Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Brandon Webb Nov 2012
1
she taps he hand, twice.
across the room,
he stares, thinking
into empty air.
others, scattered
tap pencils or fingers
on desktops, booktops
and phone keyboards

the balding man
with black hair:
combed backward
and to differing angles
so that his head is split
vertically-
stands, above the room
his back turned

his words,
meant for the crowd
reverberate only
along classes fringe
but still take precedence
over nothing
even to them-
academics, outcasts


2
back of the room
reveals everything
to the observer
trying to see

blue-eyed brunette
glares vengefully
at no one,
just to glare

he looks up once
to watch
as another
pulls up
drooping jeans.
she laughs
at conversation
unmeant for,
and inaudible
to her


3
today, she smiles
and lets her lip fall
begging, like a puppy
But when they
lose eye contact,
she glares, again

he leaves footprints
on parallel desk
from lounging
then fires himself
to his feet
using stored energy,
and sugar from gum

words bounce along
the walls in the back,
and isolated eyes peer
towards the screen
but hide the fact
that they care


4
two week vacation
has left their minds
full of everything
except math,
so they listen
to him, while he speaks

but travel backward
in time, with
those closest them
while he creeps,
silent, around the room

she concentrates hard,
on her work
glaring at the page.
he sits a desk forward
feet on floor
neighboring desk full
today, but only physically

blue hat rests
on sketchbook,
its border
barely covering
closed eyes

blond head
implants itself
jokingly, into
smooth shining
white wall
with enough force
to collapse
accidental target

a hand raises
attracting gazes,
awestruck,
at her interest
in forgotten
material
of future tests


5
only a few eyes wander
from blue lined notebooks
though the left flank
still chatters, embodying
either a secretive chipmunk
or the breeze which starts the storm

storm clouds appear slowly
in sketchbook, blue hat bobbing
rhythmically in response to active pen

perched above the flock
reminiscent, split headed
papa bird scans the masks
of his shockingly silent chicks

random lecture breaks the silence.
Her eyes aren’t the only ones
Fixed into a steel laden glare
But the chipmunk wind ceases


6
his questioning glance lands
on uninhabited space,
exhibiting a yawn
which traverses through,
and twists, the faces of
those otherwise engaged

lecture ends with a question,
the scent of nuts blows through
mentally empty classroom
turning desks to predetermined
positions and swiftly inhabiting
three-quarters of the physical class

his steel glare has replaced hers
the latter’s eyes now soft as an infants

within five minutes, his voice
undergoes  a brutal, complete cycle
pleading, congratulating, yelling
and as always, lecturing


7
pre-test:

preparations for misery-
mundane chipmunk chattering,
jokes and laughs from random
oddities appearing everywhere

blue hat rests in intervals.
Blue coat rearranges
essay for another class

The girl in the sunny plaid
Rolls an orange along her hand

He points at nothing and asks
Nobody something without answer

The left flank, as always
Is turned away, conversing

A sigh rings outward loudly
Everyone glares, nervously,
Everywhere, reward of concentration


After my test:

First paper in, he scans lightly
Sets it down with a scowl
and yawns, twice, breaking the
silent shroud of heavy fog
which is hanging overhead

wandering free eyes witness
down-turned heads concentrating
as much on tests  as on moving
their hands wildly, excitedly
trying to communicate non-vocally

others have yet to detach themselves
from their seats and stride upward,
hopefully more triumphantly
than their sole predecessor

one shuffles now, slowly toward him
his hand shaking as he releases
that  paper, he turns away as it flutters
onto the desk- he replants himself in his

twelve others walk forward
smiling, shrinking, sometimes speaking
and always he glares, triumphant
knowing his success at our failure


later:

his near-sleeping form            
finds distraction, in waking
dreams, jumping back suddenly
breaking from his plank-like state
without speaking. excitement
for approaching weekend is
communicated in the left flank

two girls break the silence
running in from outside            
he glares at them, but laughs

everyone breaks into groups
after the conversation about
mysteriously nutty discarded sock

he runs to the forefront
forehead folded, finger on mouth
no-one notices, but still he glares

8
he smiles and glares at the floor
his legs swinging back and forth            
tan slacks rustling softly

exaggerated scores bubble in ears            
as they search for their destroyer

in front of forgotten faces falls
the page of a forgotten tome

several yawn, hoping, understandably
that their stretched lips
will pull themselves far enough
to barricade ears from his droning

he kills himself, twice, bumbling
into half-thought chastisements
of the  flittingly flirtatious students
intermingling hoping behind him
causing waves of whispers, laughter
and slightly strengthened chatter

he re-aligns his thoughts quickly
and rambles on again, always

9
he speaks to her softly
from across a sea of desks
she looks up, panicking calmly
distracted from distraction

in silence, blank eyes turn
surprised at the non-withering
state of her barely living corpse

he asks a question, looking up
a single answer is given
unemotional and short, buy ending
heavy hanging awkward silence

how talented the teacher
who gives his lecture while
still addressing unrelated
student self lectures

the still silence given
in his questioning lull
hangs so loudly the whispers
traversing the classroom appear
silent as finger wiggle
and pencils trace zeros

his extrication, caused by
distractingly thunderous voice
is met with a comment
causing a wave of laughter
starting at his mouth
and extending to inhabit everything

10
half the time gives
twice the attention
as they concentrate
on keeping him on
the undying topic
of the work we
have already done

they admit defeat
as dusty tome opens
spreading a nutty cloud
causing heads to turn
and words to leap.

from opens lips,
mischievous gremlins
sprout, dancing on
tables and chuckling
away from the sigh
of his down-turned, split
shining, globular mind

he scratches pink ear
with bone pale finger
reading unrelated words

in the center of the room
both mentally and physically
he sits, momentarily quiet
as dark eyes glare past
rumpled pink nose,
concentrating

blue hat rests on open palms
above dust covered open page
he slips into sleeping state
but picks himself up
and stares though thin borderline
toward shiny rambling forehead

a shutter cord flies forward
the hand at the end pulling hard
but with no affect to the shutters
neither lowering the physical
or raising the mental

the color of non-color pencils
interrupts the class momentarily
as she strides forward to compare
and then criticizes his care

he just sits, smiles and stares

11
eleven desks lie empty
of one form more than usual
amplifying the arm movements
of the ever ticking seconds

his obscured mouth flings seeds
which sprout into words
before even meeting the worn
blood-colored carpet below

in the main room, sixteen
sit silent, sketching, sleeping
or siphoning the last minute

12
those left awake, and alive
have come to understand
the numbers on the screen
this being their specialty
in a nutty shell, of course
splitting, as we are, large
crowds of numbers, and us
being teenagers, isn’t that
how we think, in numbers
and ratings of everything
and, sitting in the central
crowd are the talented
crowd-splitters
flattery-spitters

13
the silence of half absence
is pierced, as always by vocal
anomaly, centered around
rows of shining wood
bookrests, but only one
set of hollow, dark-rimmed
vacant eyeballs watches
well-welcomed interruption

he lets us work, standing.
Someone somewhere opens
A large container of nuts
Entire class starts stuffing
Handfuls into puffy cheeks
Absorbing sensations into
Eternally ravenous minds

The apocalyptic mix of noises
Is split again by central
Nutcracker, and those in corners
Glare, smiling, rubbing shadowed
Acne scarred faces
with raw-bitten nails

14
balding papa bird speaks loudly
transforming his voice, becoming
vocally legendary cartoon duck

the wave of resulting laughter
ends in un-given nut-break
spreading, without speech
the understanding that his
comedic digression will not
meet a quick extinction

we greet the weekend
by rising early
our excuse: competition
to devour the worm

15
three heads are downturned
peering into textbooks
as the tsunami breaks

the days end starts
and beady eyes peer
in the direction of his
moving head, colored
gothic gargoyle in the
dim cloudlight streaming
through dust coated
slit windows

the room transforms
becoming triumphantly,
grumpily, repeatedly
conversational

artificial silence
spreads like a wave
from right back corner
to left front corner
leaving behind
the half of the room
hidden behind the wall
of troublemakers
who will eventually
cause the wall to topple
with the sheer force
of assorted nuts

16
blue hat is scrunched
under the of a fist
pounding on his head,
result of the decibels
consumed, and produced
by the embodiment
of the thoughts around him
which fall from stuffed
cheeks. Bounce off tables
and spread a sickening aroma
as their shells split
exposing, revealing
nothing

17
red face glances upward
as harsh words split
the widening sea of snickers
his words stop, first time today
as whispers spread wildly
of his speed in delivering answers
seconds later, room is silent
as statement ends and lecturer
turns back to him, offering
as always, another wave
of deep felt, anger hardened
quietly whispered, criticisms

thunderous-rush-voice leads
out of habit and necessity
the minutes following
his behavioral digression
each word stabbing split-headed
pointy-nosed papa bird, their
form a walnut-wood spear
crafted from drifted thoughts
of those sitting nearest him

18
on his back lies a pile of nuts
professor’s earthquake
shoulder shaking causes
eyes to open, back to rise
and with a tremendous roar
both physical and meta-physical,
it topples to worn carpet
and the laugh-track plays on

19
silence- pierced into being
by shrill, violent, mountainous
rise, and fall, of thunderous decibels-
hangs, heavier, louder than
the quick gone loudness replaced
or, in all actuality, displaced
mere seconds before being scrawled
into eternal memory
of those whose noses
sniff, daily, nutty clusters
of letters, which exclude
always, the ever-present x
the destructive π
and that y, which of course
flies as high as forgetful
nut-bearers




©Brandon Webb
2012
This is a series of observations, and. collectively, is the longest thing i've ever written, at 8847 words
Dougie Simps Feb 2014
(Guitar playing)
It's the twinkle in her eyes...

Her love that she sings...

The idea of happiness, that she brings...

The picture she paints

The writing on the wall......

Girl you're so gifted and I want them all.

(Ohhh yeah)*  I want them all.
Changing it up
1-DESIRE:                                             4-UNCARE:
All of me now desires,be deep            Distracted ideals,a nature human                                                        
Wholly Inside of you,Pervade             Heavenly woven synergies broken                                      
Your mind, limbs, Heart, all pores      Power of pleasures mortal, killing magic                              
Soak in your salty sweat warm           Snapping wands,bonds dearly formed  
Mold dancing to a one united.             Sweet temptress transient, conquering care.

2-PASSION:                                                ­       5- DISILLUSION:
Bodies’ lithe now twined serpentine         We betrayed, cheated US, in neglect,
Straining desperate, for a merger             Holes in hearts bleeding precious Love,
Spiritual, souls both for unison striving    Admitting indifference cruel, ruining stealthily
Hearts two pumping as one to fuse.          Our paradise gained, won so easy, lost terribly.
Sacred is everything, this carnality too.     Chanced eternity wasted, destiny unmeant made.

3-LOVE:                                                   ­              6- REALITY:
Ensconced tight in warmth’s mutual,           Tempered in time space, 3-LOVE loyal savior sole,  
All is for sacrifice on our loves altar,              Enshrined indestructible, in being, memories relived.
Suspended thoughts, egos burnt ash            Pleasures now cynically felt, loves truly responded,
A Love Mindless meditating deep,                No dilemma human; I flow generous, as an epitaph,
In some state mystically enlightened.            Thanking destiny for this reclaim, my love,faring well.
Brandon Barnett Jan 2014
coming apart
at edges unstitched by sharpened memories of the loss
I'm bleeding out of every seam seeing what playing relationship costs
and it seems I'm destined
to bleed until I've paid again and again for what I bought and lost

I'm coming apart
trying to remember where it's gone, why I deserve
every stranger ****** hard night and unmeant word
and why it seems I'm destine
to choke on every revelation the loneliness serves

this is what I get, these scraps and echoes
this is what I get for believing there's more than people show
this is the price of every kiss and comfort I got to know
the debt is always having to lose it while the healing eases too slow

I'm coming undone
reliving in dreams that I know the closeness of a familiar touch
remembering that I'm buried alive and the soil's weight is too much
to scratch my way out of this destiny
with my own heart hating my decisions and holding a grudge

for a gleaming moment I found myself
for one shiny moment my tears and patches relearned trust
but what's cut of the same damaged cloth will always be what it must
and a moment was just enough to make me forget the scissor's final ******

I'm falling apart at threads worn fray
reliving so many years in the regrets born every new day
and always tossing well coins to wish the hurtful questions away
why me, why them, why now, why wouldn't first love stay?
Fay Slimm Dec 2010
Festtooned around
sweet-faced
Tracery of words,
never deeper
Than exquisite phrasing,
Lies counterfeit,
creeping
Retrouse' of unmeant
affection.
Playing at love
is outright
Two-faced plain
deception.
Fake tendrils never
curl round right
And the genuine heart
Knows, pain shows
when hurt starts.
Breathing unconscious the air permeating
an oxygen right into lungs finely formed fed
waters so carelessly drunk quenching thirsts,
revitalizing with hydrogens exact innards all.

blood red coursing true from vital forces aplenty
Terra firm formed so right for me to walk straight
finely tilted earth enough for my days and nights
turning over for summers and my springs bright.

Now fine bodies and limbs,a heart pulsing sound,
minds capable bestowed by a time eternity bound
given lovely comrades, mothers, sisters, lovers and
brothers, friends, angels all for me destined especial.

the universe cosmic pandering to me, kind totally,
creating never a God,a cast,creed or a religion sole
but all and everything to survive as a man whole.
why then did I fragment,divide and multiply false?

and How! the mind shut first and then did heart too
geniuses both, discriminating unholy, inventing evils
dividing colors,crazed gods,cruel prophets,races divine
religions irrational unmeant for me but claiming us all
in a class uncaring obscene,a kid now just dead hungry!
what purpose is then of us,the grand senates and fiscals,
our temples,mosques and churches shining,vaults monied.

claiming then minds,hearts,honor, integrity and the self
stating grandly, survive you shall as you are the meek!
and so shall you be starved.*****,killed,burnt! Hell I am,
meek no longer! survive I shall as a king, a queen free!

I reclaim all now,taken from me in false names dastardly
show just my finger mid,for where I was led unwilling
the whole creed sole human,the religion only just humanity.
my will is what i make of my consciousness eternal revealed,
slowly peeling off layers and burdens yolked,reemerging now.
to freedoms anew today, and soon to that day of Armageddon.

*I just wanted to count and write a small poem on the numerous natural blessings of Universe and time,but then realized all these are taken for granted and turned to horrible human made curses...now this is neither a prosy poem nor poetic prose. a state of mind?..so here I am..with what ever it is..
You must have loved me
As good as you were
Capable
And the heartbreak
Ensued
Was ******* you, too
Icarus Fragmenti Aug 2013
Two conflicting thoughts, but three inflicted hearts, and one convicted by the time of the clock. His heart stained by the sharp pain of a reclaimed memory. His heart he gave to her and said it was her’s to bleed. She gave it back to him and said it wasn’t hers to see. He gave his heart away again, to a girl who needed a friend. Then the friend accepted it and, gave up hers to him.

Time flew by in blurs, their sweet words slurred and reverbed in his mind, which was refurbished. He referred to his past as garbage, recycling out the skirmish thoughts. Her allure had him squirmish and nervous, out of his box. The mask he used to speak of, the one that claimed to defeat love, had reached it’s peak of deceit of, his mind. All this time he had told himself to hide, but the feeling of her skin had made him feel so alive. That she broke down all the barriers that he had stacked up high, by means of drugs and alcohol, death and suicide.

He stays committed mainly because to her he is addicted, permitted to admit it, he’s pitted against his visions. Omitted, acquitted forgiveness. Promises transmitted into words, but verbs are quickly emitted. But the war that’s waging in his head is something truly wicked. The **** he puts up with constantly has pushed him to his limit. He will never give in, to the sin that had him spinned out, from the end to begin.

She was everything he needed to get him through the day. She became his routine, a content place he chose to stay. But the very thing he wanted had seemed to come back into play, but they settled on these subtle terms, rules unmeant to break. She respected what he had, though she still seemed so sad, and he was mad at himself for not appreciating what he had. The bad thing is the the what if factor. What if she said yes, would it even had mattered? Could he really make her happy? Would he only make her madder. He can never talk about it, and risk a kick to the bladder. Talking at her getting madder. “Really wasn’t supposed to add her, couldn’t out her anymore, love her more then mass does matter. We chitter and we chatter, then I hit her with the truth, she accepts it but I’m guessing that there’s no hole in this loop.”
Masindi KEJ Aug 2020
It wasn't my intention,
I was just trying to show you my appreciation,
Expressing emotions without realization—
That my words could bring you some kind of depression.

Maybe you need some relaxation,
To take time and process that first impression.
I didn’t mean it as some kind of complication;
I only hoped for your notification,

And maybe your selection—
To let me be your sensation,
Because you are my fascination,
The truest form of perfection.

Luckily, it’s all within my imagination,
Not some fleeting illusion or delusion.
Ever found yourself giving a compliment,
Only to find it lands as an insult, in the end?
have you ever found yourself giving someone some sort of a compliment and only to find out that it tend to be an insult the person???
Crimsyy Aug 2016
A car, a person, a dirt street, the beach.
A loading journey,
Simple, unmeant goodbye.
Not sad to go away,
Relieved to not stay.
Need more space,
Need more space,
Some time away from reality,
Utopia, I'm a fool for you,
and I'm no match for
this mangled world.
LACS May 2011
She had meant for it to come out as a fact, immovable and unwavering.
But when she looked into his eyes and said
"We will see each other in three months," it sounded as unmeant questions do; lacking and without command of reality.
Had she looked into his eyes, truly?  Holding him there so that there was no way to deny her? And the truth that his absence hurt her? Had he said anything in return? Anything to placate?
She can't remember. Recalling their awkward moments was like trying to find something nice to say when someone complimented you and feeling obligated to reciprocate. Attempting to find anything genuine to give back for their kindness. It was difficult, unnerving and slightly comforting all at once. To find that she was comforted by her lack of remembrance was nigh infuriating. All thoughts that lead to him warmed and soothed her, even those that made her miserable. Because they were the pieces that she had of him, and so- they were precious.
Some awkward bits, but I'm mostly satisfied.
Ysa Pa Jun 2016
Which is more painful?
The lie told or the truth hidden?
The reality unknown of
Or the reality believed in?

To say you've forgotten
But secretly reminisce what has past
Or when there is no presence of love
But still trying to make us last

To bid a forced farewell
When desperately wanting to stay
Or to remain together
Where everything's black, white and gray

The hurtful unmeant words
That carelessly slips
Or what needed to be heard
That's kept behind those lips

Let me ask you again
When asked about you and I
Which is more painful?
The unheard truth or the stated lie?

Which is more painful to be heard
And more painful to be spoken?
Forced to say you don't when you still do
Or forced to say you do when you no longer can?

What answer shall I say?
What answer shall I hear?
If asked about our love,
Which pain should I fear?
epictails May 2015
Warm summer twilights
bathing the rusty french windows
in gentle amber dye
from somewhere not so distant
a *** brews the stew
suffusing bittersweet familiarity
in every corner
mother just came back
tired yet refreshed
from outsmarting luck all day long
in the bed I lay like a log
disgruntled from several unturned slumbers,
though thoroughly pleased
everybody else was a mess outside
a commotion of playful shouting
unmeant scolding, light laughters
the affairs of the day drowned
by the sweet chorus of the mayas
evening news blares from the television,
stoic narration of the day's misfortunes
and the usual grub
neighbors fill in their houses
with their retiring presence
together, we all await
the vessel of darkness docking
in our own roofs,
blessing us with the grace of the stars,
the breeze of the unknown
under the eyes of the moon
for another day has concluded
quite wonderfully
missing home
Tammy Boehm Feb 2016
Spinning liquid threads
Furtive verses through my head
This is what the night brings
Silken whispered vision
Damnable decisions
This is what the night brings

She sneaks in through my window
Sunless spirit fills my room
Cryptic images disturbing
Gossamer grave clothes for my tomb
Silent songs unmeant for singing
This is what the night brings

Skitters in on feline feet
Prowling my intimate thought
Scares to life the dangerous things
That hell and my bad seed hath wrought
Death follows me on flitting wings
This is what the night brings

And you wonder why
Can't close my eyes
Against this lesser light that stings
I'm mortified
By the hell inside
The shadow that the night brings

TL Boehm
2007
an oldy
Arlene Corwin Aug 2017
A/The/My Way (redone)

I never knew I had a ‘way’.
And still it shows up day by day
Laws but felt, themes unmeant;
Through sudden fountains of content;
Through many offshoots but one road,
No signposts to direct or goad.
Still it is:
A kiss of fate though non-insistent,
Usually
An accident and serendipitous.

And because, and just because it is a whisper
I’ve no choice
But to
Tune into
And obey,
Swaying to its hinted push,
The glint of pressure
Nothing but a pure, faint sureness
And a pleasure.    
            
Minutes past I ate three plastic plates of pasta.
Forgive this frilly, dilly of a joke.
I can be such a silly yokel
With punch/pun-ny lines that hit my funny bone(s).

Now I sit with pen in hand
On my verandah, in the wind,
Thankful for not understanding
Karma’s muted law un-grand,
Inscrutable but suitable
To me alone - one on her own
Within the actions and concerns.

A/The/My Way 8.6.2017
Pure Nakedness; Revelations Big & Small; A Sense Of The Ridiculous II;
Arlene Corwin
wise silliness
Maria Imran Aug 2015
i don't miss you anymore
i don't cry at nights
i sleep well
nothing haunts me--
not your unsaid goodbye,
not your unmeant love-talks,
not what i did, not what you didn't,
nothing.
i don't go back to read your texts
nor do i look at your photo a hundred times
i do not, simply do not care anymore where you are,
what you do, and if you slept peacefully at night.
it doesn't matter now to me. what i went through is history.
I *might* only be a little good on lying though.
Roxx3000 Sep 27
It started in the summer
The day things changed
The unlocking of a heart
To a thing that was unmeant
The rush of tears and ache
Along all the sleepless nights
Wondering what went wrong
Leroy J Harris Mar 2014
I seized her arm,
Held that crippled trembling hand,
Freed Janet from silence by,
Opening her trust forcibly and resolutely,
I had to set her free even if I had to,
Break each finger one by one.
Until she dropped it and reverted back,
Into that unflowered girl propped up against,
An unwell.
I didn't stop even as vile unmeant words,
Lashed my heart raw and bleeding,
Twice round the globe.
Erwinism Sep 14
Low density,

not mostly empty

but empty nonetheless.

No definite edge

—strange for a world obsessed

with curves and edges.

We are but clustered atoms,

modest specks of particles;

we are free-thinking atoms,

and well-aware that we are.

My world began, and like everybody else,

I was in one piece;

a piece made up of clustered atoms

—free-thinking.

My craving sight,

longing to be fed;

longing to digest

an uncharted world in my mind,

not mostly empty.

The swaying room

On the wall, sunflowers are drawn

flailing under the withering sun,

waltzing with the strolling breeze,

beautiful, I thought

perfect, I thought.

It was a time when I cannot see atoms for what they are;

not mostly empty;

not mosiaced,

but in one piece.

That day we weren’t just atoms;

we were sent off to the swaying room;

we were wailing seals when our folks left

us at the care of our teachers.

A kid who sat across the table pointed his finger at my face and opened his mouth and out came the three words, ‘You are ugly.’

‘No, I’m not.’

Yes you are and so is everyone in your family.

I smiled and the more he teased me.

Ugly! Ugly! Ugly!

Lost my innocence when I was five;

no longer a ****** from the cruelty of
this world of clustered atoms.
Exit the womb at your peril,
lest, endowed with consciousness;
should have been told;
should have erred on the side of innocence
tucked under a placenta.

So began a world like everybody else;

low density,
not mostly empty
but empty nonetheless.
A world obsessed with curves and edges;
with shapes and sizes;
with colors and advantages.

Dragons are real; this much I know.
My mom used to tell me to ignore them.

As if on cue,
as soon as the school bells rang
their tongues loll out of their mouths to utter the word ‘ugly.’
The bells a stimuli
for their rabid mind.
Even at night they were cicadas in my mind’s
lawn,
chirping cutting words,
a cause of insomnia.
We were walls,
vandalized by juvenile,
nay primitive free-thinking.
Our pain covered in graffiti.

For so long we were made to believe,
the defects,
the blemishes,
the scars,
made us ugly,
all along it was their eyes.
Words have stimulated casualties
those whose souls leaped out to limbo;
souls who bought the idea that suicide
will make the torment cease;
maybe it did; maybe not,
what of the bereaved?
Words can be the longest noose.
For fear of seeing something unmeant
we set visitation hours
when we come to check ourselves in the mirror.

We wander;
we wonder,
as we navigate our way out of this labyrinth;
out of this house of distorted reflections,
we have the mistaken impression
that our images are warped,
in truth we are warped by the impressions
of us.

Sometimes we have to squint,
to view ourselves from a vantage
point where we can be beautiful;
where we don’t feel awful;
where we don’t have to take pills;
where we don’t have to dawdle eating waffles in the morning to avoid the hurt;
to avoid the prescription bottles.
People often find ways to medicate the hurt,
but not the hurtful.

Low density,
not mostly empty
but empty nonetheless.
No definite edge
how can these atoms relate words of hate?

A face cannot wear beauty,
only those who make this world a beautiful place for everyone deserves to be called beautiful.
Perhaps atoms feel better
seeing other atoms collapse.
krm Jul 2017
Sickly creature found
clawing up the rocks
with hell below,
there isn't a sound.

She is a girl,
but resembles a ghoul.

How sad it is
that she couldn't smile,
she never found living worthwhile.

You-
as a human being,
have morality to make her feel loved
even if you never meant it.
You- as a human being,
benevolently take advantage of vulnerability
and see it as doing a favor.

You're the patron saint,
savior for suicidal girls everywhere.

Her frame looked beautiful stretched out,
skin was the perfect canvas
to plant unmeant kisses,
matching the color of her underwear
you'd never see.

The bones fashioned into a bed
you lay in,
again, it isn't a sin
when she's barely breathing.

Seething with melancholy,
tasting the despair on pouted lips.
You had *** with her misery,
and ****** when she had unmoving hips;
Saw the lines up and down her thighs
so he cuts the ****-
and became a decent person by “loving”
a girl who didn't believe she could be.




Just the distance between a ceiling fan
and chair held her back,
from being free.

She’ll make up another one like you,
or assume the worst of everyone for the rest of
the days she decides to see.
Rests in her own bed
re-living the grip of your hands
reaching for her pants

She’ll bare a toothy grin in your direction,
make a joke about suicide or hoping to be dead
and you'll never know what to say-
just that you can find blame in everything,
but what's inside her head

But even with you there-
she's always alone.


No need to be held and caressed
as if it will subdue the demons that rest inside,
or that she'll wake up the next day no longer depressed.

Put that sad music to rest,
dressing her sorrow in lace,
paints her face,
and collapses farthest from grace.
Arlene Corwin Aug 2017
A/The/My Way

I never knew I had a ‘way’.
And still it shows up da by day
Laws but felt, themes unmeant;
Through sudden fountains of content;
Through many offshoots but one road,
No signposts to direct or goad.
Still it is:
A kiss of fate though non-insistent,
Usually
An accident and serendipitous.

And because, and just because it is a whisper
I’ve no choice
But to
Tune into
And obey,
Swaying to its hinted push,
The glint of pressure
Nothing but a pure, faint sureness
And a pleasure.

                      ----------

Minutes past I ate three plastic plates of pasta.
(a pun-ny lie, but funny)
Now I sit with pen in hand
On my verandah, in the wind,
Thankful for not understanding
Karma’s muted law un-grand,
Inscrutable but suitable
To me alone,
One on her own
Within the schemes and actions of concern.

A/The/My Way 8.6.2017
Pure Nakedness; Revelations Big & Small;
Arlene Corwin
A way for us all.
Cat Nov 2017
All these moods
So many feelings
Shades of sorrow
See humans
so vile
Speaking phrases unmeant
While laughing all the while
Tears of regret
Trickling soft cheeks
Anger screams aloud
Frustration has peaked
Annoyed at foolish mouths
Drown in make belief
Lucas Schwerdt Apr 2017
no god praised by sin
nor honored by ink
Humans of their writing’s fin
spitting stains to sink

white charred leaves
fired script they blows
unmeant tragdy glarin'
kindled in its own rose

red heart breaks
out of adust batch

whispers pieces fakes
deafeningly mild
into profit’s choler’s match

douses the burn of bleed
unite faith of Kind
close turn one Breed

hate they freeze
equal near ’n‘ far

we
Katie May 2022
Tears are falling
pit pat
pit pat
A single thought, uttered
From a dark place, unwanted
pit pat
pit pat
Violent, harsh, and completely unmeant
A brutal call from the void
pit pat
pit pat
I hope you can forgive me
I understand if you can't
125
Daisy Apr 2022
Most mornings, I meet her in the mirror. I carefully brush through her hair, wetting her down, just to see her clearer. We whisper about what is ahead of her; silently lament about what is behind. Gentle with my hands but less with my mind. I know I owe her.

Know I own her. Know that even at my best, there is so much sorrow between us. So many unmeant apologies, unmet necessities, unmatched niceties. So many men I allowed to touch her, to toughen her, to tangle up her tenacity until it was treacherous. I feel I have betrayed her in the most vulnerable of ways. I feel I have run out of happy lies to say.

Most mournings, I meet her in the mirror. I tie up her hair, knotting it without care, just to see her clearer. We scream about what is ahead of her; daydream about what is behind. Brutal with my hands and more with my thighs. I know I owe her.
lil bit of prose to start off April
Kamski Feb 2020
i am adrift--
piece by piece my mind is shattered
into flickering incongruity,
too fast before i could even be
snatched away from disillusionment,
from the fog that chills one's body
into unsolicited vexation,
yet its delicate strands i'm afraid to let go--
one tiny, unmeant flick of joint,
it breaks and is engulfed into nonexistence
by this unsentimental vacuum of an air.

— The End —