Imersion
CasketSharpe
15
Joined 12th June 2013
Forum Posts: 154
Tyrant of Words
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Forum Posts: 154
Cum on Ho’ (Nuttin up In Dis Bitch) (Summons, CasketSharpe, and FayeRed Collaboration)
(Summons)
“All wives at some point was somebody’s ho’
That’s why I’ll be forever single until I’m cremated real slow,
“She fucking on video and going ape shit wild
Catching trains and popping that pussy doggy style,
“Howling and crying like it was a full moon
Mainly at her second home, better known as the hotel room,
“Always sending her kids outside to play
So she can feel that dick with no delay,
“Don’t let her man go to jail-that’s goddamn it
Before he’s even processed she’s entertaining another dick,
“Driving your car, calling uber or catching the bus
Just to drain another motherfucka’s funky-ass nut,
“Half the time missing her man’s daily visitation
Because she’s too busy trying to get deep penetration,
“He’s convinced her to see her man tomorrow
As he guides her head down to suck nut and swallow,
“And when she get caught he’s wrong and was never there
Saying he abandoned her and don’t motherfuckin care,
“But a few women have respect for themselves- just some
Only if their a newborn, in a coma or a dedicated nun”.
(CasketSharpe)
“Broke bitches always spend real slow
While cheating bitches are treated like a ho’,
“Because I’ll forever ride pussy like a war horse
And corrupt the faithful ones like the dark side of the force,
“Some may consider me a no good bastard or even worse
But I’m not the one with the pussy or feelings that easily hurt,
“Being under me shows what she thinks about loyalty
Because without it you’re just a po-ass excuse for a woman-you feel me,
“Not giving a fuck about consequences
While pussy washing my dick like dirty dishes,
“So cheating bitch don’t talk about love, because it ain’t none
Just a shared goal of making each other cum,
“Always after the fuck I look at em’ when they sleep
Wondering what lies she told just to motherfuckin cheat,
“At that moment my trust in women goes up in smoke
As I turn her wet ass over to receive more of this sexual stroke,
“Common sense and respect for her man once again disappear
As getting home late she no longer fear,
“Weaving another lie while she’s intensely fucking me
That may involve a friend, co-worker or family.”
(FayeRed)
“Cheating ain’t shit, because it don’t mean shit
Especially for a weak-minded punk or a selfish-ass bitch,
“You have a good one at home, but you still wanna roam
That’s why motherfuckas catch that bullet train to the dome,
“That’s right motherfucka; I’m putting it on blast
Because we all have done some foul shit in the past,
“Some had a relationship and on the side a lover or two
Involved in threesomes and fucking somebody we were not too,
“Bitches always wanna use rape or blame it on the alcohol
Because they was the main host of the Creampie Ball,
“You can’t rape the willing when you’re begging for the drilling
Holding your own legs up while each stroke have you grinning,
“Giving your ex that goodbye sex real good
Then leaving em’ alone, they wish a motherfucka would,
“Having their emotions explode like a grenade
And sometimes their revenge tactics won’t be delayed,
“For a man it’s hard to picture his ex getting fucked deep
Now he barely eat and his ego deny him sleep,
“But one thing all men seems to never learn
It was never your pussy-it was just your turn.”
“All wives at some point was somebody’s ho’
That’s why I’ll be forever single until I’m cremated real slow,
“She fucking on video and going ape shit wild
Catching trains and popping that pussy doggy style,
“Howling and crying like it was a full moon
Mainly at her second home, better known as the hotel room,
“Always sending her kids outside to play
So she can feel that dick with no delay,
“Don’t let her man go to jail-that’s goddamn it
Before he’s even processed she’s entertaining another dick,
“Driving your car, calling uber or catching the bus
Just to drain another motherfucka’s funky-ass nut,
“Half the time missing her man’s daily visitation
Because she’s too busy trying to get deep penetration,
“He’s convinced her to see her man tomorrow
As he guides her head down to suck nut and swallow,
“And when she get caught he’s wrong and was never there
Saying he abandoned her and don’t motherfuckin care,
“But a few women have respect for themselves- just some
Only if their a newborn, in a coma or a dedicated nun”.
(CasketSharpe)
“Broke bitches always spend real slow
While cheating bitches are treated like a ho’,
“Because I’ll forever ride pussy like a war horse
And corrupt the faithful ones like the dark side of the force,
“Some may consider me a no good bastard or even worse
But I’m not the one with the pussy or feelings that easily hurt,
“Being under me shows what she thinks about loyalty
Because without it you’re just a po-ass excuse for a woman-you feel me,
“Not giving a fuck about consequences
While pussy washing my dick like dirty dishes,
“So cheating bitch don’t talk about love, because it ain’t none
Just a shared goal of making each other cum,
“Always after the fuck I look at em’ when they sleep
Wondering what lies she told just to motherfuckin cheat,
“At that moment my trust in women goes up in smoke
As I turn her wet ass over to receive more of this sexual stroke,
“Common sense and respect for her man once again disappear
As getting home late she no longer fear,
“Weaving another lie while she’s intensely fucking me
That may involve a friend, co-worker or family.”
(FayeRed)
“Cheating ain’t shit, because it don’t mean shit
Especially for a weak-minded punk or a selfish-ass bitch,
“You have a good one at home, but you still wanna roam
That’s why motherfuckas catch that bullet train to the dome,
“That’s right motherfucka; I’m putting it on blast
Because we all have done some foul shit in the past,
“Some had a relationship and on the side a lover or two
Involved in threesomes and fucking somebody we were not too,
“Bitches always wanna use rape or blame it on the alcohol
Because they was the main host of the Creampie Ball,
“You can’t rape the willing when you’re begging for the drilling
Holding your own legs up while each stroke have you grinning,
“Giving your ex that goodbye sex real good
Then leaving em’ alone, they wish a motherfucka would,
“Having their emotions explode like a grenade
And sometimes their revenge tactics won’t be delayed,
“For a man it’s hard to picture his ex getting fucked deep
Now he barely eat and his ego deny him sleep,
“But one thing all men seems to never learn
It was never your pussy-it was just your turn.”
Written by CasketSharpe
Go To Page
Rachelleundrgrd
2
Joined 17th Feb 2018
Forum Posts: 82
Thought Provoker
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Forum Posts: 82
GALWAY TRAIN WINDOW GIRL (Collaboration with Trouble_Loves_Me)
i.
In Coole Park, Yeats pen hangs from bough
Fountains spiral circled words in walled garden
Seen only by repect’ers of language magnitude.
Lilting breeze teases rose petals into curled leafs
Page upon page of love letters never to be written.
Stems arched, bravely keeping beauty afloat.
Through threads of Roisin Dubh hangover
Frayed remnants of London Girl relationship
Held together by barest filament, shivers under
Ireland’s saddest sun, shimmering for burnt out love:
Finally to ignite bodies into pyre of ash.
I shall be glad for the night of prostitutes & drunks.
Walking along dusty path, only twigs for company -
Two hands entwined cause me to wince
Sympathetic smiles stretch out to me;
Can they see something in my eyes?
I remember The Train Window Girl of yesterday
She causes me to stoop and stop:
Little black cloud in a dress boarded at Athlone
Dublin to Galway Express became platform of desire
Sirens of signals, sweat formed across her lipstick
As liquefying glass astride luscious mouth,
Thoughts of her kept me awake in burglars’ hours.
On returning to Galway Bay, decide to return
My hangover to sender in hallows of The Quays,
Streams of chilled alcohol run into River Corrib
A man alone with his thoughts of days of ice.
Casting my net o’er bar dwellers, as a
Whisky-soaked elderly man sings
‘My Way’ to himself, for himself.
Then a low flying bomber drops a H Bomb:
In an alcove, adrift in litany of empty glasses
Sits The Train Window Girl, lost in depths of a novel.
ii.
Rote turn of page an attempted distraction
thwarted by letters refusing to cohere.
So much had been riding on that interview.
Gloom floating low over the river echoing the deception.
‘Hopes Dashes: Galway Girl Returns Home Empty-Handed.’
Today’s headline fast-forwards to unmet expectations.
Drowning out the might-have-beens
I again put glass to lip.
Laughter lands as shrapnel from meandering tourists three pints in.
Then downed by projectile from nearby song,
‘...I bit off more than I could chew...’
Insufficient liquor in the whole of Connacht to numb.
Sensing eyes upon me,
I abandon page to catch and hold,
Demure back into book,
slight curve of mouth indicating anything but.
Sad, stubbled man from the train.
Those deep stormy eyes, a welcome distraction.
Gazing downward still,
sandaled foot outs empty chair in invitation.
iii.
Hell’s bells & buckets of blood
Eyes of blue pearl shunt me to the chair
Shovelled coals steam bones to mist.
How can an encounter so brief,
(Un)crush butterflies on steel wheels?
‘Leopold Bloom’ silenced tomb tight.
Cigarette smoke lisps thru hair tendrils.
Voice wounded by alcohol blade, and too
Many late night conversations with myself
Opened by Rosaleen’s soft speech, tender
As ribbons from typewriter of blind poet.
She speaks, biting paroxysms of stalest air
Dreams felled by shotguns, swung from the hip.
Lonesome kayaker paddles against rip tide
Lovers writhe on sun drenched wetness of bank.
In eye blink, my Romany ancestors
Punch drunk me back into their graves.
Hand painted caravans carrying generations
Dusty tracks to destinations marked by stars
Led by horses who wearily read sky as braille.
Idly, under séance of memories, recite words
From my notebook lying restless in suburbia:
'Soar as the Redshank, towards as many suns
As your heart can carefully hold
Remain as the Romany
True to yourself.'
Quietude embraces the sudden chill
Movements of a brittle foetus
Nest in haunting hawthorn.
Embryonic tears birth on cheek bone
Well of amniotic swell mascara’ed
All sufferance, pain cupped in wells of palms
Painted nails cover(t) canvas of all Rosaleen has ever been.
Breeze burrs to spread blouse buttons open
Mountain wind 'Clair de Lune' breathless
Trembles from cleavage to open leg crevice
Salt of her mouth cleanses, neck nape
Applique of all feminine scents.
There will be time in the morning
To reassemble compass point
Right here, right now
The night belongs to the North.
iv.
Clutching Joyce in one hand,
a second James takes my side.
Personal Bloomsday adventure unfolding.
His steady gaze births rain and sun
as sentiments flow swiftly into chalice ready to receive.
Outpour pacing the quickened beat of my heart
his prose spreads as balm across still fresh crevice.
My hand journeys towards dancing lips
softly tracing back through generations of storytellers.
Fingers re-enacting the wanderlust
of the here and now and of those who had come before.
Tongue’s salve to soul transforms to carnal elixir.
Skins recall old truths while absorbing the new.
Ensuing cries sent direct to the gods--
Poseidon, Eros and Helios in unison— then beyond.
Each placing our respective tatters into that infinite space where
one body ends and the other arches to begin anew.
Broken bits cradled in sacred hold
languorously pulverized as flesh meets flesh
then sent out on the winds.
Gift of fluids and salts and dust for the divinities,
Mooring where neither duty nor suns can be counted.
v.
Genuflect under shadow of sun sunken cathedral
Rosaleen’s eyes slumber under penile head of the dome
Anticipation of what lies ahead, looking at Galway
Gutters through her blue dreamer’s eyes.
Arousal smells of an orange left to flay in mid-day blaze -
Enough juice to satiate most rapacious mouth.
Hands clasped, she plays my knuckle keys
Whale bone organ, seductress of fingertip painted puissance
Sea-skin sprays, spumes o’er her marble mantle below.
Imagination tilts on Atlantic’s hinges
Sweeping drudgery of egg, bacon, scrabble…
Into corners of a London kitchen sink.
Conversation carves runes on her temple wall
Understood by those who linger in libraries, where
Yearning becomes the sixth & seventh senses.
Air-conditioning wheezes
Couple in next room argue
Language of alcohol from pavements
An alphabetic gang of words.
From behind Rosaleen unbuckles me from denim
Clit circles lumbar, vulva turns inside-out
She squeezes and strokes me to cliff edge and back.
Slowly unpeeling clothes to reveal constellation of skin
Freckles align to nipples in quiver of arrows
Falling at her arched body, slitting her quim deeper.
A long finger drenched by her coiled tongue
Finds a home in every black hole of Rosaleen’s universe,
Lips entangle until skin raw & bruised
Drip over jaw bone, slackened by tinges of our taste.
Bouquet of primordial roses thrashed
To decay in a fuck-storm, a settling crepuscule
Of entwined vines creeping around the back of the day.
In dawn drenched fields, Somnus cradles
Woken by bells, tittle-tattle of tourists:
Where her head lay, softly forming creases in pillow
Sits, as butterfly wings, a crumpled note.
vi.
Spent, body recovering slowly from the épuise of the night.
Soul marvels at ability to take only flesh for truth.
Head attempts the untangling of legs from soaked sheets from emotions from hair.
In unison, rolling gently to the floor, I leave Romany god to his slumber.
Recomposing self and wardrobe from every part of this dark room,
breathing in deeply the mingled musk permeating each corner,
I fight desire to return and recommence.
Body memory pulls hard at hidden muscles,
contractions transporting and pulling me back towards vacated port.
Picking up borrowed quill on even further borrowed time,
I attempt ink worthy of last nights’ gift.
Queue assist from delayed collation of text from yesterday’s novel:
‘Dearest James,
I ran into myself thinking
I was escaping with you.
You were a cairn leading home.
May I also be even the smallest of
Galway’s stones
in your own way finding.
-R., The Train Window Girl’
Replacing lid, I crease paper consummately,
as the night had enfolded me.
Stealing silently back into room,
I gaze down one last time,
marveling at sleep’s ability to turn even thunder calm.
I inhale him in along with the truth of the night,
atomizing both into every cell.
Exhaling door closed behind me,
the cool familiar mist of my childhood embraces me
in salty retrouvailles.
In Coole Park, Yeats pen hangs from bough
Fountains spiral circled words in walled garden
Seen only by repect’ers of language magnitude.
Lilting breeze teases rose petals into curled leafs
Page upon page of love letters never to be written.
Stems arched, bravely keeping beauty afloat.
Through threads of Roisin Dubh hangover
Frayed remnants of London Girl relationship
Held together by barest filament, shivers under
Ireland’s saddest sun, shimmering for burnt out love:
Finally to ignite bodies into pyre of ash.
I shall be glad for the night of prostitutes & drunks.
Walking along dusty path, only twigs for company -
Two hands entwined cause me to wince
Sympathetic smiles stretch out to me;
Can they see something in my eyes?
I remember The Train Window Girl of yesterday
She causes me to stoop and stop:
Little black cloud in a dress boarded at Athlone
Dublin to Galway Express became platform of desire
Sirens of signals, sweat formed across her lipstick
As liquefying glass astride luscious mouth,
Thoughts of her kept me awake in burglars’ hours.
On returning to Galway Bay, decide to return
My hangover to sender in hallows of The Quays,
Streams of chilled alcohol run into River Corrib
A man alone with his thoughts of days of ice.
Casting my net o’er bar dwellers, as a
Whisky-soaked elderly man sings
‘My Way’ to himself, for himself.
Then a low flying bomber drops a H Bomb:
In an alcove, adrift in litany of empty glasses
Sits The Train Window Girl, lost in depths of a novel.
ii.
Rote turn of page an attempted distraction
thwarted by letters refusing to cohere.
So much had been riding on that interview.
Gloom floating low over the river echoing the deception.
‘Hopes Dashes: Galway Girl Returns Home Empty-Handed.’
Today’s headline fast-forwards to unmet expectations.
Drowning out the might-have-beens
I again put glass to lip.
Laughter lands as shrapnel from meandering tourists three pints in.
Then downed by projectile from nearby song,
‘...I bit off more than I could chew...’
Insufficient liquor in the whole of Connacht to numb.
Sensing eyes upon me,
I abandon page to catch and hold,
Demure back into book,
slight curve of mouth indicating anything but.
Sad, stubbled man from the train.
Those deep stormy eyes, a welcome distraction.
Gazing downward still,
sandaled foot outs empty chair in invitation.
iii.
Hell’s bells & buckets of blood
Eyes of blue pearl shunt me to the chair
Shovelled coals steam bones to mist.
How can an encounter so brief,
(Un)crush butterflies on steel wheels?
‘Leopold Bloom’ silenced tomb tight.
Cigarette smoke lisps thru hair tendrils.
Voice wounded by alcohol blade, and too
Many late night conversations with myself
Opened by Rosaleen’s soft speech, tender
As ribbons from typewriter of blind poet.
She speaks, biting paroxysms of stalest air
Dreams felled by shotguns, swung from the hip.
Lonesome kayaker paddles against rip tide
Lovers writhe on sun drenched wetness of bank.
In eye blink, my Romany ancestors
Punch drunk me back into their graves.
Hand painted caravans carrying generations
Dusty tracks to destinations marked by stars
Led by horses who wearily read sky as braille.
Idly, under séance of memories, recite words
From my notebook lying restless in suburbia:
'Soar as the Redshank, towards as many suns
As your heart can carefully hold
Remain as the Romany
True to yourself.'
Quietude embraces the sudden chill
Movements of a brittle foetus
Nest in haunting hawthorn.
Embryonic tears birth on cheek bone
Well of amniotic swell mascara’ed
All sufferance, pain cupped in wells of palms
Painted nails cover(t) canvas of all Rosaleen has ever been.
Breeze burrs to spread blouse buttons open
Mountain wind 'Clair de Lune' breathless
Trembles from cleavage to open leg crevice
Salt of her mouth cleanses, neck nape
Applique of all feminine scents.
There will be time in the morning
To reassemble compass point
Right here, right now
The night belongs to the North.
iv.
Clutching Joyce in one hand,
a second James takes my side.
Personal Bloomsday adventure unfolding.
His steady gaze births rain and sun
as sentiments flow swiftly into chalice ready to receive.
Outpour pacing the quickened beat of my heart
his prose spreads as balm across still fresh crevice.
My hand journeys towards dancing lips
softly tracing back through generations of storytellers.
Fingers re-enacting the wanderlust
of the here and now and of those who had come before.
Tongue’s salve to soul transforms to carnal elixir.
Skins recall old truths while absorbing the new.
Ensuing cries sent direct to the gods--
Poseidon, Eros and Helios in unison— then beyond.
Each placing our respective tatters into that infinite space where
one body ends and the other arches to begin anew.
Broken bits cradled in sacred hold
languorously pulverized as flesh meets flesh
then sent out on the winds.
Gift of fluids and salts and dust for the divinities,
Mooring where neither duty nor suns can be counted.
v.
Genuflect under shadow of sun sunken cathedral
Rosaleen’s eyes slumber under penile head of the dome
Anticipation of what lies ahead, looking at Galway
Gutters through her blue dreamer’s eyes.
Arousal smells of an orange left to flay in mid-day blaze -
Enough juice to satiate most rapacious mouth.
Hands clasped, she plays my knuckle keys
Whale bone organ, seductress of fingertip painted puissance
Sea-skin sprays, spumes o’er her marble mantle below.
Imagination tilts on Atlantic’s hinges
Sweeping drudgery of egg, bacon, scrabble…
Into corners of a London kitchen sink.
Conversation carves runes on her temple wall
Understood by those who linger in libraries, where
Yearning becomes the sixth & seventh senses.
Air-conditioning wheezes
Couple in next room argue
Language of alcohol from pavements
An alphabetic gang of words.
From behind Rosaleen unbuckles me from denim
Clit circles lumbar, vulva turns inside-out
She squeezes and strokes me to cliff edge and back.
Slowly unpeeling clothes to reveal constellation of skin
Freckles align to nipples in quiver of arrows
Falling at her arched body, slitting her quim deeper.
A long finger drenched by her coiled tongue
Finds a home in every black hole of Rosaleen’s universe,
Lips entangle until skin raw & bruised
Drip over jaw bone, slackened by tinges of our taste.
Bouquet of primordial roses thrashed
To decay in a fuck-storm, a settling crepuscule
Of entwined vines creeping around the back of the day.
In dawn drenched fields, Somnus cradles
Woken by bells, tittle-tattle of tourists:
Where her head lay, softly forming creases in pillow
Sits, as butterfly wings, a crumpled note.
vi.
Spent, body recovering slowly from the épuise of the night.
Soul marvels at ability to take only flesh for truth.
Head attempts the untangling of legs from soaked sheets from emotions from hair.
In unison, rolling gently to the floor, I leave Romany god to his slumber.
Recomposing self and wardrobe from every part of this dark room,
breathing in deeply the mingled musk permeating each corner,
I fight desire to return and recommence.
Body memory pulls hard at hidden muscles,
contractions transporting and pulling me back towards vacated port.
Picking up borrowed quill on even further borrowed time,
I attempt ink worthy of last nights’ gift.
Queue assist from delayed collation of text from yesterday’s novel:
‘Dearest James,
I ran into myself thinking
I was escaping with you.
You were a cairn leading home.
May I also be even the smallest of
Galway’s stones
in your own way finding.
-R., The Train Window Girl’
Replacing lid, I crease paper consummately,
as the night had enfolded me.
Stealing silently back into room,
I gaze down one last time,
marveling at sleep’s ability to turn even thunder calm.
I inhale him in along with the truth of the night,
atomizing both into every cell.
Exhaling door closed behind me,
the cool familiar mist of my childhood embraces me
in salty retrouvailles.
Written by Rachelleundrgrd
Go To Page
Carpe_Noctem
Forum Posts: 2994
Tyrant of Words
8
Joined 3rd Mar 2013![awards](/images/forum/tstar.gif)
Forum Posts: 2994
Cycles and Circles {conversations with Sky_Dancer}
**********************************
fallen leaves sing for the snow
forget me nots in spring
summer sun flowers; brightest
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
some winters blanket, some ravage,
in late summer's bloom spring seems yet unripe and winter too bare
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
as the bear hibernate, gored on salmon flesh, so to does the wolf stalk the frozen tundra, rabbits run and breed with out a care
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Silver moonlight, its cooling light falling like brushstrokes on a white canvas. Trees silhouette and create charcoal contrasts.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Orange hour painted scenes, bird song encore. This is the lords of the eve; that possum magic time
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
cool and brisk autumn morn', silken webs dusted in shimmering drops. breath of dragons dissipate into a throwover of fog
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Ripple in still water, single rain drop tear falls alone. Nature's path is those that wander amongst lonely pebble stones
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Tongue's waltz beckons tides crashing against rock, elemental fires, primal foundations flicker on craggy ancient hieroglyphs
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Where will-o'-the-wisp flickers over marshy swamp, so to the roisn dubh blooms on mountains peak
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Above there, a celestial realm of jewelled paths and bird sing songs of nature's enigmatic truth
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Behold a bespoked cosmic wheel. Masters of time spin and roll; shooting dice, when and where the game of life
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
universal wizards cast stars into the chasm of time,
incantation's sound manifests realms of imagination in neon pink and cyan
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sail away, this is no ship of fools, but a vessel of stardust, made for those enamoured, them that shine ever brighter; burning super novas
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Cosmic explosions reverberate in macroscopic fractals echoing through astral planes.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
As above so below, slipping through dimensional rifts, like intercontinental travelers hopping imaginary borders
**********************************
Written by Carpe_Noctem
Go To Page
gothicsurrealism
Daniel Long
9
Joined 26th Nov 2018
Forum Posts: 182
Daniel Long
Thought Provoker
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Forum Posts: 182
Mirrored Psychosis (Collab with Crimsin)
Mirrored faces reflect faces mirrored.
The mirror can break,
appear as impassible spindles of web,
and sometimes it can shatter
my only doorway to my utopian psychosis.
The voice that emerged I didn't recognize
it was holding conversations outside of me
to a being, I didn't know.
I felt the pressure on my soul -
a weighty feeling causing me turmoil.
Fingerprints on the glass
tell of past attempts to cross.
Opaque with its tropical steam,
no, it’s my breath on the glass,
yearning to cross.
It seemed my body was hijacked
by the otherworldly –
my feelings would try to come forth
but they were tender feelings of honesty
and couldn't get past the dark feelings.
I stare back into chipped eyes.
One by one they fall; I’m losing time!
It may cut me to cross, lacerations
would be on my body, not my soul.
My heart’s a fist trying to punch through!
And my voice a ram, plunging
through the tall fence that is my teeth!
I won’t be silent anymore!
I will not restrain my swelling soul!
I shall step through this mirror!
I had nowhere to turn!
those that would believe could be in danger
sinister stirring held me, hostage,
soon I had no name just a number
a prisoner of understanding.
The psychosis railed inside my mind -
distraught with vision!
I investigated the abyss, and it looked back
at me until I fell into its depths
and a spirit of cunning entered me.
A blast of lilac heat, and wind
that wraps itself around me.
“Welcome home,” I hear.
Lacerated hands now healed;
eyes adjust to the new light.
In such a dark place all my life
now with new consciousness,
I can barely keep my eyelids ajar.
The shores that are my eyelids
wane to a tear-sea that reigns.
The mirror can break,
appear as impassible spindles of web,
and sometimes it can shatter
my only doorway to my utopian psychosis.
The voice that emerged I didn't recognize
it was holding conversations outside of me
to a being, I didn't know.
I felt the pressure on my soul -
a weighty feeling causing me turmoil.
Fingerprints on the glass
tell of past attempts to cross.
Opaque with its tropical steam,
no, it’s my breath on the glass,
yearning to cross.
It seemed my body was hijacked
by the otherworldly –
my feelings would try to come forth
but they were tender feelings of honesty
and couldn't get past the dark feelings.
I stare back into chipped eyes.
One by one they fall; I’m losing time!
It may cut me to cross, lacerations
would be on my body, not my soul.
My heart’s a fist trying to punch through!
And my voice a ram, plunging
through the tall fence that is my teeth!
I won’t be silent anymore!
I will not restrain my swelling soul!
I shall step through this mirror!
I had nowhere to turn!
those that would believe could be in danger
sinister stirring held me, hostage,
soon I had no name just a number
a prisoner of understanding.
The psychosis railed inside my mind -
distraught with vision!
I investigated the abyss, and it looked back
at me until I fell into its depths
and a spirit of cunning entered me.
A blast of lilac heat, and wind
that wraps itself around me.
“Welcome home,” I hear.
Lacerated hands now healed;
eyes adjust to the new light.
In such a dark place all my life
now with new consciousness,
I can barely keep my eyelids ajar.
The shores that are my eyelids
wane to a tear-sea that reigns.
Written by gothicsurrealism
(Daniel Long)
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