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Bryan Lunsford May 2018
With a rush of burning desires,
I turn your world, as I touch you, into a ball of fire,

With our sweat that falls (in this room of degrees creeping higher and higher)
I slip off your bra, and proceed to strip you from the rest of your attire,

As with a look in your eyes that's electric as a live wire,
The grip of my hands around the curves of your frame become tighter and tighter,

And there, with thuds of the baseboard knocking at the wall, here, I treat this moment ever so dire,

Where I pull you in close--in this room full of yearning fire,

And make love to you--
With my body full of rushing--burning desires
The thuds in my chest stopped being my heart a long time ago-
my feelings ceased,
and maybe me,
the initial person I was,
is knocking on my ribs
begging for freedom.
Throughout all the voices in my head,
his is the lowest,
getting tangled in with all the
killers that took him,
torturing him until he's nothing but a headstone.
You don't see it,
but I do,
how I open my mouth to speak,
and he's accepted I just won't accent my words the way he used to.
My disappointment tore up your eyes,
as you saw the person I was
formed by a web of lies I loved to string up,
and tried to pretend I wasn't struggling to
get out-
All feedback is welcome
I wanted to do something emotional, I hope this conveys that.
Marcus Lane Mar 2011
Sunshine,
Birdsong
And children drunk on
Lemonade
And laughter.

That Welsh picnic
Has lasted forty years
And will last forty more
In daydream

And nightmare.

The stream babbled
Over pebbles,
Fern fronds
Brushed our sun-browned shins

Till the dead sheep
Slugged us in the guts.

Bloated and bulbous,
The body dammed the stream,
Its lifeless eyes
Crawling with life.

Those pearly marbles were
A child’s looking glass into death.

The rocks we hurled at it
In reckless revulsion
Were the screams
Of violated youth,

And those empty dead sheep thuds
The dawning of our mortality.
© Marcus Lane 2010
Maria Etre Nov 2015
Thuds
I only knew
that I was a fool
when I left that bubble
and walked down a path of rubble

I asked my eyes
why they were so blind
I asked my mind
why his thinking was so behind

They refused to answer
and left one noise afloat
a beat that I know served as a moat
from all reason and logic
leaving me in a state so tragic

I heard a whisper
my mind said "listen"
sunken in tears I did
and I heard it beat with candid

"It was I oh silly soul
hang in there, I'll recover soon
I'll guild my cracks
with a new love so bright
and even fall in an abyss of fright

It's not my fault ask the powers above
for I myself am mysterious to the
game
of love" - heart
indiedoodles.net
A J Ward Nov 2010
I enter Auschwitz 1.
Apprehensive crunches with every step.

I stand in a gas chamber.
Fully clothed.
With oxygen flowing freely.

I stand on a spot where thousands have stood before me.
But I'm able to make an exit,
Yet I'm rooted to the floor,
Transfixed with horror.
I feel like the last remaining tree,
surrounded by a forest of death.

Deforestation makes me sick.

*

Birkenau has a secret
that it doesn't want to tell.
A broken ending stood still.

The arches.
The ruins.
The tracks.
Thuds of reality slapping my face.

Stood inside the bleak barracks,
our guide asks us
"Imagine what it would like to be here -
What you'd see,
smell,
hear."

My eyes widen open in a scream,
they sting, fighting back at the image conjured within my mind.
I take a sharp breath
and close my eyes.

I am scared.
Zainab Attari Jul 2014
The blaze of the sun cut through their flesh
Sun kissed sweaty skin and dehydrated lungs

Knelled and cried for mercy
The heavens answered their prayers

Loud thuds were heard like a roaring lion
Lightning struck like a shooting star

Their quench was put off
Soil's aroma spread; it rained.
Although I am not a lover of rains, but I am still very grateful for the rains today! Since morning it has been pouring and it has turned my warm walls and the hot air outside cold and blissful! So this is me, giving thanks to Allah for the showers of blessings. The heat was killing everybody in Mumbai! Okay, that is about how much good I can say about the rains.
To the rain fans – have an amazing time playing football in the muck and getting wet in the rains! Stay safe, don’t catch a cold :) Do share with me your experience in the rains and your take on it.
P.S. My first try at a fifty words poetry.
Have you considered being a *** worker?
You have a body.
I know you never sleep there,
spend less time breathing than associating with your own ribcage.
You're an actress
no script, just a character summary.

Limp, age 12, non-verbal marionette.
Snaps her strings when forced to dance.
Clings to the ceiling tiles, like the shadows she hallucinates.
Let's the puppet fall numb under strangers.
Ragdoll to be used for kindling.


When you play your part
You'll inherit enough money to afford a studio apartment
in Washington, or Las Vegas; anywhere with men paid large enough salary to afford your vacant body,
three phone plans,
a hotel room for you to stay awake in
Listening to dull thuds against your wrongfully warm corpse
Invited hoping the stinging could form tendons
adhere together like rubber bands
Snap you back into your skin.
You cling helpless to the ceiling tiles
Watch the ragdoll make mistakes.

"Have you considered being a *** worker?"
A homeless woman asked me,
*"Unoccupied bodies should start charging rent.
Let a man who can afford it pay for utilities.
You might be homeless
but you won't be wasted space".
John Niederbuhl Aug 2017
Crickets that chirp all day and all night
Looking for love in their season
Overgrown fields rife with golden rod
The same as they are every year
Earlier sunsets we notice at mid-month
(Wonder where the summer went)
Cool mornings with fog
Still air with familiar scents
Bats from behind shutters
Pursue their flights at dusk
(If only we could fly with them)
Apples fall from trees, soft, little thuds,
Remind us of other late summers, and of gravity
Migrating birds eat honeysuckle berries
While a monarch spreads her wings
On white phlox
may Mar 2018
The feeling of butterflies in your stomach.
The feeling of losing your breath..
and stumbling to find words
feeling clumsy in every movement in their presence.

I'm my own person.
I'm not shy.
I don't get feelings.
I'm not short of words.
I don't get emotional.
I don't get feelings like this.

But feelings are like rain.
You can be in a drought and miss it like hell
..or..
you can forget what it's even like to have water.
But when it comes it floods.
You remember how beautiful the sound of rain is.
How it toys with your insides and makes you feel a roller coaster of emotions.
It makes you feel comforted and at peace
yet its dark and makes you feel alone.
It consumes your thoughts.
It has it's own intentions that you may never know,
it's mysterious and ever changing as it thuds on your rooftop so that all you can hear is its presence then within seconds disappears and when you look outside it's only evidence of existence is the puddle running down the road to disappear like it was never even there.

It is the feeling of love.
You can't control when it comes
you never know how long it will stay but ******* it it's all you can think about when it's here.

But this isn't my first storm.
While I should be dancing in the rain I never forgot the burn of the last storm.
The lightening struck and everything that was, never was the same.
Within a blink of my eye the rain was gone and I spent years trying to recover from the damage it left.
It ruined the curiosity of what each storm entails.
Instead of dancing in the rain I hide from it.
It's hard to let something overtake you when you don't know it's intentions or how long it will stay.

But you can't avoid rain forever.
It feeds and rejuvenates the world.
It gives life to the plants and makes them oh so vivid and colorful.
It washes away the past and gives light to the sun.
I just need to find the storm that always stays with me for the return of the sun.
I wish I could spare you words like beautiful, babe, figure and thin.
I wish I could guarantee you a complete disregard for the size of your *******
Or the length of your legs.
I pray never to find you hunched over the toilet
Or hiding a sandwich under books in your bag.
What will the equivalent of cyberbullying be, in ten years time?
I will try, so very hard, to keep you safe.

Please, always talk to each other, and to me.
Share your heart’s bleedings
And I will help you staunch the flow.
I will find the courage to share my failings
And the confidence to pass on my successes,
Both were instrumental in my becoming the woman I am,
A woman I hope you will be proud of, and applaud.

It is hard to be a woman, in this world,
Urged, relentlessly to perfection,
Bombarded with it, drowned in it,
But perfection is a myth, and becomes imperfect with attainment,
It is the imperfections that will mesmerise,
Embrace them, love them, let them shine.

How long did it take me to learn these lessons?
Have I learned them, even now?
Sometimes I think I have, then I become overwhelmed
By anxiety and self-doubt.
This will happen to you too,
I cannot hope to save you from it
But I can provide some armour.

Think for yourselves,
Reject the babble and the screens, the illusion of celebrity
Twenty-first century addictions.
Do not become a slave to technology.
I can see how hard that will be,
But it must be done, if you are to remain people,
Retain your humanity.
I will help you; I will hold your hands.

You are tiny now, but I can see the strength within you both,
And I will nurture it, protect it,
Then it will protect you, out there.
I promise I will always be your tigress,
But you will not always be my little cubs
I will have to find a way to sheath my claws,
And let you stalk your own prey,
And evade the predators, just as I have done.

I watch you, playing happily together in the sun,
And wish you peace, and love, and joy.
Such simple things, yet so elusive.
I will not show you this poem.
But I will read it, frequently,
And try to keep my promises.
My heart thuds in my chest, each a double-beat
A constant repetition of your names,
Tattooed onto my soul.
Ironatmosphere May 2017
I am banging on the walls
Loud, angry thuds echo around me
I am screaming for you to see me
But you tell me you can’t
You can’t see through the walls,
The walls you claim that I have built
My legs tremble as I fall
The skin on my knees curl around the gravel
And I wonder
As you walk away
Why can’t you see me through these glass walls?
cgembry May 2016
The fast tempo of hummingbirds in flower buds
Loud repetition of woodpecker thuds

Buzzing hum from hardworking bees
While robins sing in synchronized keys
All accompanied by the swishing of leaves in the trees

There is no better symphony
Than that of nature working in harmony
Cambria Andersen Nov 2018
After the rain, came the heavy snow.
Falling with silent thuds through the trees,
the bush and below.
Muffled crunches of boot ensconced children
zipping up parkas against flakes by the million.
Stillness in my heart slipping through the broken parts,
dripping to the snow in colors of blue and vermillion.
The quiet flakes gently holding my confusion and loneliness.
Caressing my cheeks as a mother would to her child crying
in whispered tearfulness
A painful summer ambled slowly away leaving a far fairer autumn
but as winter and her snows knocked at my door, the mountain beckoned, and I lost him.
Any ski purists out there may understand this. My relationship was about over, but as snow filled up the resort, it was the end, of it all.
OliviaAutumn Sep 2014
Lying beside the safety blanket of an open fire
You ask me why I am scared of the CD player.
A question no one dared to ask,
As if asking was like the warmth that
Would unravel me bare skinned
Limbs against floor boards
Revealing the things I hoard under
The loose fabric of a summer dress.

I confess to you them parts of me
You would never see unless you
Asked that single question.

I bite my lip, the tip of my tongue
Hoping it can charade its way out
Of these words, these words
I have been trying to drown,
to sink with sips of sauvignon blanc
Till I had dried the glass of myself clean, empty.

I bite my lip.

His eyes were like silver discs,
Scratched on the surface
Playing nothing but broken records
So no one could hear the fear inside my chest.
The melody of his muse would ring through my veins
so I shut my eyes,
Opened my thighs and I bit my lip
Drawing blood to my tastehah buds
To forget the thuds of his open palm
So no harm would come to me
If I forget to see, forget to breathe
Each night I would cry to the wake of the morning,
hoping tomorrow would never come.
For some, darkness is safer than light.

It wasn’t how they told me it would happen.
Slow, sober, a blur of moments
Woven together into a noose that would
Hang out my hope on the thread of a rope
And it wasn’t how they told me it would happen.
That I would go back to him when the darkness came.
That I would know it would always be the same
But I would never be the same again
He locked me in the closet for 6 hours,
Hands bound, mouth taped shut
And I never thought I would pray to stay locked away
I have never been so afraid
Waiting for the door to open to two discs
Reflecting the fear that was living in my heart.

I don’t know where to start.
Fear is an emotion that can scare you
to silence the secrets wrapped up in your lies
Beside the tears you keep in a jar for no one to see.
What is that bruise?
I fell in the shower.
Why are you bleeding?
Mother nature
Why are you not eating?
Im eating later
Why are you limping?
I am struggling to stand myself in the mirror
Can’t you see I am starving myself thinner and thinner
So please guess what is happening beneath this dress
My womb is ***** empty,
There is nothing left inside me to fill
Nothing left that is real
Can’t you see I am trying to **** myself before he does?

You ask me why I never told you.
I bite my lip-
This poem has been hidden beneath the
Smile I now wear, under my tongue
Within my lungs, inside my fingertips
That itch to write the truth
But I know if I say these words,
Unseal my lips, this story is real.
Tracing the lines he left on my body
I know he’s telling me to not pick up the pen
And that is exactly why I have picked up my pen.

I don’t want to condemn the people who ****,
Who try to escape the law
With threats to their victims
Hidden beneath words disguised as love
I don’t see myself as a victim anymore.
Him. He. That man. That boy.
He isn’t me.
I cannot blame myself for what happened.
You cannot blame yourself for what happened
Between closed doors, open alleys,
The bedroom in your own home
With your parents on the same floor.
People ask me why I am scarred
And I say these are not scars
These are my battle wounds
From a fight I thought I lost,
From a life I thought I tossed aside
From a time when I didn’t know if I was even alive anymore.
I didn’t survive, I am tired of being told
I am lucky to be alive to survive to be normal
The sad thing is, this is what is becoming normal
for too many women and men
and when are we going to make it stop?
Stop is a word so many know too well.

My ****** still lives in my bones.
He’s made it his home to roam,
To decorate and play the same song
Each night over and over and over.
I never invited him in.
I couldn’t escape my ****
But maybe it could have been prevented
If we teach our children what it means to have consented
That consent cannot be confused with silence
Why are children still not being taught
That ****** violence should never be silenced?
Instead of questioning what I was wearing
We need to start caring that 1 in 6 are sexually abused,
we have got used to a culture where we remove
a persons right to question whether this is normal.
This is not normal.
This is never normal.

When are we all going to stand up and say stop.
We need to stand up and say stop.



https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d2q3IPH7SE0
A Gouedard Jun 2014
At least three times a week
Thumps, bangs, a loud crash,
Doors slamming, metallic echoes,
Bumps, thuds, sharp edges, smash
I hear shouting, muffled, no words,
His voice booms and beats against the walls.

Hushed stillness after, as i wait to hear him slam out
Clattering feet on the stair to the street
Airless, exhausted relief as they fade.
Everything echoes in empty impersonal corridors
Magnolia walls, polished floors, plain blank doors.
The room behind one containing locked fear and silence.

I sense it there
Hear it breath through the walls
It enters my room, far more than the noise
A pounding, held in fear
So loud that it keeps me awake
As I listen, long after.

Next morning, so aware of silence,
When I hear a sound near my door
I jump, as alert as a hunted animal.
I hear her heart clench
So linked to this stranger by sounds
Though I have never imagined her face
Emmy Jan 2014
Dark clouds shadow my world as coldness seeps through my frame
Nervous energy blooms inside
intertwined with thoughts of shame
My hands shake and my breathing is fast
There is no reason, this has nothing to do with the past
Heavily burdened with a bell jar of thick fractured glass
I've found myself beaten down, having discovered this will not pass
I watch fatigued by it all
the colors and sounds
the landscape
the rise and fall
Placing my hands on the frosted barrier
searching for a leak of warmth
a possible carrier forth
My hands fall in defeat
I sink farther down and blackness I solemnly greet
I close my eyes waiting for it wash over me again and again
to crash on my shore then retreat
Moon tide controlled in my mind, incessantly forever beat
I wish with rapid fire desire for the fall of the bell jars empire
My heart thuds
blood rushing sound in my ears
I stare straight ahead filled with a commensurate of fears
Darkness descends and I am captured in my bell jar yet again.
Violetlily Sep 2013
Here she was wondering how time flies,
Only yesterday she tried to say it,
Her floral dress, swayed slowly
Our hands clasped, eyes moist,
Heart beating with the loud thuds.
Her eyes had that bright twinkle
The sun couldn't outweigh their brightness,
She swayed back and forth, dancing,
Her eyes spiraled down to her soul,
They were begging for a dance.
It was hard to keep up with her pace,
One had to be quick but not too quick,
Slow but right in time to catch her,
Because she was bound to run away,
Far away from the loud thuds of her heartbeat.
All she wanted was to dance,to her own tune,
without boundaries,Slowly her arms move,
tracing unsaid words as she starts to whisper,
Her brown eyes like a deep dark cave,
Where countless echos lay lost,
Trying to find its way out,
A puddle of water forms in the corner,
Slowly the puddle makes way for a river,
She lets it out believes that its just,
Just a matter of time, it’ll pass,
You try to tell her there’s more to life,
She laughs, the sound, vibrant,
Full of life, full of curiosity, the sound,
Ringing loudly, You fall in love with it,
She tells you she doesn’t want to laugh,
She embraces you for the last time,
Leaving you with the sound of laughter,
Ringing behind her with every thud,
Thud of her heartbeat, footsteps fading,
Everything fades away, time fades away,
Just a while ago the sun shone brightly,
Now its replaced by the shades of dusk,
And for that brief minute, life is beautiful,
The last bright vibrant strand of light,
Before its dark, and there’s absolute void.
Olivia Frederick Nov 2015
I can tell I'm depressed
When I don't take the laundry
Out of the washer,
Where it has been cleansed of its sins
Of passion, or rage, of greasy fast food.
My filthy hands would ruin them.


So I wait for my roommate
To baptize his own spotless hands
With MY damp boxers.
The habitual thuds of my soggy clothes
Against the back of the dryer
Are a nice distraction.

My favorite flannel dances
With her tiny lost sock.
But 45 minutes isn't enough.
I don't want to end their fun,
So I leave them there
And hope that they'll fuse forever.

He tosses the clothes onto my floor,
Scattering them, wrinkling them, freeing them.
Corduroys atop henleys under crew socks and tees.
Folding them would be a waste
Of a catastrophic masterpiece.
Thomas EG Apr 2015
I fall down, it's no longer bright
Land in a black hole, without light
Oh wait, it's a brown hole tonight
I am falling into your brown eyes
I hope they're authentic, no disguise
Because you truly are a delight
"Oh hey, you look nice"
**** it, you stole my line
"So do you" I weakly reply
My heart thuds and you smile
You lean in, I feel your teasing bite
My tender lips, more than alright
Feel pure pleasure, without fright
There's only excitement, this time
Spare me the misery, my divine
All of the rules have been defied
It's possible that you liked it
But next time you'll deny it
You'll deny my lips with a sigh
I'll deny your denial, what a crime
Better luck next time.
You tasted of... Vanilla, am I right?
You really know how to kiss a guy
Made it feel like my time to shine
Made me feel like I was liked
Pulled my hair, oh, what a life
Held my hands, pulled me in tight
And then a cheeky kiss goodnight
I had to wait for so long... Why?
I guess we've both always been shy
I guess we've both been far behind
But I guess now we would be fine
To hang out, maybe once or twice
With only us, just you and I
That is, if you wouldn't mind
I mean, it's always worth a try
Until then, vanilla lips,
**Goodbye...
SO, LAST NIGHT WAS FUN. AIGHT COOL.
S Smoothie Jul 2014
love takes hold with its ethereal arms and bends me to breaking
out of reach but never out of heart
pull me closer when I just want to get out alive
its not possible
that kiss you sent upon the wind hit me unfairly
it spun me around and I flew just as high as I fell to the ground
was down with love and ok there.
I was surviving, making it through.
now I'm reeling, wondering if there isn't just some way,
to unwrap my soul from around you and be ok to lose you without ever letting go
so take this loving hug upon the wind,
it fell from me willingly to find you
for these lips are too cold and don't say the words,
but this heart does things for you again and again
and my head refuses to intercede.
it seems to know its hopeless and awaits the thud after the flutter.
yeah it does that sometimes...
LJ Chaplin Jan 2014
The train ground to a halt,
Reluctantly sighing from the fatigue
Of another aching dance along the tracks,
Stained by raindrops and gravel,
I am sorry to make you carry me.
The suitcase thuds against the Tarmac
As I step on to Platform 2,
I am surrounded by other travellers,
Some dressed in their suits and professional stature,
Others dressed in coats and jeans and relief,
I see a boy and girl embrace and kiss,
He takes her luggage and they walk off hand in hand,
Another woman hugs her sister,
Or even a friend
And laugh and kiss one another on the cheek,
I drag my suitcase behind me,
My head clouded with the sound of footprints
Against wet Tarmac,
Walking along the yellow line until I reach the stairs,
Down I go.
New Year's Eve,
Celebration and intoxication
Lingered in the freezing wintry dusk,
Fireworks and beer,
Singing and champagne,
I am a part of it.
I slide my ticket into the machine and it lets me pass
With no resistance,
He waits there in the exit,
Hands in his pocket,
A smile on his rosy face
That has been kissed by the cold,
We leave the station,
Happiness surging between us.
Ethan Kreman Apr 2013
An underlying sense of counting down –
A rhythm deep: enteric thuds –
Each another year to fret and frown
About, wading in the claggy muds
Of trial – to here, the blackened life.
A glint of blade had caught a baggy eye,
Sparking thoughts to jump the fence.
Could I grasp the handle – was I shy
Of what I had to do and hence remain
Enshrined in overwhelming strife?
  
The metal winked at me again
To beg the possibility
Of halting once and all the pain
To relish an eternity
Of rested shoulders,
Peace of mind;
So here, my wrist
For ‘quick and kind.’
Krysta Conklin Feb 2013
Leather and Lace
It's a killer embrace
wrapped up in sin
a mischievous grin
lock the door
clothes on the floor
your eyes are on me
my heart beats wildly
pull me close
breathe my name
I've never been one for your
stupid
little
games
The bed is soft
your hands are rough
"God you're so beautiful"
I don't dare call your bluff
shallow breaths
and heaving chests
there's lust in your eyes
fingers caress my thighs
you smell of leather
as you pull down my lace
I snap my eyes shut
and drink in your taste
once I was cold
but now I am burning
burning and yearning
for more of that embrace
it's killer
it's wicked
and I can't get enough
my insides are stirring
my heart skips a beat
my mind is far gone
I realize you've won
but so what if you did
because in the moment
in that very
moment
I've never needed you more
The feel of your pulse
it races against mine
my heart thuds once more
and then I open my eyes
hooded stares
shaky limbs
I fall to your chest
and breathe in your skin
it warms and tingles my inner core
sending a shock wave until
I
can't
take
any
more
lust and love
I couldn't tell the difference
i just wanted you to stay
and hold me
and wash all of it away
the sorrow
the pain
the loss of innocence
the darkness beneath
and the lack of what once was
the feel of your body
it lingers against mine
as you reach for your leather
and I pull on my lace
I turn to your face
to see the emptiness still remains
You pull me in your arms
one last time
no words are spoken
and the silence echoes
Your arms fall to your side
and in one long stride
you unlock the door
The silence is broken
by the slam of the door
a mirror falls off the wall
and just like my world
it shatters
I'm alone again
and left to contemplate
is it even worth it anymore?
Lindsey Miller Jun 2012
i am being aimlessly guided by a decrepit side street.
the smell of who-knows-what hangs in the still like an occupied noose
as i strain to ignore the unpleasant moisture on my brow,
the imperceptible perspiration of emotional exertion.

my heels can decipher the coded cracks in the concrete
and converse with muffled clackings that echo from alleyway walls.
they say, "our coordinates are flawless; this is the path to freedom."
i think, to reach it alone would be more bitter than any confinement.

‘cause i left some love in an empty room miles from here—
it’s collecting cobwebs instead of affections
while the idol of unrequited passion burns
and its ashes are faxed to four far corners of a hardhearted world.

i reach a dead end and feel the breath catch in my throat.
there is nothing here but the empty cocoons of the homeless
who have hopefully lifted themselves on dusty wings to a better place
leaving me searching for signs of life in the litter they've left behind.

there is a poster haphazardly taped to the bricks;
no lettering, no information, just the face of a man.
he stares blankly at me from his paper veranda
as if i were a television set, some mundane form of entertainment.

then, unexpectedly, a hole rips through the flyer
to compensate for the boot-clad leg freeing itself from dried pulp
and stepping heavily onto the pavement below.
i stumble back in mixed horror and disbelief as appendages creep lividly from the wall

until the man with the advertised face stands before me.
he pulls a pack of parliaments from his trenchcoat pocket
and wordlessly offers me one as his lighter births infant flame.
soon, the nicotine fog hangs like an opaque grey curtain between us.

then the silence is shattered, with shards of stillness breaking against the asphalt.
"i hope you weren't attempting to be stealthy. i could hear you for miles."
the voice emitted is raspy, the sound of a dull razorblade on the neck of a convict.
i shiver fiercely in response with a zero-kelvin cold.

a frankenstein hand fights through the smoke to grasp my ashen face.
his finger to my lips is a canker sore forming.
"a pretty lil' thing like you shouldn't be caught dead in this mess."
his forked tongue forms the words of nothing i don't already know.

i push him away. "just cut to the chase. we don't need to drag this out.
you know what i came here for, so let's get it over with."
my heart spasms in protest, but i suppress it with clenched fists.
as it dejectedly thuds in my chest, i can taste the bile rising in my throat.

he raises an eyebrow, then sniggers, showing off a yellow shark-toothed grin.
"the princess has a temper! well, you've come a long way for this, sweet cheeks."
he reaches into his coat, pulls out his leather gauntlets blackened with singe.
"say exactly what you need, doll, and your old pal lucifer will handle the rest."

my lungs deflate, punctured by pins and needles of stale air
and the blood dries in my veins like cruel sun blistering the desert.
half of me begs for lockjaw. the other half manipulates the corners of my mouth.
"erase him from my mind. i can't spend my life obsessing."

a glint of guilty pleasure in the devil's red eye seals the deal.
soul extraction's just like getting a tooth pulled, i tell myself regretfully.
it's just another part you don't need, a bland and disposable item.
but it doesn't quell the fear; i'm shaking hard enough to register on a richter scale.

the man in black embraces me, grasping my ribcage in his massive gloved hands.
a flash of doubt sears through me, yet i stand frozen, crucified.
i feel satan's minions pulling at memories like loose strings
and there is chanting in my ears; evolnilr igafognir effuseht eta ivellai sihth tiw.



i come to with dry heaves and a migraine sent from hell itself
to find that i am home in bed with the sheets around my ankles.
i rise and move to the mirror, see the dark circles traced around my eyes,
and dissolve into sobs without knowing why.
Edward Coles Apr 2013
My inner child,

Recently I have found myself crawling through those hazy archives of my past, when it was only you and the dirt on those endless afternoons. And I wonder to myself how much of these memories truly exist and how many blanks I may have filled in along the way. I try to formulate a hypothesis on this but my mind is preoccupied with the image of the mound of soil at the back of the garden. The one our sister swore was a buried lion – a truth you swallowed so readily. Since then you have moved house and dug a grave for the lion yourself, only this one was your best friend.

We have drifted you and I. I rarely see you. Sometimes in the midst of pills and drink I swear we cross paths but soon my heart thuds heavily and I do my best to just keep my feet and then you’re gone. I am now just a composite of lessons learnt and punishments served. A sum of all the times I broke a heart, failed a class and tripped on a stone. I look ahead to adulthood – I know we never believed we’d get there - we never needed to, but here we are. I don’t wear a suit, I don’t drive a car and I have no money. Beards don’t suit me and as things stand, it is unlikely I will become Batman. I would tell you that we’re not a failure – that I’m not a failure but the world tells us differently. We need a real career.

It is a tired cliché admittedly, but I do miss your innocence – your boundless inquisition into everything about you. The incessant inquisition still remains, but the plague of indoctrination-education and the scorn on your school friends soon puts up borders in your mind. You soon realise which questions are stupid, even if they are right to be asked. Cleverness soon becomes more than being able to tie your shoes. You must be strong, you must be brave, you must be ruthless.

I think back to how much we loved our mother and how it hurts now, to see her ignorance and her emotional frailty for all that it is. The day when your mother becomes human is truthfully one of the most frightening days to experience. Still, for you, those wonderful April shower mornings in the park are a refuge. Feast on those sandwiches, huddle together under the shelter of the slide and listen placidly to the rain hit the metal. Do not think for a moment of what needs to be done or what has been done. Live in the present before you get lost the cogs of causation.

Learn to fall in love. Not just with people but with animals. With words, with pictures, with colours and tones. Textures, sounds and imagery. Please never lose the wonder of lying in the grass and seeing a separate world. I know you don’t understand beauty, perhaps because you are beauty within itself. Perhaps only I can understand beauty because mine has been lost through these fatherless years of self-effacing thoughts and relentless hangovers. Perhaps it is only now that I grasp for beauty, in order to claw back some of what I have lost. Just to taste it again.

I wont keep you for much longer. I know you need to run and yell and play until the sun falls. I simply wanted to tell you that I love you. You are what I love about me, despite what may have been lost in the classrooms. I know now that I should get my head out of the screen and cast my eyes beyond my bank balance, so that I can see you in the distance and greet you as a friend. My old friend. I hope I get to see more of you after writing this, because I miss you and my brain is sometimes just so loud and I think you might be the only thing to quieten it. I am going to fall into bed and sleep dreamlessly under the covers now. If nothing else, I promise you that as you grow older, you will look forward to bed time!

Yours in complete awe,

A very confused person.
Alexis Nov 2013
The voices inside her head its where her demons hide
time is paralyzed and  she catches her breath
where there is a flames someone’s bound to get hurt the
blade as the brush with slowly skimming on the canvas
the crimson paint will steadily dribble down the pale canvas
she has a story to her hazy existence and if she is to let her walls come
down, the inside wall be annihilated by shallowness and cruelty
in the past she was isolated so she covered her feelings with a tight
smile, she goes through life aching with eternal agonizing pain
there is no one to have faith in if one shall live on this sadistic  earth
no one is there to be her superhero before the hour has come,
before it is too late, the spell must be broken
before it all scatters on the floor; before it goes boom; before
it drains out on the white floor; before the stool is pushed away; before it
thuds in the city lights; before it makes a splash in the navy pool of salt;
before those gray eyes shut completely, exiting the world
just before it is too late
but wait, are those five guys, running towards her? They are quite
unnoticeable, who can they be?
These boys saved her life before the time has come
they are her saviors, they understood the grief
for she is thankful and
they are in her heart, and she is in their hearts, engraved
forever

a.a
Moon Ariella Dec 2014
Listening to your heartbeat like it's a story that'll never be told again

listening to your heartbeat like it's the first edition vinyl
of my favourite song
and the only copy ever made

listening to your heartbeat
like the universe is sending me a message
through the whistles of the wind

listening to your heartbeat like science is trying to contact me
via the thuds of your *****
and justify the inexplicable
of how two astronomically unidentifiable catastrophes
clashed and become one planet
in a galaxy surrrounded by false stars
that actually turned out to be passing planes
Vikram sikki Jul 2016
Like 5 or 6 ...was i ....doesn't matter
but little,a small one for sure
Sure of that not because i remember seeing myself in mirror
But everyone else was so huge
Their palms big enough to be afraid of
Most of the world was above us
To amaze or annoy us
Can only be reached by our little eyes
Transfixed a little more than now
Ogling , making sense and befitting it in our own world of limited understanding
But few things were there
Seemed Precisely sized up for us
As if Toyed down for me and
those friends-as big as me
Never had to look up above or below
Right in level casting our surprised eyes on each other smiling through the eyes first in approval and acceptance; that tacit truce
As if we've found refuge in each other
in that big world


They made order with us -chaos (filled minds) and confused, wondering mostly
What suddenly happened; what and why I m doing it and
How far (in distance and time) is the home.
My home.
The school became "My" school to in few days

All of us dressed same, loaded with our loaded bags
Fobbed off to school in the morning
In a different world.  Our world
With more of us there
Used to stand in same row at the morning
Prayer/assembly,
height wise.....was it ?
Pushing on toes to peek over each others over those glistening oiled and then combed hairs
stacked primly to stay there for some time

Puffy reddening cheeks due to .... always smiling ....was it ?
A little henkey in left pocket always,
seldom used though
Dressed immaculately in halves
Those action shoes......was it ?
Singing prayer in unison
Eyes closed but stealing glances
Opening an eye,tilting head
And enjoying the moment secretively
Glorifying in the maneaouvre just accomplished
Sometimes yawning and snapping it back to that plumbed, more ***** posture
Thinking that too went unnoticed...Did it?
Standing through all that rut daily
That "aaj ka vichar"(today's quote)twice
A poem also ..... was it?
Finally the "jan gana mana"( national anthem)
Pressing the fists hard sidewards
pulling them down
***** and loud
In oblivion,in spirit
Head shaking in rhythm unknowingly
At every other syllable
And yeah
At last but not the least
That "bharat mata ki jai"(hail India slogan)
Loud and from heart
As if waiting for it all the time
Thrice.....was it ?
Racing to the classroom
in an unannounced competition
and extol the victors briefly.
Legs hanging from those little chairs ....
No, benches ......was it ?
Few already waiting for the teacher
Looking through the wall outside the door
Quietly
Few making the most of it
Sharing some secret laugh,loudly at the end
Showing some prized possession acquired yesterday
Rejoicing the
Silent faces in awe of that thing.
That thing ....seasonal it used to be
tattoo stacks,card stacks -wwf and cricket too
Or a geometry box....was it ?
Nodding approvingly and decidedly to that thing with conviction promising self to get something better if more of that thing only.
Not on their seats
Relying on that good samaritan
Positioned perfectly in front row
to detect the incoming teacher and a loud shussshhhhh......was it ?
Rushing to ones seat
In sonic speeds before teacher enters
Hopping and throwing oneself - thuds!!
That momentary Commotion before the muteness
Head held high,supressing a giggle
Proud of the last act
And together saying...
No, almost singing

Goooooood morningggggggg maeeammmmm
Or sir.....was it ???
We were kids once !!
AnnaMarie Jenema May 2014
Mom should’ve been here by now. I sat on my frilly blue and purple polka-dotted bed waiting for the knock on the door telling me mom found my dress. Finally, it raps on my door. “Mom! Did you find it?” My eyes widen as the silky blue sways in her arms, it’s beauty sings as a caged bird let free. I gasp in admiration. “I-It’s wonderful!” I pick it up and it glides down into a perfect fit.  “I’m glad you love it. Come down after you finish getting ready.” The door thuds after her. Looking across the room I note my honey brown hair that curls into pigtails. Restraining the squeal that is caught in my throat, I travel the length of my room to the mirror.

     The mirror sits on an antique dresser that my mom found at a garage sale. At first I didn’t care much for the ancient wooden junk that is at least half a century old. Now the gold-tinted metal gleams with pride once again. Rusty gems were in carved into an arc surrounding the mystic glass. “Lydia! Can you go upstairs and get that box down for me?” Mom’s request interfered with my thoughts. … Go in that dusty attic? “Sure mom!”

       Out the door and into the hallway stood a door like any other in our house. It squeaked open as eerily as what you’d expect in a haunted house. ‘A box, a box’ than out of the side of my vision I thought I saw motion. I shook it off as just being a spider or mouse. Soon my footsteps lead me to come across a dresser and mirror identical to the one in my room. It was cluttered with cobwebs and spiders. “Not very well taken care of, are you?” I muttered the joke. I looked into the mirror expecting to see a light blue dress covered in dust and sparkly silk material, but there was no reflection at all. I looked even closer at the mirror, before realizing, there was no mirror at all.

     I looked around until I found it behind the dresser, sitting on the ground. I touched one of the gems that surprisingly glowed despite the rust. Something shone until I was blinded. A tingle ran through the hand that brushed the mirror’s gem and flew through my arm until it encompassed me, racing into my every feeling until I couldn’t feel anything. My eyes shut and refused to open themselves.


     A gentle breeze grasped my hair, as music descended from the air. I could smell what seemed to be a banquet of some kind, mixed with perfume. Slowly my eyes lifted their veil to lock with waves pounding against a brick wall. I was looking down from a balcony into the erupting sea. The white brick-made balcony was large and lonely even with the brush of people walking by. I hid behind the rose-red curtains to look around. People danced and talked. Some ate. The music paved the trail for their feet to follow, all very gracefully. The men wore suits that tails drip to their knees. Their white shirts buried under sashes of gold, red, or blue. Sometimes holding medallions, some only dressed in ties. The woman wore Victorian dresses of every color and shade. Frilled hats with flowers were arranged on their heads.

     Wait, I’m not supposed to be here. I was in the attic, going to the café with mom. What was I doing? My head ached from the effort to recall my actions. Why can’t I remember? I stumble backward only to reach the balcony’s edge. Where is this anyway?

      I dive back into the curtain to search for my answer. The softness of the curtain was a rose pushed to my nose. I peeked through the small gap to find a page carting some clothes past my hiding spot. I sneaked next to the cart being wheeled into a doorway, planning to find a way out. I lost the page and walked around until I went through an archway door. The cool air spiraled against my silk-trapped skin. The scent of flowers bloomed around me. I found the garden labyrinth.

     Walking through the maze’s hedges I arrive at a beautiful fountain displaying crystal clear pouring waters. Everywhere I gazed, flowers embraced the greenery. My breath deprived my lungs of air as I took in the sight. It was so magnificent under the light of the full moon. A few lamps lighted a sidewalk path maneuvering along the hedges. I circled the fountain, taking in the surroundings. My silk dress was shining in the dim glow. The sceneries beauty entranced me.






     I didn’t see a shadow before me, and almost fell to the ground. In a graceful swoop an arm latched around my waist to pull me to my feet. “Be careful to look where you’re going, please my lady.” He bowed his head while his slim rimmed glasses started to fall off of his face, suddenly he looked up at me; sliding them back on with a slight wave of a finger. “That garb isn’t from around here.” He noted my sky blue dress with interest. I’m not even sure where I am. “I seem a bit lost. Will you help me?” he stares at me closer, a deeper curiosity shines in his green eyes, daintily brushed by his dark hair. “My dear, if it brings you comfort to know, we are in London at the Buckingham palace.”

      I gasped; London was so far away from New York. It’s across seas. I gulped at my next question as sweat pricked the nape of my neck, “What’s todays date?” His eyes sparkled at the question. “Why, it is June 28, of 1838. The entire castle is bustling at these very words. It’s a day to remember. Now my dear, I must take my leave and see to the ballroom. Farewell.” He bowed, than turned to leave. His slow stride seemed like a dance all on it’s own. My gaze was caught on his figure following the foot trail until he had disappeared. I sighed at my first encounter with someone in this grand place. The Buckingham Palace, in 1838. …1838!! That can’t be right, it’s 2014. Then the shock hit me as if bricks fell from the castle onto my forehead; the clothes, the language, the pages, and royalty. This couldn’t be London in present Great Britain.

    I circle the garden once more before I decide to go back inside. The young noble had realized my clothes didn’t belong here, probably anyone who sees me would recognize this too. I start off towards the footpath. The melodic rhythm still swirled in the breeze. Than for a second I thought I heard a footstep. My head twists back only to see a shadow move. The cool air now seems icy. Multiple possible things to say to the night air gallop through my mind. “ Such a lovely night,” is the one I decide on. From behind me a few feet back I imagine a sigh. No, not imagined, but actually there. It’s too real. I turn on my heels just to catch a glimpse of a black cape caught in the wind, as it’s master floats into the open. “My, It is lovely. However, I didn’t realize such a strangely dressed commoner as you could enter this palace.” His smirk shows sarcasm as easily as his eyes. “I never intended to visit a palace, even less in London.” My honest answer only has him conceal his laugh.




     “I’m sure you didn’t. Yet, your dressed for a fine occasion.” His hand reaches for mine. I pull away from the willowy figured glove. “Why not allow me this dance in the garden?” I back away, aware that his voice is too prescient and I should be careful. “Are you going to be wary of me?” his gaze turned pained, his blue eyes that were once full of playfulness now melted into hurt. I unintentionally reach out for his gloved hand. His laugh echoes past the foliage. “Such a naïve girl.” Dread decided that this nobleman should be avoided at all costs. I ran towards the palace. “And so the chase begins.” He snickers and rushes after me.


     I pass through the archways, glancing back now and again to find the caped captor flying along my tracks. If only there was some way to lose him. I ducked into the nearest doorway. At the far end of the hall I could see a door with a sign saying, “Dressing room”. I flung myself under a table and tablecloth to hide myself as my pursuer rounded the corner into the hall. I tucked my head between my knees and waited for his footsteps to fade. The warm place that held me trapped was close and too easily discoverable. I held my breath and tried to sink into the darkness. I’m not here. No one can find me.

     After enough time flew by to ensure my safety, I crawled out from under the table. The cloth draped over my head. I looked back and forth, half expecting to see a smirking smile, and haughty eyes. A girl stares down at me. She’s at least ten years old. “Shhh.” I press my finger to my lips and gently smile at her as if we’re keeping a secret between us. She giggles, copies the motion to her own mouth, than delightfully skips away. I let out a sigh and stand up. I follow the hall to the dressing room. The door creaks open and I look around once more, startled by the sudden noise.

     I sneak inside hoping find that the room is abandoned. In the darkly lit room, only my footsteps sound. As far as I can tell, no one has entered lately. I walk over to the carts of clothes and run my hand over the first one on the stack. It’s a ruby-red dress with fine material and some gems similar to those in the mirror. … The mirror. Not in my room, but the attic. My head hurts again, but I know I touched its gem before winding up here. How? I look through the dresses until I find a light blue and white one. The bowed sleeves come down to my elbow with frills encasing the bottom. The neckline forms a squared area of similar white frills. A small white sash acts as a belt that drops into the skirt of the dress. Two similar white ones come down each side. I pick up the light material and set it near my feet.
      My old silk dress easily slips overhead, making way for the new clothing. After tugging tight sleeves and bodices into place the light dress swoops over my feet. I spin through the dark room only to stop at catching someone’s eye. I immediately turn towards the frozen face. It is my own reflection in a mirror. I face myself as my sight settles on the dress I wear. My honey brown hair curled over the dress from my pigtails. My eyes sparkled it’s matching blue to the dress. In the corner of the room, next to the mirror, sat a large wooden box. I looked through it to find that it was full of jewelry and accessories. I prodded its contents until I found sky blue bows to wrap in my pigtails.

     I walked into the open hallway, now littered with people going to and fro. Anyone from passerby’s, young nobility, servants, and pages. Once the hall emptied I fled the room, hurrying through the corridors until I met with the room that created the harmonious trance. At the ends of the great ballroom sat crowds eating and laughing. Clusters of on-goers danced and chatted. In the middle of the farthest side of the room sat a throne that was embroidered with metal marks from centuries of legends. On the throne sat a woman at least eighteen of age. Her regal crown shone despite other attractions surrounding the dance room. A page strode over to her as she flourished her hand for his service. He stood and listened intently to her whispers. Finally, he stood and roared for the room’s attention. From his mouth spilled cheer and wistfulness, as he demanded the crowd’s ear. “Our young Queen Victoria’s coronation has completed. Now starts a new era! Let the celebration proceed.” The room reverberated with hope, love, and admiration for their new ruler.

     ‘Queen Victoria has been crowned’ having no clue how to find a way home, I disconsolately decide to join in the festivities. The crowd moves into a larger room. I stagger after them; the mass pushing everyone forward. We pass the kitchens. The aroma of cakes and deserts of every kind rises into the cool night air. The only smell more perceptible than delicate delights is the perfume penetrating the entire castle. We enter a by far more spacious ballroom. Empty amphitheater seats loom overhead, tied into the walls for onlookers to watch the ball unravel. Once again I glance at these to notice black material hangs over the edge. A head moves as people fill the seats. A nobleman with a black cape and familiar blue eyes takes their seat next to men and woman of high status. I walk into the mop to hide myself, while watching him. He laughs and chats with them as if he’s known them all his life.


      Unable to watch where I’m going, I trip. The harsh, solid ground hits my knee as if I’ve met a tornado. I wince at the pain as I strain myself to stand. A firm, but careful hand grabs mine. I look up into green eyes shaded by recognizable glasses. “My dear, you are very clumsy.” He smiles at me as I pat my dress back into place. “I see we’ve met again.” My response comes weakly as the sore from my knee makes me flinch. “I don’t think you’ve told me your name.” I inquire. “You have not requested my name, so I haven’t told it. However, if you do me the honor of a dance, my secret may be leaked.”  He bowed and offered me his arm, as I timidly accept it.

     A new song disrupts the last, as new pairs take the stage. He walks me onto the floor, and diligently starts to dance. I watch my feet, not wanting to mistake my pace. “Lift your chin, my dear. You don’t seem to but much of a church-bell.” I looked up at him puzzled. “Church-bell?” As he tried to conceal a grin, his glasses couldn’t suppress the laughter in his eyes. “Your rather quiet. And most likely not from around London, are you?” I looked to the ground once more. Should I tell him or not? Will it start problems, or will I be okay? “It’s fine, I shall not expect you to answer a question you wish not to.” I looked up at him, solemnly. “I promised to introduce myself, correct?” I nodded, as the music that echoed around us faded into the next song.

      His movements were so fluid; he was a wave at the end of the day, flowing into the sunset. “Miss, I am known by most as William Anderson. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He procured my sweaty palm into his, tenderly swiping his mouth to my fingers. I let my hand be brought back into the dance as I searched for words to speak. Once the dance ended a few moments later, I curtsey and murmur, “It’s nice to meet you. I am Lydia Olsen.” At my gesture he bows, and requests once more, “Am I trustworthy enough to understand why you are in a mysterious place you don’t understand?” My answer had been decided and started to splatter from my mouth. “Y…”









     The next sound bounces along the room, it’s symphony starting. My words mix into the noise. In my vision of the seats above, snowy dots shoot arrows in my direction. Blue eyes gaze down at me, their iciness piercing me as icicles prickle my skin. I exchange a glance with William, nod and answer, “You are. I’ll explain.” My discomfort is surely recognizable. I often peek over my shoulder above as we dance. The shadow with a glare starts his voyage through the seats to reach the stairs that pillar into the wall. He descends from the tower, only adding to my panic. My hand seizes Williams, as I give him an apologetic smile. We hurry from the room, stumbling over each other’s feet. His graceful prance, now a faltering wreak.

     Once we are outside the ballroom, I turn towards him. “I trust you, so please understand, I live In the USA in 2014. Not London, not Even in the 1800’s.” His expression is masked, but I’m sure that I’ve confused him. “I went back into time, from the future.” The simple words struck a chord with him, his glasses tilted off his nose as he listens intently. “The future? How?” even I don’t know how to answer such questions. “I’m not sure. I was in the attic with a mirror, than … ****! I’m here.” Confusion once again wonders onto his face. “I went into a storage room with old things, and found a mirror, touched a gem, now I was here.”

     “I see, but why did we run away from the celebration? I was looking forward to another dance with you.” His casual smile does nothing to conceal unasked questions. I’m not sure how to answer them ei
Joseph Yzrael Aug 2011
Under the blanket of slanted waters, streaming down,
Behind the silver linings of the distant thunderclouds
The eternal sun lies suffocating, sheathed by the storm.

The rain smears the gray heavens. The world
Drowns behind the endless battery of the downpour.

Each trickle, each moment, quickly falling. Fading
Into the cesspool of dirt and debris. The pit
Of emotions and forgotten truths, washed away.

The leaves twist and turn at every droplet's touch
Crying out in soft thuds on the heavy roofs above.

Like the tin roofs and the sun and the heavens
And like the leaves and the dirt and debris
I gently whisper my pleas to the deluge:

*Rain.

Purge me.
Douse the embers
of false passion and ire.

Absolve me.
Cleanse this melancholy.
Ease these memories.

Purify me.
Rinse away the guilt.
Sink these doubts.

Restore me.
Clarify my vision.
Refine my thoughts.

Heal me.
Replenish my soul.
Bring about forgiveness.

Rain.
Revitalize my roots.
Soothe my mind.
Soak my bones.
Calm my spirit.

With your perennial blessings,
Bathe me in your sacred waters
So that peace
May finally find me.
I have been urged by earnest violins
And drunk their mellow sorrows to the slake
Of all my sorrows and my thirsting sins.
My heart has beaten for a brave drum's sake.
Huge chords have wrought me mighty: I have hurled
Thuds of gods' thunder. And with old winds pondered
Over the curse of this chaotic world,-
With low lost winds that maundered as they wandered.

I have been gay with trivial fifes that laugh;
And songs more sweet than possible things are sweet;
And gongs, and oboes. Yet I guessed not half
Life's symphony till I had made hearts beat,
And touched Love's body into trembling cries,
And blown my love's lips into laughs and sighs.
There was a time in former years—
While my roof-tree was his—
When I should have been distressed by fears
At such a night as this!

I should have murmured anxiously,
‘The prickling rain strikes cold;
His road is bare of hedge or tree,
And he is getting old.’

But now the fitful chimney-roar,
The drone of Thorncombe trees,
The Froom in flood upon the moor,
The mud of Mellstock Leaze,

The candle slanting sooty-wick’d,
The thuds upon the thatch,
The eaves drops on the window flicked,
The clanking garden-hatch,

And what they mean to wayfarers,
I scarcely heed or mind;
He has won that storm-tight roof of hers
Which Earth grants all her kind.
kris evans May 2014
...............................................  on the.................................................
            ­                            moth eaten pages,  
                                                   i pen
                                            the discovery,
                                                i dread
                                             my existence
                                             in this world.
                                in the abode of black men,
                               among the filth of mankind,
                        scattered in those dimly lighten ghettos
                            relaying an unforgivable legacy
                                                i stood
                                   as a moss covered relic
                              silhouetted against the light
                                             a moppet,
                                born in this tabooed world
                                    a scar upon my kins
                                who likely preferred a boy
                                                biped,
      ­                           standing alone in the moor
                                          beheld a future
                                        turned into debris
                                                like flies ,
                                  swarming around a glare
                                  many a cold hapless eyes ,
                                                   i met
                                        hovering over me
                                      eyeing me - a hellion
                                 and soon they drew my fate
                                                every door
                                         shut upon my face
                                                forcing me
                                        to creep in to corners
                                                  and live
                                          under the shadows
                                   to defy them proved grim
                                        only to be hugged
                                    often by heartless whips
                                 or burnt by cigarette thuds
                                          thus like a ****
                                      amid st the bean stalk
                                          they uprooted me
                                             from their lives
                                      and thawed my efforts
                                           to seek the world  
                                           after all who am i
                                                     a girl
                                                  yes a girl
                                                   a taboo....
                                               or a disgrace?
                                                 i was killed
                              murdered...in my mothers womb
                                            my blood spilled
                                            before i was born
                                            before i could see
                                         before i could breath
                                             they choked me
                                                   to death
                                                   from life
                                                    from
                                                       me ....
though female infant mortality rates have gone down in the past couple of years there a still thousands of babies who are killed before birth.......
DblNickel Jun 2017
Looking behind me
To my speckled map:
Paths I've traveled
Treasures plucked
Darkened days,
Complete Mind-****'d.

Recollect the eyes
That've met my hazels,
The hands and finger tips
Signatures on my soul,
How love felt like wings
(Or like sinking in a sinkhole).

There are thirty years
Or 11,299 days
That feel like bricks in a bag.
Some are light
Some are sad.

At the bottom of the bag
Are four bricks I cannot reach
The beginning years
As a new earthling.
The other twenty six
Contain seven light weight bricks:
Years of joy and laughter
Of friendship and love
Years of belonging
And stories thereof.

The rest of the bricks:
Nineteen
Are labeled lonely and
Dark and heavy and
Soaking wet
(if bricks can be that)
With salt water tears.
So many so many years.

So here I stand
At life's rest stop no less
To unpack these bricks
My shoulders bare indents
That breath as I undress
Because the bricks are my story
But armor I wear as well.
My heart thuds thuds thuds
Within my protected
Chest citadel.
Unleash and unload
Review and reconcile
Ask myself if ANY OF THIS
Is ******* worthwhile.

I need to stay at this stop
'N take time to ponder
Before I resume
My lonely wander.
I need to learn to love you,
Solitary life.
Then I will succumb
To be your wife.
Reece Sep 2013
Thirteen androgynous men and women, dressed in pressed black suits, like some swarm of government bees, stoically entered the dilapidated school bus with solemn disregard for the general mass of people surrounding them in the California street, and the sun was shining. An ecclesiastic figure, swathed in purple robes with wild glittering gleaming beads adorned across the body, stepped forth from the shadows of a cluster of palm trees; it wore an incredible mask, damask as a rose with intricate golden patterns around the cheek and toward the forehead of which was embellished with an etched geometric pattern that seemed to resemble a flower and faint lines that would require a keen eye to be seen and elaborated upon. The hood was up and formed a velveteen waterfall at the back of the head, as it crumpled over, though it was probably designed to look that way. As each member of the secretive yet oddly unconcealed cult traipsed onto the growling, garish yellow bus, the pensive figure gazed on and regally followed the group, taking a place at the back, holding a staff with arms crossed, and the rest sat coldly, staring ahead, unblinking and sedate. The hours passed under the drab desert sun as a singular cloud passed overhead and gradually dissipated into invisible vapours that fell gradually into the densely blue backdrop of the California sky. The old school bus chortled along the deep black road, with pristine lemon lines hugging the left-hand wheels and a driver as stoic as the passengers. There, in the desert, amongst the snakes and the saltbush, a rusted old bus, full of strangers had parked, and with little fuss the suited men and women reached below their seats and removed a piece, they exited in an orderly fashion with eyes fixed ahead and hands immovable from their guns, gripped tightly as if life itself was within those guns. Colt M1911 to be exact. Every gun, though not obvious to an outsider, was loaded with a single bullet (230 gr Federal HST) and cocked, with the manual safety on. Each of the silent group had left the bus, with their apparent leader at the back of the line, holding the staff and the driver stayed seated with the engine off and staring straight ahead into the vast expanse of the sandy hell ahead of him. Twenty metres from the stationary bus, the man and women formed a perfect circle, each were standing a little over an arms distance from the next person. The robed figure took centre stage and uncrossed its arms, the staff outstretched in the left hand. A magnificent golden rod, a thousand etched stories from base to tip, each one emblazoned with fantastical jewels, this staff could belong to a Queen, a King, a God. The followers were still silent, and still stoic, despite the glaring sunlight reflected from every wild diamond and ruby on the majestic phallus like object. The masked person made a crude attempt to engage a member of the round by walking before them in a cyclical fashion, making eye contact with each but none did move, nor bat an eye. Finally it took its place, back at the centre of the circle and made an unholy sound that sounded as if the Devil himself were dying. Garbled words and unnatural screeches thronged from the unmoving masks mouth piece before suddenly falling silent and it raised the staff higher before striking the earth with passionate fury, and this led a simultaneous movement from the centralised hive mind as they each removed the safety from the own weapons. A single shrill scream echoed across the valley and a second strike to the ground from the staff was the indicator to raise the guns to the person to the immediate right. No noise was made, but a third strike of the staff to the desolate, cracked ground caused thirteen concurrent shots to ring across the arid lands, followed by thirteen solid thuds and a ghostly silence fell across the desert once more. A perfect circle of death among the cacti and Kangaroo rat, and the silence finally broken by the starting engine of a school bus as the driver awakens from his trance and returns back to an apparently civilised world. The fine figure gently steps over a corpse and lifts its robe so as not to disturb the pooling blood before sauntering into the basin of a lonesome American desert and fading into obscurity.
A Mareship Sep 2013
Oh my God my heart is slamming

Off the walls in squishy thuds,

Oh my God my mouth is jamming

All my words are wordy muds -

Muds? Muddles!

I’m befuddled!

Watch my lips all slobberdrool!

My ******* lungs are outerspace!

THYROID STORM!

Sounds

So

*cool!
Lilly O Oct 2017
You make me smile
And my heart ache
In your presence
My hands quickly begin
To shake
My skin secretes
A lot of sweat
My heart thuds and starts hammering
Against my chest
I hear the hallowing
Of my lungs as I take my last
Breath
That you borrowed because
You deserved much less
Grasping my chest realizing my
Mistake
I still have enough air to whisper
Your name.
Before you fall in love you can go head over heels in like. I hope you enjoy my poem.
Steam rises to meet my face as I slip lower into the bath. I can hear John in the living room, hear the floor stretch under his weight.
Though I know he's aware of my presence, I shallow my breathing. Slow my movement to a crawl.
Oh God, don't let him hear me...
The click of the T.V. says he's out for the night, gone to those around him. I breathe a sigh of relief and lift my neck from the water.
The door of the bathroom opens, and carried in on the rush of air conditioning, I catch his sickly sweet smell.
He's been drinking.
His eyes are lazy, yellow and sunk in his skull. He smiles at me, for a moment I see the man I married. The illusion is gone with the realiziation that it's false. The room is cool, but not from the fresh air.
I can feel his chill, the chill of unobtained dreams.
"Hey, honey." He breathes as he stumbles to the tub. "Did you miss me?"
I look at him wide eyed. After 12 years in this mess, it still frightens me to hear his slur.
He takes my silence like poisin.
"No, of course you didn't. Ungrateful *****...."
He turns to leave the bathroom, I stand and reach for my towel.
He spins and lunges for me like an animal let out of a cage.
I feel the blows, heavy thuds. My face, and arms. He shakes me, and I hear my head crack on the tiled wall.
"Why don't you love me...?" He asks, but I'm not sure who he wants the answer from. I lie still, tasting the salt and iron.
I hear him collapse on the couch once more, hear the child I gave him stir in the other room.
Momma's coming, baby. Hold on.
I open the drain, and let the water run down with my blood.

— The End —