"wes" poems
"KALIMUTAN MO NA ANG NAKARAAN MO! LALO MO LAMANG SINASAKTAN ANG SARILI MO-- ANG PUSO MO!" sigaw nang sigaw ang utak sa mga katagang iyon sa kaniyang puso.
"May pag-asa pa! Umaasa pa rin ako. Aasa pa rin ako kahit matagal. Paki-usap, bigyan mo ako ng pagkakataon. Nararamdaman kong darating sila," litong-lito naman ang puso at pilit na nagmamakaawa sa utak na bigyan pa siya ng pagkakataon.
"Hindi ka ba nakakaintindi? Iniwanan ka na nila. Hindi ka na nila mahal. Wala ka ng puwang sa mga puso nila. Hanggang kailan ka dapat umasa ha?" galit na galit na ang utak sa puso nang mga sandaling iyon. Nag-aalab na at kaunti na lamang ay magiging makasalanan na siya.
"AKALA MO LANG IYON! HINDI IKAW ANG NAKAKARAMDAM KUNG HINDI AKO! AKO ANG MAS NAHIHIRAPAN!"
"AKALA MO LANG IYON! AKO RIN NAHIHIRAPAN NA AT DUMUDUGO NA ANG UTAK KO SA IYO! HINDI KA BA TITIGIL?"
"HINDI!"
"P'WES! Gagawin ko na ang nararapat upang manahimik ka!"
At hindi na napigilan ng utak ang kaniyang paninibugho. Inutusan niya ang mga paa na magtungko sa kusina. Ipinakuha niya sa kamay ang isang kulay puting bote na may nakasulat na muriatic acid. Kusang bumukas ang bunganga at ipinainom ng kamay ang lahat ng laman sa bote hanggang sa dumaloy na ito sa buong katawan.
Habol-habol ang paghinga, pinilit pa ring lumaban ng puso upang mabuhay ngunit, huli na. Huli na dahil nangisay na ang katawan, naging kulay ube na rin ito at tuluyang namaalam pareho ang utak at ang puso nang mga oras na iyon.
Feb 11, 2018
Feb 11, 2018 at 4:24 PM UTC
Mouths meeting rushing to be fed and feed
Tongues mingling and exploring
Hunger and thirst crushing need
Passion’s fire roaring
Bodies and hearts entwined
Soul and mind thriving
On all they find
On a journey bereft of depriving
Passion’s fire consuming
A life unto its own in their head
Exhuming
What lay buried, lost, undiscovered, forgotten or dead
Born anew or resurrected
Nerves, thoughts, and emotions it imbibes and revives
By passion’s fire new life injected
Brings new purpose and experiences to their lives
Passions kindled now burning so hot
It sears, mind, body, heart and soul
Delivers everything they sought
Two lost, now one tempered and made whole
Passion’s fire, burning growing as they explored
***** freaky, and debauchery with revel
With passion's fire they soared
FInding the primeval
In the chasing
In the wooing
In the embracing
In the doing
In the B, in many ways
In the D, defining each other’s roles
In the S, setting new trails ablaze
In the M, reaching dark corners of each other’s souls
~Wes Noneya
Feb 10, 2017
Feb 10, 2017 at 5:52 PM UTC
You are going to find yourself
Hating everyone.
And it should come as no surprise
That one day you'll pick up smoking
Because that fat ***** you fell for
Thought you looked **** doing it.
Men will crave your lips
Not for kisses but for ********
And you will have to battle them
On every insistence.
You will sleep with a teddy bear,
Human-sized
Well into adulthood
Because there will be nights
That you are so disconnected from the world
That you feel as though you are floating.
You will be sneered at
By mental hospital nurses
At the age of sixteen
As you visit your boyfriend
For your first date
In Good Samaritan hospital.
They will see your youth
And rage inside.
You will waste yourself.
You will die and redeem
Within yourself.
You will fall in love
With a man much older than you
And suddenly
Thirty won't seem
So old at all.
Thirty will seem
Like a world your old soul
Could get lost in.
And you will.
And it will be wonderful.
You will become paranoid.
Walking to church at midnight
With the love of your life,
You will constantly
Be looking over your shoulder.
You will forever
Be looking over your shoulder.
This will become
A necessary hobby.
You will tear down your Beatles posters
And replace them with Wes Anderson ones
Shamelessly.
You will come to a point
Where you hate yourself
In a most incomprehensible way
But you will write a poem
And you will be paid for it
And you will pay your cell phone bill with the money
And you will be successful.
You will have your escape plan
But you will never use it.
You will never need to.
His charm and his wit
And the way his eyes sparkle when he sees you
Will keep you rooted
Even when you are ready
To book it.
You'll be subpoenaed
And you will hate it
And ***** over it
And you will have to stand trial
But life is a trial
And you will win.
Dec 30, 2014
Dec 30, 2014 at 2:13 AM UTC
If my life were a movie it would be one of those films that gets hyped up to no end because I’m one of those kids with the rough childhood who just wants to make it
When in reality it’s just a less action packed but just as dark dc movie
My story has also been confused with a marvel movie since the protagonist is me
And i can't help but cut my overbearing traumatic tragedies with self deprecating comedies
But my life to me feels more like an edgar wright movie where the action isn’t as exciting as The fact that I was able to get out of bed this morning
And my day to day reality will forever feel like a motion blur of edited out negative emotion
I think Maybe my life could be a wes anderson movie stuck in one color palette for the rest of my eternity
And my maturity tends to overwhelm me
my journey is like an anderson movie because i tend to create a world around me
Taking time to shape my own protected reality so that the outside world can’t hurt inside me
If im being honest though i want my life to be a spielberg movie that grabs attention of all ages coming from all sorts of places
I want to spin my truths into his fantastic fantasies where no one equates my past with me
But at the same time I want my life to be a blast from the past john hughes movie where i find a way to stop my past from haunting me
And everything ends up okay at the end of the day because my minds overbearing insecurities
No longer have control over me
Now i see that in actuality other peoples movies are just too much for who i truly want to be and how my trauma impacts me
I mean between my all of those boring biographies and my abundance of favorite movies
I’d want my life’s movie to be full of images depicting my fondest memories and all my angsty gen z tendencies
If my life were a movie i’d make it about how I am, or was, or am going to be
If my life were a movie I’d make it about me
May 2, 2019
May 2, 2019 at 12:24 PM UTC
I'm so happy-
I've masturbated until I can't feel
and that's okay.
My hair is brittle;
the water's iron and so are you-
your love's a mess.
God is angry
because he doesn't have to exist
to be real.
Hipsters ruined liking Wes Anderson-
Bill Hicks was brilliant
and everyone is an intellectual.
Your ideas aren't yours-
your words are mine
and mine are yours.
Writing to be antidepressed,
because singing is for the shore,
for your shore.
Let's pick each other's psychology,
like we're removing clothes
or missing ads,
and get lost in each other's darkness,
because, "I love you,
I suppose.
I suppose."
Oct 16, 2014
Oct 16, 2014 at 2:14 AM UTC
Slashers Defined
In response to my piece, Slashers, it was requested that maybe I could
reveal at least which band or other info these great guitar players performed for to gain their claim to fame. I don't want to spend too much
time on this defintion, but will give what info I think is pertinent. If you do not know some of the names I have presented to you, and you are a blues,
rock, jazz, fusion guitar fan, I suggest you take the time to listen to some of their work. I have included some of my favorite incredible fusion players that do not have a super star following, but are renowned in their group of fans, probably mostly musicians to some degree.
If you are a frustrated guitar player like I am, do not listen to the likes of Holdsworth, Johnson, Gambale, or Morse unless you love being tortured.
Anyway on with the show.
Eric Clapton – Yardbirds, Cream, Blind Faith, Derek and the Dominos.
Jimmy Page – Yardbirds, Led Zeppe, The Honeydrippers, The Firm
Jimi Hendrix – not only what is, but, what could have been
Alan Holdsworth – Solo jazz fusion player – hot
Steve Howe – Yes, Asia - Progressive rock, jazz –
Bill Nelson – BeBop Deluxe, Solo
Terry Kath – Chicago (25 or 6 to 4) – another sad early departure
Ted Nugent – Amboy Dukes, **** Yankees – The madman
Jim Krueger – Dave Mason Band – solo progressive rock
Eddy Van Halen – Van Halen
Ritchie Blackmore – Deep Purple, Rainbow
Jerry Doucette – Doucette (Mama let him play)
Eric Johnson – Solo – New Age, jazz
Frank Gambale – Australian- Jazz, fusion, rock
Goerge Benson – Jazz
Larry Carlton – Jazz, new age rock
Marc Farner - Grand Funk Railroad
Peter Frampton – Humble Pie, solo
Joe Satriani - New age – solo
Johnny A. - jazz, new age – solo
Danny Gatton – jazz, rockabilly – solo
Chet Atkins – jazz, country
John Mayer – Pop, blues – solo
Neal Schon – Journey
Steve Lukather – Toto
Masyoshi Takanaka – New age, jazz – Japanese solo
Lee Ritnour – Jazz, new age – solo
Leslie West - Mountain, West Bruce & Laing
Monty Montgomery – jazz, blues (accoustic you have never heard)
Wes Montgomery – jazz 40's – 50's
Phil Keaggy – New age Christian
Robin Trower – Procul Harem
Brian May – Queen
Rick Derringer – Montrose, Edgar Winter Group, Steely Dan
Robin Ford – John Mayall, Chick Corea, solo jazz, fusion, blues
Carlos Santana – Santana
Ronnie Montrose – Montrose
Steve Morse – Dixie Dregs, Kansas, solo jazz, fusion
Trevor Rabin – Yes, solo new age
Gomer LePoet...
Jun 10, 2010
Jun 10, 2010 at 1:19 PM UTC
Well, we were the History club rejects,
focusing on the effects
of being us
instead of in a book.
Two college drop-outs,
calling in shout-outs
to our friends,
hoping that it affected
how we looked.
Our dads would sleep in,
and our moms were crying
until a quarter past noon --
and we knew
if we didn't start trying,
that would be us, soon.
We were the starving artists,
painting fruit we couldn't afford.
Hoping each brushstroke of an artichoke
would be fruitful to our wallet,
or at least strike a chord.
Two love-loss orphans,
dreaming of morphing
into something or someone else.
But they told us
to remove that fluff
from our head
and put it on the shelves.
We were the film club fanatics,
studying the dynamics
of how to be a pretend person.
We wanted to be
a Wes Anderson flick,
but we were never any thing
other than who we were
and that's what made us sick.
And I swear I miss the desperation:
I'm nostalgic for yesterday's conversations.
Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 6:01 PM UTC
If life were a wes Anderson movie
My wallpaper would be faded 70's vintage.
I would live a hard life and love an impossible woman
Who would shower me with misguided affection.
If life were a wes Anderson movie
I would have the knowledge to complete
Completely useless tasks
That would somehow be useful in any given situation,
Like chiseling a canoe out of a solid oak tree
Or weaving a hexagonal basket.
My eyes would constantly be filtered
With a color so vibrant my skin would glow chartreuse yellow.
If life were a Wes Anderson movie
My happiness would exalt and spread to those around me.
My stories would fill pictures and paintings,
My walls covered in obscure posters and murals
that no one really knows the purpose of.
If life were a Wes Anderson movie
Bill Murray would be my father,
Best friend,
And lover.
If life were a Wes Anderson movie
Nobody would understand my purpose
But everyone would love my presence just the same.
If life were a Wes Anderson movie
I would be king and crown those around me my subjects.
My crown would be encrusted with the Latin phrase,
sic transit gloria.
I would be king and grace my subjects with timeless tales of ages past,
of tear soaked laughter.
If life were a Wes Anderson movie
I would be king.
Jan 18, 2015
Jan 18, 2015 at 10:39 PM UTC
I remember it like yesterday
50 years back, more or less
She was singing with an old guitar
She wore a faded yellow dress
She sang songs about rebellion
of love and hate and less
She was singing with an old guitar
She wore a faded yellow dress
She lit up the world
In 1971
She burned bright as a comet
She was there, and then...was done
The bar was almost empty
Most nights it was I guess
She was singing with an old guitar
She wore a faded yellow dress
I remember when she saw me
We connected, I confess
She was singing with an old guitar
She wore a faded yellow dress
She lit up the world
In 1971
She burned bright as a comet
She was there, and then...was done
Word spread out about her
She was primed to have success
She was singing with an old guitar
She wore a faded yellow dress
An agent came and watched her
A low life lizard known as Jess
She was singing with an old guitar
She wore a faded yellow dress
She lit up the world
In 1971
She burned bright as a comet
She was there, and then...was done
Promises were made to her
She heard his pitch, and she said yes
She was singing with an old guitar
She wore a faded yellow dress
I saw her climb the charts that year
She was a shell, a real hot mess
She no longer had an old guitar
She now wore hot pants, not a dress
She lit up the world
In 1971
She burned bright as a comet
She was there, and then...was done
You could see she was a puppet
A golden goose for lizard Wes
She no longer had an old guitar
She now wore hot pants, not a dress
I heard she died, an overdose
I wasn't shocked, I must confess
They buried her in Hollywood
She wore a faded yellow dress
She lit up the world
In 1971
I remember her old guitar
And her faded yellow dress
Feb 19, 2020
Feb 19, 2020 at 5:32 PM UTC
*We lose so much talent to addiction
Some of you may not care, but I do
This is my tribute to them*
**Alan Wilson
Canned Heat
Jimi Hendrix
The Jimi Hendrix Experience
Janis Joplin
Jim Morrison
The Doors
Brian Cole
The Association
Billy Murcia
New York Dolls
Danny Whitten
Crazy Horse
Gram Parsons
The Stooges
Gary Thain
Uriah Heep
Elvis Presley
Gregory Herbert
Blood, Sweat & Tears
Keith Moon
The Who
Sid Vicious
*** Pistols
Lowell George
Little Feat
Jimmy McCulloch
Wings
John Bonham
Led Zeppelin
Darby Crash
Germs
James Honeyman-Scott
Pretenders
Pete Farndon
Pretenders
Paul Gardiner
Tubeway Army
Gary Holton
Heavy Metal Kids
Phil Lynott
Thin Lizzy
Andrew Wood
Mother Love Bone
Brent Mydland
Grateful Dead
Steve Clark
Def Leppard
Johnny Thunders
New York Dolls
David Ruffin
The Temptations
Kristen Pfaff
Hole
Shannon Hoon
Blind Melon
Bradley Nowell
Sublime
John Kahn
Jerry Garcia Band
Jonathan Melvoin
The Smashing Pumpkins
Billy Mackenzie
Associates
West Arkeen
The Outpatience
Nick Traina
Link 80
John Baker Saunders
Mad Season
Bobby Sheehan
Blues Traveler
Wes Berggren
Tripping Daisy
Allen Woody
The Allman Brothers Band
Carl Crack
Atari Teenage Riot
Layne Staley
Alice in Chains/Mad Seasons
Kurt Cobain
Nirvana
Dee Dee
Ramones
Robbin Crosby
Ratt
John Entwistle
The Who
Howie Epstein
Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers
Jeremy Michael Ward
De Facto
Tim Hemensley
GOD
Dave Schulthise
The Dead Milkmen
Rick James
Kevin DuBrow
Quiet Riot
Ike Turner
Gidget Gein
Marilyn Manson
Jay Bennett
Wilco
Michael Jackson
The Rev
Avenged Sevenfold
Paul Gray
Slipknot
Mike Starr
Alice in Chains
Amy Winehouse**
*We are not bad people, we just have bad ways
Yet, not many understand*
Dec 1, 2014
Dec 1, 2014 at 4:49 PM UTC
*is about WE..
promising new identity
for 2013..
WE brings peace as
Me serves conflict..
yet each Me serves
unique Self identity..
we might then say:
Some fondly wish for
blessed peace with
Self well preserved..
then this Question:
is it possible
when becoming WE
Self becomes Great..?
simple mirror reflections
among WEs of a group
brightens uniqueness of
each member Self..
this consciousness leap
a dialogue possibility
for 2013...*
Feb 27, 2013
Feb 27, 2013 at 11:55 AM UTC
This time next week, I hope I will be breathing the air that I’ve been gasping for. I didn’t realize that four months could feel like four broken bones, two arms, two legs, all secretly cracked, only felt under the weight of my own invisible dread. It’s okay that I went back to being sixteen for awhile. It’s not what I wanted, what I planned for, but it’s what happened. I woke up with butterflies in my stomach and the rug ripped out from under me. My car sits in the driveway and I don’t drink coffee anymore because it makes me shake and I don’t know how to handle the shaking like I used to. I never used to worry about sharing drinks yet today I’ve washed my hands fifteen times and still don’t trust them. But it’s August and I’m twenty-three again. Or at least I will be when the key slides into the lock and I take that big gulp and pray for it to add a few years back that were taken away this summer. Everything is a circle cut in half, alternating between hollow and whole, snaking through time with hysterical pseudo endings and beginnings that are really just doors leading down a different hallway in the same ******* infinite hotel. Sometimes Wes Anderson’s, sometimes The Shining. I don’t have to listen to the yelling for the rest of my life if I don’t want to. I don’t have to be so unhappy if I don’t want to. Maybe next Saturday I will drive to the coffee shop on the corner and order something decaf and sugary and thank god that it’s over. It’s over. Holy **** The leaves will be turning orange soon. I almost forgot.
Aug 10, 2019
Aug 10, 2019 at 11:19 PM UTC
If I showed you a still from a Wes Anderson film
I'm sure you'd probably have a lot to say--
a multitude of ideas waiting to pour forth from your mouth
and brimming off the top of your head...
I'd gladly spend as many hours as I'd need
waiting for you to empty your excitement
as you talk away about the things you love
in that adorable manner of wanting to say so much
Believe me when I tell you
your impassioned expressions
are more entertaining in their own cute way
than any feature film I can recall
Serve me a dish
of things I never knew
and stuff I could say
I only learned today
Sep 28, 2023
Sep 28, 2023 at 12:58 PM UTC
I said, "God, I love you".
She smiled and said I'd do in a pinch.
I said, "but I need you to do something for me..."
She looked into my eyes and said, "What's that"?
I said, "I need you to tell me something".
She said, "All right. What's that?"
I said, "repeat after me"
I said, " 'wes...' "
She stared back into my eyes and said, "wes..."
She laughed a little chuckle in her throat.
I said, "no, this is serious..."
I looked into her eyes.
I prompted her: " 'wes...' "
She smiled, saying "wes..."
I said, " 'stop fuckin' around' "
She said, "stop fuckin' around"
she laughed again, adding, "wes".
I smiled and said, "no, try it seriously now"
She said, "wes. seriously. stop ******* around..."
She laughed.
I said, "want to go back to bed and fool around?"
She laughed.
I laughed.
We went back to bed.
Nov 6, 2014
Nov 6, 2014 at 12:45 AM UTC
i don't think it's fair
to hide away
by the way
it was the driest parts of you
that made the spell of aging
fade
like freckles in the winter
bloomed only to evade
like wax heavy and damp
take another pill
to ease those cramps
or maybe just light your own candle next time
because i guess we're both a little damaged
or have seen too many moons
either way
there will always be unmarked tombs
and cigarettes to cloud the air
and graze fingers as a reminder
you're only seventeen
too young not to care
you grew with such ease
orange trees
sprawling roots remain to prove
gods talk as loud as monsters do
but heaven will always have gates
to keep out lovers naive to fate
and pyramids tell the geometrical truth
Wes
the blood on the floor
would be better hidden beneath a bruise
because theres no time like the present
is time a present
or a curse
is the water clearer or worse
on your side of the bridge
and how long will it take to cross?
i don't want wet feet for christmas
forever is a greedy business
when sincerity lacks
scars sliver like snakes
my lips beg this cycle to break
pull sleeves down
to avoid demons that drop
from sky to ground
to dust beneath the Tennessee sun
just in time for draught thats begun
breaking southern girls who are fragile
enough to turn from glass to stone
so stop complaining and open your eyes
its april again
even the birds stopped crying
your tears will turn to mud
scrape them from you
knifes aren't only good for killing
and when i opened my mouth to scream
you silenced my cries
my words never said as much as my eyes
opened wide as i utter in sorrow
if you died today
i'd die tomorrow.
Apr 1, 2013
Apr 1, 2013 at 10:25 PM UTC
I'm happy
I'm strong
I'm not faithless
I often believe I am weightless
But today I have seen
Some cracks in between
the boards of the box where my name is
I confess it wouldn't surprise me
that you think it's highly unlikely
that a girl of my sage
should be in a cage
of faulty romantics unsightly
Not sure how I got in this mess
If you're the one, even less
Unstriking hight
Handsome and light
In the air are my hopes like a kite
This isn't the worst I have been
Wes was a fire times ten
I do think you're cute
With weirdness to boot
Do I have to endure this again?
Jul 5, 2015
Jul 5, 2015 at 10:06 PM UTC
They are watching my every move in the night
Quietly looking at me like a rabid raven.
If you could see deep inside my head
It would look like a movie made by Wes Craven.
My methodical homicidal ideas running fast and running ramped
Trying ever so hard not to get caught
I have no choice but to top the last at what I just did.
My mind is pounding hard and my heart is racing
As I am dripping with sweat back and forth I am pacing.
Studying about all the others hoping now not to get caught
When they had finished what they had done, I often think,
What was it that they had did they did thought.
Keeping secrets buried locked deep inside
When they questioned me with their questions, I lied.
I am the king of given many a death wish
Pushing you in with handcuffs behind your back
Now you’re sinking to the bottom forever chilling with the fish.
Verbally murdering you with these lines,
When I’m in my death bed, I’ll confess, all my death crimes.
Till then question me all you what I don’t care,
No how many times.
(SirCARSr 10-10-13)
Oct 15, 2013
Oct 15, 2013 at 3:51 PM UTC
Lonely each sunset, another night arises forlorn
Darkness spreads across thy valley of emotions drearily desolate
Lofty mountains of sorrow and pain soar in solemn scorn
Thy heart, still as death stern as fate in resolve will not remit
Lonely each sunset, warmth fades, hope flickers, near extinguish
A vicious cycle; dark emotions drink well the dark of emotional night
Of cold liquid fire, bitter sweet ambrosia, cold fuel to warmth’s wish
Emotions an’ desire forged anew, reborn with hunger burning bright
Lonely each sunset, deep within new hope and hunger burn as one
With gibbous moon piercing that black velvet of thy shadowed heart
Hunger drives, passion craves, freedom sings, pain that binds undone
Fell thy arch spirit, new and old emotions run wild quite a start
Down freedom’s road, long journey before thee, pass from outcast land
Still within old wounds not healed still express
Emotional apparitions, arising when thy dream state is at hand
When slumber rules, no escape for thy heart’s abysmal loneliness
Under crimson moon new passion and hope to bloom in full
If tended well, a hybrid, of passions thrall, not that sorely sought
Salve or bandages, but full rebirth, a tender pull
Ethereal strings; stitches sealed; catching and caught
~Wes Noneya
Feb 10, 2017
Feb 10, 2017 at 8:30 PM UTC
The tears of an angel are emotions not a toy
A broken spirit, crippled wings of a Dove that can not fly
Romance bitter and sweet, but the heart deception can destroy
The Heart and Soul, weep and cry
Others have done their damage, broken again and again each wing
In time, with healing, again you'll fly and soar
You have to hold your head up, let my words to thy heart sing
Then maybe find the want, the desire to try, true emotions at the core
But for now the tears of an angel, solemn tears
In the dark in silence, continue to fall
She punishes her mind , heart and soul with doubts and fears
Wondering if love or a brief romance is even worth it at all
This sights and sounds, to comfort, taunt and torture
You don't know what is right or wrong
Heart and Soul on stormy emotions transfixed, is their a cure
My words, are they so distant and so unfamiliar a Song
Images of what can be, in the dreams dance, in the embrace
Throughout the day and way on into the night, fell the beat
Words a melody to kiss and dance in your heart and soul, a smile to your face
Warm is the embrace, ever so brief, bitter and sweet
'Tis plain to these eyes, such radiant beauty that rose standing alone
Through eyes, dwelling deep within, desperate for tending
Untended that rose yet has blossomed, who would have known?
What grand and greater beauty lays in wait, for a heart that needs mending
Full of promise, what dreams on flights of fancy and fantasy rises
When will that blossom of mystery unfold?
What dreams may come, oh what unfathomable surprises?
Lay hidden, what raw beauty and ecstasy to behold
Even the strongest and coldest of souls without a heart would cry
If you could see into her world, look there through her eyes
You could see the hurt she feels and maybe even know why
Tortured and almost barren the heart scarred by lies
~Wes Noneya
Feb 4, 2017
Feb 4, 2017 at 8:43 AM UTC
My Words I weave to be just a whispers’ lingering caress
Tormenting, Bitter Sweet thoughts that make you burn at feeling such
The wishes cast, but not granted that make you shiver over less
The briefest touch
Words, that speak of all unspoken desires
oft what a Heart's Hopes and the Mind rightly Fears
That nightmare in the making, speaking truth amongst avid Liars
That Healer, Sinner and Saint, who wounds you deep but dries your tears
For a vision of thy sweet face compels my pen, my deeds
Still that vision leads my words to fall upon thy screen
Before thine eyes, to serve thy needs
Yet still for but my minds eye you remain unseen
Between Breath & Touch
Strides a whispered Caress
Across endless plains Of Dream not much
Past the blind denial of less
Beyond the seasons of a thousand dreams and desires
My words fall seen and felt but unheard
Bitter sweet they may be and easily kindle passion's fires
They torment and delight, caressing your heart, mind and soul with each word
Subtle song, resonating rhythm unclear intent
Desire a sourcing fire as the words serenade the heart
For the bitter sweet seduction of words the body will lament
They are but a start
-Wes Noneya-
Feb 10, 2017
Feb 10, 2017 at 7:36 PM UTC
Fantasy minded tied up and binded **** kindness ethics I don't mind it regular social norms I don't live by it the inside if my head during this is totally quiet
Deep cuts in the mutt hydrochloric **** you can jack off in between the violent ruts
Engage in the regular norms of reverse mentality, it may be cryptic, but it's cliche so really they're is no abnormality
Suicide is a biological abnormality
Jesus accepted death and doubted his mortality
But you'll die tonight an enigmatic causality
A vision of johova speaking to burning flames while a pentagram of blood and spirits call my name
A tragic masquerade of hate turned into mallevolant beautiful evil if I **** your tonight that will be a favor with no equal
Affection is no fix to so called anti social disconnection it's because I've been baptized by the blood which you'll be drenched in
Dark travesty who could happen to see ? A malevolent masterpiece of murdering your infernal travesty
For the light is not ending or bending for your masquerade of humanity is ending
Leaving you cut with a razor causing scars which they'll be no mending
sending to the er don't wory about blackouts and spazms you won't see psalms
A knife point is a nice point to stick in between joints my hate anoints, the 3 leaf clover won't keep you safe from a razor ,Wes craven I brazenly imitate doing Beelzebub a favor when I wet the place
Smash your ******* face then leave the organs shifted out of place with tool of steel kept on a fuckkng plate, get wiser to my torture crate
Concealed body's liter all over the place with hydrochloric acid it's they're fuckkng grace to leave the world seeing my face
Feb 1, 2014
Feb 1, 2014 at 11:50 PM UTC
Satietatem potare dulci nectare tua desiderium ego
Ad nos transeat, usque mane
Nostra corpora convol
Corpora nostra lusibus
Sol ortus, Sitis commoratur
Amorem vivere devora tua suavita
Vitae caelestis
Nostra ad et aut angelus diaboli
Quod viget, vitae singulis nobis,
Retorta peccatorum gaudium de salute nos
Corpora *** carnis luxuriam
Tenebrae concupiscentiis saginatus
Dolorem voluptatem servus
Impium impium fames
Sanctus diversitas peccatorum
Ita et nos, in manus nostras et amore peccatorum nos
Nos ad unum corpus est cor
Translation Latin to English
I drink my fill of sweet nectar of your desire
To pass to us until morning
Our bodies roll
Our bodies dance
The sun rises, thirst lingers
Love, live, eat your sweetness
heavenly life
Our call to the devil or an angel
That is active, the life of each of us,
Twisted sins, the joy of our salvation
Bodies with carnal lust
Dark desires fed
Pain and pleasure slave
wicked, wicked hunger
Holy diversity of sins
Even so we, in our hands, and the love of our sins
We are one body and heart
~Wes Noneya
My Latin isn't the best but I gave it a go. I like both versions.
Feb 10, 2017
Feb 10, 2017 at 5:33 PM UTC
We in the attic blanketed with dust
Waiting stiffly until The Beaumont's leave,
Us portraits and mannequins stuck like rust
Wearing fluffy clothes the butler would weave.
They leave, we awaken and run downstairs
To see the table full of wine and mess
We gather around, the gramophone blares
The butler screams, that old Anderson Wes
He looked as though he never saw a feast
Ran stupidly shaking like a drunk man
'Til the portrait of Paul said to the beast,
"You're waking the neighbors, here have some flan!"
Eyes bulging, eyes fuming old Wes breaks down
His allergy got the very best of him
Rolling on the floor covered in a frown
We watched and listened his life on a limb.
"He ruined the party!" cried Ms. LeBoot,
We were in uproar, covered in white noise
But then stood Mr. Crowser in his suit
Headless, but strong with a booming tight voice.
He said, "We shall not let his death be vain,
As butler Wes would see this to the end
Now let us dine and let us feast through pain
And unveil this dust, with drink it will mend!"
Jun 24, 2013
Jun 24, 2013 at 10:21 AM UTC
I was 18,
When he passed me in height,
Though I grew 1/2 an inch before Christmas,
He must have grown 2
He reached 6 feet by the summer
Wes has Brown eyes so deep and clear,
I long to see them a second time in order to stare
So unlike mine, a color that isn't a color
Esther's hair is only curly now,
because she colored it too much,
blonde is ok, but i miss her brown,
no one would mistake us for twins today,
but they might think her bounce is inherited
My father's fingers were as thin as mine,
when i was 10 and he was 17,
I can't fit his class ring
It's been years,
Since I could share shoes with any friend,
Or find good ones at thrift stores
She once said,
I had the nicest pink pout,
In the family,
tho Dad comes in second,
I don't know why,
she would insult herself that way
my cabdriver asked if I was German,
said I was tall, strong, and healthy
Uncle Paul cut my hair,
two springs past,
He feared I would cry,
to lose that thick length,
coursing down my back,
but I didn't blink,
Another year and I'll cut it again,
I swear its grown a foot already
Oct 14, 2014
Oct 14, 2014 at 11:49 AM UTC