"wallpapers" poems
threading the thin line of uncertainty,
you had told my closest guy friend **** i think i'm falling for her*.
and later you would pinpoint that one moment, that one moment we realize we adore a person,
as the slightest second you were staring at your lock screen, which was my photo.
it had been a collage of me doing wacky poses in eighth grade,
a photograph i had posted on twitter as some sort of throwback thursday.
unbeknownst to me, you had saved it to your phone,
setting it as your lock screen and showing it to me the next day mainly to spite me.
over the next few weeks, you would save the photos i'd post or send you,
and set it as your wallpapers,
and come up with some witty one-liner to annoy me with.
and you'd tell me months on about that time you went to unlock your phone, stopping to smile at my old photo in all its chubby cheeks and corny poses glory,
only to realize,
****
i have never been more thankful for throwback thursdays.
May 17, 2016
May 17, 2016 at 11:52 PM UTC
words are limbic
chemical nonsense
a whole mess
wallpapers my cranium
in semantic membrane
but
my floating mass
still greys with age
I am but a brain,
swiss-cheesed
and ink-addicted.
Jan 30, 2013
Jan 30, 2013 at 10:43 AM UTC
Take my tattered wings and learn how to fly
Reach the cosmos, past the sky
Go to the moon
Take a dip in sparkled specks of space
No place like this
In the mist I'll sit and wait
In four walled rooms with no ceilings attached
Like endless hallways with wallpapers that don't match
Relax and float down stream on Neptune's rings
Sipping moon beams
Snorting moon dust
Huffing moon musk
Feeling reborn
But stuck in the middle, the cusp
Nov 29, 2011
Nov 29, 2011 at 10:21 PM UTC
And there are nights when
the weight of missing you
sits on my chest,
so I come out and
look at the dull, blue skylines
and I believe —
I believe that
in a world similar to ours,
we’ll always have the star-mapped skies
and the backseat cuddles
and wallpapers graffitied with our names.
We’ll always have shopping at 4 am
and those strawberry flavored kisses
and each other’s erratic heartbeats
syncing amid horror movies.
And in that world, we’ll always have
summer plans
and library dates
and chess games and black coffees
in the middle of a thunderstorm.
And in that world,
we’ll always have
the paper plane letters
and the eye contacts
and the ‘goodnight, i love you’s
and each other, darling,
and everything else
we lost in this one.
Jun 22, 2019
Jun 22, 2019 at 8:56 AM UTC
The smell of ink and abandonment lingered in the air as I stepped inside the room we had scarred. Dust has found a home at last - a place where all your faults were accepted and my hope was never questioned. This is where we hold our entire world. This is where each second lasts everlastingly. This is where forever lives.
Tissues slept on the floor like confetti for my return mixed with crippled promises you have dropped and forgotten.The bedsheet lay awake, exhausted, weary, heaving the sigh you exhaled in a lock room - the smell of your desire, of my frustration, of our longing, of my name. I wonder if they had kept your heartbeat. I wonder if I could have it back.
I wonder if I could have you back.
The silence had preserved every single thing you have uttered - every word a bar, each sentence another lock. Your voice hanged themselves on the cobwebs, the cobwebs had consumed the space and you had filled me with wishes, longing and regrets. I have never expected you to say hello again. I certainly never shall. You never did. You never will.
We slept in our mask and redressed in denial.
Forever is still etched on the atmosphere. I can feel you touching the small of my back, paving your way through my spine, reaching your way to where the burnt maps, love letters, crumpled clothes and drawn out nights were. I can feel you possessing my nape. I can hear you whispering my name. I can see you piercing the night. Why do always you have to be so wonderful?
The scars you have etched on my skin breathe like stars on the pillows you have wounded. They glowed longingly for that smell of yours they’re acquianted with. They stood beyond eternity. The inteminable look in your eyes before you sleep had tampered the wallpapers - the audience of those nights we own, when everything was forgotten, including the world. The story of what if and what could have been filled the space between us - never allowing my arms to cling around your neck, never wanting you to kiss my ear, shielding you to find us on the swell between my *******
The clock had stopped working.
At least it won’t steal my time.
Maybe I can sleep tonight.
Maybe we can be infinite.
Apr 16, 2013
Apr 16, 2013 at 4:41 PM UTC
*i've digested crimson tiles off your bathroom floor just to get a reaction;
an influence for the perception of acceptance.
does it at least hinder or unsettle you, the red that runs down my face?
lower than low; close to invoke
even when the color’s close to my chest,
it ceased to disturb.
i've only existed behind someones else's eyes for so long
i need to shut my own lids next to you till I’m out of a blur.
your sphere of smeared wallpapers close in on you,
i claim what you walked out of —
a circle that rounds your comfort.
you’re boiling in a shade that reflects what I’ve stained myself with.
the room is in fragments; a gore and scene of demolishment
reminds you of a cancer burnt unseen.
hands of guilt washed with mournful streams of survival
you find drops of me left in the sink
i’m a mere nosebleed,
you recollect me off your floor thrown
into the blackness of the back of your head,
that you rest and rest, as you lie down,
until you’ve forgotten all about me*
Mar 26, 2016
Mar 26, 2016 at 11:35 PM UTC
Dear popularity
You think you are so clever
Like the monsters under our bed
Hiding when parents come
Denied by most adults
But the kids know the truth
We feel the pain
Because with you around
The smaller people
Are wallpapers
And the it kids
Are neon logos
Vandalized on our walls
Slowly seeping their
Poison into us
Leaving no room for
Our thoughts
Making us zombies
In our own world
What will become of them
When our walls break down
When they can't feed off us
When we give up
And the bricks crumble
What if one of us
Took off the mask
Tore off our label
Which was planted on our forehead
Without our consent
What if we defied them
And let our light shine
What would we lose
If they took everything
And we realized
Naked
there is nothing
To cover our light
But if we outshine them
Will the world become
Topsy turvy
Will the ****** follow us
Will the world revolve about
The shiniest star
Making them another
Generic mean girl
And ****
There is
No justice in power
No divine being to lead all
And not give in to the darkness
Because the one person
Who could figure out
Who would be smart enough
To take a step back
And see the wall
See our generation
Break out from
Tradition
Would be stupid
To not remember
The pain caused
By the ignorant
Populars
At least
Most are brain dead
And their thoughts only
Stretch as far as their
Appearance
Of what people
Think
But the smart ones
Befriend all
And cleverly
Use them as stepping
Stones to the top
No mercy
If we tore
Off the rotting wallpaper
We would see
All
The dark insides
Of the it kids
The hunger for
revenge in the
Outsiders
And those
Who copy
Who don't feel
Don't think
Would jump off the
Bridge happily
If everyone did
Not interested
In saving their own ***
But then there's the quiet ones
The ones who take
All the **** you throw at
Them
At me
And shape it
Into something beautiful
And when you glimpse
Our power
You befriend us
To take it
But I give it to you
Because in your hands it's ****
But in mine
I can make it gold
I can be the sun
But will I use
My power
For good?
For evil?
Whose side are you on.
Mine
Because I have enough
Self respect
To want to live
Without further
Damage
And if that means
Not being part of your group
Well so
Be it
I will live
Without you
Pulling me down
Jun 18, 2014
Jun 18, 2014 at 10:59 PM UTC
White bed sheet
Strangely picked wallpapers
White eyes, white eyes
Die
Army and explosives
Molotov never did taste this sweet
Yellow lights, beware of God
Pray for us sinners? No ---
Let Mary Jane sing
the sonnet alone
Let Marionette
see your death
Believe her, believe her
No Jesus would be
Stop praying the Rosary, stop it
Don't you want to puke when you hear
Hail Mary? Führer! Führ---
You live like Cleopatra
whose tongue was a cobra
whose eyes were the black swans
on the lake where you first
drown
yourself. Are you Narcissus?
I am an echo
An echo not Echo
The smell of rain won't ever
Won't ever
Won't ever
Won't ever
Peeled toad's skin
Like an apple's
The Cs are not enough; Never ---
Crescent moon
Cat's sad eye, another blind
I miss you
Jul 22, 2014
Jul 22, 2014 at 4:48 AM UTC
ఒక Purpose కోసం తిరుగుతున్నోడిని
తేనెలాంటి కళ్ళు చూసి
వేణువంటి ఒళ్ళు చూసి
మల్లి మల్లి తొంగి తొంగి చూసాను
అర్రే చిన్న చిన్న Propose కోసం
Hutch కుక్కలా వెంట తిరుగుతున్నాను
చిన్న చిన్న కళ్ళని
నన్ను చూసి చూడగానే
పెద్ద పెద్దవి అయ్యిన్నాయి
అవి చిరుతలాగా చూస్తుంటే
చెంపపైన చేయి తాకుతుందేమోనని
చిరు చెమటలన్నీ కారుతున్నాయి
మాట పైకి పోకలేకుండా
మూతి చుట్టూ ఏదో అవుతుంది
వణుకులో ఉన్నానో
తెల్లని మంచులో ఉన్నానో
ఉలుకులు పలుకులు లేకుండా ఉండిపోయాను
అమ్మాయిల expression ఏమిటన్నది
కళ్ళు చూసి తెలుసు కోలేనిది
వింత వింతగా అంతలోనే మారిపోతుంటది
Speed మీద ఉన్నోడిని
Speed breakerలా నన్ను చేరి
Ultra Slow motion లా మార్చేసింది
కోపంగా చూసావంటే బొమ్మా
Bombai కైనా బయపడి పరిపోనా
Railway Station లో announcment లా
ముద్దుగా ముద్దుగా నా పేరు పలకరించేయవా
నా confirm berth వదిలి నీతో నడిచి వచ్చేయనా
ఈ జన్మకి నా జంటగా Trial వేయవా
నచ్చితే నా వెంట ఏడూ జన్మలు ఉండిపోవా
Celebrations కోసం waiting Dear
నువ్వు అవ్వునట్టే open చేయిస్తా మన పెళ్లి పుస్తకం
ప్రతి Page అంతా మన wallpapers నింపేస్తానే
మంచి తరుణం ఇది మించితే దొరకని భాగ్యం
నువ్వు సరే అనేంత వరకు Saint లా Meditation లో ఉంటానే
Jan 28, 2013
Jan 28, 2013 at 5:19 PM UTC
My life is divided into different rooms
as is my heart.
For as long as I remember,
from the time I used to care for decorations
to the time I am too lazy to clean up.
From the moments of sweet solitude by the window
to the clinking glasses and winking eyes.
The room belonged more to them
than to me.
And I often found it unsettling,
as if on a night
when I would be hiding under covers
not knowing what to fear,
someone would knock at the door
and with that knock, would come a pair of shoes
and a set of clothes, holding a person
whose face, motive or aim
would soon be inconsequential.
And slowly she would drag me
out of each room,
snatching away each memory that she touched,
knocking down my bookcases filled with my escape,
tearing away the wallpapers
behind which I hid my unvoiced cries.
The doors would be shut on my face,
leaving me out in a storm on a moonless night,
leaving me alone to face all that I didn’t know of
taking away all that I know.
Mar 20, 2018
Mar 20, 2018 at 2:32 AM UTC
I was always vaguely aware
Colour the sky and the wrinkles of time
Mother paints the wallpapers
Sweeps the leaves of yesterday
Sighing in the magnitude of endeavours
Everything seems so distant, forgotten
Nobody remembers it anymore
Chiselled and chapped like my lover's lips
Crawling in the dawns of their reveries
You have something that they need
It takes the gut, silence and dissipation
Grief or sanctuary in the aisles of light
Pay me a kiss or sparkle the sunshine
Exhaling nature in the voids of abyss
Joy of the times, in cream of sin we settle
Growth of the words and the dimming passion
The pacing of the trees have gotten louder and wider
Ash to azure and brazen in the forge
Within and without I miss you whenever
Encryptions and deception in the miles of my life.
Jul 8, 2010
Jul 8, 2010 at 3:41 AM UTC
I'm sick of feeling stuck
To holding on
And to isolating myself
And to feeling numb, not because of all the pains
But just because it's sitting there.
I want to move on, start over
Breathe a new cloud
But I don't have the energy,
But I lay in bed all day on my laptop
Under the covers, skyping the girl who gives me all her love unconditionally.
I don't want to feel so stuck
And I feel stuck.
Feb 22, 2014
Feb 22, 2014 at 12:58 AM UTC
*frozen paper dolls,
draped in filthy wallpapers,
Eyes ricocheted.*
Apr 30, 2016
Apr 30, 2016 at 3:25 PM UTC
Home
Is where the heart is
Where warm arms embrace me
When glorious food filled the table
With beautiful wallpapers giving it life
Home is not only shelter
But it has all the love everyone needs
Comfy beds and childhood toys
Holding all the memories filled with wonders
Stepping out of my home
My eyes glow to the sight of
Sunkist skies on a Monday evening
Puffy clouds roam along with pigeons and larks
Clean pavement with nothing but dry leaves dancing
Old and new cars and an outgrown mango tree
I enjoyed every scent around my home.
When the day falls into darkness,
Shimmering stars shine upon me.
As if, I was the only one admiring their beauty
Walking beneath them is an honor
With every light steps,
The stars and moon watch over me,
Never leaving my side...like family
Now that I am no longer home,
Happiness has disappeared
Creases on my forehead increase
Being a vulnerable person out in the world
I became an easy prey, target
To be the one to absorb all the negativity
Possessed by city-born humans
Love is not around anymore,
Stars and moon shy away from the skies
Hidden behind the grey crowd
Filling humans' lungs
And causing disease
Adding on sadness and despair
I miss home.
Where love originally came from.
May 29, 2017
May 29, 2017 at 7:50 AM UTC
Let me fall through these walls
Into my own existence.
Don’t pull me back,
I want to crash into my soul!
Aug 14, 2022
Aug 14, 2022 at 2:03 PM UTC
Are thieves ants ?
And are ants up on my pillow ?
Can't count all the trees
that villain up the wallpapers
Immurked
In silent non-light
A Percher weighs himself upon my chest
Fidgeting and hurting the spurring of my breath
I can't speak to he
Nor he to me
I've not made any friends here
I'm always the quiet one.
The tools of the drapes make-eye new fashion
I yawn in-breath the scenery
Til I'm replumbed a fear familiar
I've not taken note
And they'll be a cell toss in the sorrow light
And stern disused adults
With their 'on clockwork troubles'
I turn in this muffle scape
I'm feverless and struggling
In the ample warm bright shade
Capsized in an umbrella
Of an altered canopy nest
Lovingly bed laid
And to the falling
And fawn the ceiling
Well in for teething
Water floats the basin
Town in for weening
The coast of new morning
I gorm to life
Jump started and fit fused
Mar 23, 2019
Mar 23, 2019 at 8:16 PM UTC
O Death [Lorissa B]
Photos and wallpapers. All users.
APAP's Recent Videos. Download her damages.
[...]; 1. Issues: To Build Special Skills
Reading in Asia. With "eye" with the Lord.
Contact products. He died in a cage. Counselor
The Seed of the Creator's Wisdom? 1000; Tools:
Only a few wars, for the judge's
Image failed to load. Sort [...]. Growth
To confess, It was a happy marriage;
"Porthos, Lottery B" Ishmael and captive.
in the past | | Ages, many parts of the human body;
It's as if she is the one who is very happy
to be Reasonable
Go to ullamcorpe. View other apps. [...]
Degree of degree 1 "Presidential membership
The five cities. Fast gate ''; [...] What 1 ◯
It is a status code. "No, no, it's not
- - - You say, no, no! That is not the case
Lift it up; 1: 1 And it shall be, first and last, Lori || is
Really bi.pi. ... ... *** / Death to Hell and Hell?
Research ... Read more ... ... and for lunch:
One b. [O yes [for Formal Learning]
Oct 17, 2018
Oct 17, 2018 at 4:27 PM UTC
How empty this feels?!
Stained,wallpapers, peeling,
Falling with sounds of fading memories
To let go of the good, but exceptional,
A past,
One step into her shadow
An old flame to be rekindled,
Denying fortunes of the future
The new yellow on a ****** candle
Scented, the breath of a rebirth,
A reincarnation, in spirit, for the heart,
To love, and to be healed
An essence to be cherished
But lost in the smoke,
When the wind blows,
To steal the flame
Jan 10, 2017
Jan 10, 2017 at 1:54 PM UTC
this is
we're falling in love
taking our time.
this is
we're caught making love
we're out of line.
this is, the happily-ever-after that was meant to be.
this is, your dream of growing old
but not with me.
this is the hot regret in your stomach
this is the cold prison you've never wanted
this is a daydream gone grey
this is the cycle of pain you just can't escape
this palace built on pleasant patience-
aged well with genuine grace-
underneath these wallpapers
a smell of rot-
an infiltrating sour scent of danger-
this is the crushed rock wall in my soul
this is myself never to know why-
since ignorance makes the best slaves-
I will resist to change
goodbye.
Dec 6, 2019
Dec 6, 2019 at 2:57 PM UTC
It's always a house.
In shelved books, in five-drinks-in five a.m talks, in cheap rhymes and lavish ones—commonplace for anywhere you can find words on, a standard metaphor to stumble upon. Infrastructure lets itself be borrowed for anatomy and soul: a soot-tainted chimney standing for smoker’s lungs, the fire burning warm at its feet for scorching anger, the crayon scribbles on nursery wallpapers like the prints of anyone an angry smoker has ever loved, shutters as eyelids and walls for bones and tablecloths for clothes and pillars as brawn.
An easy metaphor, a house as a body. A lazy one. Sluggish, yawning Metaphor, craving a nap, a break from being used up. Boring enough to make me look up from my page and at everyone else sitting around the table, writing about vessels vined in breezeblocks and headache diagnoses from front door knocking. Dreary enough to make me want to leave the room.
So I do. The door closes shut like a wind’s mistake, clicks, and it stands between me and the other side of the bone-white wall, an oaken bodyguard of drowsy writers working on.
Go on. Look around the room.
Chair. Tables. Walls. Oh, a roof leak.
No. Really look, I mean.
Lining paper yellowing in the places where hands and chair tops brushed past for years. Shiny furniture with dust collecting in the crannies out of sight. A bowl of food (dog one, full to the brim—human one, empty with a filthy rim). Rusty hinges and inherited silverware.
Marked up, unkempt on weekdays, prettied up for visitors, its value found in numbers, its keys given out for access, put up for rent or sold to the best offer, filthy, hungry, painted, remodeled, lived in, abandoned—and they won’t let me back in now, but I’m scratching on the body-guard's wooden trunk to write down about body-like house limbs.
Nov 28, 2022
Nov 28, 2022 at 11:19 AM UTC
The stench from liquid, almost transparent
wallpaper glue
stunk up the room for a long time.
It took half a day to stick merely few
of those soggy and vile rolls.
Though the desire to change the overall
palette of the room to a favorite blue
existed anyway.
However by night, the area around
the window had dried up and peeled off the wall,
holding only around the ceiling
and the floor. The draft from the window was probably
to blame, the old frame even closed
still let the wind through the cracks. The worst
pieces had to be throw away and new
ones were cutted out. Those wallpapers, which were
still more or less holding on, were
put back on a simple office glue. While leaving the
room for re-drying, the most dangerous
sections of the window frame were covered with rags,
the door - with foam rubber and
old clothes.
It took 8 rolls in total.
In the 4 by 2.5 m bedroom, at a height
of about three meters,
one roll covered almost a full
two meters of the perimeter. Therefore,
excluding the window,
but taking into account the gaps to adjust the pattern,
seven rolls were used for the walls. The eighth
remained spare but never came in handy.
Eight rolls cost (roughly)
230 UAH. Also glue for 83 UAH.
Jan 13, 2020
Jan 13, 2020 at 4:06 PM UTC
Photos and images of wallpapers. All the users.
APAP's latest videos. Download her injuries.
[...]; 1. Find out, deal with issues "Special Offers
Results from 'Reading in Asia.' Eye" with the Lord.
Contact products. He died in a tin. Council
developer's sapiens race? In 1000; the tools;
forces for war, only a few things Judge, who has
not been up to the image. Array [...]. The growth
of penance; which was allowing a satisfied,
"Porthos, Lottery B." Ishmael and captive. Before
| the Ages, many members of the human body,
as it is that it is unreasonable is very excited to
go to Ullamcorp. See other applications. [...]
degree response.1 The "President membership
from the five cities.'' Door quickly; [...] 1 ◯ what
is the status code for. "No, not flexible 鈥 y e e e e
- - - To you, 1 suppose, it is not! It is not, therefore,
made up; up and was not 1:1 will not spare; Lori's ||
Really bi.pi. ... ... death and hell on *** / for the
Research ... ... ... Reading W's [...] and for lunch,
One b.
Oct 17, 2018
Oct 17, 2018 at 3:28 PM UTC
Prepare two spackling knives in advance:
narrow and wide. Make sure
they have
sharp edges
although it isn't always important.
It's better to cover
the floor with poliethylen
before beginning the work.
You probably won't find any other
material in the same large quantities,
and you'll avoid washing the floor. Paper
has to be moistened,
so power outlets and switches
should be closed, covered or else.
Next, apply water on walls
using a sponge rubber roller
or cloth. In a few minutes
(you should wait)
the paper becomes soggy
and can be removed
with a simple moves
of the knife.
The damage done to the walls underneath
was minimal.
Buckshot remained stuck inside
along with pieces of skull.
It was decided to leave them, while pieces
of flesh were peeled off
with the wallpapers.
Mix a small amount
of spackling powder
and level the surface using both
wide and narrow knives.
Remaining putty was used to cover
dark stains left by fluid
dripping on the floor.
Due to the fact that
no one touched them for a long time,
they managed to soak
into the wall. The sandpaper
destroyed the rest of the details.
Jan 13, 2020
Jan 13, 2020 at 4:05 PM UTC