Stagnation [POEM]

I will breathe it in.
Tar like lifeblood.
Clawing into nothing
Until it hits bone.
Bitter and putrid
Is my mouth.
Drool tumbles into
Webs for spiders,
Cradling into my
Lifeless body.
Stagnation is too light
A word for me.
Self loathing too
Gentle a sensation.
Inevitable desctruction
Looms above me
As my ever
Consistent sky.

A crappily structured love poem – Happy Anniversary my love [POEM]

My mind only sees your colours.
Only your smells passing through
The echoing corridors until
They merge together into your touch,
Your sounds, your taste.

Muted purples and browns swirl
Like cinnamon and sandalwood
Smoke, while stars blink out
In a crystal, iced blue that seems
Far too warm to be mortal.

Rich coffee laced with thick
Chocolate, canvas to be painted
On, raw silk and comfort.
You are my room of safety and
Joy, of silent happiness.

Everything I could need, in the
Richest fabrics. You are not
A flash, you are not gold, but
You do not need to be. You are
Pure quality, not shine.

You are my fireplace on cold,
Rainy days, in a messy room full
Of cushions and memories.
I will live in you forever. I was
Yours since I fell into your eyes.

[POEM]

Sickness seems to be curling into me these days.
It’s smoke in my lungs, tears blurring my eyes
And choked hiccups in my chest.
It throttles my brain and stops my words, my pen,
My lips. It stops my everything.
But still I get high in the hopes to feel something
More than mundane daily struggle. I can’t create
My own high, so I find the easy way out.
Artificial lust.
Vacant eyes.
Where do I go from here?

It falls like Dawn I [POEM]

It hit again. Like a rock tumbling to me from a cliff edge.
Not so far away to be invisible to me, but far enough that
I felt its presence coming, strong and fast.
I lay there waiting for its weight to crush me, and found
Myself a willing cushion for its heavy blow.

What is the trick to living, with this constant wedge
Held against the door of my mind. Here I am, sat
Upon my own misery, a throne of sorrow.
I watched all of this coming, from the dusted ground,
But I was unprepared, or complacent to stop it.

 

 

[POEM] Loneliness

Silent drives with you under dark silk skies
Mean more to me than all of their lies.
Peace might not shine as hard as love after
Quarrel, but I melt into joy at your laughter.
I wouldn’t trade our silent moments together
For the loud loneliness of past lived forever.
For the taste of bitter excitement and longing
Instead of the soft buttery warmth thronging
In my heart for you. For always. For better, and always best.

[POEM] Itching gears

I’m a wind up toy that doesn’t understand the difference
Between excitement and fear. Between loathe and love.
Mechanical gears itch forward without any deference
To the true meaning , but if the hand fits the glove…

A thrill tickles against my rib-cage, with high notes,
Paving the way for a panic of horror, despite my smile.
Humdrum chaos surrounds me while I focus on dust motes
Praying those bashful grey things distract me for a while.

If my heart beats strong, it will eventually beat in fear.
If my breathing quickens, slowly it embraces mania.
I become faint, from fervent wishing that I not be here.
But here I am, indeed, succumbed to my brains’ megalomania.

[POEM] Ramblings inspired by Anthony Anaxagorou

Inspired by Anthony Anaxagorou

Can we spell love with the taste of another’s skin
Against our fingers. Brushing over a carapace to inspect
Each lingering line and hardness that has been shaped
Across lifelines. Lovers cross palms with tarnished silver,
Hoping to find fortunes hidden in a stranger’s gaze,
In someone else’s hopes and dreams,
By being someone else’s hopes and dreams,
Reflected back into themselves. The end of each path
Breeds nothing but disenchantment. Disappointment.
If you walk a new path harder, perhaps you will find
The treasure, behind the wrapping paper of someone’s flesh.
What care is given to the discarded shell, of hopes that are not out own,
Once the cold shiny gem of promise is revealed.
A promise of another day basking in the torn love of another,
A promise of another day balming over the pain of purpose.
But as your fingers touched my skin, I felt no searching.
Your nails did not dig or pluck into cracks, but smoothed them
Over without hiding the truth of their incessant pain.
Bring near your soft words, hushing over the screams of
The world, demanding, while the soft breath from your lips
Gently offers peace and simplicity. I wear my cracks
Like chains of gold across my pallid form, you drip them with
Tear drops of melted diamonds, hold my hands in yours as if
You might lose me should you let go. I find my resonance within,
Our souls shaking to the same rhythm, fervent atoms
Creating a new wave of chemistry to drown out the stars.
My body may not offer a deep soil where you can take root,
But you demand nothing from me. Not to take seed within
My softest parts, or grow your hopes out of the brokenĀ  lines
Of my loss. Instead, you compare your own hard cracks
To mine, slowly. Over time I know you like an atlas.
This map holds the beauty of home, and I know
I shall walk its lands until the day that I lay down and die.
Lost in your lands. Tending them. Caring for them.
Hoping to one day be buried here, so that I may never leave
This place of unexpected wonders, even in death.
I will haunt you with love, my sweetest one. I hope you
Will keep the demons of my past within you, and they will
Guard your happiness with their unholy lives.

 

[POEM] Cross yourself

Cross yourself with due diligence,
Marking off each of your sins
One by one until they ring in your
Head, drowning out every sound.

What, then, do you hear?

Flimsy plastic sword of intelligence
Battles the stifling outs and ins
Of your demons, bitter and sour,
Stuck firm and tightly wound.

Who, then, is near?

Broken ribs creak inwards to
Crush the fluttering heart
That dies to break free so very
Desperately. Pain. Just pain.

Alone, even darkness shuns you
And leaves you far apart
From the world of mortals, nary
A breath or soul looks in vain.

Let me pass.

[POETRY] Womanhood

Drip conceit upon me like wax,
Hardening against my skin in armored
Pretending. With each wrong word
A hammer cracks against it.
My skin turns sallow with
The baptism of opinions from mouths
That don’t even know the taste
Of womanhood.

I cross myself with fertile words.
Sacrifices to chastity, grace and honesty,
My three sisters who harangue me
Into a box in which I do not fit.
I will wash away this chalky
Second skin of regret and lost moments,
Seeing scorn on their expectant faces,
Bathing in their disappointment.

My failure to womanhood binds
Me as the sacrificial lamb. They will use
The cracks in my skin to plant seeds of
Lies made of should be and could be.
Watch the weeds grow and choke
My still form, unwilling and unconsenting
In a slumber so deep I would
Never wish to wake again.