"subconscience" poems
Can I drown in the sweet sorrow of your passion?
Bask in the drips of your essence and savor your liquid ecstasy.
Stare in awe at the contours of your body as it bends to my very will.
Making you feel as real as this fantasy world we have thrusted ourselves into.
Your soft whimpers caresses my ears as our spirits are driven by their own Heaven and Hell.
The rapid movements of your ribcage soothes my ravenous soul as our bodies intertwine with each other.
The aroma of our mixture captivates my subconscience as we're climbing towards your highest peak.
Your petite thighs clenching onto my physique build as the wave of nirvana overpowers your psyche.
She slowly drifts away from our fantasy world, leaving me here to dwell on her forsaken sorrow.
My body yearns to hear your voice in the endless darkness as it awaits for your return.
Can I cross the threshold into your garden of Eden one last time?
May 4, 2012
May 4, 2012 at 4:13 AM UTC
A dream catcher is the key to the soul,
Keeping away bad thoughts before you go to bed,
Having them in him for ever and ever,
So the bad thoughts can't come back to your head.
His own beauty compares nothing to me,
With his entire silent stillness and grace,
Keeping away all mt bad memories hidden to my sight,
Having my dreams keep their pace.
He has his own spirit far inside it,
Placing away old bruises and cries,
Scooping them away like cool earth dirt,
Carrying them away from my eyes.
He can't ever succeed another thing,
Attempting to keep my innocence pure,
He can show me subconscience from reality,
He helps me keep my awareness sure.
His own feathers are wild, curly, brown,
While the beads are his khaki green eyes,
He understands my abuse at a young age,
Makes me face my demons and say good bye.
His web to catch them are his hands,
Big, steady, undeniably warm,
Covering half the area of my back,
While I breath in his chest and hide from harm.
He knows he can leave, but he doesn't,
He's a nightingal, my children and I are his songs to sing,
Deeply breathing, protecting me all night,
He wears the other matching ring.
Jan 10, 2014
Jan 10, 2014 at 2:54 AM UTC
To dream a dream
That is hard to forget
In the mist of clouds
It disappears like a sunset
Ebbing away with clarity
Reverting in my desperate mind
Like it's a mere charity.
Oh the beautiful dreams aren't true
Knowing them is better than having no clue
The subconscience is an inconspicuous beauty
Like the roots of the tree
Entangled and buried beneath
Its beauty is hidden
Its thoughts forgotten.
To dream a dream
Is finding your love
Then losing it soon
It's the inward eye's beauty
So beautiful, so resplendent,
When you wake up, you soon swoon.
May 3, 2015
May 3, 2015 at 6:12 AM UTC
Paranoia....
Dont believe in me....
For im only a labyrinth....
To lose your head.
Your thought....
Is mine....
Nobody....
Will save you now.
Ill haunt you...
In your sleep...
Subconscience...
Never dies.
Im your doom,
Your cyanide,
Your Death....
Im you.
May 7, 2014
May 7, 2014 at 1:15 PM UTC
Wickedly evil!
This beautiful trip
Pretend not to notice
The tares that we've ripped
Buy another car, drink another beer
Hell! We can't even see Yemen from here!!
Saudi Arabia, indeed! one of our good friends
Global warming will be the deaths of us all
In our final bitter end!
"We need change"
Seriously!
Aug 4, 2019
Aug 4, 2019 at 7:29 PM UTC
To you I come without question
my thoughts intensify from anticipation
my mind wants to be taken to to your low place
full of despire and filth that Hades itself would not follow
My mental *******
I no longer sense reason or justice, but a craving for the one who devours me
A lustful carnivore feasting on the forbidden areas of my psyche
creating the delusion of me being closer to fine
distorting my thoughts for your own perverted pleasures
I despise it, yet I long for it
I'm nothing without your cunning tongue
As you slide you words in my frontal lobe and play with the private parts of my subconscience
My Mind; that strangely isolated place yearns for another
even if that other destroys the foundation and tears the threads that hold my mental stability in place
but at least in this place though used and abused I'm not alone....My mind is a ***** for you
Oct 3, 2013
Oct 3, 2013 at 1:23 AM UTC
Everything is so vague
Every word every bit of an image is so feeble
As if a black hole in my mind
****** all my memory away
Dreams are like that,
Resplendent enough,
But as soon as I wake
There's nothing inside but the residue of dreams
A few bits of ashes left
That the sweeper in my mind forgets
And leaves them like mystery to solve,
Deep in my subconscience
It is ensonsced
For me it's amnesia,
Nothing lucid,
No colour but black and grey,
As if a black hole
****** all my memory away.
Jun 21, 2015
Jun 21, 2015 at 7:44 AM UTC
some view storms
as clichéd expressions
related to the overwhelming
events of each individual droplet
shattering the serenity of our perception
& flooding our thoughts-
almost drowning our minds
in tumultuous anxiety.
i prefer to see storms
as a cleansing experience-
washing away those thoughts
& events no longer needed
within our subconscience
into a swirling, roaring
whirling and bubbling
muddy puddle...
down an infinite drain,
where the caked dirt dries--
crystalizes
into a lesson in humility,
& letting go....
Jan 9, 2012
Jan 9, 2012 at 9:21 AM UTC
Live my life through photographs,
see foreign faces of people as my eyes dialate while,
my brain has taken the picture no matter how many centuries.
Is that the meaning of an old soul?
My paintings have improved,
mixing the colors has become easier,
irises are a video camera
while, the nerves can rewind the sequence of events
and how the portrait or picture had developed.
Who the people were
and what their lives meant.
I don't live a tragic life,
I'm not trapped in some cryptic looking tower,
Only trapped, by my own personal unhappiness.
These pictures are a way for me to live vicariously through someone else,
Imagining myself there.
These pictures are taken to capture a momentous
or joyful time in my life,
television and movies are like that in a way.
They remind us of the miserable world,
but we have decided to allow our worth
to weigh our subconscience like gold,
These pictures are memories that trigger another event,
in a vicious cycle.
I promise,
You don't get pictures taken of the countless empty bottles,
the pills you've choked down,
the tube that's shoved down your throat
when they 'save' your life.
(That left me wondering why I had to stay alive and it's all about contributing-
keeping up with the rent you're due on existing.)
The happier times are easy to forget,
we didn't run out of film.
Aren't those kinds of things in pictures we see?
The media tells you to cut the corners of your mouth so,
you can smile..
My mother died some time ago a year and some odd months,
my mind had accidentally snapped a picture of her,
still framed; her statue like chest, no veins flowing, and the urge to wait for her chest to rise again.
I think,
waiting leaves lesions on the brain,
because, most see waiting as pain without any kind of gain.
That's where trauma comes from-
waiting,
time changing, embedded in the bellies of women and dripping out of men's mouths.
Aug 1, 2017
Aug 1, 2017 at 4:13 PM UTC
I lay here still while my mind runs away, my dearest sanity don't leave me atray.
I think about the fabrics of space in time, as well as the reasons I'm making this rhyme.
These people and their lives so entwined in the rush,
don't they ponder past the stars even the heavens above?
Or even realize we're all here for a reason, that every happening is right with each season.
I wonder do they know nothing is as it seems, we could merely be Gods' long lasting dreams.
For in the scheme of eternity time does not exist. Are you starting to see my brains basic gist?
There's an endless abundance of theories of mine.
Like in everyones subconscience we're telepathically inclined.
Out of the observed and the observer, I'm the observer.
I figure out humanity, now let's go a step further.
Hear my words with passion though I am not that old.
The great philosophers started somewhere, this you know.
Call them practical or wise or whatever you may,
but i'll tell your right now it curiousity.
I search long and hard for knowledge, to much of your dismay.
You must keep all within thy brain, or you shall be seen as insane.
Crazy, crazy, insane my friend
Feb 25, 2012
Feb 25, 2012 at 7:32 PM UTC
My dreams shall never be
Here, in reality, with me,
But instead stuck in pretend,
In the worlds developed
Inside my mind while I sleep;
Outshined and behind
The dreams of others,
My ambitions and goals
Remain in submission
In the subconscience of my mind;
Remain behind, my dreams of gold,
Never to be let out to shine;
Remain behind, these dreams of old,
Always to be resigned.
Feb 23, 2013
Feb 23, 2013 at 5:39 AM UTC
I've come to the realisation that our lives don't really matter
Each and every single life of ours is just another dot on a black paper
We scream and shout for intention
We shout "I am different! I exist!"
But to what end?
We slowly change without realising it
As if our subconscience is just trying to find any means possible to stand out
Till every single one of us is a different shade of grey than the other
7 billion grey dots on a black page
And still none of us stand out
We begin to fall in some state of limbo
Searching for broken dreams to cling on to
Or fantasies to day dream about
Its funny how they always ask young children the same old question
"What do you want to be when you grow up?"
Instead they should be asking
"Whats shade of unrecognizable grey do you want to be when you grow up?"
It wouldn't matter if i was erased would it ?
So go on God , take away what you gave me
Cause i clearly don't know how your black paper works and i chose to be white
Jun 14, 2018
Jun 14, 2018 at 5:24 AM UTC
I hide my soul
I hide my thoughts
From a world
Too sane to comprehend
The darkness I hold
Within these walls
Caged and imprisoned
Feeding off the self-pity
Envy growing
As laughter comes in through the window
But still I'm alone
Hiding from the world
I love the silence
Hate thee loneliness
But even in the dark
Within these walls
We both are prisoners
To my subconscience
Dec 20, 2012
Dec 20, 2012 at 9:41 AM UTC
To dream a dream
That is hard to forget
In the mist of clouds
It disappears like a sunset
Ebbing away with clarity
Reverting in my desperate mind
Like it’s a mere charity
Oh the beautiful dreams aren’t true
Knowing them is better than having no clue
The subconscience is an inconspicuous beauty
Like the roots of the tree
Entangled and buried beneath
Its beauty is hidden
Its thoughts forgotten
To dream a dream
Is finding your love
Then losing it soon
It’s the inward eye’s beauty
So beautiful, so resplendent,
When you wake up, you soon swoon
Jan 23, 2017
Jan 23, 2017 at 8:28 AM UTC
We must listen up
when our dreams start conversing
subconscience reveals
Jan 22, 2019
Jan 22, 2019 at 1:44 PM UTC