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Isabel Jan 2019
No matter how hard you scrub
At the white linen sheets
Blood stains

Even if it's just a memory
Of a life once taken
Blood stains

Even though you didn’t
Mean for the crash
Blood stains

Even as you slice his throat
Ending a life
Blood stains

Even if it's just a drop
From once flawless skin
Blood stains

Even though you cry
From the pain of the cuts
Blood stains

As you sit there bleeding
No longer able to move
Blood stains

Now you lay there dead
The crimson pooling around
Blood stains
Benji James Jun 2018
I remember when you were four
I caught you drawing on the wall
I couldn't get mad
Instead I just laughed
And I still have
The finger print painting
that you made
In fact I had it framed
I have every art piece you made
To remind me that your always here
with me spiritually

All These tear drops
That fall upon the page
Creating smudged ink stains
As this pen bleeds
Words drenched in sorrow
An empty heart slowly fades
Can't seem to find a way
To release all this pain
Can't seem to find the words to say
I miss you each and everyday
Can't find a logical reason to explain
Why you were taken away

Can't forgive God
For what he's done
Just hope he's
Holding you in his arms
Keeping you safe and warm
You got the voices of angels
Who can serenade
And sing you to sleep
I'll keep you safe
Inside of your dreams

We were at the hospital
I was sitting beside your bed
And you wiped the tears
Underneath my eyes
Then I heard you say
Daddy please don't cry
I like it better when you smile
So I smiled
Don't say no goodnights or goodbyes
Yeah princess your my little fighter
My inspiration, my perfection
My saviour, my hope, my strength
Your everything I am
I'll carry that with me forever

All these tear drops
That fall upon the page
Creating smudged ink stains
As this pen bleeds
Words drenched in sorrow
An empty heart slowly fades
Can't seem to find a way
To release all this pain
Can't seem to find the words to say
I miss you each and everyday
Can't find a logical reason to explain
Why you were taken away

Can't forgive God
For what he's done
Just hope he's
Holding you in his arms
Keeping you safe and warm
You got the voices of angels
Who can serenade
And sing you to sleep
I'll keep you safe
Inside of your dreams

I still remember
when I heard the doctor say
(There's no heart rate)
That line still haunts me
Your mother and I fell to the floor
Neither of us wanted to get back up
It felt like we cried for hours
And then I felt
something give me strength
Then I remembered what you said
Daddy please don't cry
I like it better when you smile
So I pulled myself back up
from the floor
Took your mother in my arms
Carried her back to the car
You were every step
You were every breath

All These tear drops
That fall upon the page
Creating smudged ink stains
As this pen bleeds
Words drenched in sorrow
An empty heart slowly fades
Can't seem to find a way
To release all this pain
Can't seem to find the words to say
I miss you each and everyday
Can't find a logical reason to explain
Why you were taken away

Can't forgive God
For what he's done
Just hope he's holding
You in his arms
Keeping you safe and warm
You got the voices of angels
Who can serenade
And sing you to sleep
And I'll keep you safe
Inside of your dreams

I still remember when
I heard the priest say
May she rest with angels
watching over her
May they share there
infinite love on high
May they protect
her blessed soul
Let the Lord take her
Into his loving arms
To keep her safe from harm
I said Amen to that princess
And I've seen you in the stars
Yeah you'll never be to far
For we are always
With in each other's hearts

All these tear drops
That fall upon the page
Creating smudged ink stains
As this pen bleeds
Words drenched in sorrow
An empty heart slowly fades
Can't seem to find a way
To release all this pain
Can't seem to find the words to say
I miss you each and everyday
Can't find a logical reason to explain
Why you were taken away

Can't forgive God
For what he's done
Just hope he's holding
You in his arms
Keeping you safe and warm
You got the voices of angels
Who can serenade
And sing you to sleep
And I'll keep you safe
Inside of your dreams

Sometimes I sit in your empty room
Imagine you playing, drawing
Creating all those games
You used to play
With your vivid imagination
A world of your creation
It's like your still here
I can feel your essence
I can feel your presence
In this place
It's where I go to relive your memory
That you left for me

All these tear drops
That fall upon the page
Creating smudged ink stains
As this pen bleeds
Words drenched in sorrow
An empty heart slowly fades
Can't seem to find a way
To release all this pain
Can't seem to find the words to say
I miss you each and everyday
Can't find a logical reason to explain
Why you were taken away

Can't forgive God
For what he's done
Just hope he's holding
You in his arms
Keeping you safe and warm
You got the voices of angels
Who can serenade
And sing you to sleep
And I'll keep you safe
Inside of your dreams

©2018 Written By Benji James
This is a fictional piece of work that I wrote back in 2015 I wanted people to experience and feel through a heart-wrenching piece of writing and this is what I came up with and the journey that I chose to take people on.
Paul Rose May 2014
Once I had a little dog
His name was kinda strange
He was covered all over with little spots
And so I named him “Stains”
He was always full of goofy tricks
I’d laugh till I had chest pains
But nothing made me laugh harder
As when I’d yell “Come Stains!”
“Come Stains!” Come Stains!”
You would hear me yell all day
My parents really hated it
When I called that dog to play
Whenever he looked tired
I’d say “Come Stains, on my lap”
The first thing out of my mouth was always
“Come Stains” after my nap
And when I went to sleep at night
My last words I always said, were
“Come Stains.  Come Stains. Come stains, on my bed.”
Some inspiration from poet "Red Peters"
George Anthony May 2017
I know that there is a table
in a Catholic high school in my local town
with an etch of the letter "G"
next to boredom-inspired vandal,
jagged lines, circles,
perhaps a few ******* shapes
as silly high school boys
are prone to draw.

An Advanced Maths textbook sits on a shelf
with a little doodle
of a peace sign next to an emo smiley
from a time where I was caught
between two phases,
tight black jeans and a flowing turquoise shirt.

Tobacco stains smeared
over the wood of a sealed off door
just outside my bedroom,
evidence of the first time
I tried a cigarette, seven years old,
and then panicked and tried to
flush it down the toilet,
only to have to fish it out and stuff it
in a little crevice, to be hidden and
remain there for seven years.

We leave all these little marks
and stains
in places we've been.
Spilled food, spilled ink, spilled drink,
tobacco stains and pools of blood.
"The marks humans leave are
too often scars."

I have scars.
Left forearm. Right calf. Right wrist bone. Both kneecaps.

A scar across my ribs and chest I was
so desperate to be rid of,
I bathed myself in oils and it was
the first scab I
never picked at; but a couple of weeks ago
I dreamt it was there again, fresh.
It tore open in front of everyone, bled out,
and I woke up gasping, drowning in my fear,
agonised, clutching at a wound that'd long since faded
convinced I could feel it splitting me apart again.

I have evidence all over my body
and more buried deep within the recesses of my mind,
scars so jagged they put knives to shame,
shining, pale, like diamonds in moonlight
not half as precious
but still invaluable.
Evidence of the marks humans leave behind.

I'm not innocent.
I don't pretend like I am.
I know there is a man out there
who gained another scar to add to his collection
when he was fourteen years old.
I know my hands carved it into his skin.
I know I used to use my fists
when others used their words to hurt me.

When I die, I know that I will leave
pieces of myself
everywhere
I've ever been. Whether people know it
or not, whether they
remember me
or not. There are ink stains
and coffee spills. My blood
is still on the floor of his house.
The high school cafeteria
has a circle of red
from a nosebleed I didn't realise I was having.
There are parks wearing my graffiti
and children donning my old clothes, and people overseas
still alive because of me

(or that's what they'll tell me, but
all I did was talk.
Give yourself the credit you guys deserve,
you're the ones who chose to listen.
You're the ones who had the strength to
pick your head up and carry on)

There are exes who still think of me
and friends who will one day
come across some article of clothing
or a piece of technology
I left behind after a sleepover.
Teachers who will remember
that smart, sarcastic student
who had panic attacks in their classrooms
and drank coffee in the mentoring hub with Mrs. Hume
whilst buttering bagels and functioning on no sleep.

Maybe our place in the universe is
insignificant. Or maybe it's the
most significant thing
of all.
Maybe the Buddhists are right.
Maybe we are the universe, together
as one. I sure think it makes sense.

Streams of consciousness
and spirits that need healing.
We work the sun
without even realising we're doing it.
We destroy it, too,
which is perhaps why we
are so self destructive in turn.

Maybe we're
smaller than specs of dust
but that's okay.
You don't have anything
without the particles required
to make things up.
Everything is a collection of atoms:
the tiniest things of all
yet they're the centre of everything,
the beginning of everything.

So when the end comes and
we burst back into the sky,
stardust and souls and
blinking little lights,
we'll have left our marks on the earth
regardless of who remembers
and we'll still be there, twinkling,
a collection of atoms that came from a supernova
essential to the makeup of galaxies
and life itself.
What could be more beautiful than that?
I don't know. It was... some sort of stream of consciousness, perhaps? I blanked out halfway through writing it.
Realeboga M Dec 2016
Interlude.

What's your favourite colour?"
A question that has lived with me throughout my entire years.
With confidence I said "purple"
They always asked me why. I never really gave them the most appropriate answer. Mainly because when I was young, purple made me feel different. Girls were always expected to love a certain pink, to always follow that order. Purple made me feel superior.
Made me all sorts of different.
Always a good different.

Little did I know.

Purple stains*.

Tomorrow is a day closer to our day.
Everyday is a day closer to ours.

I sit on this wooden chair,
Listening to it creak as my body makes a frontward backward motion.
I stare aimlessly at the road ahead.
Wondering.
Always wondering.

"Annoyed with the World?" she puts her tiny soft hands on my shoulder.
Making me feel the heat radiating from her.
I continue to look forward. Already knowing where she's going at.

"The perks of being an Eccedentist",she whispers.
"The secret of this pain lies deep within but can only be seen by our kind".
I sigh, massaging my temples. Not really feeling the need to hear what more she has to say.
In attempt to run away, I pick my heavy battered body up and start to walk away.
She chuckles light hearted "Running again I guess?"
"How long will you deny these stains? How long will your body handle them? Don't run away. Talk to me"

Her words remind me of a certain everybody. Always telling me that they want to listen.
To comfort me.
But they don't understand, I'm not trying to get pity or supposed heartfelt advice.
I don't want that.

I continue to walk away from her, counting every step that takes me further from her view.

"I am in pain", I whisper to the winds.
"I've got bruises so deep that they have turned into scars. The kind that stains every part of me"
"I want to cry", I slouch my body.
"But what point is it to waste my tears on someone that has put me on hold? Should I really be doing this. Crying so loud for love that existed only for their benefit"
"I'm an instrument of pain", I laugh.
"He is my composer. With each stroke, with each beat. He creates harmonious symphonies that leave the crowd bewildered. He creates a wave of sensual vocals that lead me breathless and in pain"
"People love his work, they love to listen to the beats of my drained heart,  the soft strum of my throaty voice", I sigh.

My body is at halt. I can no longer continue to walk.
With that, I fall heavy on my knees.
Hands on the rough sand.
Head trying to bury itself deeper.
"Everyday is a day closer to ours", I cry.

My body shakes feverishly letting out the pain.
My throat cracks in attempt to let my voice be heard.
My heart shatters even more. My mind flustered and goes black.
My eyes are bloodshot, but no tears.
It's only been a few months but it feels like years.
Holding on to him. To this pain.
I try to get a grip onto the soil but my body fails.
I fall, now laying on the ground.
Whispering, crying to it.
Finally letting someone in.

"I told you, that only I understand you", she crouches and releases a small smile.

She squints her eyes and croaks her head.
"What's your favourite colour? "

I keep quiet. Not from embarrassment but from exhaustion of this cycle. I'm always caught at my worst.
Why must I always be caught.

"No answer", She sighs
"How do you expect to get over this if you don't talk? " she whispers harshly

I sigh, I shut my eyes in hopes for her to disappear.
I can't handle playing to her. For her own comfort that her life is somewhat better than mine.
This instrument, is worn out.

"I'm still here you know. And I'm not trying to save you. I could never do that. I'm not him",I hear
"I just can't watch you break down like this anymore. I don't want you to feel what I felt", she coughs.
"I'm not here for saving. If you refuse to talk of your pain at least let me in on your favourite colour ", she pleads.

"Purple", I murmur

"Just like the colour of your stains",she laughs.
This is dedicated to my friend Mandy and Purple. Thank you for letting me in on your pain
Lyn-Purcell Aug 2018


The folding screen stands tall in the
Splendid Paramour's room, the glory
kissed further by the sun-dappled
tree light that spilled through her window.
A painted surface of honeyed-gold that
can only be found from a blooming sun,
with edges as purple as her lover's robes.
Or at least it was. Now all she sees is the
shade of countless wine-stains, the shades
of many flowering bruises.

One each of the panels, chrysanthemums in
bloom, ever so vibrant; pomegranate red,
mimosa gold, mint green. Her slender finger
stroked one of glacial blue, while her eyes
fell on the one of wedding white, pure and
innocent. She recalled a dream she had the
night before. She was standing in a barren
field with many holes; her obsidian hair,
long straight and loose, her lithe body in a
simple white robe.

She saw faceless figures made of silver vapour,
all speaking secrets into various holes before
they ceased into nothing. From their buried
words bloomed chrysanthemums, each singing,
each whispered, joyous thoughts to heart-
wrenching songs. Re-opening her eyes, she
walked behind her folding screen, out of gold
light, into the purple shade. On the back was
hand-painted with plum blossoms that decorated
the cloak of snow. On the floor, a simple
embroidered pillow.

Upon the simple table, her four great treasures;
an ink stick made from animal oil, printed with
orchids;
"For you are my eternal pledge of beauty," she
heard her lover coo, but she shook the thought
away. Next, a black ink stone that was carved
with a dragon and phoenix - a painful tug of her
heart; brush made of goat hairs; tip was soft and
flextile; "Paint your mind for me, my love," he
cooed again as she bit her lower lip.
And finally, small sheets of paper. "Born only
from bamboo," she muttered so bitterly.

"My sweet Meihua," she felt his palm on her
cheek. "None will replace you, my Splendid
Paramour. Ever so noble, always so virtuous."
And after the memory came the pain; her lover
was a dragon, none above him but the Gods,
but his beautiful face distorted for he had a
dragon's temper; the dripping wine-stains,
and blooming bruises.

She began to grind the ink-stick on the
ink-block, until she had a small silk-oil
point. Raising her brush, she dipped the
tip in the ink and now, she would paint
the words of her mind. In the comforts of
room, soundless, she painted her heart
that remained unhealed.

In the her lover's arms, the Dragon's
arms, she had hoped to be his Empress,
his doting phoenix, that would rise
through the skies, forever entwined in
a dance of love, soaring through nimbus
big and small. But alas, that would never
be. Not anymore...
The wine-stains, the budding bruises.
Her path strewn by fellow Consorts
long dead, with silk wrapped around
their throats, or poisons on their tables,
or even crimson flowers leaking out of
their sliced wrists.

She wrote and wrote on, blinking away
the stinging from her eyes, casting her
her dreams of being a Worthy Consort
aside, as she would with her name,
the one he granted her, 'Meihua',
the dragon's flowering plum. But if
she did, what would she be?
A girl, a ghost that bears no name.

"He saw me as virtuous," she said, "he
saw me as noble, until..." That accursed
moment, the wine-stains, the sprouting
bruises. She shivered even though her
palace was warm, but to her, it was cold.
Forever cursed to be cold.

Without the dragon's presence, she felt
so alone. No family nor friend - no soul
in sight. Naught to talk to in her blight.
For now he cursed Meihua to wither and
fade.
"My love," she whimpered. "My love,
Return. I would do anything for you to
return."

Once she painted out her heart on the
bamboo page, she pulled a dagger from
her billowing sleeve.

Fate had closed her chapter,
it was never meant to be.
Years and tears of love had
made her blind in one eye.


There was ALOT of turmoil I needed to write out.
In other news, this is my 700th poem! ^-^
This was inspired by a folding screen I saw in a museum once (from the Tang Dynasty, I believe), and it was so beautiful! If only it could talk...
And I was inspired by the Four Gentlemen, too! ^-^
Hope you enjoy it! I'm planning on continuing The Letter,
so hopefully, it'll be out tomorrow! ^-^
Thanks again, everyone!
Lyn ***
The yacht swept up in the dunes had been
Abandoned the year before,
I came across it, quite by chance
Some miles away on the shore.
The bow was buried, the mast had gone
I climbed and I peered inside,
And there in the cabin, it seemed to me
That somebody must have died.

There were stains of blood on the cabin floor,
Stains of blood on the sink,
Handprint stains on a cupboard door,
I took me outside to think.
Without a body the boat felt right,
I needed somewhere to stay,
And this was cosy and out of sight,
As free as the livelong day.

I used seawater to clean it up,
I got the cupboard to shine,
Whoever had bled in there before
This cabin would do just fine.
I found some blankets under the bunk
To set up a makeshift bed,
I felt like a proud new owner there
And the feeling went to my head.

I caught some fish in the darkening light
And cooked it there on the beach,
The flames had flickered and showed the mark
As high as the tide could reach.
A breeze blew up and I crept inside
Protected from wind and rain,
And sat, and pondered a lazy pipe
In there, where a corpse had lain.

It must have been after the Moon went down
I first heard the woman’s cries,
Up from the shore, through the cabin door,
‘You’re always telling me lies!’
The wind was howling about the dunes
And the waves beat loud on the shore,
And over it all, the woman’s wail,
‘We’ve been through all this before.’

Then something clambered up on the deck
A thing with an ominous tread,
The hairs stood up on the back of my neck
As the woman wailed, ‘You’re dead!’
The thing jumped down to the cabin floor
In a shapeless gown of black,
All I could see were two red eyes
As it moved on in to attack.

The blade of a knife flashed by my face,
It gleamed in the light of the stars,
I tried to cry, ‘Whoever you think
I am, I’m not, I’m Lars!’
But the blade sank home in my shoulder then
And I reached for it in pain,
I cut my hand on its sharpened blade
As it tried to strike me again.

That shapeless thing had let out a shriek,
Had glared with its two red eyes,
‘Why do you hide on the Devil’s yacht
If you’re not a part of his lies?’
I tried to answer but nothing came
The pain swept me like a wave,
And blood was seeping from cuts and wounds
I was trying in vain to stave.

The figure turned and it left the yacht,
I staggered up to the deck,
And watched as it entered the breaking waves,
A sight I try to forget.
There were stains of blood on the cabin floor,
Stains of blood on the sink,
Handprint stains on a cupboard door,
They were always mine, I think.

For the woman that I’d been hiding from
Had sworn with her final breath,
‘I’ll seek you out, wherever you’ve gone,
It won’t be a peaceful death.
I shall loose the demons from the hell
That you gave me, ready or not.’
How could I know that they’d find me where
I’d hid, on the Devil’s Yacht?

David Lewis Paget
falling Dec 2014
auburn days roll by
like the end of a lit
cigarette, with a
puff of smoke
and emotionless
lipstick stains.
seasons pass
like the whiskey
bottle is drained
to an end to
drown those
emotionless
lipstick stains.
tears tick by
like the bottle
of pills that
cover the crisp
bathroom floor
escaping the pain
of emotionless
lipstick stains.
life comes to a halt
like the budding
drops of crimson
blood that paint
my favorite
bracelet running
away from the
emotionless
lipstick stains.
Stains on your shirt
Stains on your hand
The stains gets ******
As you keep rubbing your hands

Your leader
Your master
Within 30 seconds
He died before you

You felt no sympathy
You felt no remorse
Angry in your head
Sadness in your heart

The stains are everywhere
The stains confuse you
He once said "Cold hearted people don't bleed."
Your are surprised that he bled

But he knew
But you never knew
The strength you had
Your strength that came out in a fury

He knew not to do it
He knew not to laugh
You grew angry and emotions ran high.
Are you accused or excused?
copyright Randy Wiafe 2010
shåi May 2014
i am shåï
and im here to stay...

lipstick stains
left on your
swollen cheek
love uncontained

red pen marks
drawn carelessly
i have not forgotten you
my dear

you came home
the other day
why did i even bother
to kiss you away?

the stains
still remain
on a carpet
that cannot be cleaned

your cheek was swollen
i cant think
i forgot
a heart stolen

you were here
maybe you once were gone
i cant think
just the mere thought

(b.d.s.)
taken from my project who are you? ... coming soon!! suggestions are very much appreciated!
Benji James Jun 2017
I remember when you were four
I caught you drawing on the wall
I couldn't get mad
Instead I just laughed
And I still have
The finger print painting
that you made
In fact I had it framed
I have every art piece you made
To remind me that your always here
with me spiritually

All These tear drops
That fall upon the page
Creating smudged ink stains
As this pen bleeds
Words drenched in sorrow
An empty heart slowly fades
Can't seem to find a way
To release all this pain
Can't seem to find the words to say
I miss you each and everyday
Can't find a logical reason to explain
Why you were taken a way

Can't forgive God
For what he's done
Just hope he's
Holding you in his arms
Keeping you safe and warm
You got the voices of angels
Who can serenade
And sing you to sleep
I'll keep you safe
Inside of your dreams

We were at the hospital
I was sitting beside your bed
And you wiped the tears
Underneath my eyes
Then I heard you say
Daddy please don't cry
I like it better when you smile
So I smiled
Don't say no goodnights or goodbyes
Yeah princess your my little fighter
My inspiration, my perfection
My saviour, my hope, my strength
Your everything I am
I'll carry that with me forever

All these tear drops
That fall upon the page
Creating smudged ink stains
As this pen bleeds
Words drenched in sorrow
An empty heart slowly fades
Can't seem to find a way
To release all this pain
Can't seem to find the words to say
I miss you each and everyday
Can't find a logical reason to explain
Why you were taken a way

Can't forgive God
For what he's done
Just hope he's
Holding you in his arms
Keeping you safe and warm
You got the voices of angels
Who can serenade
And sing you to sleep
I'll keep you safe
Inside of your dreams

I still remember
when I heard the doctor say
(There's no heart rate)
That line still haunts me
Your mother and I fell to the floor
Neither of us wanted to get back up
It felt like we cried for hours
And then I felt
something give me strength
Then I remembered what you said
Daddy please don't cry
I like it better when you smile
So I pulled myself back up
from the floor
Took your mother in my arms
Carried her back to the car
You were every step
You were every breath

All These tear drops
That fall upon the page
Creating smudged ink stains
As this pen bleeds
Words drenched in sorrow
An empty heart slowly fades
Can't seem to find a way
To release all this pain
Can't seem to find the words to say
I miss you each and everyday
Can't find a logical reason to explain
Why you were taken a way

Can't forgive God
For what he's done
Just hope he's holding
You in his arms
Keeping you safe and warm
You got the voices of angels
Who can serenade
And sing you to sleep
And I'll keep you safe
Inside of your dreams

I still remember when
I heard the priest say
May she rest with angels
watching over her
May they share there
infinite love on high
May they protect
her blessed soul
Let the Lord take her
Into his loving arms
To keep her safe from harm
I said Amen to that princess
And I've seen you in the stars
Yeah you'll never be to far
For we are always
With in each other's hearts

All these tear drops
That fall upon the page
Creating smudged ink stains
As this pen bleeds
Words drenched in sorrow
An empty heart slowly fades
Can't seem to find a way
To release all this pain
Can't seem to find the words to say
I miss you each and everyday
Can't find a logical reason to explain
Why you were taken a way

Can't forgive God
For what he's done
Just hope he's holding
You in his arms
Keeping you safe and warm
You got the voices of angels
Who can serenade
And sing you to sleep
And I'll keep you safe
Inside of your dreams

Sometimes I sit in your empty room
Imagine you playing, drawing
Creating all those games
You used to play
With your vivid imagination
A world of your creation
It's like your still here
I can feel your essence
I can feel your presence
In this place
It's where I go to relive your memory
That you left for me

All these tear drops
That fall upon the page
Creating smudged ink stains
As this pen bleeds
Words drenched in sorrow
An empty heart slowly fades
Can't seem to find a way
To release all this pain
Can't seem to find the words to say
I miss you each and everyday
Can't find a logical reason to explain
Why you were taken a way

Can't forgive God
For what he's done
Just hope he's holding
You in his arms
Keeping you safe and warm
You got the voices of angels
Who can serenade
And sing you to sleep
And I'll keep you safe
Inside of your dreams

©2017 Written By Benji James
This is a fictional piece of work that I wrote back in 2015 I wanted people to experience and feel through a heart-wrenching piece of writing and this is what I came up with and the journey that I chose to take people on.
Mariah Padgett Jun 2010
When you joke you sound so serious
And I never seem to get it until it’s too late

You like order and tradition
I listen to Christmas songs in July.

Our moods never seem to match
You seem to thinks that that’s just fine.

But I don’t understand.

I’m always worried, it seems,
That I’ll somehow let you down
And in doing so, I’ve succeeded.

I always do the best that I can
to look good for you
you complain, “it isn’t needed.”

You’re family only likes the ‘Normal’
Whatever that is
But I stick out like a sore thumb.

From my hair and it’s ever-changing colors,
To my jeans with their pictures and quotes,
...That are drawn on with sharpies...
and the paint stains that cover them from time to time!

Because of all of this, I worry.

Am I too weird?
Is my rainbow-like hair too odd?
Are my drawn on jeans ,
My crazy belly dancing skirts,
And pentagram necklaces,
Simply too strange?

What of my love of olives?
And how I ***** up my face when I think?
Do you not like how I spend hours on my computer,
Working on one picture (trying to make it just right)?

Or how, when I choose to color my art by hand,
I walk away with paint all over me (Even on my cheeks),
And an oddly proud grin plastered on my face?

I worry, and pace,
For days on end, at times,
Wondering if you really love me.

And when you finally see me,
The weird, colorful,  oddball that I am
You smile, and kiss me,
saying "i've missed you so much!"

And I know that I worried for nothing,
That you are different from your parents,
That our beliefs live together in harmony,
That you actually like the odd faces I make when I'm thinking
and the weird colors I dye my hair,
And that you really, truly love me—

Paint stains and all.
Madisen Kuhn Nov 2014
you didn’t like the way i answered the phone,
and you thought it was gross that i liked mushrooms on my pizza,
and you told me i was weird-looking when i was a kid,
and once i sent you a tattoo and you said you didn’t like it, you didn’t know they were my words that were written on her body
you told me what “too much damage” meant on halloween after all the trick-or-treaters had fallen asleep
and when i kept silent for three days after,
and winced at every kissing scene on television, because they flooded the insides of my eyelids with images that made me feel very small,
you said i was being unfair
because i was the one who decided we were just friends,
and i told you we weren’t, you knew we weren’t
we couldn’t be after what we used to be

i told you i still had feelings that hadn’t gone away yet,
you said they hadn’t gone away for you either

i pictured you holding my hand

but then you said,
“that’s why it’s easier to run from them
and hide in other girls beds.”

you always told me every thought
that popped into your head, and i used to find it endearing,
i kept telling myself that you deserved my ear,
but i really hope you have nothing more to say
because, i promise, i’m done listening

so clear off your bedside table, and cut the
blue string that’s wrapped around your wrist if you’ve yet to do so,
and stop asking me if i miss you,
because this is me saying
i don’t.
you are the soothing hum
the grass stains on my jeans
the summer in my hair
the color in my cheeks
you are the the constant wave
beating against my heart
the warm honey on my lips
the paint on my nails
you are the perfect dance
and a moonlit ride
the sticky vanilla cream
you are the flower in my palm
the reason I smile
the chills down my spine
you are more than you'll ever know
you are the love of my life
Abby Carpenter Jul 2017
There are coffee stains on my notebook.
soft brown plots colonize the corners,
Smearing the ink into almost unreadable scratches.
I love my daily coffee so much that I let it ruin my note book.
And like my morning coffee you have become a staple in my life.
A part of my routine,
Coffee, class, and then you.

And I do not write love poems.
The words never fit into my mouth right,
talking about love always felt like tossing marbles in my mouth,
blurry and unbalanced.
They never came out how I wanted.
But for you I'm willing to try,
I will fight my own tongue until I can tell you what I mean.
Until I can say that I haven't gone a day without coffee since the sixth grade,
and that the idea of going a day without you makes me sick.
Until you know that I will hold your hand like the handle of my favorite mug,
that I'll love any chip or crack you have.
And if you ever feel bitter,
Please know that I will be right here,
because I take my coffee black
And I'm not scared of being burned
But like my morning coffee you’ve started to leave stains on my sleeves,
my hands are tinted from all the times I’ve held yours,
and when I look down and see the small blotches,
I smile,
Because I think of you.
Katherine Laslie Mar 2017
What could they do?
What would they say?
I have scars all over
My blemished flesh
Would they shun me?
For being more in tune to my suffering
Would they send me away?
Shove a pill past my lips
And tell me I'm okay

I just want to feel hope again
Want to be washed clean
Of these physical scars
That have caged me
I want to let go of this
These feelings that I get
More than anything, I'd rather
Die than just pretend

I want to go home
It's a strong urge I cannot shake
But I'm sitting in my bedroom
So tell me, if this isn't home
Then what is??
Would I rather lie inside my grave?
Would I decide to wake up
and live just another day?

Could you fill my heart with hope
Instead of this sorrow that
I've come to know too well?
They can wash the blood off of my hands
But the stains on my soul
Could be never cleansed

They could try for a thousand years
To try to convince me
That this is all worth the tears
But the fact of the matter is
Nothing could ever change
Because upon my soul
Is one large black stain

BUT THE STAINS ON MY SOUL
COULD NEVER BE CLEANSED

AND THE STAINS ON MY SOUL
WILL NEVER BE REPENT

NO, THE STAINS ON MY SOUL
WILL NEVER BE CLEANSED
Alyssa Underwood Nov 2015
Promises made by mortal man
Are rarely met by mortal hand
For though they strive to win your heart
Such passions land far from their start

They'll paint, so clear, a future bliss
And draw you in with blinding kiss
But just when you have bought the dream
Man finds pursuits more worthy to deem

Ambition, sport and other girls
Whose flattering words and smiles like pearls
Will tempt a fellow to leave his nest
And lie upon another's breast

'Tis pain so sharp you think you'll die
And tears aren't found enough to cry
A torture rack would be better friend
With all its tearing limb to limb

To have your innards disemboweled
Or face the fiercest lion's growl
Would be kinder punishment than this
From one who knew your ****** kiss

And yet within this darkest night
A hint of moonbeam's softest light
Might rise upon such blistered soul
And shine into its gaping hole

For romance still may spark a flame
And whisper to your heart by name
To woo you in your bleakest hour
With promises of healing power

Promises unlike the others you've known
Whose good intentions were quickly thrown
Away by the frailty of human flesh
When sin's entanglements did enmesh

No, this One's words are wholly sure
His heart and mind and will are pure
His faithfulness cannot be shaken
Nor His covenant love ever be taken

He chose you before He made the sun
And said to the Father, "I want that one!"
He searched you out through all your years
Through all your joys and pains and fears

And now He waits for you to grasp
That deepest pleasure lies in His clasp
That His own kiss brings highest delight
That His face is eye's sweetest sight

It's He alone Who can fill you up
And saturate your empty cup
When life has left you hollow and dry
And numb to further wish to try

When memories lie tarnished with stains
And not one worthy dream remains
He reaches in with perfect hope
That pulls you up like saving rope

And as He wipes tears from your eyes
He says to you: I am the Prize!
Take hold of Me and drink My love
Come sit with Me in realms above

For I have blessings prepared for you
That you've never imagined, but oh it's true
I long to give you all of Me
To draw you close and let you see

That in your pain you know Me best
That heart's rejection finds its rest
In this sweet fellowship of intimacy
Where you are made to look like Me

I'll give you love like you've not known
Enough to see your will o'erthrown
Enough to pour it out upon
That very one who did you wrong

For that one, too, knows thirst of soul
And needs My love to fill the hole
Which, though he's tried hard to ignore,
Pleads, "More and more and more and more!"

But if he never should respond
Still, that pure love will seal the bond
That ties you to My own heartbeat
For then you'll see My love complete

For though the world resists Me still
I love them fiercely and always will
I've known rejection like no other
From bride and kindred and friend and brother

And when you love through hate and scorn
A jewel within your heart is born
For then you glimpse My own heart's breaking
And learn My secrets of rarest taking

To rejoice in the face of bitter spite
Requires sure death but will invite
Your soul to dance in gardens of bliss
Where you will know My Lover's kiss

So come and dance with Me, make haste
There's no spare moment left to waste
Abundant life waits through this door
With thrills and pleasures evermore!
~~~
David Walker Dec 2012
Origins
written and directed
by
David Walker

Inspired
by
the films of
Quentin Tarantino
David Lynch
&
Rob Zombie

There is method
To his madness

                                                        ­                                                                 ­                  January 2013              
                                              ­                                                                 ­                       first draft









1. EXT. Run down project apartment complex - 3:00 am

A dark, tall figure with long black hair and a trenchcoat opens the already cracked red door.

MAN:
I'm looking for love in all the wrong places.

                                                        ­                                                                 ­                                       CUT TO:
INT. Apartment 3

A typical roach infested apartment with a kitchen built into the living room. 3 GIRLS are on the kitchen floor. GIRL # 1 one has black hair with big lips and a curvy frame and she is wearing a pair of Tripp pants and a black bra barely covering her ample *****. She has a flesh colored rubber hose tied to her left arm. GIRL # 2 has dyed rainbow colored hair, a nice smile, and a skinny frame. She is wearing a pair of tore blue jeans with smiley faces and cute in jokes written on them, also not wearing a shirt with a lacy blue bra on. She has a spoon with water and black tar ****** inside it which she is heating up with a silver Zippo with the word "Skittles" engraved into it. GIRL # 3 Has long naturally red hair, glasses and an extremely voluptuous figure. She is wearing tight black pants and a black shirt with thin sleeves. She is inspecting a covered syringe with an unsure look in her eyes.

GIRL # 2:
So, do you wanna do it or not Jane?

Snatches the syringe out of JANE's hand.

JANE:
I'm not sure. How long have you been doing this ****?

Girl #2 takes the orange cap off the syringe revealing a small needle.

GIRL #2:
Since after I graduated. About 3 years. Liz you ready?

LIZ:
As ready as I am for dat sweet tang!

Girl #2 giggles. She sticks the needle into Liz's arm, blood mixes with the brown fluid inside, and she pushes the plunger down. Liz leans back into Girl #2's arms and Girl #2 gives her a kiss.

LIZ:
I love you, Julia.

JULIA:
Well, I love you too.

JANE:
You guys are so gay!

(OS):
Save that **** for the ******* customers!

                                                     ­                                                                 ­                                       CUT TO:
Other side of room. A greasy looking MAN with short faded black hair and a scar going from the corner of his mouth to the right ear is sitting in a beat up recliner cleaning his Uberti 1873 Cattleman revolver while smoking a fat blunt and watching some kind of high budget **** with Sasha Grey in it.

JULIA:
Sorry, Mike. It didn't stop you from leaving me and Liz unsatisfied and bored, did it?

LIZ and JULIA laugh. JANE has a nervous look in her eyes.

MIKE:
Very ******* funny you wore out trick! Am I gonna have to smack the sass out yo mouth?

MIKE gets up, puts out his blunt and walks over to the GIRLS gun in hand.

MIKE:
Or am I gonna have to give your little friend a scar like mine.

LIZ:
Mike don't!

MIKE SLAPS JULIA with the side of his UNLOADED revolver and grabs JANE by her hair.

MIKE:
Who the **** are you, anyways *****?

JANE:
(stuttering)
I was walking down the street earlier today and I ran into Julia and Liz. They went to school with my sister I think. Let me go!

MIKE:
So you're a young'n. Well you have some nice big *******!

MIKE RIPS off her shirt exposing her *******. He begins to squeeze the right one. JANE SLAPS MIKE HARD!

MIKE:
*****!

MIKE lets go of her hair. Jane runs to the other room grabbing her shirt. LIZ stumbles towards him and PUNCHES him in the nose.

MIKE:
That's it! You little *** dumpsters are dead!

MIKE picks up the REVOLVER, runs to the chair where the bullets are and tries to reload. JULIA wakes from her daze. We see him load 3 rounds. All of a sudden the DOOR gets broken down and the dark clad FIGURE from the scene before pulls out a BERETTA M9 with a silencer attachment. MIKE FIRES 2 shots at him haphazardly missing both. The MAN LAUGHS and FIRES one shot that MIKE's crotch catches.

                                                       ­                                                                 ­                                       CUT TO:
2. INT. Next door in Apartment 2.

A MAN and WOMAN in their early 40's are smoking a joint and seem disturbed by the gunfire.

MAN:
(coughing)
What the hell was that?

WOMAN:
Sounded like gunshots. Do you think we should call the cops?

MAN:
**** no! There is a pound of chronic in the bedroom closet! Just pray whoever it is doesn't come over here!

WOMAN:
Okay. Are you gonna pass that?

                                                          ­                                                                 ­                                     CUT TO:
3. INT. Apartment 3.

The smoke has cleared. MIKE is begging for death and BLEEDING out everywhere, JULIA is in a daze, dumbfounded by what she just witnessed, LIZ is cowering in fear, crying, and JANE just came out of the bedroom with her TORN SHIRT on and a terrified "Oh my God" expression. The unknown assailant has a devilish grin upon his face.

MIKE:
Godfuck! **** me you sunuvabitch! Godda--

The MAN obliges. He fires a single shot into his RIGHT EYE.

MAN:
Well, looks like I got here in the nick of time!

JULIA:
(blankly)
W-Who the **** are you?

MAN:
That is of little importance right now. Who are you foxy ladies?

JULIA:
M-My name's Julia. That girl over there (points to Liz) is Liz, and the ginger is Jane.

MAN:
What pretty names! Well, I have a question. Will you three lovely young ladies gather round that despicable looking chair and listen to what I have to say, or are you going to run? Keep in mind I have rope in my trenchcoat and the fact I mean you no harm. I am just a lonely man with a story to tell, and the way I see it, what with that bruise on your sweet face, you kinda owe me.

JULIA:
I think we can stay. I just wanna know your name.

MAN:
Ahh, but I am a man of many names. My christian name is Derek. You don't need the last for now.

DEREK walks to the chair and sits down. He waves the GIRLS over.

DEREK:
C'mon I just want to tell my tale. Look, I will put the gun under the chair as a sign of good faith that neither you girls or I will start shooting the place up again. Are we square ladies?

JULIA:
What do ya say guys?

They gather in the kitchen.

LIZ:
This guy has a ***** loose.

JULIA:
Yes, but he saved us from our ****. We should humor him.

JANE:
I think he is hot!

LIZ and JULIA just stare at JANE.

JANE:
Sorry, but he is.

JULIA:
So it's agreed. We will listen to his story, silently pray he doesn't **** us and leave afterwards.

The GIRLS walk to the chair. DEREK has lit the blunt.

DEREK:
Ahh, so you have decided to join me. Good. Do you guys wanna hit this?

LIZ and JULIA shake their heads no.

JANE:
I will.

DEREK:
Great. Now, where do I begin. I suppose everybody's roots stem from childhood, so lets go back, oh say, 20 years ago.

                                                           ­       FADE TO BLACK        
Against black, TITLE CARD

October 15th 1995.

                                                          ­                       CUT TO      
4. EXT. Suburbia circa 1995.

There are three boys between the ages of 6 and 9 playing in front of a grey HOUSE with a white MINIVAN in the driveway. Little DEREK is a scrawny 6 year old boy with short brown hair and a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles action figure in his hands. The 2 other BOYS ages 7 and 9 are picking on him and trying to take away DONATELLO.

DEREK:
Leave me alone or I will whoop your ****.

BOY #1:
Whatever! You are scrawny and lame. Give us your Ninja Turtle now or we will beat you up!

BOY #2 picks up a STICK and starts hitting DEREK with it.

BOY #2:
What are you going to do? Get your daddy? Oh, wait...that's right, you don't have one!

The 2 BULLIES start laughing. A look of hatred fills young DEREK's eyes. He catches the STICK and slaps BOY #2 in the face with it. He then tackles him and starts beating him mercilessly. BOY #1 runs towards the PORCH and knocks on the DOOR. DEREK'S MOM answers. She is in her mid 30's with brown hair and casual clothing on, smoking a cigarette and drinking a cup of "coffee."

BOY #2:
Derek's beating up Josh again!

DEREK'S MOM:
Well, good for him! Bet that little pecker snot deserved it too. Now, Brad...why don't you take you and your friend on home before I tell your dad you play with Barbies.

LATE 20'S DEREK:
(OS)
My mother was a sweet ol' broad!

BRAD:
(sighs)
Okay, Ms. Walters, but you do know you are going to have to pull him offa Josh right?

DEREK'S MOM:
(sighs like Brad)
I suppose.

DEREK'S MOM and BRAD walk to the front yard and GASP when they notice that DEREK has knocked out 2 of JOSH'S baby teeth, both in the front and broke his nose, which is bleeding profusely.

DEREK'S MOM:
Derek Charles Walters! Get the **** up offa him!

DEREK:
(crying)
He hit me with a stick!

DEREK'S MOM:
Well, now I'm about to!

She picks up the STICK and beats his *** with it several times.

DEREK:
******* *****!

DEREK'S MOM, infuriated throws the stick down and SLAPS him across the face. DEREK runs away.
He runs to a wooded area in the back yard as far as his legs can take him.

LATE 20'S DEREK:
(OS)
Do not weep, for on that day, I met God and Satan incarnate and it turns out they existed singularly in my head.
                                                           ­                                                                 ­                          CUT TO:

5. JANE:
Like a conscience?

DEREK:
Much more. These guys are in the room right now and only I can see him. Satan led me to you guys tonight! Who knows what kind of CRAZY hijinks are in store!

JULIA:
That's it I'm outta here! C'mon gu--

DEREK fires of his M9 1 time.

DEREK:
Now, listen to me you dykey, ****** *****. I have 3 more rounds in this ******* and one
of them is reserved for you if you don't sit your tight *** back down.

JULIA sits back down scared to death. DEREK regains his composure and is "all smiles" again.

DEREK:
Phew! I don't want to hurt anybody. I just want someone pretty to listen to my ******* story. ****, if you want, I will ask you guys about yourself later on, but for now I'm going to introduce you to my best friends.

JANE:
Who are they again?

DEREK:
Ah, you were trying to pay attention. I will remember that. They go by many names. One can be called "God", "Heroic Harry", "The White Knight", whatever you envision as good, this **** is it. He is the reason you guys are still alive.

LIZ:
And the other?

DEREK:
Ahh, him. He can go by "Satan", "The ******", "The Angel of Death." He's the reason ol' crusty here no longer bothers you.

LIZ:
So you're basically ape ****, right?

DEREK:
Pretty much! Now where was I? Ah...yes

                                                       ­                                                                 ­                                    CUT TO:

6. INT. Small wooded area behind the house --- Early evening.

DEREK has made himself a nice little HANGOUT in the woods! there is a trunk with tons of comics in it, an arsenal of sharpened sticks and rocks, Batman action figures, and a Game Boy Color. He is drawing a picture at the moment.

LATE 20'S DEREK:
(OS)
There I was in my element. ****** at my mother, then all of a sudden, a deep, angelic voice rang out.

VOICE #1:
(OS...of course)
You don't have to hate her, you know. She loves you.

LATE 20'S DEREK:
(OS)
And then another, this voice sounding more playful and mischievous then the other.

VOICE #2:
(OS)
But, for how long? Do you think she meant to have you?

DEREK:
Where are you guys?

LATE 20'S DEREK:
(OS)
And then they appeared.

A 13 YEAR OLD BOY with BROWN hair and a FLANNEL overshirt over a Nirvana T-SHIRT with baggy torn blue JEANS with stains on them appears.

BOY #1:
Don't hate your mom.

VOICE #2:
(OS)
But, watch her close.

DEREK turns his head. We see another BOY roughly the same age with slightly long BLACK hair and a TRENCHCOAT over a Nine Inch Nails T-SHIRT with tight black CHICK PANTS with a CHAIN leading from his pocket to his BELT. He has a lip piercing and he is smoking a cigarette.

DEREK:
Who are you guys?

BOY #1:
Just think of us as older brothers your mom can't see.

DEREK:
Wow! I should introduce you guys to my friends!

BOY #2:
No!

DEREK:
Why not?

BOY #2:
You are the only person that can see us. Don't go telling anyone and don't talk to us in front of anyone. People will think you are nuts!

BOY #1:
Think of us as two ghosts that give you advice. Don't listen to him though, he'll get you in trouble.

BOY #2:
Shut up! Or I will kick your *** again.

BOY #1:
Not in front of him. He doesn't need to see that ****. Not now

DEREK:
What are your names?

BOY #1:
That's up to you.

DEREK:
I'll call you Joe, and him Jerry.

JOE:
Works for me, for now. Call us whatever you feel like calling us whenever you like. If you wanna call me ******* and him poophead, go right ahead.

DEREK:
Okay, but for now you guys are Joe and Jerry.

JOE:
We are going to leave now. We will show up when we think the time is right. Sometimes you will see us others you won't, but we are always with you.

JERRY:
Even when you ****.

                                                          ­                                                                 ­                     CUT TO:
7. INT. Apartment 3.

LATE 20'S DEREK:
And then I went back home and they disappeared. I reconciled with my mom and for the next few weeks I didn't see them. Brad started hanging out with me again and school was good. The years go by and still no sight of them. 4 years pass by. It's 1999 and my tastes changed. Instead of Ninja Turtles and Batman it was KISS and Freddy Krueger. By this point me and Josh had made up and Brad was in middle school. And so we go to where me and the voices meet again.

8. INT. Taft Elementary
A class of roughly 25 children in your average 5th grade home room with a stout middle aged gentleman teaching. JOSH and DEREK are in the back row sitting side by side.

TEACHER:
...And that's how the metric system works.

JOSH:
(to Derek)
Dude, did you check out RAW last night? The Undertaker crucified Stone Cold!

DEREK:
**** I missed it. I was doing homework.

JOSH:
(loud)
****!!

TEACHER:
What did you say Mr. Jarvis?

JOSH:
Sorry Mr. Cannib. I forgot to do my homework.

MR. CANNIB:
Josh, Derek, outside!

LATE 20'S DEREK:
(OS)
The old man had taken kids out of the classroom before and they always came back with tears in their eyes. As we walked outside I heard a familiar voice.

JERRY:
(OS)
If he touches either of you, kick him in the nuts!

MR. CANNIB:
I told you boys too many times! None of this **** in my classroom! Josh get over here you little *****!

OL' TEACH GRABS JOSH by the NECK.

DEREK:
Hey ******* keep your hands to yourself!

CANNIB begins to throttle JOSH. DEREK pushes him off of JOSH and KICKS the TEACHER in the nuts with FURY about 3 times and jumps on top of him while JOSH watches holding his neck.

JERRY:
(OS) While we see Derek's mouth moving

Look here, *******. You think you can be called a teacher for drinking on a farm, ******* cattle and beating children so you can have Summer vacation every year? *******, you spiteful sad man.

DEREK SPITS in the *******'S face and begins to PUNCH him when JOSH pulls him off.

JOSH:
Dude, the door outta here is right there. Lets go to our lockers, get our **** and get outta here.

DEREK:
(Breathing heavily)
Did I just do that? What the ****? Let's get out of here...now!

                                                    ­                                                                 ­                                           CUT TO:
9. EXT. Taft Elementary
A bunch of playground equipment next to an alley with a fenced in field. JOSH and DEREK are walking down the alley. It is sunny outside but about to rain.

DEREK:
That wasn't me that did that.

JOSH:
If it wasn't you who was it?

DEREK:
It w...

JOSH:
(Interrupting)
It reall
The riddle of me
Is bullets of art
Shooting ink stains
In your heart
So you'll always love me
And my mentality
Is a mental breakdown
Of three things
Words, beats and rhymes
Ahead of my time
Thinking of blasting stars
Around your head
Knocked down
Out for the count
Going old school
Wylie getting chased around
On the road running
Laps at the speed of sound
Dropping TNT
Boom
Anvils like beats
Flattening you out
Gettin dizzy quickly
Spinnin and spinnin
Thinking freely
It's my territory
Down a black hole
Following the white
Rabid junk dealing
Cat selling smiles
Getting mad feeling
The wheels are turnin
Inside out
A needle sewn
Through the vane
Injection infection
Man in the mirror
It's a sight to see
Through the glass
Pictures like a memory
Before my rhymes crash
And you see the other side of me
Revealing my destiny
Going insane
I'm the only one to blame
The ink stains
They're smothering me
Slithering inside me
Covering my body
The only thing to see
Is my heart exposed
But you all love me
With these rhymes
And flows
A new era
Another time
A blast from the past
But I'm heading to the future
89 miles an hour
And I'll return
Brake checkin
With tire tracks that burn
With doc in an urn
To lure you in
Back to where it all begins
Tattoos of a heart
Deep within my skin
To replace the oxygen
Breathing nitrogen
Ink stained again
Graffiti trigger
Spraying art
Deadly sins
Bullets tearin you apart
But these are my words
And they come from the heart
This was originally written as a rap and a friend of mine recorded it,  if you like it please listen to the song.  Thanks
Here's the link...

http://soundcloud.com/dtorr77/ink-stains-feat-melz-spooklive-music
Through the years of transparent existence, a void of illusion becomes apparent and slowly becomes nothing more than a side-show. The dribbling glimpses of truth fade like the bones of old. No man can create such an indentation in the mold of space and time that the observers at the end of eternity will render their imprint upon the infinite gaian consciousness and body of universal proportions of any significance. Even the earth laughs at such ridiculousness. The ego is a strong bind - it can create maya and attachment to such fantasies easier than a bear can find it's ideal location for a winter hibernation. It's a world of craziness, where nobody knows whats going on.
The man woke up from his deep slumber. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Squinting, he looked around, studying his surroundings and taking mental notes. His thoughts are ***** scribblings on a subway wall. His heart is beating, searching for a band to play in rhythm with. His soul is aching from loneliness and desire. His feet lifelessly surrender their position up on the couch and find the floor, shrieking from the cold of the linoleum. His presence is that of a bird with a broken wing still attempting to fly. He stands up and stares at the ceiling.
The room is small. Four walls of white, one window and one door. The window looks out over the grey city. The door leads into another room - the room most would call a kitchen. In the small room before the kitchen, there is only a couch and a blanket. No lamp. No television. No electricity. No electricity in the entire apartment. The kitchen holds no refrigerator, no oven, no toaster, no pantry. It's called a kitchen because that's what it would be if somebody else was living in the apartment. There are two bananas on the floor along with a box of wheat flake cereal. No milk, no bowl, no spoon. The bananas are almost entirely rotten. The box of cereal is on its side, leaking bits of wheat flake, resembling a dying soldier on a battlefield who's losing all his blood through the wound on his neck rather than a box of the West's favorite morning go-to breakfast.
The man is observing the cracks on the ceiling, along with various stains with no known origin to him. His eyes dart from one corner of the room to another to another to another and back to the first. Spiderwebs. Dust. Decay. A perfect example of life's ability to take care of itself. Biodecomposition. When no one is around to look after a house, over time, Nature will take over it. Vines will grow and overcome the walls. Rain will fall and wear away the roof and general structure. Winds will blow, taking blindshots at the weakened building, eventually cause it to fall. Nothing lasts forever. Everything goes back to where it came from.
The man now steps into the "kitchen", where he begins to study the stains on the ceiling in this room as well. His mind is electric, with no thoughts in the usual sense, but rather just a vague presence of void to help the ceiling stains feel important. He is the space through which everything around him can exist to their fullest potential. After a measureless amount of time, the man walks over to the sad bits of food on the far side of the small room. He picks up one of he bananas and studies it. He feels where it came from. The tropical skies and smells and earth of Costa Rica. There's a little sticker on the banana that says so. Each bit of fruit in the markets nowadays are individually stickered...for prosperity, one can only assume. Though it's best to never assume anything, and instead be open to everything - afterall, anything is possible, at any time. Likelihood and probability are also important factors in the universal constitution of existence. What was the likelihood that this man, when he was a little child, figured he'd be holding a rotten banana from Costa Rica in his hand inside of a kitchenless kitchen? Who knows? The man wouldn't be able to recall his thoughts from early childhood - he barely remembers waking up and experiencing the chilling sensation of early morning linoleum. In any case, everything is exactly the way it's supposed to be, for it wouldn't be if it wasn't meant to be.
He slowly peels open the banana peel to reveal this brown, soft mush of tropical fruit. Just the way he likes it - soft enough to chew with his toothless mouth. He takes his time consuming the fruit, savoring every particle. After a good bit of time, the fruit is gone and all the man is left with is the peel. He takes another good look at the peel, once again imagining where this particular banana came from. Then, in two swift bites, he devours the entire peel - sticker included. He figures the sticker came from Costa Rica as well, and thus must carry that Costa Rican tropical vibe of health and longevity. His eyes then focus on the wheat flake cereal lying next to the other rotting banana. He bends down and picks up the box. The box is upside down when he picks it up and so the cereal spills out all over the area of the "kitchen" floor that seems to be dedicated to eating food. The remaining banana is now covered in wheat cereal.
The man drops the box back onto the floor and takes a seat alongside of it. His fingers hold his face from drooping onto his knees. His knees are keeping his torso from melting onto the floor. He screams with no sound. The pains of existence seep through his hollow eyes and into the receptors of his soul. He screams with no sound. He’s as empty as the American Dream.
The cobwebs are spreading from the corners of the room and are aimed for the human form sitting in the “kitchen” screaming silence with all his might. The cobwebs grow. The commuters of the city highway are commuting. A thousand birthday celebrations are being had. A thousand people sexually uninhibited, joyously seizing the moment in disgusting miraculous unity of mortal physical desire. Junkies are roaming the street for their morning fix. Teaching are teaching their students absolute lies. Governments are stealing the lives of billions and counting. And the cobwebs are growing, encompassing entire walls. The the ceiling. Then the floor. Then they crawl up the lifeless legs of the man who sits screaming in silence and the spiders overtake his body. They stitch his mouth shut and close his eyes with their spun proteinaceous spider silk. The man withers into the wind of time and vanishes from the world without a single soul taking notice. Leaving nothing behind except an empty apartment, overdue rent, and a number in the system of Western Society. His spirit cries sorrowfully as it flees the clutches of molecular existence into the realm of eternity and space. Heaven. He made it. He looks down at the people of the world he just left and sings a pitiful song for them. He’ll see them again. Afterall, they are Him. And He is Them. His Heart, the Sun, burns as the world he left turns. The lessons He left are slowly being learned. One by one. But still, there’s a space between the atoms, between the cells. And that space can never disappear. Without it, there would be no point to the story. All would be one, as it is, and there’s be nothing to overcome. No triumph. Just an endless loop of bizarre beautiful experience and pattern.
Styles Mar 2017
Fingers sinking deep
               below your surface;
               seeping into your *****,
               caressing your crevices.
               leaving their mark; baring pleasure.
               coursing ecstasy through your veins.
           searching for the highest of peeks beyond measure
               scorching heat, blood boiling, the pleasure pains
               soothing your aching flesh
               in relentless pursuit; of higher depths
               guilty yearnings, urges run rampant
               as your ecstasy starts to progress
               heavy breathing your hands held abreast
               pungent liquids; drenched with desire
               a seeping puddle stains the mattress
               gingerly leaking, outlining your canvas
                a mist in the air, cooling your skin;
Seán Mac Falls May 2012
Body of ocean, milk and sky,
We are tangled in the hope of night.
The lips of the milky way, creaming us,
Stains and is **** with a taste keening;
All is creation.  My meteors crash
Into your ruptured Earth.  I flame
Upon your must and moisted furrows
And my toes are locked, rooted in yours.

Body of ocean, milk and sky,
In the deserts of the day you are true
Oasis.  The curves and waft of your sands
Seethe and sodden my barren plains,
Are erasing all my wandering memories
Of an endless sky and now your eyes
Are the only stars I know, and your skin;
A sheet that holds the heavens shimmering.

Body of ocean, milk and sky,
Your ******* are the heaving of grasses
And wind, loft and laden in the rounded
Hills, a hoard of ****** bread, bountiful,
Ripe and strange.  Your hair is an endless
Savannah, your valleys are gold and honeyed
With milk, seared, filled by my penetrating sun.
In passion we play; low on earth and deep in sky.
Poetria Jul 2015
Her eyes so bright;
Do you ever wonder where the sun goes at night?

The rain, dancing on the pavement
in no specific arrangement.

Luminous flames eat away at sharp skewers,
Her eyes silver-grey, clashing with the tables of steel.

Barbecue roasting, impaled through the middle
The pain paled in comparison to watching you smile.

A toast to me, myself and I, a glass of sweet solitude.
I watch tall wine glasses clang drunkenly together, alone.

A pin drops in the distance; no silence to accompany it.
Unnoticed it goes, by the arrogant lords and goddesses.

Pick a flower, compliment her hair; devil may care.
She's walking away, I tell her 'Ma'am, have a nice day'

Left alone to stumble back home,
sipping champagne royally; Mockery.

Spilling champagne and it swirls down the drain
I tilt my head back, laughing carelessly all the way.
Heather Apr 2014
I don't care who said crying was overrated, who gave you the ******* right to control the tear ducts of another human .

A human shows emotion through tears , laughter , smiles. The human face has 24 different emotions yet the water stains on her cheeks was never stated as one .

The stains of mascara running down her cheeks , dripping on to neck , her nose sniffling up the excess embarrassment .

I told her to stop trying to be brave , she had to embrace each feeling as it came , I saw her chest heave up and down in a rapid movement so fast I couldn't keep count.

Her mouth was open , no sound came out , she looked like a fish out of water and person screaming but no sound .

Her hands started to shake her body soon followed next I held her close put her head in between the crook of my face and neck .

I felt the water dripping down my neck to my top I never said a word , never told her to stop.

Even though I just changed my sheets that day I never told her to man up because crying is a source of speech when words are not enough .

She had so much emotion and all she could do was mutter incoherent words ,I think it was " I'm sorry" .

Sorry for what I will never know , she never once asked me to let go and I never did .

For once in her life I gave her an embrace even though she refused because if she didn't feel my comfort I'm not sure what she would do .

I did it because when I need that embrace they all refused to give it , they told me to " **** it up" " be ******* brave" , I soon  found comfort in smashing my fist against my bathroom mirror and throwing my mothers jewellery box outside in the rain .

I stopped and I jumped in the mud that had formed and that was when I promised myself , if another person needs my embrace no matter who it was , I sure as ******* hell will give it because crying alone is just no good.

It's no good that others can't see your pain , I encourage you to throw a fit and call names , call them all ******* ***** tell them how worthless they are that when you needed comfort he would rather go sit in the car .

I want you to scream , yell and shout with the tears streaming down your face , show them what expressing yourself is all about.

Darling don't ever hold your tears in , wearing mascara or not ,just always keep a tissue tucked in your sleeve, and wipe your eyes till they are raw with the courage that they need.
Bisho Dec 2012
I was deeply mesmerized, through her dull look I was incised;
Her eyes looked far beyond my world & all the memories I bore,
Her tears were suppressed in her captivating me with a stare,
Her lips would say the words on mine with each word I’m looking for,
Her breath would flow into my heart with each beat I’m dying for,
Still I sought her to the door.

Forever I chose to roam, everywhere with her is home;
She just lingered in my heart but I left my peace outdoor,
Winter was a time of sorrow, but we dreamt of new tomorrow,
But tomorrows came with terror, terror that did taste so sore,
But tomorrows were much painful than the days I lived before,
& she lingered than before.

My heart strings I tried to weave, with some threads of endless grief;
Searching for some face some trace, of her upon my memories floor,
Deep in me I tried to call, I found nothing can console,
Glimpsing her straying in some castle lain deep within my core,
She allured me to beguile me somewhere lost into my core,
Lost within forevermore…

In me a thousand demons weep, aching me in wake & sleep,
Scathed & scorched, seeking your smile that lulled their wicked hearts before,
Thousand raging mutineer, down the silver chandelier;
Those whom you once did inflict, & left their life in twitching war,
Those you provoked yesterday, & incensed their nocturnal war,
They are whom I’m dying for…

As I stood glimpsing you fleet, shadows smothered down my feet,
Fragile were my crisp heart beats, those beats that were solid in core,
Though I am the one you crave, you raised in my heart my grave,
Yearning was harrowing, severing, one can’t endure nor ignore,
My desire have seared my hearts with fires I cannot ignore,
& my fires taste so sore…

I’m condemned to watch you flee; it plucks feelings out of me;
While these voices stuttering muttering; voices I’ve not heard before,
Voices resonates in my veins, filled my heart with myriad stains,
Stains of noises of the voices of my bones & flesh & gore,
Stains of lovelorn lays & cold old days & my spilled livid gore,
Stains upon your castle door…

You were poising through each room, in fragrant feverous perfume,
Burning all my flames vehemently, surging all my beasts to roar,
Flaunting fluttering in each chamber, on the eve of deep December,
Tainting this untarnished heart that just sought you & nothing more,
Confounding that steadfast faith that believed you & nothing more,
Now faith won’t taste like before…

As I give up empty tries, your eyes kissed my bleak goodbyes,
Then you lurk behind the dungeons of my dreary darkling core,
Wicked me O wicked day, when I pursued you to stray,
But in straying I keep praying if you strayed it won’t feel sore;
I’ve strayed in much lonely nights, & lonely nights did taste so sore
Without you into my core…

As you stroll in me & breathe me, look beyond me gaze beneath me,
Look beyond your horrid world, the morbid heart apart you tore,
Now is fainting swooning searing, & your absence keeps on tearing,
Every shard of hope that lingered deep inside you fill with pore,
You severed my happy thoughts & happy thoughts are not galore,
Wish you were some place for more…

I’ve renounced every Love, & still you rove & still you rove,
Still the phoenix flame is aching, healing, waking me once more,
Thousand times your name I call, now there is no place to scrawl
Your name on the walls of my heart, upon which phoenix may soar,
set your luring eyes to my heart, upon which phoenix may soar,
Haul my heart unto the shore…

Shattered chastened, I am sitting, watching my cells as they’re splitting,
All my soul is torn asunder, falling under, horrid curses that I bore,
My fate is to stay awaking, tasting nightmares as I’m aching,
Scathed & bruised, the hells I cruised without you seems not like before,
Scathing breathing, grueling seething, senses I’ve not felt before,
Without you inside my core…

Stricken thrashed & Flayed & shattered, each shard in my heart is scattered,
Quavered fluttered, badly battered, almost dead at your front door,
My flesh is cleaved off my bones, drained in deep hazy unknowns,
Disassembled was my conscious, rapt & smitten was my core,
Insecure, no cure can take it what erodes me deep in core,
For you’re not here like before...

If you only chose to waive, come along & dig my grave,
Lest you watch each wave subduing me away far off your shore,
Swooning fading every night; choking, burying alive my light,
Out of anguish that you’re absence scourged & languished, twinged & tore,
Now it flays me mauls me impairs me feeding on my screams once more,
Those that rise far off my core…

My blood flows with fire surging, steadily emerging, steadily emerging,
They keep suffusing submerging in my heart as you ignore,
All your torment seems in vain, my soul’s liquored by my pain,
All my tears are blood that’s falling all like rains in days of yore,
Now I’m stewed by your long absence that I forgot days of yore,
When we used to sway & soar…

Nothing can ever awake me; you seize me as you forsake me,
You absorb me as you ache me; you possess me from the core,
Illude..Spirits..Opaque...Livid.. Once before words seemed so vivid;
Once before our Love was prancing, prancing as we used to soar,
Once before our hearts were fighting, side by side on Love’s vast war,
When you thrived deep in my core…

Now you’re presence irritates me,
It cleaves warmth off my embrace,
now your absence ghost still hates me,
You have left me abstract space,
Wicked, fallen, out of grace;
& I can’t hold on anymore…
Emma Amme Oct 2013
Sometimes i wish i could write poems
with all the similes clinging to your thoughts like barnacles.
And describe people with metaphors that wrap around the actual meaning like weeds grow on to other, more pretty plants.  
It would be nice if i could use edgy things like cigarette butts, half filled bottles of beer, and lipstick stained papers with a number jotted down
to describe mundane things like sadness and fear,
although lipstick stains and cigarette butts do leave an awfully mundane stench behind.
Cat Fiske May 2015
here lies all the coffee stains,
created while reading your *poetry,
this is about what happens when I try to eat or drink and read something really good or powerful on here, just saying, there's a lot of stains now *** there's a lot of good work.
10w
Hank Helman Aug 2015
I know her intimately and not at all,
Her fragrance infiltrates, chases me,
A whiff off the tips of my fingers,
The smell of her is hunger,
It makes me wont to wolf and devour,
Her flush on the flat of my tongue,
Her angel whisper,
Our quiet choir a pleasure,
A harmony,
A crescendo until we seed and mute.
Between us,
Our damp swap,
A no man’s land,
A moist design,
The map of lust.
The art of love is always,
In its stains.
I find it hard to keep my head on the level
          Keep thinking,
waiting for the second I lose my mental
     Missing some thoughts about you
Memory got shot, a drive-by from what the last guy put me through
     And some of the blood left a few stains
Bruises and scars but it ain't the same thang
            The marks everyone else can see ain't nothing compared to the rips and tears deep inside of me
       The stains on my soul turning what used to make me whole
          into something ***** and cold
      No amounts of bleach or scrubbing can make me forget
Nothing can help me escape from
             the laundry list of regrets
It beats me up inside,
       causes more, new and fresh bruises
               with every nightmare
And no matter how many dreams I have between,
         I can't seem to get there
To that place of no longer looking back,
            of thinking about the past
Cause some trauma tends to define
      what your **happiness lacks
Jo Nov 2014
Oh!  There it is!
The blood of my Mothers’
Sins
Blossoming on
My white sheets
Like a bouquet of English roses.
A shame -
Laundry day had
Been yesterday.  

My thighs have been painted
Rouge -
They blush
Like my cheeks
When my gaze
Lingers on my body
Too long in the mirror
As I put on my Sunday dress.

The needles in my
Lower back fill my
****** with blood -
I am a woman now -
And as such I must
Wake before the sun
And wash my sheets
And my body
Before anyone has a chance
To smell the iron and the shame
Between my legs.  

I have never been so
Acutely aware of my body:
My sore ******* feel like
Overripe tomatoes ready to burst,
My stomach bloated and taking up
Space I’m told is not ladylike -
My head throbs, my limbs ache, and
I continue to shed my insides.
How is it I never noticed
The cry of my body before?

A week of blood
Before I have served my sentence
For a woman
Who dared to disobey -
I clean the stains
And wash myself
Away.
I may come back to this later.
chilled sheets touch white skin
inner turmoil leaks out
staining cold with fear

washing machines can't
remove the stains of the past
but they can sure try

stains tell the story
of each person's midnight horrors
who says where stains lie?

splattered across sheets
are the stains of my nightmares
strange; they look like tears

who am I kidding?
one night I will cry non-stop
and it will be good

tonight's are good tears
I am so happy to weep
they don't look like stains

my sheets are pretty
scattered patterns lie
they are beautiful

no more stains for me
I see them as beauty marks
on my sleep canvas
this is not about denial; it's about overcoming the stigma of mental illness and convincing yourself that you can get better if you want to. It's deciding that mental illness is a part of you, but doesn't define you.
Katlyn Orthman Mar 2013
Stains are like scars they only fade
They're proof of a mess from the past that you made
It sits there staring up at you
Toying and taunting to see what you'll do
And they keeping adding up
They never go away
They just sit their watching
Begging to stay
Making you cry a little bit longer
These stains have never made me feel stronger
Everytime I see a reminder of you
Every time you try to come back
You've been gone so long
I've made on without you
These stains have ruined the whole rug
Might as well throw that out too
Terry O'Leary Dec 2013
Ill-fated crowd neath foreign cloud: the Silent City braves
against a sudden sullen flood, unleashing lashing waves,
which washes stony structures clean with radiance that laves.

Deserted streets, once dense retreats, spin yarns of yesterday,
with  faded words no longer heard (though having much to say)
since teeming life (at one time, rife), surceased and slipped away.

Within its walls? Whist buildings, tall... Outside the City? Dunes...
They frame a frail forgotten tale,  in carved unwritten runes
with symbols hung like halos strung in lifeless, limp festoons.

The City’s blur? A sepulcher for Christians, Muslims, Jews –
Cathedrals, Temples, vacant now, enshrine their residues,
though churches, mosques and synagogues abide without a bruise.

A church’s Gothic ceilings guard the empty pews below
and, windswept blown above the stones, a maiden’s blue jabot.
The Saints, in crypts, though nondescript, grace halos now aglow.

Stilled chapel chimes! Their clapper rope (that tongue-tied confidante)
won’t writhe to ring the carillons, alone and lean and gaunt –
its flocks of jute, now fallen mute, adorn the holy font.

Stray footsteps swarm  through church no more (apostates that profane) -
their echoes in the nave ring thin, while chalice cups maintain
a taste of brine in altar wine decaying in the rain.


No face will come with jagged tongue to sing a silent psalm
nor paint pale lips with languid quips to pierce the deathly calm,
nor pray for mercy, grace deferred, or beg lethean balm.


Six steeple towers, steel and stone, drab daggers in the sky!
Their hallowed halls no longer call when breezes wander by –
for, filled with dread to wake the dead, they've ceased to sough or sigh.

No cantillation, belfry bells, monastic chants inspire
and Minarets, though standing yet, host neither voice nor crier -
abodes and buildings silhouette a muted spectral choir.

Coiled candle sticks! Their twisted wicks no longer 'lume the cracks
with dying flame in smoky swirl mid pendant pearls of wax,
since deference to innocence dissolved in melting tracks.

Above! The dismal ditch of dusk reveals a velvet streak,
through which the winter’s wicked winds will sometimes weave and sneak,
and faraway a cable sways, a bridge clings hushed and bleak.

Thin shadows shift, like silver shafts, across a cruel moraine
reflecting white a wisp of light in ebon beads of bane
which casts a crooked smile across a faceless window pane.

Wan neon lights glow through the nights, through darkness sleek as slate,
while lanterns (hovered, high above, in silent swinging gait),
haunt ballrooms, bars, bereft bazaars, with no one left to fete.

Death's silhouettes show no regrets, 'twixt twilight’s ashen shrouds,
oblivious she always was to cries in dying crowds –
in foggy neap the spirits creep... a clutch of clammy clouds.


No breath will come  'cross jagged tongue to sing a silent psalm
nor paint pale lips with languid quips to pierce the deathly calm,
nor yet redress the emptiness that shifting shades embalm.



The castle clock, unwound, defrocks! Those peerless speechless spokes
unfurl the blight of reigning Night by spinning off her cloaks,
and flaunt the dun oblivion, her Baroness evokes.

Green trees gone dark, in palace parks, where children paused to play –
now voiceless things on phantom swings, like statues made of clay,
mark marbled tombs in graveyards groomed for grievers bent to pray.  

The sun-bleached bones of those who've flown lie scattered down the lanes
while other souls who hid in holes left bones with yellow stains
of plaintive tears (shed insincere, for no one felt the pains).

The terrors wrought by conscience fraught once stalked and lurked nearby
to rip the shrouds from  curtained clouds, frail fabrics on the sky –
now wraiths that scream in sleepless dreams no longer terrify.

And fog no longer leaks beyond the edge of doom’s café,
for when she trails her mourning veils, she fills the cabaret
with sallow smears of misty tears  in sheets of shallow gray.

Beyond the suburbs, farmers’ fields (where donkeys often brayed)
exhale a gust of barren dust where living seed once laid
and in the haze a scarecrow sways, impaled upon a *****.

A silo, still! Like hollowed quill, a ravished feather’s vane,
with traces of bespattered blood, once flowing through a vein.
The fruits of life, destroyed in strife... ’twas truly all in vain.


No souls will come with jagged tongues to sing a silent psalm
nor paint pale lips with languid quips to pierce the deathly calm –
they've seen, you see, life’s brevity, beneath a neutron bomb.


EPILOGUE

Beyond the Silent City’s walls, the victors laugh and play...
They’re celebrating PEACE ON EARTH, the devil’s sobriquet
for neutron radiation death in places far away.
DAVID Jul 2015
the darkest hour, the longing
is gone, no look back, nor remorse,
only scars and internal bleeding,
the time of sorrow is past, no remorse
nor songs of regrets, futile are the sorrow
songs,

despair is good, like love or an ******,
after the secrets behind the dress, loving
wanting the female scent, can smell you,
as lion to his prey, as bees on honey,
looking at the female eyes, loving silently,
longing lascivious touch, in the heat of lust,
falling as a sinner for her ****** doors,

the hour of lust never goes, is cursing
every moment and every piece of flesh,
like the merchant of Venice, taking your skin
as mi own, devouring the placer of
making her *** and letting her go.

us  poets souls, loving without remorse
feeling and making love threw words,
in a shallow world, full of badly lust, the lust of us,
is sour but never cold, only shallow souls
can't make love, us always trying to love,

the darkest hour, the longing is on,
mesmerizing the lascivious touch,
looking at you'r ******* face,
sweet as hell feeling mellow and fool
as a little boy, in the hour's of hates,
there is no remorse after those gay boys
in shallow hall, even them knows who is not

some loving threw phones,
us ******* threw words, like the
first lover threw words, mister George
lord of us all, the poets following the trails,
of love and lust, looking the fleur du mal,
reading the maldoror, and watching
at abysmal thoughts, of greats and crazy lost,
how many of you **** with words,
as Baudelaire says,
hypocrite reader mi brother, the truth
is on our souls, she watch for us all.

a season inferne, trying to love her
and making her keep the ******* soul,
soulless girl is already lost, crazy paths to her,
lost, but never stain my soul, in the darkest hour,
loving as i let go, feeling nothing, but the stain of
children blood in her hands, lost the soul, but trying
as never, to making her feel the love and lust in a
poets souls, beast are we all, of love and lust,

in this darkest hour, lost the heart but not my soul,
she is the love i make threw words, and lust is not
a game on her phone, or sexting foolishness,
where is thou lascivious touch, your heaven reach's,
gone. and never to return, too much connection
but no touch

lust is not a game, is an act of love,
pain and placer, lust and love,
flavors of the same drug, the drug of love,
every ****** is connected too us all, poetry
is ******* and loving threw words,
old pigs and lion and wolves,
making and matting and feeling it all.

the pain is part of lovers and lust, in
the empty streets of the days gone,
y can still see her with my eyes closed.
old lover of days far gone, still see you
with my eyes closed, the darkest hours
are gone and never to return, children's
blood stain the soul, of a soulless girl,

the our of darkness is not close to home,
i'm a poet in a crazy world, with out malice
or remorse, just a lover in the shallow halls,
full's of badly lust, and empty hearts with out the soul.
at the house of hell, immortality is far gone,
at this port of love and lust, are all vessels and boats
getting to the shore, or drawing in deep waters of
blood pain and lust, by not loving it all, pain and remorse
fear and love, lust and shame, all is there to feel it all,
there's  no escape for the truth in our souls, nor
ever going to be a safe port, the deep waters are
full of drawing boats, in the sea of life and love
let her go, and never look back as she lost her soul

the salt sculpture was looking back, now she is gone,
***** was full of badly lust, now she is a salty wall,
beneath hashem eyes she lost the ******* soul,
now and then never let the stain get's the soul,
is your only escape from hem, and his burning home
away the darkest hour, know that she is gone,
new dawns and new days, for this poet to love,
some day the cold will let her heart feel the eternal
fire of a poets soul. a burning heart full of love,
pain and lust, as the vessels sail on,
away far the boats are gone, beneath hashem's eyes

did he love, some will say, in deed he love,
and that is all, beneath the shallow halls
of love and lust i'm still alone in this ******* cold,
empty thoughts and lover soul's, is full by pain and lost
behind the eyes of a poets soul, is the abysmal truth
in the poets clothes, lust is nothing with out the love,
empty and vain, as a tick drinking flames of dragons yawns.


in the darkest of all hours i fell the pain of being alone,
no shame nor remorse, only the coldness, of being not,
a poets truth is on his soul, lucid thoughts in dark rooms,
and lost is not  a part of the all, the strings connect us all,
even the creepy lost, are part of us all, with o with out the soul,
but never he could stain my soul, beneath the shallow walls of
lust and love, some are lost, and alone, is a cold world, for the one with soul, evolved and ready for all, sill the soulless ones are looking for love and lust, even in shallow hall, their trying to be loved in return,

in the hour of lust and love, still the head need to be lost,
cause the pain was bigger then the love, even then i knew
one day i will going to love or try to, do,
i never be but alone, still can smell the sweetness,
of the lady's love, and make them feel adored,
and wanted, but still the head need to be lost,
the hours of pain are still near the bed,
looking as a drag remorse, or a foul lust taken by force,
or stolen in sleep, still the stains of ****** ****'s,
pollute what once  was full of love.

now is all full of lust and pain, never the soul
or the pain, take of nothing but shame,
of this poet's soul.
that even after the rapes, or  games
of creepy shames, lose the head or let the shame
direct my game, what once was stained, some will wash,
with love and lust, and honey tears, will take the stains
and love the flames in the poets heart.

nor shame nor remorse, just the truth and the flames,
never the blame will command my flames or foul my name,
connected are the strains of us all, as a mouse, as a lion
she will never pollute my name, or her shame will be minor,
the children s blood in her scent pollute the air,
and her bleeding hands are a ******* disgrace.

still the pain was washed away,
and the heart break was healed, after
all those years in pain, living in poets hell,
decadence as a way of life, despair and pain
***** my second and third name, now i'm clean
alive and well thoroughly clean is the soul of this,
project of man, sane and plain,

the darkest hours pass and where gone
alone and free, simple, smelling some
Madeleine in the sweet morning air,
the loner past, is gone with her lying eyes,
away i sail in this vessel, away the port, looking
for clean air, a woman with soul,
and this loving flame called poetry.
Benji James May 2017
You killed me with your silence
The hurts become more violent
I took the fall harder than I thought
I'm not the same person I was before
You took the best part of me

And broke it down

Scattered it into a million pieces now

I'm soulless, crazy, lost and confused 

I don't know where, or who to turn too

Oh when did I lose track?

Why the hell didn't you come back?

This torture has gone on long enough

Without you the seas became rough

I've never been that tough 

When you were gone
I thought It was just your bluff

I can't take no more, that's enough 

I'm better off dead

Blood stains in red 

Of all the lies I've been fed 

Yours were the best

When It hit, it hit hard like cement

That your never coming back again

I'm better off dead

In blood stains of red

All the tears we've shed 

Secrets and regrets I've kept

Is nothing compared to what she did

I'm better off dead 

In blood stains of red

©2017 Written By Benji James
Adrian Newman Aug 2017
Building up tension
Knocking it down.
Pins are quiet
We’re making sound.

Rollercoaster
Smile or frown.
Swaying and focused
Upside down.

Lip gloss stains
On the wall.
Aches and pain
Break your fall.

Laughter outside
Playing games.
Going inside
When it rains.

Do or die
Next to you.
I’d rather be
Till we’re through.

Lip gloss stains
On the wall.
Aches and pains
Break your fall.

Lip gloss stains
On my shirt.
Bruises bloom
Barely hurt.

You’re fine
You’re prime
You’re mine
Paradigm.

You’re fine
You’re prime
I’m yours
For shores.

Long hair
Short hair
Don’t care
Don’t spare

Long hair
Short hair
Repair
Compare.

Lip gloss stains
Post-night pains.

29th July 2017
I wrote this while imaging hooking up with the type of woman who excites me (masculine, as my sexuality is androphilic and means I only experience ****** attraction to those who dress and/or behave in a masculine way) :)
I hope you enjoy reading this, sorry that there isn't a short version :(

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