Dripping the madness of delirium from the blood of twilight's corpse sewing the belly oats of night's flawed body feeling the pain across wooded shacks of the bleeding throats with a broken splinter up the ass for the love of medallions and awards to place on my headstone feeding my exaggerated worth in fine vitae, ut scio, at the end of life as I know it
I was finally able to go home from so many problems of various kinds in a world, not at ease with itself. I worried about her. She had been left alone and was not of a social disposition. As the plane came in for a landing, I wondered if she sensed my nearness? It was late, no busses were going to where I was going booked into a hotel until morning. On the bus, I was edgy; what if she had forgotten me? I saw her playing with children outside the house she didnít see me when I called her name, she didnít hear...
I know I have written such a poem before But it frustrates me a bit. I have just read a poem about a person being dropped Her lover gone And she is feeling soooooo alone, so empty Not understanding Wanting the love back. But she wants no comment.
Maybe she prefers to be alone with her pain And her misery. Crying, pleading for the loved to return to the nest Won't help. It won't happen. It is sometimes said that the best way to solve this Is to †get into another realtionship ASAP.
Bravely taking a bold step towards destiny.. Starving alone somewhere in Hungary.. Suffered for whom? The Queen or country?.. Tried so hard to prove I am somebody.. Thus, the ego Neither signs nor symptoms Oneself antibody..
Quarantined in this Bee's colony.. Got stung in my whole body.. Failed in life for downplaying my destiny.. Wishing this whole thing is just a parody.. And now I know I am a nobody..
Despised the few love ones who shared me company.. For all the sleepless nights they capable of singing for me...
I wish my inner demon didn't scream so loud and I could kiss the venom out of this ice cold heart. I wish the days were over that I need to cause the pain and dealing so much trouble crashing this old train. So please just run away, hide your darkness and fear because my devils are awake and your desire's end is near. I wish that my soul wasn't as drenched in pain as is and if I could I wouldn't make it end like this.
chlorine smelling hallways damp, cold, skin water-logged head claustrophobic carpet patterns yellowing ceiling tiles wallpaper peeling, revealing the cracks behind and the cobwebs rotting roof wood spitting and letting the sunlight slither back in to the attic
how can i shine without your smile, that lonely voice reaching out touching me, stirring hidden emotions while thinking of you, these crushing emotional breaths break my silence, heavier with each newest empty day.
After the coronavirus, if it ends (have my doubt) the next problem will be worldwide hunger. Wine estates were eradicated for planting potatoes rice and carrots. Dogs, cats and pigeons will disappear, eaten by the starving people. Roasted mice were a delicatessen in Roma time it can be an appetizer again. Fried insects with onion on Sunday. There will be no obese people in the USA the president will rule forever as a democracy is set aside when time is hard. Sir Richard will sit on his island, starving no...
Draperies of the eyes curtains hide tired eyes with echoing whispering laying me down to sleep in dark shadows of my keep feeling cold to the bone with fossilized butterflies breaking into shards of loneliness with cries
Forgive me Father the blood and the shockers I've sinned of my endless cravings masturbating with Kielbasa with two berries of gin and the difficult moments listening to Mother Superior rub her nipple hard as darkness
A temple stands, to display the scars of this is me, and I am marred With walls of mortar, left to show I am here, and now I'm known
In the field, beneath my room willows bend, in brooding moods As if they felt the tides that churn false quiet winds, in silence turned
Consolation, like this greying hair the one thing left, until I'm bare It curls about, by its own design soon to be shorn, on the edge of time Though years ago, I learned to comb as the world mocked that it's too long