Submissions by JaynieFlames
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
LOVE POEM
Published
8th Nov 2012 2:08am
8th Nov 2012 2:08am
The Simple Bare Necessities
Deep compressing suffocation,
The shoulds, the shouldn'ts,
The woulds, the wouldn'ts,
The needs.
Necessary like the ceiling of your skull,
Encasing your universe,
Swishing back and fourth.
Each fall an earthquake.
Each spin a typhoon.
Each trip of toxic dust,
A torrent of reality defying both space and time.
The shoulds and shouldn'ts linger,
As a lover's breath warms flesh,
There for a second, then gone for the rest.
But then the needs,
A recurring itch,
The mechanical contraction of orgasm,
Tumultuous,...
The shoulds, the shouldn'ts,
The woulds, the wouldn'ts,
The needs.
Necessary like the ceiling of your skull,
Encasing your universe,
Swishing back and fourth.
Each fall an earthquake.
Each spin a typhoon.
Each trip of toxic dust,
A torrent of reality defying both space and time.
The shoulds and shouldn'ts linger,
As a lover's breath warms flesh,
There for a second, then gone for the rest.
But then the needs,
A recurring itch,
The mechanical contraction of orgasm,
Tumultuous,...
605 reads
1 Comment
LOVE POEM
Published
8th Nov 2012 2:02am
8th Nov 2012 2:02am
Beauty: The Confusion
Creepy-crawling jolts like lightning.
Grins, spits flames of lust.
Painting pretty portraits.
Whispers of salvation.
The house is beautiful,
But it's burning inside.
Confusion like your husband,
Who tries on dresses while you sleep,
Painted Lips surrounded by 5-o'-clock shadow,
Beauty not quite skin deep.
Or confusion like the stripper,
Getting loaded before she takes her clothes off,
So she won't remember how they look at her.
Like a tasty morsel to sink their life into.
A den of erotic frenzy, eyes wild.
Beauty is...
Grins, spits flames of lust.
Painting pretty portraits.
Whispers of salvation.
The house is beautiful,
But it's burning inside.
Confusion like your husband,
Who tries on dresses while you sleep,
Painted Lips surrounded by 5-o'-clock shadow,
Beauty not quite skin deep.
Or confusion like the stripper,
Getting loaded before she takes her clothes off,
So she won't remember how they look at her.
Like a tasty morsel to sink their life into.
A den of erotic frenzy, eyes wild.
Beauty is...
580 reads
0 Comments
DRUGS POEM
Published
19th Sep 2012 1:24am
19th Sep 2012 1:24am
Her Lips
She brings the glass pipe to her lips,
Inviting in an army of THC,
To combat everything she was always so scared to feel,
And to kill off everything she was always so scared was real,
To lose sight of slapstick reality,
And to harden her heart of steel.
She brings the bottle to he lips,
To numb the ache within,
To silence the angel on the shoulder that always said no,
To again lose the fight she lost long ago,
A battle she will never win.
And to cover all the scars she promised never to show.
She brings his erection to her lips,...
Inviting in an army of THC,
To combat everything she was always so scared to feel,
And to kill off everything she was always so scared was real,
To lose sight of slapstick reality,
And to harden her heart of steel.
She brings the bottle to he lips,
To numb the ache within,
To silence the angel on the shoulder that always said no,
To again lose the fight she lost long ago,
A battle she will never win.
And to cover all the scars she promised never to show.
She brings his erection to her lips,...
734 reads
1 Comment
DRUGS POEM
Published
19th Sep 2012 00:54am
19th Sep 2012 00:54am
White Powdered Lines
Welcome to the Jungle.
808's and bass are bumping.
Bodies touching, minds corrupting,
Sin's house is full of His destruction.
Hail Mary, Mother of God
Cross my heart and hope to die.
Hidden in her breath it lies.
Tears of salt and white powdered lines.
Honey, crush it right and crush it fine.
The great escape, the master design.
Maybe it will take you four months of decay in an abandoned landfill
to see that bass isn't the only thing that goes bump in the night.
It's all wrong, but the feelings right.
Out of truth and out of...
808's and bass are bumping.
Bodies touching, minds corrupting,
Sin's house is full of His destruction.
Hail Mary, Mother of God
Cross my heart and hope to die.
Hidden in her breath it lies.
Tears of salt and white powdered lines.
Honey, crush it right and crush it fine.
The great escape, the master design.
Maybe it will take you four months of decay in an abandoned landfill
to see that bass isn't the only thing that goes bump in the night.
It's all wrong, but the feelings right.
Out of truth and out of...
826 reads
2 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
18th Sep 2012 5:09pm
18th Sep 2012 5:09pm
Monster of Insignificance
I am locked up in a box.
I am faded as whiskey on the rocks.
Detached as the Godfather, I call the shots.
The farther up I fall,
I don't look like me at all.
My skin is tissue paper.
My bones, porcelain glass.
My heart, a band kid's snare drum.
My brain, a plastic mass.
No more than a comma within the volumes of design,
I don't ask for much.
Just bleed when I say bleed,
And tremble at my touch.
Impale my eyes when I'm too scared to see,
Dump my body in the forest when I'm too scared to be.
Roast me in...
I am faded as whiskey on the rocks.
Detached as the Godfather, I call the shots.
The farther up I fall,
I don't look like me at all.
My skin is tissue paper.
My bones, porcelain glass.
My heart, a band kid's snare drum.
My brain, a plastic mass.
No more than a comma within the volumes of design,
I don't ask for much.
Just bleed when I say bleed,
And tremble at my touch.
Impale my eyes when I'm too scared to see,
Dump my body in the forest when I'm too scared to be.
Roast me in...
669 reads
5 Comments
DARK POEM
Published
18th Sep 2012 2:25pm
18th Sep 2012 2:25pm
Butcher Shop
White flashes like red iron searing flesh.
Butchered, sloppy pounds.
A serrated knife, slicing fat deposits,
Like butter.
Warm blood pats the ground,
As your wounds cry out.
Cauterizing. Coagulating.
Cleaving limbs into ragged bloody stumps.
Pathetic. Helpless.
Grinder stalling as it struggles against vulnerable bone.
Thick muscle strained against meathooks.
Fighting gravity.
Skewered. On display.
A human butcher shop that is my mind.
Butchered, sloppy pounds.
A serrated knife, slicing fat deposits,
Like butter.
Warm blood pats the ground,
As your wounds cry out.
Cauterizing. Coagulating.
Cleaving limbs into ragged bloody stumps.
Pathetic. Helpless.
Grinder stalling as it struggles against vulnerable bone.
Thick muscle strained against meathooks.
Fighting gravity.
Skewered. On display.
A human butcher shop that is my mind.
640 reads
2 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by JaynieFlames
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