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"uncaressed" poems
how the **** can i be angry when you help yourself to what's left after all love is always the closest thing to death bethlehem is restless terrorist holograms of mary teary unblessed when death is living every day of your life forever breathless breathing is all that is left in your chest when the stress hits regresses to compressing aggressive obsessiveness ********** in pages to confess unspoken messages the lightening and quiet screams promise me they'll light my step through this green grass in it's morning dress uncaressed by pestilence beth/rest you're possessed by this and the ghosts flitting between the trees direct me to the places i must have seen in dreams before i lost the connection to the earth long since to the directionlessness of adolescence every vibration left a crack enough tremor to slide a pin in and erzebet would visit my skin every night with rumplestilstkin and they'd spin another needle through the muscle soft as linen, they promised it would turn to gold, so long as i stayed hidden at the loom in this prison shoulders tightening as they thread it away i look at the money in my minnie wallet and pray everything safe always seems to go away in a flash so perhaps it was just that nothing was ever safe maybe they will leave if i say that i don't believe in any of these ******* fairies anymore but maybe i am older than the world is different and they were just never fairies at all it seemed to be such a small small place back then when you could always cheat at LIFE and run away and play pretend in your imagination didn't have to listen to anyone now cops and parents hate you and everyone wants to know what college you've been in cause surviving is neither irony nor blessing today just simple catastrophe and endless dissarray
0
Aug 18, 2013
Aug 18, 2013 at 1:33 AM UTC
responce to beth/rest i don't believe in fairies anymore
how the **** can i be angry when you help yourself to what's left after all love is always the closest thing to death bethlehem is restless terrorist holograms of mary teary unblessed when death is living every day of your life forever breathless breathing is all that is left in your chest when the stress hits regresses to compressing aggressive obsessiveness ********** in pages to confess unspoken messages the lightening and quiet screams promise me they'll light my step through this green grass in it's morning dress uncaressed by pestilence beth/rest you're possessed by this and the ghosts flitting between the trees direct me to the places i must have seen in dreams before i lost the connection to the earth long since to the directionlessness of adolescence every vibration left a crack enough tremor to slide a pin in and erzebet would visit my skin every night with rumplestilstkin and they'd spin another needle through the muscle soft as linen, they promised it would turn to gold, so long as i stayed hidden at the loom in this prison shoulders tightening as they thread it away i look at the money in my minnie wallet and pray everything safe always seems to go away in a flash so perhaps it was just that nothing was ever safe maybe they will leave if i say that i don't believe in any of these ******* fairies anymore but maybe i am older than the world is different and they were just never fairies at all it seemed to be such a small small place back then when you could always cheat at LIFE and run away and play pretend in your imagination didn't have to listen to anyone now cops and parents hate you and everyone wants to know what college you've been in cause surviving is neither irony nor blessing today just simple catastrophe and endless dissarray
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45
the lens of perception gives distorted answer to the postulated mind so you crawl thru the muddy sunshine to her cool bed through the ink and sweat of her armpit flavors to her eye and steal away her thoughts and childhood twisted memories perception beats me about the head with its difficult fists its angry it always has been it skitters along on broken insect legs and speaks in a undefined whisper it ransacks my pockets of hope perception is a choice they tell me i can change it anytime i like but its stained face waits for me when i shut the light its reproach waits for me in the uncertainty of her spread legs in the halflight of morning she lay sleeping and perception crawls slowly over her leaving no part of her uncaressed by its warm hand cold eye and in that slow torture of silent revere i begin to see her differently i see the flaw in the logic chain that lead her to me from the far distant mountains where we met i see the flaw in the chain of events that lead my former lover to follow a spike out the door i see the lust chain follow the young and willing partner as she spreads the flower of her dark treasure i see these chains and wonder how they bind me to what fate to what doom i cannot perceive this demonic symphony rolls on ever onward through the years through the misery and madness through the joy and laughter through the miles and minuets the lens of perception ever distorting ever tainted by the cool soft touch of a womans hand its driving me mad
0
Aug 18, 2013
Aug 18, 2013 at 1:37 PM UTC
this perception chain (part two)
the lens of perception gives distorted answer to the postulated mind so you crawl thru the muddy sunshine to her cool bed through the ink and sweat of her armpit flavors to her eye and steal away her thoughts and childhood twisted memories perception beats me about the head with its difficult fists its angry it always has been it skitters along on broken insect legs and speaks in a undefined whisper it ransacks my pockets of hope perception is a choice they tell me i can change it anytime i like but its stained face waits for me when i shut the light its reproach waits for me in the uncertainty of her spread legs in the halflight of morning she lay sleeping and perception crawls slowly over her leaving no part of her uncaressed by its warm hand cold eye and in that slow torture of silent revere i begin to see her differently i see the flaw in the logic chain that lead her to me from the far distant mountains where we met i see the flaw in the chain of events that lead my former lover to follow a spike out the door i see the lust chain follow the young and willing partner as she spreads the flower of her dark treasure i see these chains and wonder how they bind me to what fate to what doom i cannot perceive this demonic symphony rolls on ever onward through the years through the misery and madness through the joy and laughter through the miles and minuets the lens of perception ever distorting ever tainted by the cool soft touch of a womans hand its driving me mad
Continue reading...
40
WIN -terin your 1st ****** gown WIN -ter in your unbesmearched pale **** lips WIN -terin your unfucked lovely pallor unbroken whiter lips WIN -ter in your uncaressed unbearable innocent ivory lips WIN -ter is an ugly flower WIN -ter is a homely monthly blossoming ruby petaled rose WIN -ter breaking into colorful heaps of sticky callous profusions WIN -ter in your cheeks WIN -ter is a hot blushing gush WIN -ter lovely ugly WIN -ter do you like it WIN -ter when they break your tenuous vilely neat walls WIN -ter? hot running lips WIN -ter do you like hurting sharp flowers ruby petaled ultimate painful thorned flowers ?between the untouched lips of your snowed lips WIN -ter i will plant so deep a little naked keen rose WIN -ter i will bury it in you WIN -ter and its hurting bloom WIN -ter will set you fiercely on edge WIN -ter it will set you screaming
0
Jan 16, 2012
Jan 16, 2012 at 6:33 AM UTC
winter in your
The sound of leaves Listen as they whisper To the wind of trees Blow through the forest on through sorrow Leaves that fall given back life they borrow Wonder of the silence And the subtlety of nature at rest A moment of virtue That remains uncaressed. Beauty of endless autumn breezes And cold quiet winter freezes The birth of spring when nature reignites And the setting sun of summer nights. Stars gaze the earth as we gaze them Wonders reflecting one another Eyes, silver stare sight Shining bright in the watery night Like a silent black sea unbroken Holds most beautiful words unspoken.
0
Nov 30, 2013
Nov 30, 2013 at 12:58 PM UTC
Subtlety & Silence
There is no way of knowing how many poems written go unread. Surely many deserved an early death, but what of the brilliant verse? Sad to think a single one would die, with its author, uncaressed.
0
Jan 20, 2011
Jan 20, 2011 at 5:25 PM UTC
There is no way of knowing