"stringent" poems
You've become my light.
Hopes and future in sight.
You want me and I want you back.
Don't be so easily diluted.
You want want want.
So hard I've tried tried tried.
If its me you really want.
Understand I cease to be me.
If I'm yours stringent and exclusive.
In a vacuum don't suffocate me.
Let me breathe let us thrive.
I am a whole person outside of your clutch.
Its who you fell in love with.
Don't change me. Don't leave me.
All because I need to be me.
Mar 27, 2015
Mar 27, 2015 at 12:40 PM UTC
Happenstance to the melancholic gives leave the sin of pride.
Inbound reconnaissance tells not the bearer of influence.
Squeamish at first: a foreshadowing of calamitous bonding.
A space between the mark of corporeal and the ethereal; a stringent hiatus
That which rattles the concrete foundation of morality is scarcely a malleable recourse.
Regret stains the unfounded soul: an enigma of ephemeral perforations.
A separation of the unmitigated humanities; misandry topples the writhing snake.
Impact; a cleansing of the maker's flaws integrated solemnly.
Complacency arrests the administration of the abhorred; unbridled is the autonomy of a guru.
Ambivalent giftedness burdens the reliant and haughty.
A flick of the tongue brings forth the cinema mortem.
Castaway: alone to wade in the sea of obscenities.
A temporal causality allows no mourning to abscond.
Negligence is not the enemy, but indulgent wrath.
Hesitant: a stroke of qualia begets the end of a maiden.
Feb 6, 2014
Feb 6, 2014 at 11:13 AM UTC
I don't ask you to be faithful - you're beautiful, after all -
but just that I be spared the pain of knowing.
I make no stringent demands that you should really be chaste,
but only that you try to cover up.
If a girl can claim to be pure, it's the same as being pure:
it's only admitted vice that makes for scandal.
What madness, to confess by day what's wrapped in night,
and what you've done in secret, openly tell!
The ****** about to bed some Roman off the street
still locks her door first, keeping out the crowd:
will you yourself then make your sins notorious,
accusing and prosecuting your own crime?
Be wise, and learn at least to imitate chaste girls,
and let me believe you're good, though you are not.
Do what you do, but simply deny you ever did:
there's nothing wrong with public modesty.
There is a proper place for looseness: fill it up
with all voluptuousness, and banish shame;
but when you're done there, then put off all playfulness
and leave your indiscretions in your bed.
There, don't be ashamed to lay your gown aside
and press your thigh against a pressing thigh;
there take and give deep kisses with your crimson lips;
let love contrive a thousand ways of passion;
there let delighted words and moans come ceaselessly,
and make the mattress quiver with playful motion.
But put on with your clothes a face that's all discretion,
and let Shame disavow your shocking deeds.
Trick everyone, trick me: leave me in ignorance;
let me enjoy the life of a happy fool.
Why must I see so often notes received - and sent?
Why must I see two imprints on your bed,
or your hair disarrayed much more than sleep could do?
Why must I notice love bites on your neck?
You all but flaunt your indiscretions in my face.
Think of me, if not of your reputation.
I lose my mind, I die, when you confess you've sinned;
I break out in cold sweat from hand to foot;
I love you then, and hate you - in vain, since I must love you;
I wish then I were dead - and you were too!
I won't investigate or check whatever you try
to hide: I will be thankful to be deceived.
But even if I catch you in the very act
and look on your disgrace with my own eyes,
deny that I have seen what I have clearly seen,
and my eyes will agree with what you claim.
You'll win an easy prize from a man who wants to lose,
only remember to say, 'I didn't do it.'
Since you can gain your victory with one short phrase,
win on account of your judge, if not your case.
3.4k
superb partaking of private delicacies
yet always keeping track of the skyline
keeping senses alert, never fully falling
I allow myself to get hurt each time that skyline changes
not because I enjoy the pain
but there's just something about you I'm not willing to lose, not that easily
so, I swallow ******* and suppress the ego and take the whipping words readily
whatever it takes
there may come a relinquishing moment when I can just give and let it all flow
free fall, like a kite almost
but for now, when shadows may come and place arms round the heavens
****** sun rays from abode and kiss the air into a messy cloudburst
and leave the sky taut with approaching footfalls of fiery thunder claps
I take it all and want it no other way
I accept the paradox fully
the pattern has been set
it is consistent
this mega beautiful skyline over me hovers so discreet in plain sight yet blind to all
I see the veins on the back of your hand, and blood veering sideways towards impossible thoughts
yes
a line upon the horizon tells me never fear
a stringent fire walk simply tests the mettle coil
discoveries in life confirm nobody is alone
as deep and low as it gets sometimes
the highs, oh! the highs outfly the roof
take what you need from life now and from me
yet take your sweet time
until the day I see your eyes reflected in that skyline
and your lamp beckoning on, into this frame
your skyline tastes so good
Dec 1, 2013
Dec 1, 2013 at 5:12 AM UTC
Under the mantle of this world
The thickness of the storm clouds
Perpetual, thorough
Meeting the foam crest of the waves
Dark enough to hide intentions
Walking along the tired rocky shore
A stretch common, tasteless to all but the vaguest sense
Some spray, felt deep along the sides of the tongue
The sobering corpse, I found
Still clawing at the stones
I can feel the tears well in my eyes
There is nothing I can do
Empathetic thoughts blow through my mind
Cold strains of tainted breath
His voice is cold air, so dissimilar
And with every trace of dogma
Such overused platitudes
Yet I hold fast to that stringent emotion
He knows me
He knows what I used to be, and what brought me to who I am
I watch him
He tries to pry, bone exposed at the fingertips
Why did this come to me
Remorse
Filled with pity, I bend down
I comfort him
The host burst
And now I feel it
Moving though the back of my skull
It's tendrils become rooted
The eyes see though my own
And it swallows what It will
The desperate remains inside me scream at it
But it's just rotten flesh
And there's nothing left for me
Now and forever
Mar 31, 2017
Mar 31, 2017 at 12:41 AM UTC
(This poem is on the earthquake that people in Sikkim,India had faced on 18 September 2011. I was one among them too! P.S- on this very that is my brother's birthday! So i remember it more profoundly....just read on to find out more. Certain words mean the following out here-
MG MARG- MAHATMA GANDHI MARG.{Marg means street.}
LAL BAZAAR-refers to a marketing place in the capital of Sikkim,i.e,Gangtok)
MAAL ROADING-Maal road is generally found in most of the hill stations in India. But in my college, Maal Road has a different and funny meaning.)
DISCO COMMITTEE-refers to the DISCIPLINARY Committee in our college,which takes stringent actions against the guilty.)
18 was the date-
When a bunch of girls had decided
to travel through the city.
But I was the one who wasn't prepared,
As it was raining pretty heavy.
The girls planned to eat,roam and shop about,
through the MG MARG and LAL BAZAAR!
Fortunately for me due to some unavoidable circumstances
the plan got dropped....
And all I could see was girls making unbearable pouts!!
In the evening,
when people go out MAAL ROADING,
I went to the shop with a company
for buying a recharge card as done daily!
Though I bought it,
I somehow forgot to scratch it, I rather kept it inside my bag.
Strolling down the campus
We sat on the football field
Watching the players kicking the ball in glee
With their boots,shorts and tee!
At exactly 6:10 pm, there was a great turbulence,
which caused a whole lot of purturbence!
Yes, that was the 6.9 that shook us!
People running to and fro to save their lives,
some shirtless,some barefooted and some in towels!
With buildings shaking and cracking
there was nothing
but utter horror and shouting!
People seemed like Refugees,
With no phone networks to contact friends,relatives and families!
We were told to sleep with our room doors open.
But how could we when there were still tremors coming?
SHAKE! and people would be out on the streets!
Such a day it was, when Mother Nature had terrorised us!
Still the authorities couldn't help themselves from separating boys and girls!!
If they happen to meet each other,
They would have to face the DISCO COMMITTEE all together!
Huh!! When will you get rid off this mentality?
So that we can live joyous and peacefully!!!
May 24, 2012
May 24, 2012 at 2:23 PM UTC
Pain reminds me I'm alive
Wish it would just let me die
Head spins violent ***** spouting
Evil eye pressure builds up pounding
Cracks streak my face from capillary fractures
I choke on three day old eggs and curdled milk
My teeth devolving in stomach acid
As bitter and stringent as anything I can think of
Still not done ********
Hemorrhoid blood dripping sticky
Toilet seat gripping
Not to mention the bathtub
Full of ***** needing washed out
At least my hair is clean...
Nov 16, 2014
Nov 16, 2014 at 11:09 AM UTC
An effusive elaborate scheme the colors advance to bright spellbinding allure then they achieve
Depth of quality by cutting back to softer hues and then the natural dark green is the bold
Touch that succeeds with total symmetry showcased in a view perfected by glass the prism
Most fitting not only to see but to be captivated by perfected expression it is a metaphor for life
The master designer chooses his subjects well one infuses another then by degree others
Foreshadow and glorify it blends tangible and intangible into intelligent coherent order tasteful
And sublime the hint and the elusive wonder all is needed is the wind to bow and ****** it into
A profusion a veritable concert that stirs with appeal life is in motion the players advance and
Retreat each speaking lines unique to themselves what sensations speak tendrils on a garden
Trellis held and fixed a gesture that plays and portrays intricate details the mystery that plays so
Well the stealing of morning frost then the blaze and then restful dying rays that spell comfort
The field rolls and contorts this brandishes excitement exuberance veers and plunders life
Become exploration trails hidden thickets hide and hold expression that is pent up ready to
Explode what vesture we wear it grips our friend’s astonishment is read on their faces but it is
Like a house of many mirrors because their lives are having the same effect on you some days
Are uneventful others are storm tossed with grandness the riches of an all contained realm
Spasms convulse like waves of the sea we stand forth to puzzle and dream what does it all
Mean the sanctity reveals plumes that are invisible that are far reaching and they have given us
This course of endurance that belies longing we grow soft and an inner glowing surpasses the
Stringent the misfit that moans against conforming we are treasure that exceeds all expectation
Life is rich we are its brightest colors and light night is for brooding the day is for shinning and
Divulging the secrets found in the brooding time we accost others we signify to them not only
Our own worth but there’s also fetching is the spray that magnifies the sky we are the bursting
We are the aliveness that is found each day in our lives that is the dooryard of discovery
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Feb 1, 2013
Feb 1, 2013 at 1:28 AM UTC
A walk back home,
Mother, older in number,
but perfection and love retained.
Father, his usual stringent posture
arched to form a hug.
Sister, her voice resounding happiness,
Translating into dancing, singing, yelling.
Me? Teary eyed. Tears of happiness.
A walk back alone,
Into my cerulean room,
The azure curtains still hang,
Wrinkled from THE night’s frustration.
On the cobalt coverlet still lay,
Tear stains which narrate me a forgotten story.
Hidden inside my teal cupboard,
I find lost love’s fake promises.
Me? Teary eyed. Tears of blues.
A walk in dreams,
At crossroads, I meet an angel.
He asks me to make a wish.
I ask for his heart, in exchange for mine,
He grants my wish with powers divine.
He falls, I catch but the world’s serpentine.
Yet he loves and like a star I shine,
Me? Teary eyed, Tears of rejoice.
Oct 23, 2014
Oct 23, 2014 at 5:25 AM UTC
The faintly reminder
I spew in disgust, that we
All humans, do smell, have non-
Descriptive individual
Odors, shapes and sizes.
The repetition on formless copies
Upsets me, songs in pop verse
Sing about the neighborhood's
Children, and their inability to out run
A gun.
Smells of my own liquored breath
Remind me still how un-wanting
*** can be.
In the sour drips of yellow
And daffodils,
Not unlike a lemon,
Tart-ish in texture,
The people only
Say hello, out of disarming
Fear.
Apr 5, 2013
Apr 5, 2013 at 7:43 PM UTC
Each cold wave was starting to slap
me in the face and the grayness of morning
wasn’t lifting as the sun rose. Goosebumps
had made my legs slim sharks, heavy and rough,
so I swam to shore spitting out icy water.
I was thinking about coffee,
maybe crawling into my sleeping bag
and listening to loons’ far-off howls
until breakfast, and I reached the splintery dock
when I choked –
tried to struggle backward, without any splash
which might wash her in with me.
Dock spiders swim. Did you know?
They fasten long ropes of silk and dive
for their prey, something big since no horsefly
sustains a spider the size of a mouse.
This one was monstrous, motionless,
spiky black legs jointed white at her knees,
face-level to my wet bobbing head. She gripped
an egg sac, papery and white, marble-sized.
It held hundreds of tiny hers. It looked heavy.
I had come to her panting but now the water
or inertia maybe pushed my face close
to that enormous silent mother so I fought harder
to stay away, though if the lake had been still
I might have treaded at a distance, stared hard,
dared her to scuttle and disappear in the cracks
in the plywood-patched dock with its rotting ladder
and a dozen more spiders, probably,
white sacs strapped firmly to their bellies.
I flopped like I’d hooked a lip, gasping, desperate
for rough open water where depth
would deter any diving hairy creature.
Somehow I struggled to remoter shoreline
where I slid over boulders’ upholstery of algae,
shivering, legs frog-splayed, stringent and numb.
I never felt it when I scratched my legs crashing
through buckthorn, the way to the cabin, though I saw
the lines later when I put on soft clothing
in a warm inside corner where spiders are smaller
and at least have the kindness
to keep out of sight.
Jan 12, 2010
Jan 12, 2010 at 6:44 AM UTC
I have a Bleeding Soul
A soul that thrives off apathy
A soul that withers in dubiety
A soul that was once filled with the joy
The never ceasing joy
The undeterminable youth
The stringent yet flourishing confidence
All gone
One drop at a time
It was a pain to love all too well
However not wisely
The subconscious suspects the false
A single lie
Fade to black
Strangled in the dark
No hand to pull you up
To slowly emerge from the darkness
From a single lie
For a soul to be filled with joy again
The subconscious suspects
Mental torture
Reflex ambiguity
As the cut gets deeper
The blood gets darker
One drop at a time
One word at a time
One sorrow at a time
I'm sorry I loved you too well
But not wisely forever more
I bandage the wound but the blood still rebels
I have a Bleeding Soul
Dec 3, 2013
Dec 3, 2013 at 11:24 PM UTC
It captures you
Your attention to the end
With winding passages
And merry go rounds
That peak and blow
Down the trees that point
You all in the wrong direction
Don’t go
Send me my heat
Back in the mail
Don’t tread too lightly
For I might miss the trail
Of arrows that fly
So stringent through
The air that is falling
The sails on the tide
Come through
Suffer my want
Is the only want
I want to bestow
Upon your heart
Greed and hunger go hand in hand
That is why the pirate
And the captain are in love
With the princess that lives
Down Oxford town way
Who is she now
To stay herself for so long
It doesn’t seem right
To be with my baby tonight
While you are out
On the street
And hit the deck
You are crying
And the world throws it’s swan
Song to the rescue
Hit the child of Medusa’s breast
Who snakes his way into your heart
No one knows for sure which way the
Pressure lies, and so the dangers
Of the beach never seem to really
Play upon the stench of the family
Portrait.
Sep 16, 2013
Sep 16, 2013 at 6:35 PM UTC
Resuspension
Centrifuge & resuspend the oligos,
The precursor to your macromolecule,
Follow it by concentration & dilution.
To avoid resuspension difficulties,
Heat the oligos to 55º C, and,
Vortex in between thoroughly.
Storage
Optimal conditions,
For standard DNA oligonucleotides,
They be followed closely.
Store them at –20º C for long,
At 5º C while performing procedures.
Also, store them with fluorophores,
For better visualization later.
For standard RNA oligonucleotides,
The conditions be more stringent.
Feb 9, 2017
Feb 9, 2017 at 2:40 AM UTC
Green crash,
suddenly center signal
on strange, distant announcement squiggle.
Scenery dashingly
simple, single.
Wave shape,
hungering scented cower.
On top, beady dispassioned shower,
shaving or scraping a
wooden tower.
Stale grid,
static or sounding static.
Appear, pointedly under attic,
wailing forbidden, not
automatic.
Big screen
messaging: starlight scatter.
The end. Something but antimatter.
Trigger between, in the
ribbing: flatter.
Soft board,
terribly outer terror
perceives singular, stringent error.
Coughing accordingly
code propeller.
Mar 10, 2014
Mar 10, 2014 at 9:12 AM UTC
Stringent to lilly livered
Toxic if afraid,
galling to goers
Who thrive on being brave,
Enthralling to observers
Who see finer tones,
And fatal to loiterers
With shrapnel in bones.
Loose lips in the war zone
An anathema to we
Who strive for control
In adversity.
Loose lips in the war zone
A systems relapse,
Which preceeds establishment's
Rapid collapse.
Marshalg
@the bach
11 May 2011
May 10, 2011
May 10, 2011 at 6:38 PM UTC
Ripe, bitter, sour and oh so sweet.
Dangling off of a Californian tree.
Living within peels so stringent and
containing cascading juices so pungent.
He leaves you wanting, aching to know more.
He lures you in with the irresistible sweetest of enchanting
songs and ballads.
But what you didn't know was, that the ending
melody left you in a note that made you feel as though
you were drowning in a sea of rotten,
forgotten, and lost once loved dreams.
You became addicted to his freshness,
to the zest of his scent.
You became seduced, captivated even.
You let yourself become vulnerable
and susceptible to his touch.
You slowly opened up your wounds.
You let your friable bandages flow free.
You even let him lead the grand dance.
You let him twirl and spin you to the point
of reaching a state of trance or reverie.
He took you on romantic evening picnics,
he brought you to the oldest of antique boutiques,
and he even painted you angelic
mosaics in oil.
Ones comparable to those grandiose and imposing
works' of the masters.
At last he casted you under his spell
and he enticed you once again.
He had the charm of a thousand
and he was spontaneous in all his ways.
He never failed to surprise you.
They say he had an oriental descent
and this would explain much.
But when you least expected it,
he touched your wounds.
You felt an unbearable pain,
and a strange surge flow through you.
It burned, to say the least.
You almost felt your incisions
blister under the effect of his acid.
His yellow and aureolin tint
seemed only to be a facade.
An illusion, a charade to the naked eye.
But in that moment you could see through it.
You looked at him with pain-struck eyes,
full of confusion and disappointment.
You couldn't really identify the look in his.
You realized that he really had nothing to do
with his cadmium yellowish golden tint.
You felt as though you were fainting.
You were sinking and all the sweet
memories you two shared, flooded your
sight.
But then he said, "look at your wounds"
and you did as he ordered.
You looked down and shook off the stupor
and came back to.
You looked at your wounds and
became staggered and managed a mere "thank you".
For your wounds were no longer swollen and irritated.
He had healed you.
So when life hands you lemons,
don't make lemonade.
No, instead care for those
misunderstood beings,
and tend to their needs.
Because the lemons in our lives
are all too prevalent and far too
misread.
Feb 3, 2015
Feb 3, 2015 at 3:17 PM UTC
In the early sun, a dew soaked swing set basks in rust as we play
I find your eyes at the window watching.
Smiling.
I am safe. I know this.
Concrete paints my knees red.
And you totter over with peroxide and a hug.
I am safe. I know this.
You'd find a path to the sun if only it stretched my popsicle lips into a smile.
I stalk home past midnight; a stomach gurgling with liquors I can't pronounce.
I find you on the couch flipping channels as your eyelids turn weak.
You approach me with a slap I was expecting.
Then a hug
Then a slap
Then a hug.
I am safe. I know this.
I'm panting with worry. My mind racing. Each thought like a poorly aimed bullet.
But you somehow find a way to extinguish them in your fists.
Until my smeary wet mascara stained cheeks swell into a laugh.
I am safe. I know this.
It is winter and you sense my eyes so flameless, fragile.
I am restrained by the presumptions of my fate.
My arms have been ripped from my sides so naturally you tear off your own limbs for my use.
Your appendage helps me to climb.
I'm out of the ditch. Because I am loved.
I am safe. I know this.
It is industrial where the stringent work. I cower at the mass of its stolidity. But even then I find you, the earths drippy clay molding to my quirky nervous and dissatisfied self.
Everywhere else.
I am safe. I know this.
And my dear mother.
You are loved. I hope you know this.
Jul 28, 2016
Jul 28, 2016 at 11:18 AM UTC
Oh Aphrodite, Goddess of Love, I plead,
Hand me your lyre from the Heavens above,
And I'll sing a lament of our broken Love,
The sorrow from open wounds I bleed.
Memories today all that's left to share,
A Love chastised, both from stringent schools,
We fled to the Forest that held no rules,
The forbidden fruit we longed to dare.
Lush with shade and endless green,
Naked we kissed against the Oak,
While only the Woodland creatures spoke,
Our secret safe, we would ne'er be seen.
She taunted strong, my hungry groan,
The rugged bark did dent our skin,
And I as hard as the Oak within,
Her welcome hand did guide me home.
We fell to the wild and ferny floor,
On a bed of trampled weeds to sin,
The sap tasted bitter on our green-stained skin,
Which fuelled our passion all the more.
Under Mother Natures watchful eye,
She fed her youthful ******* to me,
As we did taste our bodies free,
We hoped this Love would never die.
But the ravages of time to Love's disgust,
Have clouded the gold of our Forest moon,
Sweet Aphrodite please hold your tune,
Our cast iron Love, now decayed with rust.
~~~
Apr 8, 2016
Apr 8, 2016 at 1:53 PM UTC
Listen to me now, oh my cup-bearer,
Help me with the wine tonight please.
Pour some wine in my empty flask,
Be that bit lavish and not stringent.
The flask gets emptied again & again,
But it is helping me forget all the pain.
Don't ask if enough and keep pouring,
Wine or whiskey it won't be mattering.
It's your face that I am taken to darling,
I remember you are the very same angel.
Hic-hic
You're my very own life, oh cup-bearer,
I now recall that this is our own house.
I trace my trembling fingers on your face,
It's blurry I feel but still I can see your eyes.
Now I am finished with binge drinking,
Would you not help me to the bathroom?
Here you help me take a luxurious bath,
You help me bathe and I love your touch.
Soft & kind you are just like your name,
Zealous management of my shaky body.
You say, "Again I won't help you with it,"
I reply, **"I will drink -hic- from your eyes."**
You are blushing to a brilliant purple red,
And it is all signs that you like my words.
After splashing my face with cool water,
To our bedroom you support me lovingly.
Here it is that you help me into the pillow,
Now even you come lie down beside me.
And you sing me the 'Whiskey Lullaby',
Lightly you brush soft hands on my eyes.
Mar 3, 2015
Mar 3, 2015 at 12:55 AM UTC
There is an inch of sleight in this house – this cold chair,
a burst of cologne clogging a 20 minute stride. The stringent
air tonight blusters deeper than gashing sheens.
The little dryad of dew outside and the cadenza of frogs
after lambaste of rain. Whenever you sing, your voice
communes an immense pain, something unconscious of its
gravity, something that levitates back to momentary ululations
swelling in the grime of times and heady chances. A long stretch
of a day submerged in silence resembling a howl underwater.
There will be many sorrows and they will take form of doves,
assume the skin of the populace. They will come in a volume of
names pressing the linoleumed musk the way the body turns
maneuvering over the saltine, the mattress, juxtaposed to a lover,
a brusque aroma of coffee brushing away the calm demeanor
of the morning, dragging along the weight of its lassitude
towards the sprays of fern opening a dense ornate of forget,
you, in all places that pulse without recall – an obtuse
fish feeling its life in a surge of blue, overtime, finally knowing
what it means to sing and drone only words.
Feb 3, 2016
Feb 3, 2016 at 10:20 AM UTC
don't follow me
if you see me running
down the street
into the subway
into the train
into the seat
i'll plug music into my ears so
the words won't spill out
i'll watch people think over their day;
did you get promoted?
is your best friend a mess?
do you wish you could be free?
the train's wheels screech against the rails
like a fat metal monster calling out in pain
a sound so stringent it plucks my heart's cords
stifled only by the loud murmur of collective Life
my city, my city, don't follow me now
i'm headed northward, eastward 'til i'm out of earshot
you're too much of a perfect storm, my city,
my city, you're too much of a muffled chaos
you're on my heels despite my warnings
i would run faster but the train is deaf as the people who wear headphones and complain when they hear nothing
i'm on your train, dear city, going further than i should
in this way,
i flee conflict.
Mar 9, 2015
Mar 9, 2015 at 7:57 PM UTC
you are my booming clap of thunder during summer rain,
my inconvenient papercut placed conspicuously on a knuckle;
my stringent alcohol spilled into a pulsing, gaping wound,
and my burning bee sting on a painfully humid afternoon.
your ugly fangs spew venom more toxic than any poison,
and you hiss and growl and spit dauntingly.
with words so harsh and grating they are impossible to ignore,
you raise your head, poised for attack, and you shreik and wail
until the sound echoes throughout my whole being,
shaking me from the core and eliciting curious emotions.
my feeble defence is no match for your well-trained
and perfectly executed attack, and i crumble.
it's a poisonous cycle, inevitable and futil, that drains
every ounce of moral fiber and happiness from my soul.
suddenly, my fingers entrap your small little throat,
and they squeeze as hard as they possibly can,
until the blood bursts into your eyes.
it's only a dream, but my fingers can't help but remember...
Mar 21, 2012
Mar 21, 2012 at 3:13 AM UTC
Thicker beard.
Consistent and stringent hygiene habits.
Less swearing, more silence.
Politically informed.
More attentive while driving.
Relocated out of that seaside town where people only feuded.
Avoids familiar faces, except for those that have been held close.
At least the beach is still pristine.
Some miles away, a man believes he deserves everything there ever was.
Indefinite lay-offs for current federal employees.
All military members on leave called back to base.
A box is somewhere.
It has food for one day,
Two passports,
And a pistol.
It sits idly by the door.
Dec 6, 2017
Dec 6, 2017 at 6:19 PM UTC