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Willoughby Lucas Mar 2012
[1] Introduction

Originality a creation of the self
Yet asking for fiction
Unable to conjure from a thin presence
But gifted from life gathered.

[2] When, Why, and How?

When the tears from this today
Mimic the rain of my tomorrow,
How do I know where
To escape?

When we are lost in our selves
And tempered by the faults of others,
How do we grow
To understand?

When logic is renounced
And feeling is felt,
How do we remind ourselves
To refrain?

Moments that unfold
Will educate the soul,
Inspiring our answers on How
To Live?

[3] Plot, Setting, Mood

Our overlapping ideas,
The overlapping events,
And unfortunately overlapping people,
Become my overlapping emotions.

I’m the paradox,
You’re my paradox,
And actually we’re the contradiction,
Inspiring my few uninspiring words
I am reading and writing to you  


The pain you are
The pain you caused
And the pain I feel
Produce these overlapping paradoxical poems.


[4] Betraying Body

Walk with fake footprints,
See with unfocused eyes,
Touch but cannot feel,
There is simply nothing to taste,
And smelling only the lost scent;
Living desensitized the body feels unlit with purpose.

We are lost
Directionally challenged
Falling, tripping….now bruised.
We live damaged,
Our tears cleansing our deepest cuts
Internally bleeding,
The blood forcing color to our eyes
Beginning to live with the hue obtained.

Hemorrhaging at the heart
Cardiac arrest
We’d welcome death, the ungiven gift
They choose life, the given curse
Disregarding our last rights
Providing us with a life we do not wish to live.

It rains, we flood
Wishing to drown
And yet being denied
Our legs tread the threatening tide
Progressing to our new state of barely alive.  

Time willingly unkind:
Intentionally slow,
Trudging through, perhaps looking to an end
Watching the rise and fall of numbers
Their cyclic hands pass
Strangling the minds of many
Those still living: live lonesome, accompanied by the inevitable tock of time.


[5] Semicolon

Bridging my gaps,
Sewing my wounds ,
And preparing for the relapse in pain.

Writing through my wordless speech
I begin to reinterpret my language
Advising myself to remember my illiteracy.

Repeating my self
Becoming redundant
Incapable of innovation...
I look again through the pages of my unspoken mind.



[6] The Repetition of my Pain

Headache, life threatening?
Heartburn, possible survival?
Common cold, originality?
Pregnancy, new life?
Who defines pain?
Are you sick?
Are we all?

I’m sick
I’m hungry
I’m cold
I’m tired
I am heart broken.
Am I sick?
Aren’t I always?

He’s fine
He’s happy
He’s lying
He’s pretending
He will never say.
Is he sick?
Was he ever not?

We were fine.
We were happy.
Were we lying?
Who was pretending?
We will never love again.
Were we sick?
When were we not?


[7] Falling Action

Redirecting my momentum and changing the gears,
I found HIS path
I’ve regained consciousness,
Been lifted out of the soapless  bathwater
And cleaned by the warmth of  a fire.

Although burnt and previously bruised
The bandaids were enough,
The aspirin filled a void,
And my head had stopped hurting.

Self sought,
Self seen,
Self claimed,
And now reconciled with self;
Clarity retrieved and new quest begun.
S Guck May 2011
T
You try
making up for your
thinness of character
by slurping the thick
syrup of Chinese food
the broccoli a glittering slick
of sauce
too rich for me
saccarine
the chicken glowing
in the neon light
in its neon sauce
radioactive under the dim lamps
the curling carpets
and wax flowers

You know I don't like it
here
you know I'd prefer
a switch of sweetness
from morsel to mouth
know somewhere
in the stitch and sketch
that is your brilliant brain
that noodles decked
like a war hero
lack charm
in the dark
could you pass the wantons
and take me home
to your warm nest
to the scritch of old blankets
that smell your spiced,
and soapless smell?
to a place where
past the books
I'm not allowed to borrow
and the sleep
we do not share
there glimmers
naturally,
occasionally
like lake water
where the streetlights don't show
something more tender
than snow peas
in a sticking sauce.
Pk Mar 2017
Coping with it
See where my economy is
An empty fridge
I am taking this
And what loss they have
At markets or skyscrapers
I laugh at it
Oh, they lost their wealth
Cant afford some breads
But I am living it
And they take their lives
Leave their wives
To themselves
Like I am to myself
Like i always will be
Look at my economy
Bundling bills
Shedding skin
Scary bones
Water that's not from tap
Drowned my face
How fast it dried
And my soapless fate
Washed and rubbed it
But a loss of life won't stop a life
A loss of skin wont extinct skins
Beauty is filled in the numerous skins
Thence, look for a beautiful skin
And construct the lost economy
Fill the empty fridge
Wash the ***** face with soap
And put off that ***** water
Cause you
You
Deserve a second shot

— The End —