"witchcrafting" poems
Battling against a tide of cars and trains,
Counting the lubs and dubs that grow faint.
Penning down each tear that dries on my paper,
Concealing the eye bags from every night under an intense kohl layer.
Braving the fences and trenches that hurt my feet,
Archiving the conversations that now go obsolete.
Witchcrafting the blood moon of its glee so deep,
Staining the red from my eyes to your feet.
Crawling down from where you let others push me insane,
Ripping me apart with the echoes of 'I'll never be the same'
Uncovering the sunken eyes, shedded oodles and revealing cheek bones,
Trying to be worth a coin in a city of precious stones.
Still leaping miles towards you when a step you take back in repel,
Tickling you in fantasies to cast on you a laughter spell.
Watching those hazel eyes drool in sleep,
Embracing your aura when even my pillow does weep.
Pressing the backspace everytime I scribble verses,
Replacing the oxymorons in us with oranamental metaphors.
Letting my veins go cold n numb enough to form a rope,
Hanging everything I have n to grave shall I elope.
Apr 12, 2015
Apr 12, 2015 at 3:47 AM UTC
you felt like a new texture, a fabric i'd never slipped through before,
but darling,
you and i are merely old habits gussied up in
tulle and a paper mache artifice - ghoul masquerading as prima ballerina
fouette for me baby, twirl me dizzier than a whirling dervish
and flounce me on my head to spin out over this choreographed failure.
i've shoveled so much chocolate in my mouth-hole this weekend
i think i'm rotting from the inside out,
made of only sugar blisters and quicksand sores
that are bursting new caverns to life
crafting a base relief depiction of my longing into my throat,
how deliciously destructive!
i'm loony-eyed swooning over this 90-watt moon replica
and these reflector paint stars!
oh, i think i'll trade the entire night sky for this masterpiece
and a macrame bandage for my chest,
much more utilitarian than the atmosphere i drown in these days.
my reckless howling and witchcrafting whimsy
have loosed my lungs from their cage,
wheezing out an incantation into the far-reaching wind,
Everest is ablaze under my spell
sobbing it's ice into the earth and
melting it's bones to ash in my palms.
some men just want to watch the world burn,
i, however, merely want to reconstruct it
from the bottom, up
shoveling all of its innards to the surface
and making the unseen
known.
Jan 31, 2016
Jan 31, 2016 at 11:35 PM UTC