless…
It feels as though all of the love I ever gave you was abused…
The light burns my eyes
I’ve been in the dark so long
It hurts even more now that I know this has been going on all along
Did I ever mean anything to you?
Did you ever really care?
Or was I just there to fill the space?
I ask these questions, but the answers I can’t bare…
So many nights spent alone, pining for your love
Looking for just a small shimmer of hope…
Or just one kind word from you to think of…
I don’t have the heart to tell you everything…
What I did while you were gone
Sitting in the dark alone…
Praying not to make it to dawn
I keep these thoughts to myself…
It would only break your heart
After all this is our chance to make it better
This is our fresh start
Still, it eats at me everyday…
Every hour, and every second
I have to wonder if what you say is true
I have to wonder if you really meant it
Are you really ready to come home?
Or was I what you settle for?
Did you come back because you wanted to?
Or did you come back because she wasn’t an option anymore?
How will you deal with temptation?
Will you do it again?
Can we put this all behind us?
Can our hearts ever mend?
Will you make it to the top?
Or is the mountain of guilt too high to climb?
Should I try to move forward with you?
Or am I just biding time?
I’m just waiting for the hurricane to swoop in…
For it to take everything I ever cared for
Leaving me alone again…
I can’t watch you walk out that door anymore…
You are always leaving…
Leaving me behind
Your words forever haunt me
They never leave my mind…
Why would you do this to me?
Why didn’t you offer me mercy before now?
I hate what happened to us…
I want to move forward, but I don’t know how…
I don’t know how to live with everything you have done
Every broken promise ever made
Every lie you have ever spun
How do you come back from that?
How do you crawl out from the debris?
How do you forgive these trespasses?
How do you forgive adultery?
Apr 13, 2016
Apr 13, 2016 at 2:44 PM UTC
These thoughts grind my teeth through sleep.
These dreams make waking up a gift and a chore.
Morning injects me into reality
Like a vaccine: a deadened virus that will keep you safe.
I cannot stomach this infertility,
Not yet.
I am not what I am
The eyes of those who pretend to see:
As benevolent as a mouth full of razors.
The mouths that I always want to kiss.
The lips that I always seem to pursue.
The cuts that I always pretend to cherish.
The ancient lust shakes my blood.
And I am forced to embrace nostalgia
as She and She and He and Then penetrate my mind: a time long past.
What is memory but a slideshow of regrets?
Every word becomes a mistake.
All triumphs a fleeting matter worthy of none.
Eviscerate my joy and live in its corpse.
It is April and we are frozen:
Stuck in a world we never knew
In a love we thought we felt
A life we never lived.
Entering this house is the last twist of the knife.
You're breaking my soul upon your eyes:
No birds sing.
Life isn't very long.
Even roses wilt.
It's rude to stare.
High on sidewalks and streetlights,
The sun has set: will it rise again?
What is to become of this,
My darkness?
There is no clock tower here, and
My full moon is setting too fast.
Day will come, day will come.
Feeling too much or nothing at all.
My heart races and I've no clue why.
And I will come home, to a sepulcher
Void of all light and screeching like the Storm.
I lift the knife to my side,
I look at you, and I sigh....
These thoughts grind my teeth through sleep.
Apr 20, 2010
Apr 20, 2010 at 7:55 PM UTC
All hopes of concentration have been lost
I'm astral projected out of this dungeon
Swooping with the monarchs before the frost
They are royalty in the insect kingdom
This is their time
As it is mine
To frolic and to remember
What comes with November
Remember, remember?
Soon the leaves will decompose
Then the chill won't leave my toes
Once Old Man Winter settles in
Let the internal slideshow begin
Fall is here and you're away
And I'm not sure if that's okay
Nov 7, 2012
Nov 7, 2012 at 4:04 PM UTC
I went and shot down a star today
Watched it zoom right past the moon
It nudged by Mars and asteroids
and it slammed straight into Neptune
I laughed as all the sparks flew down
They fell past some clouds in the sky
While beholding this amazing sight
I thought, “Who would want to die?”
Not everything is so impossible
Everyday less becomes improbable
As long as your brain functions
your imagination is unstoppable
So much has been accomplished
from so many creative minds
Airplanes cruise faster than sound
and some cars can stop on a dime
We possess instant communication,
keeping in touch with all in relation
to maybe take them on vacation
containing multiple destinations
There’s so much to still be done
Have you floated past the sun
in a brand new, shiny rocket ship
while playing with your son?
Maybe someday you’ll be viewed
in a slideshow within a room
packed with friends and family
laughing because it’s so cute
to see you live out every dream
as you smile the entire time
They can see the whole universe
as they look directly in your eyes
Apr 30, 2014
Apr 30, 2014 at 5:36 PM UTC
*Visions of a backlit childhood
Of golden-haired halos and shadowed eyes
Slideshow in flashes of painful yesterdays
For those still unfamiliar
Longing to hold the child as he cries
Those tears cannot fall in confusion's void
And fear darkens all roads 'can be seen
Still here, in their nightmare,
Like it was my own
Is a truth told in smiles and jellybeans
Long since gone away*
May 2, 2015
May 2, 2015 at 3:20 AM UTC
The night started off right, good friends, good vibes, all love.
Downtown Charm City and it was all about us.
Got a couple rounds of shots, pretty soon it was all hugs.
I was fading, for real.
Here’s a good pic of a girl all in my ear.
Telling me everything that I probably wanna hear.
I think I said “Girl I’m from the Old Bay.”
And then she said “Mmm bring it my way.”
Put in a request for the DJ, he said
Alright, okay.
We kept drinking drink after drink, we’re tipsy.
Now we’re on the floor cutting loose, acting like a fool.
She gave me a kiss? Did I kiss back?
Oh **** don’t remember that!
How much did I have to drink last night?
I woke up with a total stranger.
She had her grips on me.
Here’s me in the car with her.
Made me feel like a king.
I made a slideshow with her?
Everything’s such a blur.
I woke up in her bed while she's downstairs making eggs.
Am I alright?
I’m okay.
Jan 25, 2021
Jan 25, 2021 at 4:10 PM UTC
Sea pulse asurge, your pores brace for influx:
the scrub of sixteen salts whose rigid karma
scrapes us down. So sound the signals
(likely sales) from shoehorned sleeper
towns. Their patron wasn't long for earth;
a grid (what genius!) takes a bow,
puts slideshow on, and all we hear is how.
When sunlight stirs again we'll chisel
feeble errors, chip a bullet
out of stone. We'll see which skulkers
have a six at home, and toast
the night in sheetery. When devils
drain the foosty runoff of
your prim report to primal center,
sweep up white-horse myths bleached out
of paved-gray lots. Submerge in steam
of favor, frenzied in unseen replies
(no sharper catching eyes as coffees,
tipped to spoon in drowse-A.M.s
from furtive nights) -- Behold (unsold to rights)
uncensored action, living truth!
Untempted nine-percenters,
go-betweens for stunning tens
ground out of poison pens.
Abrade with noise what was to clean our lens.
Oct 1, 2018
Oct 1, 2018 at 11:58 PM UTC
Suppressed memories are a slideshow inside her mind.
Like a nightmare playing through a projector.
These images shadow her from the truth.
They're filled with selfish thoughts, feeding her addiction.
Cold sweats bleed from her forehead,
and restless hands grip her bedsheets with desperation.
She shrieks words of terror and no one answers.
Absolute loneliness is her realization.
The sinking sand beneath her grows hungry.
Then swallows her whole down into its belly.
A heavy silence fills the room...
Never to be seen again this horror cannot be forgotten.
For all along her family was by her side.
Jan 13, 2012
Jan 13, 2012 at 2:06 PM UTC
-
i took no pleasantries in that adjustment
from the top shelf of Pastry Perfection
to the wicker-wire dust bunnies at the
"sole" level of humanity
after i mistakenly thought —you— took
some element of freeverse i had posted a
couple of years ago at one of the more-read
poetry sites on the internet-
then i realized something, Poet..
that for all those sleepless hours you
spent cramming for the SAT—
i posited on how many welding rods
could be burned down during a two
hour period of trade school
and with respect to those thousands of
words diligently packed into your
undergrad dissertation—
(*including that humorous description of a
knitted strap you used to keep the pencil
from rolling off the table*)
i wrote a brief essay of commonalities
on how much Gerald R. Ford and
Elwyn Brooks White
actually disliked
football,
and to those thoughtfully crafted lectures
in front of scores of distinguished
scholars and senior staff—
i was projecting shadow puppets onto a
screen during a slideshow while the
teacher excused herself to the restroom.
basically this;
as to the volumes of books
you have published
over the decades—
i have a few thousand words of
amateur poetry posted online
inside of a few years.
That Said,
for those carefully-placed words
(of mine)
you incorporated into your
latest masterpiece,
realizing poets will not always
happen upon the same instant
at any given intersection,
i recognized that most familiar sensation
we Both get when having correctly
delivered the punchline to the funniest
joke of the evening.
we —in fact— have only the readings
of fellow writers to blame for each
other's blending of creative impulses,
that during these miraculous,
yet humble birthings of verse—
i have it now on good authority,
that we all could possibly exist
within this capacity
as mere equals...
"The Lanyard of Amateur Poetry"
© 2020 by Seranaea Jones
all rights reserved
.
Oct 7, 2020
Oct 7, 2020 at 6:53 AM UTC
She breathes against my neck. It's a slideshow of sounds growing and falling around me. I don't know where it's coming from. Her skin slides against mine like we are a piece of machinery, working towards the same goal. Keep moving, keep moaning. Her hips bucking and my hand over her mouth to keep anyone from hearing us-- from entering our world. The wind is knocking at the window, trying to throw us off. I grab her chin with my hand as the other grabs at anything it can reach. Her eyes are blurry. They have a hard time focusing on mine. Are you scared, baby? I'll go slower. I torture her. Make sure she's paying full attention. Make sure she's losing her mind. Her body makes waves against mine. We lose ourselves to each other and the wind keeps trying to get inside.
Apr 19, 2013
Apr 19, 2013 at 4:27 PM UTC
Its nights like this where I just want drum out the beats of your heart with my fingertips. I want to feel the resistance to separate each and every kiss.
I want to see your dark brown eyes illuminated with starlight and moonbeams dancing between the thick black strands of your hair.
I want to sing lullabies and then wake you from sleep to remind you I'm still there.
I want to whisper dreams across the pillowcase and wrap your arms around me until we've fallen in too deep.
I want to make dances out of your restlessness and poems from your mumbling.
I want to be the reason you’re bursting with color and in the dark I want to us to love one another.
It’s those nights that I long, but here, by myself, the nights drag on.
I close my eyes and reminisce through a slideshow of memories filled with pure bliss.
I hope that one day we’ll live like that.
Where our scattered clothing makes a perfect picture on the floor and the sliver of light coming from under the door will warn us of morning. I want to be there when it’s too early to for your mouth to form words and your irises are born anew.
I want to walk with you through winter, spring, summer, and fall. I just want to feel it all.
Every little smile and stupid little joke; I want to live through the fire and the smoke.
I could give you the world and it still wouldn't mirror what you're worth to me.
I want to dig so far and wide and long and deep that we unearth heaven from under the sea. Imagining forever with you has become my sleepless obsession.
So when the darkness holds your breath and the wind bites at your cheek, just know, those are the nights where I give you my heart piece by piece.
And on nights like tonight remember that it is yours to keep.
Oct 7, 2013
Oct 7, 2013 at 12:04 AM UTC
It all moves out of view
This spacial slideshow of curious imagery
If you know the place, the images cast nostalgia, a padded sense of familiarity and recollections
dragged out of dusty boxes
If you don't know the place, the images leave an odd awkward sense of speculation,
the stories taken for granted behind other irises that leave you pondering
If the driver doesn't want music, the mind types itself out, fingers picking through the paperwork
The hum gains its repetitive dulling thud, and you have two friends
Sleep or boredom
They both ****
If the driver wants music, boredom still looms in the air, hanging from
the rafters from coils made of dust
But the potential for the pretty little day dream to drop across your lap is something to be admired
Here's where you learn whether you respect your driver's taste
And whether your man enough to say anything about it
And so you are polite, whether you like the music or not
The world outside still takes your eye between the small talk
Billions upon billions of cells joining in sweet matramony so many times over its a wonder so brilliant
that it would break the mind
Joining to form that house. Oh it's gone.
Your mind fills with your life
Two parts goals, work, study, ambitions
One part relationships, lovers, friends, fueds
A dash of media intermission, those things you saw that were cool
All stirred for 3 hours with a touch of day dream sauce
Wait until the journey ends and you can forget all about it
Mar 11, 2010
Mar 11, 2010 at 3:30 PM UTC
Indearment relates to the conscious
mind in strange and inferring terms.
Too often and seldom
hath thou image
been engraved amidst the
fluttering pictorial slideshow lining my psyche.
When I want you, I need you
; desire sprouts from my arteries and spreads like wildfire.
But in rare moments of absolute tranquility (for example the the little death one experiences after ****** do I realize the futility of that very emotion I held to be sacred only seconds prior. "Love" is merely an emotional adaptation to a physical necessity
Self-indulgence is the name of the game.
Wanna play ?
Aug 22, 2013
Aug 22, 2013 at 2:11 PM UTC
Aren't we all
Just waiting for our time to be up?
The day when
Body and soul come undone
When everything that mattered
Doesn't anymore
And you see your years in seconds-
A paparazzi slideshow
Your sins left behind
For loved ones to collect
Like a forensic Easter egg hunt
Then you drift
In the parallel lines
That blur religion and reality
Too late to question
Everything you've ever known
Too soon to regret
Sunday's Idol Eyes
May 5, 2016
May 5, 2016 at 10:42 PM UTC
I see things,
Naked to the normal human eye.
I relive the past
And experience the future.
The strangest throbbing pain in my abdomen.
A slideshow of events screened inside my eyelids;
Shivers and shakes.
Convulsions.
Icicle tears.
My preparation for tomorrow,
For tomorrow;
Will come but with difficulty
For you and for me.
Some may call it de ja vu,
I call it premonition.
Feb 10, 2014
Feb 10, 2014 at 1:35 PM UTC
I put the words before the mouth
Leaked out into to your ears
I watched your eyes
As the process reference dilate
When thoughts
Brought heat to your chest
And blood to your face
Torn up
words
bleed in your throat
Red lava boiling up below the surface
Looking for a weak spots
Where you could place your fingers
Straight lines of hair fall perfect
Guided each by wind
Wondering about skin
And its warmth
As raging core temperatures rise
Skin contact
Radiates
Into
My brain
You took my mind and smashed it like a glass bottle
Letting it cut the skin and scrape your bone
Yet you hold it
Letting me bleed in
Cell by cell
A clone
Soft lips dragged me up like hot coffee
you put me down like the needle to the vein
Infecting me with silence and malice, lust and sadness
Feb 9, 2012
Feb 9, 2012 at 12:52 AM UTC