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Skaidrum Apr 2016
...
I like to convince myself that she's a walking solar system.
                                              (One)
­                                                          (It will never be enough;)        
She has the sunken cheek bones of Mercury;
~filthy shadows, caked in crimes~
they forge her face,
oh so well,
and engrave her smile in
stone; the sun
laughs sourly,
and then,
he spits on her.
                              (Two)
                   ­                    (Because sorrow is a sweet thing.)
         She reminds me of Venus the most.
         Her hair is the murmur of violet,
         her beauty, it lingers,
         ~like cigarettes beyond the boundary~
         the cosmos, the constellations, and the milky way.
         She is my dragon princess,
         draped in stars and wounds.
         She bleeds
         the somber color of night.
         She is royal, yet alas
         "The queen didn't come
         without a crumbling castle.

                                                                ­  (Three)
                                            (So take it in, don't hold your breath)
                                                      ­   Beneath the arc of her spine;
                                                         Is where Earth plays
                                                         poker with her bones.
                                                         It's such a shame,
                                                         that her ace is her 'unkempt heart,'
                                                         and she lost it to a pitiful bet,
                                                         with a certain ghost I once knew.
               (Four)
                               (The bottom's all I've found.)
            Her fingers gouge through time's fabric, and her hands
            remind me of Mars;
            Powerful and ******,
            Oblivious to what she's created;
            I'm afraid
            the phantom
            she wishes so dearly to see,
            is only getting hungrier.
(Five)
               (Diamond wings were meant to be torn)
Jupiter is the core of her anxiety,
and she basks in it every day,
never by choice, never by desire.
Muscles and skin of iron and goldenrod,
they carve out our very own Aphrodite,
which is you,
it's always been you.
A rabid angel,
a calamity of chaos,
frothing with  blackened fear.
                                                        ­       (Six)
                              (Spill every flower from your garden of thoughts)
                                             Subtle depression lurks between the
                                             the crooked sea of her ribcage,
                                             it's Saturn smoking rings,
                                             brewin' up the cinders.
                                             ~I reminiscence in the white lace~
                                             of the cobwebs that hold her
                                             heart together.
                                             I've plucked them,
                                             those strings play a mournful
                                             sonata, with her name written all over it.
        (Seven)
                          (Promises bend at every funeral we attend)
              In the graces of her palms we found Uranus,
              like teal teeth
              and whimsical witchcraft,
              I watched her thread magic into this world.
              Her hopes shift-shape into 'nocturnal fairies',
              and 'grim reapers' with broken music boxes.
              She is naïve, but that is
              a trait she needs to survive
              in our world of
              metallic dreams and navy nightmares.
                                                    ­(Eight)
                                       (Rejection is a survivable heartache)
                                                   ­  And so what if her heart reminded me
                                                      of Neptune the most?
                                                      The royal vastness
                                                      of­ blue and ivory;
                                                      ~rip­tides on the walls of her soul~
                                                      I want her to know that ambitions
                                                      l­eave more scars and
                                                      tear more crystal flesh;
                                                      tha­n her polished wishes ever will.  
      (Nine)
                       (Have you ever seen blood and water in love?)
And her lungs,
they remind me of the honesty of Pluto.
So small, and docile,
like an elliptical smile of grey fire.
Would you lay with me a while,
count your unconditional lovers;
like our burnt stars in mason jars?
Struggle is the birth
of the void and the 'rapture'
~Your king and poet will wait for you,
in the radiant abyss of our ink-hearts~
I will guide you to his open arms,
              a hug awaits my dragon princess.


                                                     ­                   He wears the stars for clothes,
                                                      li­ke an outlaw,
among the banks of the universe.
               Where disease can't reach him, or she,
                                          Cancer can't harm you anymore,

                                                       ­          "Not anymore, Belle."
...
Sincerely, Capricorn.
© Copywrite Skaidrum
ShowYouLove Oct 2013
All my life I’ve been searching for something more

Something missing; an emptiness down in my core

And I didn’t know what I was looking for

Searching the Earth for to fill my need

Sloth and envy and pride, jealousy lust and greed

Money, popularity, status, possessions; the life I lead

All my life I’ve been searching for something more

Something missing; an emptiness down in my core

And I didn’t find what I was looking for

Looking for love in all the wrong places

Never one to stay for long in any case

Living life at a breakneck pace

All my life I’ve been searching for something more

Something missing; an emptiness down in my core

And I couldn’t find what I was looking for

Leaving me hungrier; wholly unsatisfied

Nothing helped. There wasn’t one thing I hadn’t tried

So elusive it was: true happiness and joy I was denied

All my life I’ve been searching for something more

Something missing; an emptiness down in my core

But I wouldn’t find what I was looking for

The world had nothing left for me; I gave up hope

And at the bottom of a very steep and slippery *****

Nowhere left to run and ready to die.

All my life I’ve been searching for something more

Something missing; an emptiness down in my core

And I never found what I was looking for…

Down to me came a rope. Taking that rope my life changed forever that day

The light in my dark, show me the right way

What happened I couldn’t really say.

All my life I’ve been searching for something more

Something missing; an emptiness down in my core

And I might have found what I’ve been looking for

I still fall and lose my way. God knows I’m not perfect

It’s a long hard road, but God believes I’m worth it

And I know you have a plan for me. Still not sure where I fit

All my life I’ve been searching for something more

Something missing; an emptiness down in my core

And I think I found what I’ve been looking for

Life giving water, sustaining bread, and solid ground

Love, joy, and peace. New life I see all around

What I’ve always been looking for, I’ve finally found

All my life I’ve been searching for something more

Something missing; an emptiness down in my core

And I (Finally) found what I’m looking for!**


Thank You Jesus!

AMEN
I prayed with light voices, but a burdened heart;
You are not here--that I am supposed to know of.
But still, my mind cannot accept that we are now apart.
I am despaired by my own hands, by my own love;
Your images keep shrouding me--you keep haunting me.
Your portraits shout your name, but none of ‘em is truthful;
They reject my bliss, though they told me I was beautiful.
I keep looking for you in the shades: but all I find is blueness,
And as daylight grows mature, I feel but scarce and clueless;
I am entrapped by my own wishes, and I can no longer write.
Ah, ‘tis over now--I should declare;
I walk home and sleep, and decide I should no more be in love--
Some sheer charms I might better not be.

I was running across the moors, and secretly hoped I would find thee there;
Thee with thy own giggles and mockery and childish wishes;
Thee with a resemblance of moonlit skies on thy face.
Thee with a thousand arches in thy brown eyes;
Eyes that were genuine, hopeful; with spirits that would not die.
And those lithe hands; and thy handful of full lips;
Thou always startled me within thy black jacket,
Yes, that black jacket with gruesome naughty little pockets,
Thou always asked me to chase around the bogs;
While peering naively into the hidden summer spider webs.
Thou woke me up with thy morn noises;
Thou wanted to tell me a tale of castles, friendship, and promises.
Thee with a thousand smiles, hopes, and legitimate fears;
Thee with the sweetness of a moonbeam, thee with one hundred kisses.
Thou wert like a lonesome butterfly at first;
And on a shiny day I but caught thee;
and weaved my colourful love onto thy plain nest.
Thou shined again, and I felt but merited;
As time passed, I grew hungrier for thee--and always delighted;
Thou wert a summer to a pleasant summer itself;
Thou made my heart warm, and my seasons magnified.
Even my lavenders were stupefied by thy cleverness;
They were warm always, to welcome and greet thee at night.
Ah, my darling, my half spirit, my sweet;
Thou owned the second spare of my green light;
Thou wert my frost at conned summers, and mild winters;
Thou wert the white snow I played with--and its evening rainbow!
Ah, and at times--thou wert like a nature among yon shrieking green grass;
I smiled always, as I entrapped thee within my clear glass.

I should twist this story away, and welcome him;
Welcome whoever shines through my love--in reality, and in dreams.
I know I hath to celebrate him behind the furnace;
I shall smile sweetly and charm him by my maiden’s face.
He hath a lovely aura as the unheeded stars;
And his steps are awkward, but stately as the moon’s.
He hath smooth and virile advantages about him;
He hath a weather, but still he hath not thy playful air.
He is serious, thou art more festive and thoughtful;
He is cordial, but I findeth him at times uninnate and insoluble.
Ah, Immortal, he liveth but in a cold bubble away from me;
And so you know, the love of him is but a love of pain;
Sometimes I want to find thy face in his poetry;
Sometimes I want to see again, but your fairness.
Thy heart is, as thou hath figured, widespread within me;
It ambushes me and glides me around like a cheeky star;
But as thou gazed into me,
I found that thy charms were absolute;
I pampered this notion of thee--as I still do;
Thou wert my nymphic and immortal dream;
Thou art my sane and insane ambition;
Thou art my sand, my boats, my sails!
Thou art the sea worth a thousand miles;
And I care not what foul and fuzziness thy soul might carry;
I shall purify thee, I shall endorse thee, I shall welcome thee into my lonely heart!
Ah, Immortal, I am but a spoiled of ruins and wreckage now;
As I woke up t'is very morn, I knew I wouldst not see you tomorrow.
And guess now--how shall I define our once glossy, faint Sofia?
I do not want to pronounce to Sofia, ah, our very dwellings, a goodbye;
I shall never pronounce such; and on t’is I shall care for thy sayings not--
As telling such wouldst indeed be a remarkable lie.
Instead, I should dream again, of being by your side;
I shall be the terrified mermaid--but thee--my gentle merman;
We shall swim across the sea and startle the aquatics by our depth;
And thereon I shall dream of myself cherishing you--and holding you in my arms;
As I pray and bow and submit the rhapsodies of my heart, all day and night.

Ah, but where is Immortal, Immortal, Immortal;
Without whom my heart is bleak; and winters are hard.
Ah, Immortal; by whom rains are pretty, and colours are magnificently saturated;
By whom storms are no more storms, and no more downpours are petty;
By whom lakeside houses are not cold, and slippery rocks are not frightful;
By whom birch trees shall sing, and honey bees shall farm away for hours.
Ah, Immortal, by whom my poetry stays alive, and fed tranquilly by yon earth;
Immortal, by whose lullabies I fall asleep among the midnight’s icy hearth.
Immortal, whom my heart values, and urges me to love;
Immortal, by whose side debris are whole, and ruins picture unity;
Ah, Immortal, by whose singing melodies are songs, and rhythms are but poetry.
Immortal, Immortal, Immortal, by whose words--the entire worlds are but Sofia;
And all merit and grace but belong to the romantic Bulgaria.
Immortal my entire darling; who taught me to see how the moon teases the sun;
And how the latter becomes fainted but mirthful, at t’is very realisation.
Ah, Immortal, Immortal, Immortal, by whose absence I feel but frightened.
Ah, Immortal, do you think I should hurry--shall I fleet and run?
I shall meet thee again tonight, around the corner by the lake;
Before such an eve grows genuine--causing the day to turn fake.
I should meet thee before everything is but feasted and pierced;
And I shall bringeth thee my midnight poems and soliloquy;
I shall embrace thee by my myths, and relish thee within my solitude.
I shall make thee remain by my side, and keep shady thy burly night;
I shall, perhaps, make thee my mirth itself--I shall keep thee warm, and safe, and bright.
Ah, Immortal, one who was always aired by my fresh recitations;
One who was entrenched in my tales of craze, atrocity, and vanity;
One who cried by me like a selfish child--but at times, became the radiance itself.
Ah, Immortal, one within whose palms the moon is transparent;
And the harmony of night becomes more possible;
Ah, my darling Immortal, who was once infatuated with my nights--and 'twas apparent;
Oh, my darling, my own darling, my very darling--how I hath only words to play with!

Where is but Immortal, Immortal, Immortal,
My jokes cannot sleep, and even my eyes choose to stay awake.
My heart feels absurd, as it is not calmed and soothed by him;
Even as I can sleep no more, I am but unable to edify him in my dreams.
Ah, where is my Immortal--for as I scurry outside, I cannot locate him;
While he is but the golden lock I need to deliberate my heart.
Ah, my husband, who owns but the charms heartbeat cannot describe;
Ah, Immortal, by thy words--thou knoweth, vanished worlds are real to me today.
The rush of your blood still, knowingly, flows within my breath;
You look like that little lad proudly standing by yon bridge faraway.
Immortal, my little sound, my eager song, my profound lilac;
How shall you ever know what you mean to my heart?
To me, you are more than any gold, brown silver, nor white bronze;
You are my tears, my growth, and the height of my winter;
You own the youth and throne my heart hath always longed for.
Ah, Immortal, no matter how hard thou hath defeated--and perhaps, betrayed me;
Thou art still more immortal than a thousand suns outside;
And more mature than t’is benighted winter as it already is.
Ah, Immortal, 'tis hath grown silent again, and I need to greet my lavish worlds;
But for you know--your scent shall remain better than the sun's on its own, and more lively.
Ah, Immortal, and while those winds shriek, and hop, and wail;
‘Tis your voice still, that I but imagine in my *****;
And while their spread and take rule of their wings;
Thou shalt remain by prince, my ruler--the one I choose to be my king.

My heart hath borne thee since I was in her womb;
My mother's chaste womb--and there, just there--
I had but been formed by her sheepish threads.
Ah, and thus I heart her like t’is-but not as much as I heart thee, perhaps;
If I doth dream of her; it meaneth I'd but dream of thee;
And thou knoweth--my dreams of winter shall be but one about thee;
About thee--my vigour, my shadow in my traces, my vengeful spirit.
Ah, Immortal, Immortal, Immortal; my century of blessings, my time
and poetry of such an endless eternity.
Ah, Immortal, in whose heart there was purity;
And in whose love I felt reified, and no such tyranny,
Ah, and t’is loss of thee perhaps means a life of illness;
A time of neglect, but a loss of my valid youth.
I want not to age, for thou art, thyself, young and ageless and immortal;
I want to dwell but only in yon Paradise of thee;
And be fueled solely but thy desire, and not anyone else's.
Ah, Immortal, I want to feel but the flavour of thy skin;
And be engrossed but against thy stomach.
I want to be thy lily, and thy novel rose that shall never wither;
Ah, Immortal, I want to be little again; and thy most awesome lavender.

And thy blame--such as t'is one, shall mean a brawl to my destiny;
And its glam is but my fiery--while insuperable--destruction.
As I promised thee--I shall not be weary, I shall not be sad;
But never shall I love, never shall I be satisfied.
Ah, Immortal, I shall never agree to love again;
I want to keep my love for thee; for whom I shall advocate my youth,
I want never to share my trembling love with anyone else.
As I hath loved thee just now, perhaps I shall love thee forever;
Ah, Immortal, as how it usually is, thou shall be the sailor-
And ever the painter, in our very own colloquial poetry!

Immortal, my grace, my perambulations, my ecstasy;
Immortal, my good, my one, my irrepressible;
I hath fulfilled thy wishes, at least at present, to bear t'is alone;
But for you know, that life without thee is no Paradise;
And even when I am dead, perhaps my soul shall never lie;
I shall wander the earth still--to look for thee, my tears and my lost love;
And insofar as thou remaineth away, I shall too stay on earth; and never ascend above.
I promise this shall be the last poem of thee I've written of thee. And thus I have dedicated all the love I have for thee into this; in the hope that my heart has none of it left after writing the poem.

I hate the dreadful hollow behind the little wood;
Its taint of darkness dripping down like blood-red hearth.
A breeze of morning moves, that we love, has gone;
For a musk of the skies at dusk must have come down.

Come into the garden, my love, and play around with me;
For a bed of love daffodils is on high;
For a set of faint lights is now there to catch;
One breed of lights that we used to play with.
Bring my that green glass of paint, and draw by me,
While I rub thy dark hair on my lap, with my bronze fingertips.

Run around here, Immortal, and give me thy handsome hand;
Thou art the speed and pace I need here to stay;
Ah, I am not detached from t'is world, so long as I have you;
I am charmed, even in the darkest abyss of yon superficiality.
Thou art the fragrance of happiness found in decay;
Strength in the most diminished, and yet distinguished ecstasy;
A fable t'at becometh real in a flight of seconds;
A temptation no maiden heart canst afford to dismiss.
And look at me, now and then and all over again,
I wanteth to look pretty in my ruffle brown skirt,
Just like in my midnight gown on a flowery wedding night,
One t'at we shalt have above the sun, out of everyone else's jealous sight.

Let's dream t'at this delight shall ne'er wear out, and leave to us t'is nuptial potion;
I hath ideas for us and the most sensible of worldly notions;
Naughty as water ripples and the broadening green plantations;
I knoweth now where we canst go and hide our insightful destinations.
Thou wert always running in thy magical shoes,
And t'eir worlds of visions and phantom-like phantasies,
Like woeful but wise extraterritorial dimensions,
A forest of spells and love curses we never knoweth.
But worry not, my dear, for I shall hold thee in both portals,
I'll keep thee safe by my side, I'll keep thee immortal,
So that we are ne'er to be apart, in such a bright love like pearls,
And the petals of roses t'at ne'er swerve again from our fingertips.
We were always inhabited by our little jokes, and moved by an unseen hand at game,
T'at everything was too tranquil even for being a game as itself its nature,
And the whole little wood we were perched on was one world
Of fun shivers, wonders, and plunder and prey,
Oft' at midnight hours we looked at each other so kindly and peacefully,
With eyes mastered by love and tough loveliness,
Thou looked but wholesomely splendid in thy own questioning minds,
And thy brown hair t'at was turned about by solitary winds.
Ah, Immortal! Immortal, Immortal, my visionary love, my darling bird.
And yet, the night knew then, of our tricks and who we were, funny little liars—
Little liars t'at had but a tender love outta' time and space,
And such a gleaming love for one another,
We whispered, and hinted, and chuckled, with an aroma of love about us,
However we'd braved it out, we felt about it glad and not sorry;
We humans of a naughty, devilish, notorious, but sophisticated breed!

Come into the garden, Immortal, for the night bat now hath flown;
The one thou fear, my love, hath left us alone.
And forgive me for my rigid clauses to them;
For I want only to writ' of thee, my darling bud.
The planet of love seem't be on high,
Beginning to pick away its fruitful colours,
And make itself look petrified and stultified,
Like one from abroad, flown in as foreign woodbine spices.
Ah, as though t'is temporal world is not murky enough for us both,
That our translucent breaths are those who survive;
Who remain rustic in this unmerited ordinary world.

Come again, my love, my impeccable darling,
Let's witness what the sonnet's yet to sing;
All we need t' do is pick up a lil' wooden chair;
And breathe the swampy midnight air before we sit.
Here is my poetry, and I'th written it for thee,
Long like the satin seas, and red ribbons made of clouds,
I needst not say it but thou read still, my heart out loud.
Ah, Immortal, the golden gift thrown at one clean snowy night!
And t'ese hidden memories now shine out back again,
For the drifts of the earth we ne'er knoweth, indeed,
And thus who knoweth the ways of the world,
And the surreptitious moves its soil's done,
From morning to night, from one day to another?
Ah, who knoweth 'em all but the Almighty?
Our Almighty, our very Almighty;
t'at breathed into our souls such loving love,
And made for us t'is decent planet, many suns, and one fair earth.
Ah, Immortal, and thou art the son of literature He had to me,
A joy t'at my hands, as He told, outta rejoice,
A glory t'at my faith should find.
Ah, Immortal, thou art sweet, sweet, and too sweet!
Thy sweetness is but an avarice, one bold austerity to me;
Scenic in its grace—a graceful grace t'at is far too restless and undying!
Undying, unweakening, but strengthening, t'at it'll ne'er die!
Ah, for thy sweetness, Immortal, hardly leaveth me a choice;
But to move and fall softly again and again for thee like before,
And thy honey-coloured skin and charms t'at I adore,
Not his, who knows or feels any of me not;
Not him, who is neither courtly not kind;
Not there, who understands not how to write,
to read, nor even to sing.

All night hath the roses heard songs from thy Eolian lute;
And my unveiled violin, piano, and bassoon;
All shrieking and collating in one strange space.
But hear thou, my love, of my shrilling little voice?
An unheard, abashed voice that keeps calling your name;
Your coloured name, that smells like trust
In its euphoric aura and ecstatic plays.
Where art but thou, my Immortal;
That was so close and definitive to my heart.
Where art but our strings, and guitar cords;
That used to rock up our beneficent loveliness?
That kept our hearts in tune, when desperately falling in love,
Ah, I do not want to leave thee still in thy weird dance,
I want to keep thy heart beating with mine and stay in tune;
I want to run with thee into a hush with the setting moon.
I said to the playful lily, 'There is none but one
With whom my curious heart is to be gay.
When will he be free to catch up with me?
I see him day and night and in dreams of my poetry.'
And half to the rising day, low on the sand
And loud on the stone our passion too shall rise;
Keep us cheerful and our heartbeats warm.
O young lord-lover, what sighs are those
For one that shall ne'er be thine?
'But mine, but mine,' I swore gaily to the rose,
'For ever and ever, mine. Just mine.'

And the soul of our fragrant rose sings into my blood,
That Immortal and his lover shall ne'er be apart.
He'll wait for her at night, in one bloodless Sofia;
She'll wait for him 'till such stars fall asleep.
He makes her blessed even in her dreams,
That all the red roses and lilies stay awake to watch their joy.

Immortal and Estefannia, the happiest ones along those summer days;
Are a threat to those soul frayed and vitriolic;
Too stellar to them romantic and idyllic;
Proud and sturdy in their ascetic life.
The best of love of the world's missing beat;
Daintier than any of this summer's bitter heat.
How fate tests their love we shall ne'er know,
but their love stretches as distantly as it can.

Ah, Immortal, tells Estefannia I shall make thee flattered
In sleep, in peace, in conscience, and in hate;
I shall make for us joy though our stories may be late.
Thy eyes are brown, my love, one shade the world's never owned
And thus thy love is valid and new in itself, ne'er worn.

And I shall hear when thy lips wan with despair, I'll be there;
I'll stand there with my basket, a gift from one faraway;
But with a love neither placid nor drained;
Villainous as t'is world is, what a broken wordling;
Like a wailing starling, torn in its calls and frothy desires.
T'ere is no more signal for us towards t'is despaired world;
I shall take thee yet, through the curtains of such speculations;
For 'tis only thy pride t'at lives, and not one soul of thine lies;
And should thou remain alive, my love shall ne'er hibernate,
But sit and trust firmly in its wakeful sleep, grasping thee,
Grasping thee, my love, 'till exhaust allows me no more words,
'Till my own poetry disobeys me like a cloud of putrefied shadows,
Ah, but still, remaining a gross soulless apparition I may be,
With no apparatus trembling 'round beside me,
Wouldst I still saunter myself forwards,
And greet thee in t'at peaceful vineyard;
Play to thee a lullaby and witness thy dreams,
Rocking thee softly against thy own stardoms,
'Till rivers are awake again and alert t'eir inane streams.
O Immortal, it is for better and fairness t'at I love thee,
Ah, but which love is sweeter than mine, or stronger than ours?

For I trust t'at my love is hungrier t'an that of her yonder,
Ah, and t'an t'at loyalty and patriarchy of our sullen armies,
More striking than a ****** dame's pictorial tyrannies,
One too sweet-scented for a hidden mercenary,
I have heard, I know not whence, t'at it but happened to thee;
Thou wert away, thou wert not under my umbrella, beneath me!
Where is Immortal now, for I need to save him again;
My husband in nature, my lover and immortal darling and best friend!

For t'is world is but a holocaust for the believing;
T'ere is, within which, not one pyramid of truth,
For 'tis a place of happy misery, and too miserable happiness.
T'ere is no place like our little Sofia, t'at once we dreamed of;
Filled with rainwater by its armed forces of Bul-ga-ri-ya;
I shall wait for thee there, by the triple roundabouts,
I shall wait for thee before I pray, and seek help from Our Lord;
I hath written for Him warm praises and delicate triplets of words.
Immortal the delight of my life, the dignity of my love;
Immortal the ringing joy of my ears, the gallant sight of my eyes;
Immortal my darling, of whom I write and for whom I sing.
Immortal like the leaves of the suburbs, t'at turn red and shyly bloom,
One that smells like mangoes and two pieces of orange blossoms.
Ah, Immortal, with his sweet red-mouth when eating dangled grapes,
Immortal the beloved of my father, the moon-faced, merriest son of all!

Where is he now? My dreams are bad. He may bring me a curse.
No, there is a fatter game on the moors, perhaps I ought to look for 'im t'ere.
The devil, I am afraid, hath stolen him again away,
I hath seen him not for a time as long as this day's.
Immortal, I want thy bountiful smile, and see thee not ill;
Immortal, tell me t'at thou long for and love me still.

Ah, along those happy days, and fabulous morning thrills,
My heart leapt whenever it caught thy voice,
And thy sanguine embrace when such came near;
Days were but too advanced, I know, and men were tied to t'eir own minds;
But thou kept me calm, with such majestic love and lil' poems in thy hands,
For t'is world is yet too adamant in t'eir pursuit,
Yet I needed thee, and thou came along.
Long had I sighed for a calm: God may grant it to me at last!
Ah, Immortal, a naughty lil' breach of t'is world, and its affairs;
A lil' cuddle t'at laughed and darted merrily all through the night.
Would t'ere be sorrow for me, for what I was feeling?
I thought I sensed only love and none like hate,
For it all tasted sweet and fierce like neverending fate,
A fate t'at we both accepted in one force,
A fate too astounding from our courageous Lord.
I thought thou wert mine, and thou shalt always be mine!
And t'is swirling sensation, when I looked at thee,
Full of teary happiness and chaotic delights,
I did want not t' think of its possible ends,
Ah, violent as Shakespeare might've assumed,
But I wanted to relish and bury myself in it
For such memories of thou had desired.
Immortal, Immortal, and now thou art gone;
But when all t'is world does is to go flexibly round,
Where'th thou think our missing beats can be found?

Warm and clear-cut face, why thou came so cruelly meek;
A cute lil' wonder to my sight—and for my lungs
To breathe stupidly for now and again.
Thou, handsome lad, hath broken all slumbers
In which all is but vague and foul and folly,
Pale with the golden beam with one dead eyelash
Knifed by the contours on one's cheeks.
And t'ere is also, about, the remnants of one's blood,
Dried and unmoving in t'eir death, but too lifelike at the same time,
Smelling ***** like the air rifles t'at just brought 'em all to death.
Death, ah, living t'is life without thee is like death;
All is clueless, breathless and sightless,
All is burning me strangely and from within,
Luminous, gemlike, dreamlike, deathlike, half the night long,
Growing and fading and growing and fading like an edgeless song,
But all too disobeys me, and disappears again as morning arrives,
Mocking me again while showing off its cloud wives.
I am trapped again now, in t'is wonderless dream of thee;
Which is more buoyant and febrile, unfortunately, than death itself,
One darker than even a tragic tear of one thousand years;
Like a heartbreaking scream or shipwrecking roar,
I am walking in a wintry stream all by myself,
And where is my Immortal—for he is not by my side,
He doth not witness the emerging of such sunshine—ah! It is t'ere today, quite early,
One t'at sets t'is darkening gloom all away, and thus we are all born free,
Free, virtually, both our hands and slithering eyes,
But still thou art not 'ere with me to witness t'is joy,
Thou who hath gone and withered like a pale blow of smoke.
Ah, Immortal, but may I hold t'ese rainy memories of thee still;
For t'ey all scorn and spurn as though I am ill;
I who loveth thee sincerely 'till the very end of time,
I who loveth thee with all the clear and vague powers
with which my very soul hath been endowed,
I who loveth thee like mad, I who loveth thee purely without hate;
I who virginly loveth thee like I doth my own fascinated fate.

Lay again, my love, on my longing lap,
I'll sing to thee one favourite lullaby,
And a basket of cherries t'at we picked nearby,
We shall enjoy t'is merriment before I let you sleep.
I shall let you sleep on my lap—a pair of skins t'at love you,
Love you as much as my other skin doth,
A heartbeat and pulse t'at breathe together
And want thee t'at madly, now and forever.

I found thee perfectly beautiful, my Immortal;
Sometimes thy eyes were downcast,
Spiritual in some ways,
And 'twas like thou wert thinking, my love;
Thinking of the upsurging stars above—and t'eir ******* secrets, beneath.
Ah, Immortal, even the vilest idleness cannot be against my love for thee;
My sparkling stars, and the affirmation traced along my heart is about thee;
All about thee, until t'ere is but none left of me,
Thou art the juice of my soul—far too ripe for someone else's heart!
And one, thou art more delicate than the crescent moon we hath tonight;
More shimmery than its ***** and rays of twilight,
Ah, Immortal, how the heavens hath descended thee onto me;
Thou, my love, art the last life and love of my thorough entity.

And t'is poetry shall be thy last enchanting lullaby,
I hope thou'lt sing it when midnight's swollen and sore,
Hurting thee to the pipes of thy very core,
But let's forget not t'at we once knitted awesome stories,
A chain of moments t'at lasts forever, ever, and ever again.
Ah, Immortal, we are back in the afternoon now,
We must though 'tis bluntly hard to say goodbye,
Of which hearts are unsure, but yet must lie,
I shall cry out my last beating love for thee,
But thou dwelleth in what I see, and thus ne'er leave me,
Like a fallen star t'at wants to rise but ne'er doth,
Thou art still the leaf my autumn tree hath sought;
And thou art the shine to my balmy rootless night;
Thou art the apparition t'at appeareth and teasest me after nightfall.

I'll wait for thee again in slippery Sofia,
And my love shall re-unite again with its winds;
Its walls, its havens, its barns like a spellbound purgatory;
For if I am bound to thee, in love and hate and rage and agony;
I'll write thee poems 'till even the universe is asleep.
I'll be cold like thy saluted Bul-ga-ri-ya;
I'll hold thee with 'till the last drops of my sanity;
Ah, Immortal, and in yon high-walled garden I still watch thee
pass like an authorial star;
Thou art as graceful as my own kind-hearted light;
For sorrow cannot even seize thee, my leading star!

Say love not when I meet thee again one day;
For t'ere is no more a desire to learn or admire,
I shall carry my knigh
always Jul 2014
I put my face in your hair and stroked your face
you bit my neck and pulled my hair
I placed you on my lap
and removed your petals one by one
our sweat mingled together, became one and beaded off our bodies.

My eager tongue, rolling amidst your petals
feeling you arch, as we roll together
the many layers of you
responding to my desire.
rolling tongue, plunging tongue
seeking your secret places.

I won't be happy until I'm deep inside you
until I've found the perfect rhythm to pleasure you.
until I've heard you moaning my name as I carry you higher.

I'm hungrier after tonight, love.
mark deo biongan Jan 2015
Taste is my desire
what i eat doesnt matter
what i can offer to eat doesnt concern
i may be charge for millions but will taste it

i dont care who cant eat as long as i eat
no money can satify my hunger
no chef can verify my taste for food
i shall eat anything you serve

i dont care of the taste not the smell
as my stomach grumble i shall eat it
im always hungry always being stuffed
nor i can be full of what i eat

no one is hungrier but me
eat and drink i what i live
food is my first love
and wealth i shall spend for it

i am gluttony the undying hunger
i shall eat to satisfy but never full
i shall have everything edible
for my stomach needs more
Midway upon the journey of our life
I found myself within a forest dark,
For the straightforward pathway had been lost.

Ah me! how hard a thing it is to say
What was this forest savage, rough, and stern,
Which in the very thought renews the fear.

So bitter is it, death is little more;
But of the good to treat, which there I found,
Speak will I of the other things I saw there.

I cannot well repeat how there I entered,
So full was I of slumber at the moment
In which I had abandoned the true way.

But after I had reached a mountain's foot,
At that point where the valley terminated,
Which had with consternation pierced my heart,

Upward I looked, and I beheld its shoulders,
Vested already with that planet's rays
Which leadeth others right by every road.

Then was the fear a little quieted
That in my heart's lake had endured throughout
The night, which I had passed so piteously.

And even as he, who, with distressful breath,
Forth issued from the sea upon the shore,
Turns to the water perilous and gazes;

So did my soul, that still was fleeing onward,
Turn itself back to re-behold the pass
Which never yet a living person left.

After my weary body I had rested,
The way resumed I on the desert *****,
So that the firm foot ever was the lower.

And lo! almost where the ascent began,
A panther light and swift exceedingly,
Which with a spotted skin was covered o'er!

And never moved she from before my face,
Nay, rather did impede so much my way,
That many times I to return had turned.

The time was the beginning of the morning,
And up the sun was mounting with those stars
That with him were, what time the Love Divine

At first in motion set those beauteous things;
So were to me occasion of good hope,
The variegated skin of that wild beast,

The hour of time, and the delicious season;
But not so much, that did not give me fear
A lion's aspect which appeared to me.

He seemed as if against me he were coming
With head uplifted, and with ravenous hunger,
So that it seemed the air was afraid of him;

And a she-wolf, that with all hungerings
Seemed to be laden in her meagreness,
And many folk has caused to live forlorn!

She brought upon me so much heaviness,
With the affright that from her aspect came,
That I the hope relinquished of the height.

And as he is who willingly acquires,
And the time comes that causes him to lose,
Who weeps in all his thoughts and is despondent,

E'en such made me that beast withouten peace,
Which, coming on against me by degrees
****** me back thither where the sun is silent.

While I was rushing downward to the lowland,
Before mine eyes did one present himself,
Who seemed from long-continued silence hoarse.

When I beheld him in the desert vast,
'Have pity on me, ' unto him I cried,
'Whiche'er thou art, or shade or real man! '

He answered me: 'Not man; man once I was,
And both my parents were of Lombardy,
And Mantuans by country both of them.

'Sub Julio' was I born, though it was late,
And lived at Rome under the good Augustus,
During the time of false and lying gods.

A poet was I, and I sang that just
Son of Anchises, who came forth from Troy,
After that Ilion the superb was burned.

But thou, why goest thou back to such annoyance?
Why climb'st thou not the Mount Delectable,
Which is the source and cause of every joy? '

'Now, art thou that Virgilius and that fountain
Which spreads abroad so wide a river of speech? '
I made response to him with bashful forehead.

'O, of the other poets honour and light,
Avail me the long study and great love
That have impelled me to explore thy volume!

Thou art my master, and my author thou,
Thou art alone the one from whom I took
The beautiful style that has done honour to me.

Behold the beast, for which I have turned back;
Do thou protect me from her, famous Sage,
For she doth make my veins and pulses tremble.'

'Thee it behoves to take another road, '
Responded he, when he beheld me weeping,
'If from this savage place thou wouldst escape;

Because this beast, at which thou criest out,
Suffers not any one to pass her way,
But so doth harass him, that she destroys him;

And has a nature so malign and ruthless,
That never doth she glut her greedy will,
And after food is hungrier than before.

Many the animals with whom she weds,
And more they shall be still, until the Greyhound
Comes, who shall make her perish in her pain.

He shall not feed on either earth or pelf,
But upon wisdom, and on love and virtue;
'Twixt Feltro and Feltro shall his nation be;

Of that low Italy shall he be the saviour,
On whose account the maid Camilla died,
Euryalus, Turnus, Nisus, of their wounds;

Through every city shall he hunt her down,
Until he shall have driven her back to Hell,
There from whence envy first did let her loose.

Therefore I think and judge it for thy best
Thou follow me, and I will be thy guide,
And lead thee hence through the eternal place,

Where thou shalt hear the desperate lamentations,
Shalt see the ancient spirits disconsolate,
Who cry out each one for the second death;

And thou shalt see those who contented are
Within the fire, because they hope to come,
Whene'er it may be, to the blessed people;

To whom, then, if thou wishest to ascend,
A soul shall be for that than I more worthy;
With her at my departure I will leave thee;

Because that Emperor, who reigns above,
In that I was rebellious to his law,
Wills that through me none come into his city.

He governs everywhere, and there he reigns;
There is his city and his lofty throne;
O happy he whom thereto he elects! '

And I to him: 'Poet, I thee entreat,
By that same God whom thou didst never know,
So that I may escape this woe and worse,

Thou wouldst conduct me there where thou hast said,
That I may see the portal of Saint Peter,
And those thou makest so disconsolate.'

Then he moved on, and I behind him followed.
Drifton A Way Oct 2012
Headless chickens running aimless toward the almighty dollar
Blindly staring at the knife"s stainless steel amidst all the squaller

My thirsty soul argues against my numb skull to hold a thorough audition
They lewdly feud about potential candidates accrued to search for recognition
They conclude on a suspicion they mutually feared as a result of blind ambition
Search preludes the admission, that I found my dream car with no keys for ignition

Don"t question authority especially when it's the majority
Everyone knows the world is flat and let's just leave it at that
I bought water from you now I have ice to sell
I have a great story but no one worthy to tell
Hindsight should really be at least twenty fifteen
Because to admit we just don"t know is too obscene?

Blissful ignorance"s repugnant scent wafting through the cave
Mindless sheople"s chainlinked brains all dancing at the rave
Fire flickering Shadow puppets tastefully riding the next wave
Puppeteer wizard behind the curtain telling them how to behave
Misaligned redcoated frontline soldiers falsely labeled as brave
Life"s ironic conundrum puzzle, choosing which children to save
Diseased cement steadily drying in a world ever ready to pave
Hungrier than I"ve ever been, yet sickly devoid of things to crave
René Mutumé Jun 2013
We lay down together.  

Unable to move.  

Our smell the same.  

Skin stretched out.  

Holding each other’s hand.

The days and weeks we hadn’t been eating properly didn’t show on her figure as it did mine.  She still looked full.  

Muscles and waist growing tighter, thinner.  But hers,
Hers

Her face, *******, lips, hadn’t changed.

An animal in love with beauty.  Old beauty, future beauty.

Bulgaria, Estonia, Latvia.  We had been travelling Europe for some time.  That’s where we were.  One of those places.  All of them.

And the heat kept beating, making me sweat.  
It made her sweat too.  
But we always had enough energy to be together.  

                  As our bodies become hungrier, our need for each others skin increased.  
                  Her sighs and moans and thighs becoming louder.  Penetrating darkness.  
                  The cicadas.  Black trees.  Collapsing.  Grinding.  Feeding.

Our love, returning to dusk my dear...  

Giving life back to the morning.  Killing each other.
Controlling hell.

A stretch of green.  Hard hills.  
Sand inside our **** and hair;
The ground, and her perfect smell.

We stand-up, and continue to walk through the breeze towards the train station.
I pray the monies been wired.  We stop.  I pull her into myself.  
Tell her all these things.  

She smiles  
our bodies join  
and hills the size of Gods

                                                           ­      Became nothing again.

                                                         ­                          :::
            

‘We will be fine.’

She said gracefully.

                                                    ­                               :::

            

There was nothing at the station hardly  
but a shop was open in the blazing afternoon
the unknown shop-keeper didn’t smile
but sold us enough with what we had to get us drunk;

There were no people or trains/we had five hours to burn until the next one came
the day stretched out and up into the evening as we laughed and screamed like two boiling oysters drunk in a kitchen time passed into and through the hours we wound around each other like two fighting seas her thighs tensing with absolute strength on my lap moaning from her stomach and into the sky

as I did
we kissed again, slowly and absolute - celebrating release
making the day travel into night

my back lay against the cold wood of the station seat
we began to wind down.
and the need for hope faded as we both began to sleep

I said one last thing to her to make her laugh a little, before we rested in wait for the last train.

She began to curl into rest, her hair across my lap, but I notice that she sees one more thing before her eyes shut.  She was looking down to the end of the station where the entrance was.  Her eyes burst.  Her laughter stopped like a match being put out.  
Her nails dig into my leg.

I smile down telling her she can’t fool me with the same old tricks; then I look too.

He was coming.

He moved like slow clay.

‘No.’

‘There’s just one of him... I can take him.'

We have to get this train...’  I think.

His lips lay still like two grey worms on top of each other.  Emotion.
Less.  Moving towards us.

And there was no-where else for us to go.  No more running.  
And I wouldn’t have run even if I could.

And this is what I thought seconds before he was near us.





11.46 pm.
the train nears
the night mixing with the hopeless age of the station
gently moving her body to one side I began to run at the man walking towards us
i call every mutilated thought I can from my mind and air
silence them
and pour them only into my movemnet

He was Russian like her.  Old school Russian.  No sympathy for an English ******* wanna be saviour like me.

No sympathy.
I jumped into the air - I could see he hadn’t expected that  
the time I hung there expanded for miles dying slower than normal
i have time to see his cold receding head,
the lines across his wide brow/the shoulders of a man half-bull
eyes etched into wood
he looks up as I connect

I land an elbow directly to his face before I land fully catching him with my momentum
all of my weight landing on his nose and mouth
‘let this slow him down’  I ask fate
the adrenalin jack-knifing through my body like a restless rush of pure red almost bringing it to a halt
tt rocks him, a little...
next: left
left
straight right
the biggest one i've  
Blood.

His head hung slightly low in sudden contemplation and pain
he still has a lot left.  I think

A gorilla dancing with a fly.

i follow up with more punches
his hand shoots for my throat faster than I can react

I can punch.  But he’s taken many a man like me.  
I think




No air.




I hear Russian
And parts of the station again.
I hear her voice
Straight in its pitch and unchanging melody
But-without-the-laughter.  
I can tell she’s scared from the way she puts too many words in her sentences, too fast.  
I see his grey outline pushing a much smaller one against the wall.
I think about Natashka back inside one of those rooms.

I think about her sorrow and strong will.  
Defiant, but captive.  

I was certain at every turn that she was misleading me.  
(She was)
She had bent my logic so far back it stayed there and made sense again
like a wild contortionist miming a perfect song

I had travelled miles to find her
after three months of dream I finally did.

“ah Jerome”.  
She Said.

We drank and made love for hours.  
reality adjusted to us
not the other way around

dark forms behind the curtains of an apartment
a bed of velvet sweat
wrapped around you, inside you.  

*****.  No air.  New life.
  
“Jerome”  She said after three days.
“You-must-go.  I have lied.  They come here when I call them.  They make you give money...”
“I know hon.”  I said.

“Lets go.”

We made final, violent, love.  
And then left.
I will now owe ‘at least 25,000 Euro’s’ she tells me

I figure it’s all worth-it
“That’s alright”  I reply
and light up as we leave the building





My rib-cage roars into the ground with disgust and rage.  
My remaining spirit pours into my hands and knees as I rise.
A dead sprinter.
A dead man
still rising;
A spitting snarl.  A scream.
The rats are woken.  
Old angels are woken.  
And I ask all the beer drunk spirits that are close to help me.

I tackle him hard into the wall, we crash into Natashka
but she moves just in time, even his legs are heavy, they slow my rage,
i only manage to get one, its under my right arm, held with both hands, my left leg steps inside his remaining right, behind it, I pull, the trip works,
he falls.  

I hear the train.  I follow me in
again
all I have in the world is surprise
and his squat body is the strength of three of mine
emptied into one.

And at the maddest of times it’s the strangest of things you remember:  
i see the lights of the train flashing across her whole body
and for a moment she transforms
and is complete light...

I’ve climbing on top of him
i strike down with the madness of ten days drunk on whiskey.  
aortas ventricle pulse

His powerful fingers grasping at my limbs trying to stop me, but it’s no use.
spears made of bone ****** down into his face
and the old angels watch, as I connect, drooling and enjoying the show, happy to throw me a few chips

His arms begin to flop down like tired wild animals returning to sleep
and perhaps my fury and revulsion can break even him
my hands on her body;
i force her on the train with the last of our money
the conductors can only see two drunks fighting beside a beautiful bystander.
I force her on.

“Jerome.”  She says screaming.

A clay hand takes my breath again as it locks around my mouth from behind me.  
I manage to hold the door shut long enough while being suffocated so that the train is moving with her inside
and when the train is leaving, I finally feel joy.

“Jerome.”  She says still.

And  finally I hear not.  

Not the man choking me or the time of day.  
In the seconds that my lungs drown, I feel only the bliss of having known you, a last toast before I rest within the driving sea, salt-water changing my lungs
but I know my last action was with all my soul, my mind, my body.

Natashka, I drink to you, fully.  Finally.
This thought fills my gut.
His hands across my mouth, my eyes begin to shut.
Her smell.  

That was the last thing I thought about.



                                                       ­                                ...




I’m looking down at my body, the Russian’s beside me breathing hard.
Tired.  Big.

And then to my shock I see Natashka again.  
Walking from the far end of the station back to the area where all the scrapping happened;
one of her knees bleeding and ripped, she limps, as if something is completely broken, her foot perhaps, out of time with the rest of her body.  

She drags her handicapped body all the way towards me and clay man standing beside me.
I can only watch.
When her tattered body gets close, I get to see all the cuts, one side of herself is badly damaged where she jumped from the train
and dislocated half the joints in her body

And when she is only a reach away from him.  She touches his chest.
Hands that can change anything.

And I look at them both.  
And death saves you from nothing at all.  
You just observe the same things, at a slower pace, from a different position;

you try to tell the suicides this, but; few want to listen...
there’s nothing wrong with oblivion, just remember that once you’re there, you still need something to do...

I break down.  Knees hitting the ground.
I see her body slide into him, closer, her hand disappears behind his back
like thin snake wondering around a rock
searching

Now

she stands pointing his own gun at him.  A shot goes into his head.  No hesitation.  Now she looks down at me, beside my choked corpse, a gun still in her hand. Weeping.

My hand wants to reach up to her.  
I can't.  

Another bullet fired
it discharges through her mouth, destroying her head.

Now she lays down beside me too
between me and russian hit man

The station endures our blood as we bleed out
forming one river that trickles down onto the tracks and gutter
you can’t tell whose blood is whose
or who is bleeding out the most

I look up at a light-bulb in the roof;
it tenses one more time, making the mosquitoes dance in quiet frenzy, before it lets out a final scream, cracking out of life.  Going-out-softly.

My head comes back down and I see another person standing only a few steps away from me.

With a turn of her head she suddenly flicks me a half-smile
the kind she knows I like
the kind that rips the spirit right out from your chest and makes it feel good.

Before we begin to walk away together something makes me turn
and we both look behind ourselves. The Russian looks down at his body too, the lines in his face are still, and yet we know how he feels.

He looks across at us as we walk away down the tracks
we can see only the deep set hoods of his brow, shadows for eyes;
he moves his feet slightly so he now faces us flat

he raises one of his palms
as the other searches for his cigarettes
in the first movement I have seen him make casually all-day

I hear him say the words:

“Do svidaniya. Moi druz'ya. Byt' khorosho"

And although his language isn’t mine, I know this means:

"Goodbye."

"My Friends."

"Be well."

                                                         ­                             ...
Joshua Haines Apr 2016
Sheers of shimmering gloss grace her torso.
And I have broken her bones,
imploring that I love her so.
Blueberry lips belly the cold;
hold her too deep, hold her I'm told.

I.

He says Call me Mr. G.
G for Gore, Greed, that Green.
An atypical stoner
with hair wetter than his mouth.
With more ******* than a pound,
he says, With an understanding of
all the suffering in the global delusion
that is the Earth. Mr. G, his name.

Oily brunette, Mr. G., would smoke
Marlboro Green Blend -- menthol --
and spit shot out between stained lips
after each extracurricular exhale.
The saliva would land, tremendously,
and puddles of Rasta shooting stars
would lay, stretching across concrete galaxy.

Hazel eyes invaded and shamed him,
for he wished to be green, like life,
but only envisioned a contradiction:
death (see nature),
for which he learned to embrace, stoically,
like a shepherd of an endangered breed
meant to die among skewed perspective.

II.

This house could be mistaken
for a cinderblock purgatory;
between color and absence of,
eternal and temporary.

A raptor laughter purged the tension --
he abided by no accommodation of civility.
As smoke followed his hyena howl,
the landline lay suddenly of purpose.

Resin raided the clunky, black buttons;
a voice was whispered like a blue phantom:
*******' cheese, pineapple, pepperoni
-- no, extra ******' cheese, extra pep --
Sure, add some more pep with your driver:
he, she -- honestly, man -- they better have
pep-in-their-******-step-you-feel?

Minutes passed like sentient matchbooks
dropping towards a skeletal fire.
G threw the phone across the room
and, like a disenchanted drunk dance,
his words wobbled over each other,
I ordered a 'za, a pizza for the layman.
About thirty, probably thirty-one
minutes, that is.

Passing me the flower-stitched ****,
I ****** in one, maybe two, three,
blasts that I swore
had some sort of nano-insects
bite and burrow into the holes
of my sponge for a throat.

Wringing my rubbery neck,
watching my words leave my toothy cave,
I found out that G doesn't believe in beer.
Believes in souls but not beer,
believes in green men, not beer.

Alcoholic splash is what we all need,
at times. So I told him the obvious,
I'm going to get a case of
(Insert your ****** choice)
and I'll be back as soon as possible.

G stared at me and made a guttural noise,
Do whatcha please, I'll stay here and
protect us from vampires.
You know, blood-suckas.

Pale stoner vampires.


III.

The leather painted door was wide open
like the legs of ominous spider cave,
but the doors of a car
I had never seen before
were as closed as the lips of a VCR.
There's nothing but silence in these situations --
is this one of those situations? Grassy knoll?

Approaching the mouth of purgatory,
I entered with the hesitancy of a lost dog.
On the plastic covered couch,
two people sat atop the invisible cloud
above the patterned fabric
and above the fingers of time.

Blonde hair sprouted from her scalp,
raining down upon vanilla shoulder blades,
her chest a harbor for two pale, freshly mounds,
with crooked, beige diamonds in the center.

She trembled when G said, Meet Steph
-- can I call you Steph, Steph? --
Meet Steph, the artist formerly known as
Stephanie, holding up her licence,
Vanmeter, of 441 1/2 Locust Ave.

That's creepy, huh, Steph? Locust Ave?
Are you something that lives in the ground,
comes up every several years, making noise?
Has this been years in the making?
Are you bound to make noise in my house?

You know this is a house, right?
Whatsa matter, unfamiliar due to ya
living-in-the-*******-ground
or is it because you share a house,
an apartment, Steph? Is it one of those?
Pizza deliveries ain't paying the bills?

G gets up, I, a coward, approaching him
about to say -- Hold up, brother, he says.
Not another move, pulling his hand from
behind her shaking, confused head,
a silver cannon an extension of his arm.

She's here to **** our blood,
She's here to ****. our. blood.
Whether she means to or not,
I know you don't think you want to, Steph,
I know you don't mean to,
But you're here to
drain-us-like-the-Red-Cross.

I tell G that she isn't,
What have you done, G,
You need to let her go
before this gets worse.
That cliche dialogue.
Because these things always do,
cliche or not.

Brother, you don't understand these things
-- It's impossible for a godless man
to understand the mechanisms
of something bigger, something holy --
but you need to listen, G said, You need to --
she tried to move, quickly,
but G grabbed her by her blonde strands,
pulled her back towards the couch,
She swiped at his eye, drawing blood.

There was a pause, a deathly silence,
by the hair, she was rendered motionless,
Oh, no, he echoed, Love, you shouldn't,
You ought not do those things.
Looking at me, he asked me to listen,
Always remember this wasn't your fault.
Sometimes, you can't be in control

Holstering her neck with his gun hand,
G picked her up, slamming her,
head first,
into the drug covered,
resin sprinkled
coffee table.

He dropped on top of her,
Looked at me, Remember, okay?
and beat her head with the **** of the gun,
until the cracking of a larger M&M; shell
muffled towards all eardrums,
maybe even hers.

With blood,
that could be mistaken as war paint,
swimming across his jaw and neck,
and sprinkled on his forehead,
G whispered, You are free,
and I was never sure
who he was talking about.

My feet left before I did,
I was suddenly in my car
with only the ignition
and G's voice registering.
I passed car after car,
pastel metal wagon after
metallic matte creation,
not sure if I ever saw him,
not sure if he ever existed,
if I ever existed.

IV.

Sheers of shimmering gloss grace her torso.
And I have broken her bones,
imploring that I love her so.
Blueberry lips belly the cold;
hold her too deep, hold her I'm told.

Waking up in a cavern darkness,
my dreams disintegrate from my eyes,
swirl in my headspace, evaporating to
heaven knows where.

Scattered pitter-patter
drowns midnight Seattle,
killing and washing away
cluttered, modern filth,
******* carnivorous minds
into hungrier gutters.

This is the part
where the screen of my life reveals:
SIX MONTHS LATER,
in yellow, stenciled letters.
But what it wouldn't say is
how I still feel like I'm dipped
in the ink of Ithaca, NY.

If this were the indulgent
autobiography of my life
it wouldn't say that
the distance doesn't matter,
because that'd be a lie;
I feel like I have only escaped myself.

The rain swells, sounding as
thick as blood, swishing around
the veins of the city.

Stephanie dies every night,
disappearing and reappearing
behind secret doors only she can open.

When she comes to me in sleep,
she is baptized in green, head caved,
Forget-Me-Nots sprouting
between fragmented skull
and select spots of brain soil,
the flowers singing jazz
with a different voice, every time.

One time she spoke.
With blueberry lips that belly cold,
she sounds like my mother:
I am so proud of you, she statically says.
You saved me. Remember.

V.

To be continued.
Half of "Godless". Any feedback, good or bad, is appreciated.
Mikaila Aug 2014
Sometimes at night when I turn over and my hand slides along the small of your back
I can feel the changes beneath your skin.
Sitting next to you, I read you like braille
Like something you need to touch to feel the meaning of.
I know you are a storm beneath your skin.
Sometimes I feel lightning reach out
To the answering chaos in me.
Our suffering makes our togetherness
Electric.
Cataclysmic.
We could crumble mountains.
I don't know if you know your own wildness inside,
Wilderness.
I think inside you are vast and lonely, wonderful but vaguely sad,
The way the trees sound when a breeze sighs its way through them and makes them sway.

Sometimes I feel a coldness from you like a chilly night without a fire
The kind of cold that starlight and silence bring-
Not a hostile chill, like the sharp fingers of frost or ice,
But just a distant kind of... Containment.
A solitude, like the desire to curl into the rocks by the river and become one by touch.
A desire to be still.
It scares me. I don't know how to reach that part of you.

Sometimes I look at you and I see storm clouds and wildfires in your eyes,
I see the end of days, and earthquakes, and brutal hurricanes,
But I see them through glass, as if you've stepped inside a mirror and imprisoned your rambling hurt to keep the world safe-
I see it through the cracks in a briar wall that's sprung up suddenly and sharply, tangled and complex, a warning.
And although I don't want to be
I am warned.

I want to touch
But I am so very good with boundaries
So very
Sensitive.
I feel the changes in the air
The way a deer in the forest may shoot its head up at the scent of a hunter miles away, caught on an errant breeze.
You change what I breathe in and out,
You change my weight and my texture.
Sometimes from you I can close my eyes and feel what warm honey must feel like in essence-
If sunlight found purchase in the air.
I feel fields of wildflowers and slow, dreamy, balmy nights and days at the seashore with diamonds capping the waves.
Sometimes I feel from you the tickle of cut grass, and the smell of fresh rain, and what a butterfly's furry wings would feel like if stroking them wouldn't make them crumble like spun sugar.
Sometimes I feel from you the slow, deep pull that I remember from sitting at the bottom of that coral reef in St Thomas-
The heat of the day sinking in layers through the water to hold me suspended in graceful pressure-
Poised to be swallowed by something much more significant and much hungrier than me.
And sometimes there is simply cold, the way I said,
As if the wind has somehow changed and left me adrift, sails dead, in a sea that offers no sustenence and no explanations.
In those times of stillness I wait, breathless,
Cautious-
They always pass,
So far.

I sit beside you and hold my breath
Hold my hands.
I sit and look at the grass
At the sky
But I see you instead
Silent beside me,
An unknown, a mirror maze
All of a sudden sunlight
And all of a sudden shadows.

When you go dark and silent I want to start digging.
I want to sink to my knees and pull apart the earth,
Find its heart, hot and sticky and molten,
Burning with the secrets of a forever life in the belly of a fragile stone.
I want to claw it out and put your hands on it,
Watch it feed your soul and sear away that terrifying cold.
Light you up so that you will never curl up silent around a black glass starless hailstorm ever again.
I feel the dirt under my fingernails and how
Odd it is
That it is familiar, from scrabbling out of grave after grave,
Confused and reborn and shivering.
How odd that now I am tunneling towards what remade me so many times
To try to break the laws of nature and bring it to you
Before you ever have to sink towards it.

But I feel from you. And then I don't. And then I do.
And it wakes in me an unsettled longing more powerful than my history.

I feel from you the silence right after the last note of a symphony fades
Before the audience applauds
Before anyone has even taken a breath.
I feel that exquisite beauty
And the fear that it will shatter.
(The fear that is the knowledge that it will shatter.)
I feel all of this from you
For you and
I think it might be
Love.
Dragon's Blood Apr 2014
The wind blows through my stale hair.
My breaths are tight as I adjust to the new weight.
When did I last eat?
who knows...
I feel my stomach,
I don't even have to **** in
to feel my ribs
and other inner things.
These pants used to be tight
but look they're baggy,
a sign of accomplishment.
Look at me
I'm looking frail
I feel so skinny
I feel so beautiful.
The hungrier I am
the happier I am,
the more I feel one day
I will be okay to look at.

My body tells me to eat,
eat everything in sight
keep eating
and once you're full
eat some more
and more
even when you're burst
and your innards trail the floor,
it's best to keep eating,
even when you hate the taste.

It's always on my mind,
the hunger never stops,
so as long as I feel hungry,
I'll sew my mouth shut so
maybe one day it will end.

The hungrier I am,
the happier I am.
No one will ever call me fat again
they'll never say I'm ugly,
I'll never cry again
so long as I don't look in that mirror.
Because today,
I feel so skinny,
I'm starving and ill
but it's okay because I'm getting pretty.
I threw up that
and I threw up this
but it's okay because I'm getting pretty.
I either eat everything
or eat nothing at all,
all or nothing
my brain won't accept anything else.

But it's okay because
I can't remember when I last ate,
and I feel my ribs
and I'm skinny and-
I look in the mirror
and I'm still so fat.
So I'll sit down and cry
and workout some more.
Tempted to take a grater
and peel the fat off layer by layer.
Because fat isn't pretty,
and skinny is.
Nick Moser Jan 2016
Does a wish even mean anything anymore?

It seems that people wish and wish and wish,
More each day and day and day.

But they don’t receive any of their wishes, just more days.
It seems like it’s impossible for a wish to come true anymore.
I’m sitting here in this room and I’m surrounded by is troubled memories.
All these troubled images and feelings.

I look up to the clock and it’s 11:10.
Oh, what a time to be alive.
Because I know in just one short minute,
One little minute,
One rapidly approaching minute,
It will be 11:11.
And that minute seems to last forever.

It is in that minute that the dreamers and the believers and the prayers,
They all become the wishers.
They all wish for better jobs, or better cars, or better tomorrows.
But sadly, no one ever told them that tomorrow never comes.

Tomorrow is just a day away.
But tomorrow will never be here because when you get there it’s Today.

Tomorrow is such a strange thing.
But yet so many people wish for the pain to cease, tomorrow.
For the girl or guy to like us back, tomorrow.
We all wish to find a million dollars on the ground, tomorrow.

We wish, we wish, we wish.

In that minute at 11:11, we spend a lifetime wishing for something that we know we NEED.
We don’t WANT a new car, we NEED one to get to the store to buy groceries for our children.
We don’t WANT that other person to like us back, we NEED them to because we need a hand to hold, lips to kiss, and a shoulder to cry on.
We don’t WANT to find money on the ground, we NEED to because we’re running out of money to pay the bills, money to pay the rent, and money to live.
We don’t wish for things we WANT, we wish for things we NEED.

We need comfort.
We need happiness to come and see the way we’ve been living.
And for it to say “This person needs me.”

I wish we all had our wishes, oh that is what I wish.

Some people look at wishing as Child’s Play.
But I look at it as a lost art that has become unrecognized.

Because there are so many people in the World,
Wishing for a heart that needs healed.
A hand that needs held.
And for stars they need to show so they may keep wishing upon them.

Sometimes, when we wish for a better day, we get a terrible one.
When we wish for more food, we go hungrier.
When we wish for riches, we receive rags.
When we wish for love, we find hate.
Happiness, we find pain.
White, we find grey.

And sometimes we wish for the day but we find the night.

And if it was all up to me, a wish would come true for me and you.
Wishes would be like horses, and gallop toward prosperity.
Those wishes would be like spaceships, and fly to unknown places.
And they would save everyone with good graces.
Wishes would be like cars.
They’d travel oh so far.
Wishes would be like airplanes.
And probably do something that rhymes with airplanes.

Those wishes would save our souls.
Those wishes would make the World whole.

I wish everyone who wishes wishes would have their wishes come true.
I wish pain would turn into serendipity.
Sadness would turn into happiness.
I wish the World would be whole once again.

I would wish for a better today and to never see tomorrow if all it holds is pain.

I’d wish the whole World would be happy again,
And I’d wish you all the best,

But sadly, it’s now 11:12.
I wish.
Jeff Barbanell Jul 2013
Each of you.
My individual singularities, Dad’s One Thing.
Conceived 1955.
Driven home, progeny, made man, unequivocal, indisputable.
Post-war night spirits undaunted ~ stop ******* me.
*** for you, stopped me.
Can’t make it the way you want. Please stop.
Backing off, I respect real you.
Don’t push me Me.
Don’t dream.
Will dream us.
Short sentence for guilt whisked way beyond what crime could be.
We combine beans and seeds and gourds.
That’s science! Culinary!
Botany, true, but I’m enaturated.
Human pod progressed.
If that’s a word, don’t dream it’s not.
Forget every word.
But make each and every word count.
Then add stash, socked away.
I concede.
Mi casa su casa.
Paint it.
Together.
Made mistake then fixed it.
Copasetic dovetails, my lady and me (not I).
We walk talk island jib.
I like the cut of your yar across the moonlit pool.
Go around with me to all haunts, snow globetrotting shaken not stirred
My déjà vu in futurum videre, I can’t believe.
Asunder goddesses should be together,
While Isis and Osiris boogie like Beatrice and Dante encircled,
Their own private imbroglio invaded
By Goth end time alchemists conjuring copyrights for gelt.
You tell me this short story.
I cringe.
My mind clouds men’s, and then conjures Morpheus.
My shadow child joins me in Paradise,
Deliria dancing in concert with Shakespearean intent.
My daughter’s got more guts in one pinky
Than all that fallen pilot on our island bargained for
In the games that decided who’s hungrier.
You could have been that gal.
Heidi Franke Aug 2021
The human appetite
To **** the pain
to not experience any
dis-
comfort

The human appetite
to run a-way
far, away
are
seeds planted from our
footsteps

The more we run
the bigger the
plant
the hungrier
we get
the greater the ruin
in our run

Don't avoid
the burdens of
engaging lost plans,
or others.
Other Wise, the human
starves its self
in a marathon
by sealing off mouths.

Alimentary,
Leaving one, you, her, they,
them,  in the
hunger cycle
to feed
then crushed
left void

Elementary words
     don't avoid
pain.
It requires a handshake
a' la carte,
Indulge.
   remedy is in
the crash diet.
Come home now.
It's time for dinner.
Lucky Queue Dec 2012
I woke up this morning and felt like doing some cutting
Just for the heck of it.
I didn't, if only because I had no reason
I had no time
I made two promises,
And with them, I never lie.
Got up, dressed, finished a project due by 2:30
Before school starts my brother comes down
Scale in hand, telling me to get on so he can see if he weighs more
Always wanting to be taller, weigh more
So I can be his 'little sister'
I sigh, step on. Expecting my usual of 90-92
86
Freak out mode: on.
I forgot to eat properly over the last 24 hours, maybe that's it
I only got 5 hours of sleep the last 2 nights, maybe that's it
I've been really stressed by school, maybe that's it
Almost time to go and somehow I still can't eat, I don't want to.
I need to though.
Let me explain this: I normally weigh about 92 pounds
95 is what I should weigh
I need to gain weight anyway, but high metabolisms don't like that
So usually I am 3 pounds underweight
Today it was about 10.
Go to school, should eat but don't want to
Standing, waiting, anticipating what?
Hand my friend three cookies, I tell the group my problem
One cookie handed back(other two previously eaten)
Told to eat by four friends, too hard to explain why I can't eat
Numerous reminders to eat
Lunch: I'm handed some chicken nuggets, ice cream
Half jokingly threatened that I won't be talked to unless I eat
Begged to eat
Strangely: I have no such desire
I have minimal amounts of body fat(less than 10 percent)
But even so, I can feel weight missing,
The absence of my already flat belly, surreal to think about
I still don't feel like eating, not really hungry
No other explanation
Friend tells me to pig out when I get home
Quiz bowl after school and I'm only ever so slightly hungry
But not much
A friend steals my gym shoes, mom comes
At home I eat some butter and honeyed toast, tea, candied ginger, half a thing of crackers
Report to friend # 2 who then proceeds to command me to eat more, and interrogates on why I'm not eating
Tell friend # 1 as well, his approval expressed
Dinner and afterwards I only feel hungrier... so strange.
I check the scale again
89
Better, but still too low.
I need to work on this...
So today I weighed far too little, an interesting experience. And yes, I seriously did not feel like eating and forgot the day before. Right now I'm a little hungry though... to the kitchen!!
Shubham Roy Oct 2015
I follow your eyes,

As a traveler follows his compass;

Cruising through the tides

Searching for the enormous.

He began the journey,

Thanks to his wanderlust,

Mine, chanced on being scorny…

I count on being the last!

Twists and turns adorned the track,

I scolded them

As my thoughts went scavenging a snack

Right on the hem.

She boasted her 120kmphs,

I could only smile.

Didn’t she see me at all?

Where I was all this while!

They sprang from both sides,

Adoring her fair

How could she even see through,

The symmetry worth a care!

You caught the wind,

As a kite fluttering, does

Eyes closed, lashes twined,

You smile contagious!

Careless you were,

As I asked for the plan,

Grooving in slow motion,

Ignoring even a sun-tan…

Now I wonder if

The windows are open,

My thoughts are shy, they can’t shout

Wanting to collide with yours out!

You went out,

Telling me to imagine,

Since, my pen’s been my spoon…

Even as I went on to dine.

Someday I will drive,

Or just stare at you, driving,

Unless you have your lovelocks

For your face-hiding!

And sing to each other,

Some songs as rhymes,

Check out on the trees afar

If even a single bird thrives.

Eat terrible food,

Feeling them to be tastier,

Laugh quite like insanes,

Hoping to feel hungrier.

Unending roads with us meeting,

Breaking into a jig

Again and again, as

Mirth and joy go on knitting.

Light or dark,

I really don’t care,

Go out with whosoever,

But won’t you stay true to me, dear?

I attempt to quiet my mind,

Caring not to look behind,

I promise, imaginations won’t be a hype

For, you are the roadtrip of my life…
Do check my blog at authorsinxcess.WordPress.com
T Stevens Jan 2014
Another day of long hours ahead  for me

Good morning gorgeous!

Read your full disclosure and I admire you even more.
Whoever said all creative people suffer from manic or
clinical depression was out of their minds because you don't.
You prove you don't need to be depressed to write.
Like the you don't smoke and you are no ******.
You are careful what you put in your body
I know you don't do drugs.  
The more I get to know about you the more the butterflies
in my stomach tell me I'm right.
You read that part right.
I still have butterflies when I think of you
but at the same time I feel at ease when we on net chat.
Big confession coming up.
I've always wanted someone like you in my life.
A woman who's gorgeous, highly intelligent, has her
**** together, doesn't cake on make up, has confidence,
loves herself and life, laughs at life and herself, doesn't bore
the hell out of me with drama and much more.
Quite frankly I've always wanted a woman
other women hate and she makes them feel insecure.
That's the woman that has confidence and can
enter a room alone without being self-conscious.
That's how I know you're the woman for me.
Your stalker has been freed but you are not in hiding
I commend you for taking your power back.
I'm guessing you are set to stand your ground if necessary.
I mentioned your name and they know of you
mainly from what they've heard from friends.
Hope you don't mind they did a Google search.
I didn't tell them we were dating it's how my parents are.
They can tell when I'm interested in a lady.
With your images on screen my dad agrees
with me. You are gorgeous!
My mom said "I haven't seen anything
that lovely in a long time!"
My folks have unprejudiced hearts like  me
and yourself and would love meeting you.
Bringing them out to hear you when you
tell me you will be singing.
Hoping you will feel more at ease with my parents
sitting at the table and we finally have a real life
conversation longer than me telling
you how amazing your singing is.
Hope your meeting with your producer went well.
You venturing out in bad weather speaks volumes
about your dedication to what you do.  
The more I know about you Betty Ponder
the hungrier I am to learn more.
I have no doubt you would never keep me
waiting for an hour for lack of something to wear.


.
sanch kay Jan 2016
we’re the cool girls of this generation,
the ones with the words ‘i .cannot. give. a. ****’
slashed across us in bold red,
the little lies we tell ourselves to go to bed,
instead of spending midnight hours strung on the edge
unable to seek behind or storm ahead.

the ones who fell asleep
to the sound of constant yelling, artillery shelling; bitter bullets exploding
into ugly bruises splattered across still skinny limbs,
shifting stories of anger and frustration, guilt and regret
expressed across inches of innocent skin;
the ones whose clothes were just a little bit frayed on the edges
the wear and tear of secret battles
fought behind sunset alleys,
behind midnight tea stalls
or on bright Sunday afternoons
at the bus stand,
desperately fighting hungry eyes and hungrier hands.

we’re the cool girls of this generation -
the ones with the
red tips red lips
red ribs red wrists.


we’re the cool girls of this generation -
the ones that house boys in our hearts and
smoke in our lungs,
the ones who spend way too much time inside their own head,
asking a hundred questions before every step in this game of wizarding chess that
never seems to slow down -

we’re the ones that can be found
wandering insomniac across sulphur-sodden streets,
wisps of distant wishes
settling into the foggy vestiges
of a high mind longing to soar higher.

we’re the cool girls of this generation
the one that are still allowed just the right rationing of
action emotion expression complication communication
while wearing a constant resting not-so-***** face
head sorting information in a frenzied daze,
heart swinging between your fingers and a suitcase -

the ones with one foot in the present and
other parts traversing through parallel dimensions,
searching for a back up plan if your hearts refuse to allow us home;
the ones whose mouths became graveyards
for all the words that went unsaid,
for all the words to which we came undone,
for all times your eyes asked us questions that we shunned

we’re the cool girls of this generation -
the ones that belong to roads unknown and bodies untouched,
the ones that find stories in shipwrecked planks
that ride stormy oceans only to find homes
or perhaps even build them -
amidst the crumbling sand castles on the sea shore.

because we’re the cool girls of this generation -
the ones with the
*red tips red lips
red ribs red wrists.
Sally A Bayan Mar 2023
It’s Springtime.
The hours, the days pass quicker,
especially to folks already in their
late seventies, or eighties…
a cool breeze blowing easily brings
back good times, bringing smiles
to their wrinkled faces...to some,
rage and sorrow are resurrected,
recalling, how they lost loved ones,
all that they've had, through ways
unlawful, how they pined for truth,
justice, and freedom...time is too
slow for for them...some choose
to forget, but couldn't...
malfeasance is a habit, a way of life.

The privileged ones bask in the
brightest of comforts…impregnable
walls of their fortresses have made
them blind and deaf to the woes
and the doldrums outside.

The "unsolved" remain unsolved,
the "miserable" are now despondent,
the needy, the hungry, in greater
need...are even hungrier...drifting,
wherever their needs take them,
some minds have gotten used to
distorted versions of democracy,
existing on uncertain airs and waters.

Being bereft.......takes its toll.

Past awakenings were wasted.
eyes...minds opened, and closed.
those outside the walls, patiently
await...nothing is ever permanent.



sally b
© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
February 18, 2023




      -<O>-

OZYMANDIAS
(Percy Bysshe Shelley)

 I met a traveller from an antique land,
2Who said—“Two vast and trunkless legs of stone

3Stand in the desert. . . . Near them, on the sand,

4Half sunk a shattered visage lies, whose frown,

5And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,

6Tell that its sculptor well those passions read

7Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,

8The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed;

9And on the pedestal, these words appear:

10My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings;

11Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair!

12Nothing beside remains. Round the decay

13Of that colossal Wreck, boundless and bare

14The lone and level sands stretch far away.”
AFR Apr 2015
I Stood
I stood when my friends were ripped from my arms
I stood when I couldn't buy food from stores
I stood when they took my house
I stood when my house was burned down
I stood as I started to suffocate in a car
I stood as my hair was ripped away
I stood when I became a number
I stood with everything I had ever known was gone
Starving, alone, beaten, and rejected I stood
I stood for days through the tears of the sky
I stood with the heat from the incinerators burning my back
I stood as I was whipped and told I was worthless
I stood as the people I loved screamed for help
I stood with tears streaming down my face
I stood as I got hungrier and hungrier
I stood as my clothes ripped and were torn
I stood when I was told to fall down
I stood as the Lord asked me to join him
I stood as they laughed at me
I stood for those who couldn't stand anymore
I stood thinking of everything that I could never see again flashed through my head
I stood until my legs grew weak
I fell onto my knees
I knelt as the rocks stuck to my knees
I knelt when I was bitten by dogs
I knelt before the Lord as I gave up
I laid on my back
I laid on my back as my face turned red
I laid on my back as I was walked upon
I laid on my back when there was no more food
When I started to close my eyes a hand reached out
I grasped the hand and went back onto my knees then I was standing again
I stood again but this time I stood with help
I stood as I tasted food for the first time
I stood as I was warmed by a blanket
I stood until I didn't need help
**I stood until I was free
About a prisoner during WWII being saved
Argentum Dec 2014
I spend
hours
listening to
music
that no one
else likes.
I draw on myself:
my arms,my clothes are
covered in pen

When I younger,
I would eat the
junk food
my grandma gave me
when driving me home
from school.
I lied to my parents
about eating the food;
"No,Mom,
no,Dad,
I didn't eat
what Grandma gave
me."
I always lied to my parents
but they found out anyway
and they never believed me
again.

My sweetest addiction
is lies,
sugary fantasies
that never fill you up
The gluttony just makes you hungrier
for the
truth.
Today I am
an honest person,
but I still crave lies.

But
if I crave lies,
why do I also
want the
truth?
Maddy Jan 2018
I feel it is weird when the guy you like sits right next to you in class
Even when he knows you like him
And he rejected you

I feel it is weird when you love art with your entire heart and soul
But you can't even draw stick people
With straight lines

I feel it is weird when you miss someone
Who has hurt you more
Than anyone before

I think it is weird when someone complains about everything
But refuses to do anything
To change their situation

I think it is weird when people get depressed in movies
They always read more books
I watch movies

I think it is weird that I can look in the mirror in the morning
But I can not keep doing that
As the day goes on

I think it is weird that some people are so nice
Even after you discover their lies
Still trying to cover them up

I think it is weird that the hungrier people get
The angrier they get
But I get happy

I think it is weird
Because it is weird.
Weird.
Heather Moon Jan 2014
I’m sick of this electric energy
sub ways and motorcars
crumby rain and distraught smiles
empty faces gloom
shadows lurch and hang in dead air
untouched is the love that has collected dust
fallen into the synthetic mist
racing  speeds
                           fast
                                     fast
                                                zoom
                                                              and then it ends…
I want that electric energy
To show its impurities
To become raw
To become real
***** braces and zit cream
backwards living and hand sanitizer
***** breast enlargements and diet pills
***** not smiling
Afraid to appear too forward
***** smiling because you’re afraid people will think you’re negative
Afraid…
Afraid of what?
Just hold onto yourself and do as you please
Simply  because you enjoy It, because it sparks you on fire igniting your passions
Feel the rain
Let it fall onto your skin
Free of products
Free your skin from these creations
Made by man
Man craving more and more
Greed and hunger
Do not feed that man
Let him
Embrace
The level he is at
Let him learn to feel satisfaction
And how it works in opposition
The more you feed the hungrier you get
Let that rain penetrate deep inside of you
Notice the nature
The beauty
Close your eyes
And stop
Nothing is anything
And nothing is everything
Don’t be locked in chains your whole life
Only you hold the key
Forget the ideas
That made you feel
Anything but yourself
And remember
The wisdom you gained from hardships
Negativity is a sinking boat
Hold onto that flying power with positive thoughts and creations
Let your spirit soar high racing through the clouds let you become you
And please
Forget
That electric energy
Jonny Angel Dec 2013
I watched you from afar,
knowing,
knowing about my curse,
I am forever married
to the other demons of the night.

I fight my urge,
the urge to
**** your life from you,
to make you all mine,
my slave
for my own personal delight,
forever.

You are so fine,
the prettiest specimen of womanhood
my eyes have ever seen,
you set my cold heart on fire.

To rob the world of such beauty,
such poetry in motion
for selfish reasons,
would be dire,
bring dishonor
to our entire league,
our league of
hnorable bloodsuckers.

It's just my luck,
to fall in love
with such a cutie,
makes me hungrier,
lust for you more.

O darling!
Josh Bass Oct 2014
A twitch and a instant
she is awake
light peeks into the room
through a cracked window
She wipes at the tight skin
around the corner of her cheek
from where her drool dried
as she takes in this
Bleach Bypass World
There is a red infected
burn mark above her upper lip
must have tucked her hand
to her face with the lighter
still in it.
These things get harder to explain
Love it. Hate it.
Hate...that she loves it

He has more invested
Second nature, this style
of life
It was a hook up
A **** buddy
A mistress
One more for old times sake
A marriage
The monkey tattooed on his
left arm used to lead to laughs
Ironic
Literally feeding the monkey
The jokes are gone
But the monkey is
hungrier than ever.

He sees her across the room
She is crying and touching her lip
He hates her
She loves him
He loves her
She hates him
He hates himself
He picks up the lighter
from the floor next to the
**** smelling couch she is sitting on
Nikita Jul 2021
In the distance
A light began to shine
Sitting on the porch
We waited curiously

A soft tap was heard
The tapping grew louder
As we exchanged glances
A lady’s voice called out to us

“Stop it” She yelled.

In the distance
The light grew brighter and hungrier
As quick as an engine roared to start
The roar just as quickly, came to a halt

Frustrated murmurs
Fists against glass
He wanted his keys
Leave her alone, please

I imagined the stench of his whiskey stained breath
As possible scenarios invaded my head
Was she safe? Was he drunk?

I asked these questions out loud
But I don’t remember any answers
Searching for them myself
I stumbled closer to the sound

Now she was screaming.
Don’t hurt me
Please don’t hurt me
There’s a baby

I had to help her.

Running back towards the group
No memory of talking to them
I’m sure that I did
I only remember

Gritting my teeth
Closing my eyes
Covering my ears
Trying to block out the sound

Her screams and cries for help
Slowly morphed and twisted
Into my brothers voice
His six year old voice

The tapping on the window
Became the rattling of a bunk bed
The woman’s screams and yelling
Became my baby brothers cries for help

I’ve gone backwards.
10 years.

It’s been three days since
I heard her yell
And three days since
his screams began

It’s been three hours since
I took the pill bottle
And three hours since
I put it down again
It was a painful night. I don’t think I can ever put into words how helpless I felt that night. No experience has ever felt as close to my childhood before. The police were called and I think that she’s okay. I’m okay now too thanks to my beautiful friends and partner.
Kelsey Banerjee Aug 2020
stove juts out
stuns in sixty-year-old kitchen
shiny, electric,
everyone marvels
so much better than the gas stove
as if the functions are not the same.
I, misled, maybe
have no newfound love
for false hearths
and work dens masquerading as homes.
we never knew food
just kosher salt, pepper, ketchup
a dash of rosemary
yet our curves labored, steamed hours
heaped over knotted heels
at the end of the workday
you were so tired
and we ate whatever you could manage.

I desired to taste liberty,
imagined I had it on a slow burner
simmering with
coriander seeds, cumin, cinnamon
chili powder bleeding into broth
parsley finely cut
into slivers for garnish grew
dry in my hands,
waiting.

Somehow I ended up
back in that same kitchen
a dream at my lips,
hungrier than before.
Another reminder that if you want a free ARC of my poetry collection, just write me a message. :-)
Byron Galang Jul 2015
I walk the same streets,
but I'm lost.

I talk to friends,
yet they are strangers.

I drink water,
yet I still thirst.

I eat,
but I get hungrier.

I see you,
but you're not there.
Sydney Victoria Feb 2013
Artifical Strawberry And Apple Scents Fill The Air,
Chocolate Grazes Starving Lips,
Single Hearts Filled With Despair,
Hungrier Eyes Gaze At Curving Hips,
Pink And Red Petals Coat The Snowy Streets,
Tissues Lay Crumpled In Trash Cans,
Destiny--Boy And Girl Meet,
Does Love Ever Follow It's Original Plans?
Hugs And Kisses Fly In The Bone Chilling Breeze,
But No Words Are Important Enough To Say,
Can I Have A Valentine Please?
Oh Well--It's The Same As Every Other Valentine's Day
Anyone Wanna Be My Valentine? :) <3 Hahaha Happy Valentine's Day Everyone! I Love You All
Grizzo May 2015
I’m hungrier lately, not because I never eat,
no, my usual diet of everything just seems to be

bland,

I’m hungry for words that do more
than echo deep into my eardrums,

I’m hungry for eyes that see more
than literal words on a page,

I’m hungry for fingertips with minds
of their own and empty palms

grown tired of holding air,

I’m hungry for my nose hairs to be
tickled with the forgotten scents of childhood,

I’m hungry for another tongue to touch
mine in search of Truth, or at the very

least a lie
you can love,

So today, I won’t be having the usual,
Give me yesterday’s special,
and do the same for me tomorrow,

that way we have a little bit of time
to let them talk about it,

and they will talk of your cooking
and my hunger until your apron

unties

and I’ve had my fill
of all the extraordinary things
we let eat us, that culminate

into this dish called
Life with a steady helping
of an unknown spice.
pri Aug 2018
i can hear them now -those sirens, those bells,
and all the girls in our uniforms, hollow and brave,
and how we sometimes feel so alive, and sometimes so, so tired,
those ones who ask questions, and the ones who just leave,
and we’re both of those and we’re so brave,
and i think our eardrums are going to break.

every night, pick me up and we’ll go home,
but oh wait sweetheart, we can’t because we’re so young and so ******* busy.
like i said -i’m dying but i’ve never felt more alive, more happy,
or more tired. life has never been like this
-and i love these dreams, because right now they're blowing my way
did i also mention i love you?
i love you.

you know, you know, each hug is fragile,
broken glass shattering and putting itself back and becoming beautiful,
and thats me. you’re all soft words, and eyes like mine but all the more cunning,
but you’re braver than you know, and you’re a mystery.
and with every touch, i think of what would happen if we were hungrier,
that maybe, if we were hungrier we’d solve that mystery,
or i’d solve you.

always, always so worried. too worried to make a masterpiece,
but somehow you say i’ve made masterpieces of words, and i’m waiting for yours,
but i think you’re unlucky, because even though i’m so afraid of my muses,
they drive my hands, my brushes, my pens, these things that make you softly open your mouth,
and oh how i want to trace those lips. i wonder if you want to trace some other girl’s lips.
because there is no way you love me the way i might love you.
if i love you. i’m so lost in this.

more than anything, i think, i’d want something for myself.
so many muses, so many friendships, so many lovely people,
but yet all i want is only another kind of love. your kind. because you know what we could be?
every night, i’m trying to spend more and more time with you.
and if we were ever next to each other, i’d like to hold hands and gaze at the stars with you.
oh no -i’ve said too much. i wish with all my heart (futilely?) that you know who you are,
please tell me.

and these sirens keep sounding in my head, and i’m wondering if i’m losing my life,
because we should have each other, at those games, with those hollow brave girls,
with those dancers, and alone to dance to our own songs, and in our words.
we’d write each other, or perhaps you’d draw me, i’ve always wanted that.
anyway, this is just another schoolgirl’s dream becaue she should be focusing
-but she knows she needs something to do other than focus, someone to love,
and right now, it’s you.
inspired by my crush and this:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uD4mKy7yi3w&list=RDuD4mKy7yi3w&start_radio=1
Faces. That’s all I could see.
All of them, lined in a row;
hungry eyes and hungrier mouths.

One stab and I was open,
two stabs and I was empty.
Soon naked–skinned.

The pain stopped, but it still hurt.
Placed ‘pon a plate.
All was a blur but I could see–

See the face consuming me.
Hungry eyes, stuffed mouth.
Not quite white
Not quite spanish
Hungrier than both
Mad as a hatter
Revolve around the periphery
Of an institutional reality
Never wanted in
Just want to be the loudest
Soldier in my name
Myopic like a cruise missle
I will exist
I will resist
My front door was a portal to guayaquil, ecuador
And every morning
I would travel back to the states
On a yellow school bus
Singing songs
Watching the white kids play
Silent like a penitent altar boy
Realizing all at once
That i was not the same
I am not the same as you
Though my eyes are green
And my skin pale
You know nothing of my heart
Or the battles i've fought
Phyyt phoo, two aqueous lenses peeling through, the oxygen layers.
Pupils turn as they unfold, hungrier for light behind burnt sand barriers.
The switchboard like a carnivorous plant field independently moves points
And compacted, segmented panels respond like exoskeletal joints
There come the staccato screams of steam one at a time, puff, lining the door  
Capsule, contaminated with air, is cleaned when the beetles wing lifts the floor
The boy I was, offers a raised thumb from the ground, science disciple
With Helium fission equations on a sheet hanging from a bible.
My eyes behind a visor open slowly, it’s time to take control
Still tears slowly lift from my face like a violin bow rising to sing low
Now in a place where time means nothing I can’t regret a thing
I just wish this clinical empty cold on all, to take the warmth that lies bring
With Creaking myofibril strings so imperfect in this black vacuum dream
I shake the hand of god; with polystyrene gloves as his work is so unclean.
I stalked into the brothel with
a cinnamon tongue
hot and ready to pierce.

The room tasted like child’s play
smooth banisters and
bunk beds and
upstairs, the double doors
locked where mom and dad slept.

Its not a love you feel
for the lump beneath the quilt
you just arrange it with your soles
kick it into place
until it no longer aches
or impedes your peaceful dream
until it no longer aches
or impedes your selfish, peaceful dream

assuaged and self-contained
without faces
without names
you can learn to share yourself
like a cactus shares its spines
you can stare right into cries for help
and tell yourself
you’re not powerful enough to do harm

And **** to hell the belle
that comes above the lace
looking as beautiful as she felt
but this time, with a face

eyes like submarine lights
uncovering this corner of deep id-rich sea
without which, otherwise,
I might be perfectly happy
To follow my hunger and
the little bright star
of some angler fish’s mottled lure
hungry like the man
into the monster’s
hungrier jaws

But empathy’s enough
a knowing glance
to give any monster pause
and to keep me from leaving there
without her on my arms.

I took this quilt lump
this time with a face
and told her in due time
I could learn to speak her name.

She clawed not to be stolen,
she had been once before
but in these rank and sweaty halls
between these ***** sheets
she knew what end she could expect
a luxury she would not have with me

Those double doors lay dormant
but soon they would erupt
and fury would fly out to find
like some low cattle thief
I had run off with a head of his herd

We slipped like stench out of the brothel, new gods within ourselves
picked a furnace of a day to hide and run
the sun was a lantern
to young old tourist moths
whose dead dust wings flipped like flora
into the Spanish fountains

we moved,
we found a hill that  stood alone
crowned with plastic turrets, that
someday would be sails in a landfill
but now they stood like great vats
for the mass to leave the masses
uncover their bare *****
and hide the fact that every
human tube takes the world
the living beauty
and turns it into truth

“Waste Not, Want Not”
“Waste None, Live None”


   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .    .   .   .   .


Resting on this hill of waste
under the gorgeous sun
the brothel coughed out another face
this one with a gun

I knew him for the fear
that he put into my prize’s eyes
and the goat’s head grimace
the same that once convinced
my hot and cinnamon tongue
now flicking to pierce
the back of my teeth

And he chased after me

I know the love was true for it came second to self-preservation
When violence came upon me
I let the ***** go free
I did not see her as we ran
hunter and prey
through Mission walls
and old stone alleys

I couldn’t wish for better aim
not a bullet found my feet
nor did fatigue, but I turned to met him
in some lone canyon of a city
some conquistador’s old drag

And there was no exchange of eyes
No quick game of words
No businessman charade
No Humanity deserved

I flew upon him like a coyote
and danced with tooth and claw
and pulled out little threads of red from
his eyes and nose and jaw

till finally the apple bruised
a little flattened spot
just pushed upon his brain enough

and then I saw his face
as if it had been laid
at the bottom of a box
where some red soaked marbles
were thrown in and
shook and rolled across
like finger paints from little hands
if I could push mine into his skull
I’d bet his brain
his thoughts and plans
would feel just like Play-Doh

Then I called the elected gods of judgment
and told them that in the historic district
some boy lay dead at my hands

As I walked to my awaking
I saw her once again
blank with the eyes of a beaten retriever
back into the brothel
where she decides to stay
inside, where no one dies in plain sight
M Clement Jun 2013
HOMYGAWD
Your ears are burning
And I can smell the flesh

I never expected you to leave
But you never wanted what's best

There's comfort in silence
And comfort with your body

Back to flesh
And burning
We are
On fire

And I've never been hungrier for red
Meat me in the middle
And I'll meat you south

I've never been one for letting out ***** laundry
(**** lingerie)
But here we go, and there we were

And here I am
Searching for something else
Grasping at straws
And praying for a better way
Or the way that's most proper

You've made a monster
kali ma Apr 2010
My ex-boyfriend is moving back to town, so I better stop eating like a hog and looking like a clown!

The way he broke my heart, I still can't find the words to explain.

I'm going to have to throw these chips away and start eating everything plain.

It's been 5 years, and oceans of Coca-Cola's later.

I need to wire this mouth shut,I am always hungrier than an alligator.

My trunk has swelled to epic proportions, it's going to take the strangest contortions into getting fit.

I feel like an elephant in every chair I go to sit.

I know he doesn't miss me or my wit.

Every joke I ever told him, I had to explain it.

The last time he set his eyes on me, the fire department had to remove me from spying on him from his tree.

The handcuffs of the police hurt, but not as rough as he with my heart.

Things had gone so good when we did start!

The number of restraining orders are making my apartment looking like I am a hoarder.

So when he sees my **** body from the distance the court has ordered me to stay from him,

I just know his heart will swim back to me.

And I will be sitting in his tree.

Because, we were meant to be!

— The End —