Exit.My mother never knew;never knew about howI’d spend those first nights,in strangers' hands that heldtoo tight. Never knew about howbad habits are heirloomstoo, and that the paintingsfrom her room couldn’t coverstained truths.My mother didn’t knowthat nothing would startanew, and that yeah,there’d be good art,but she could never seeit through.My mother never knew thatthis story doesn’t end; that"Exit stage right and followthe Light" isn’t a conclusion,
Intermission.Our time was outof joint those nights,when my sunset wasablaze and yours wasgone; replacedby a moon that seemedtoo big for sucha small world.I thought it was my placeto set fate right–shout spite to saveyou from drowning;but we both knoweveryone diesat the end, andthe finale was alwayswhat mattered mostfor you.We exchanged lifestories and played(games songs the fool)off each other, foilingdark parts; making themshine.You came tome as a tragicfigure; Byronichero in the wrongera. My Romantic character-istics were underdeveloped,so you set to work;crafted opportunities for meto try and fall freely.But I always bracedmyself for the landing;the scene never wentas planned.
Party of one.Lit candlesin a dark kitchen;marking long years past.
June 18.Fear makes the thrillrun hotter, but fallinginto boiling water wasnever the intention.So shed apprehension;step on that tightrope,and shut those pretty eyes(you always do).Just hope that whenyou stumble, someone stillwants to catch you.
Envy.With confident strides we circlelike carrion birds flyingin the heat of day.We enclose and defeatyour tired and weakinner self that wehate;An act of envy.
Silver tongueYour words are notsterling, they are stabbing,stinging syllablesthat slice throughstitches, leaving woundsexposed.
May 29.Rain tears foggy air;whipping faces,soaking you down.I hide in dryness,leaving you to your owndevices, hopingyour sins don't washaway.Because, like a maskthat rips fleshwhen removed,the ill you dois all you are,and I knowthat if your wrongsflood drainswith the downpour,you'llfalltoo.
Sting.I tried to pullthe weeds from my hearttoday, but the thistles onlycut my hands; I lost myselfin the sting. Perhaps to bleedis all we can hope for;perhaps we may only hurtourselves.
Scent.I can’t forgetthe scent you left inmy bed –coital sweatand cigarettes–and how your eyesnever looked quitethe same afterthose nights.I remember you bestwhen the city burnsmy eyes with smoke,and the smell comes tome, like it didwhen I’d breathe youin, deep under covers.But the city stenchof a hundred car-cinogens is no mementoworth leaving behind;so come and find mebeneath the tracks again–let us lose the needfor faulty memory.Let us rediscoverpermanence in eachother’s arms, and breathe inunison.
One for SorrowOne magpie perched alone on a grey branch,Isolated, set upon a falling oak,Gazing upon a cluster of liliesAnd towering above your cold marble stone.The autumn winds blow the brown leaves from you,Your grave is covered in dead leaves,Your resting place is surrounded by death.The white blossoms slowly begin to fade.The pure snow falls softly from the heavens.The old oak weakens, the magpie still remains.The lilies lose their grey petals.The final leaf falls from the great oak, the wind ceases.You left the world a fragile tree, once a great oak.You felt your final gust of wind, you finally fall.Your great grey branch falls onto the pure snow.The magpie departs, leaving nothing.Nothing but your stone.
strong, held the seashorelet yourworld crumbleand then collectevery grain of sandto buildnew castles
*The Necklace*Venetian glass heartRainbow colour locked withinMemento of love.:iconcocoheartplz:2014 Delice19417th April2014
Moving ForwardDays drift away ineven rhythms. This is thetime to be alive.
SenseIn my hands, crumbling,it sings.
seastormI,a wreck-age wearingat the sea(m)sof tidal vacancy;I am the ocean, andthe moon hasforsaken me.tocling to reason,I stumbled onabsence stagnant,abrupt. bedridden yetever chas(m)ing, I fell to salt-soakedground from adon’t-leaveprecipice.threewords were all it tookbut all you do is take.I am wakingand I am shakentsunami waves that breakin empty frantic fury;you aregoneforthe briefest reposeor instant of stillness,I yearn; insteadI am abandoned by language,I am bound to languish beneathmountainous (n)ever-resttempests that swell,that quelleven the most desperate of breaksfor the shore.
flawsilently, the statue contemplates his cracks
Affectedwe play chinese whispers with our feelings;hands glide through empty air,faintest touches, faintest feelingsstiras you bend and curve into me,my hands press into your chestfirmly to shield youfrom mei am the dragon and you are the knight,we can pretend you win - i win,i don’t mind which(which is the right way round again?)spinning in your fairytale dreamsmy heart is the damsel waiting for youbut i am the dragon, the tower, the witch -we both know where my weak point is(you are the hero of this story,vanquishing the monsterwith one sharp stabstraight into the centre of my chest,right between the eyes)we were star-crossedimpossibilities,armoured and scaled andplaying chinese whispers with our feelings -letting kisses pool in the chinks of ourbones and pressing apologies right betweenthe ribsThere was only one way this story would end.
to be a waste of grey matter with no self-esteemforgive theserorschach nerves &mercury veins -i am no tragedy boy,but i have self-decaydown to an art.this tar tongue only startsmarlboro conversations &self-ignition;i only start fires.
Nothing to WriteI have nothing to write today.I sat down with a thought and a pen,Flourishing with the ideaThat few things are as definiteAs death, taxes, and the loss of symmetry in freshly tweezed eyebrows.But soon, the words ceased with a skid,And the punchlines came flat.Here I am,Sitting before the brisk view of the red Arizona mountainsWith the sun in my hair and the sky in my smile,Still completely dumbfounded and void of inspiration.Perhaps I'll type a soliloquyOn the philosophy of a cactus,And on how the sweetest fruitsAlways seem to grow on sharp, dry, government-protected plant-life.Maybe a sketch will form in my brainOf a sonnet on the juxtapositionBetween the hummingbird's humAnd the highway's roar.The sidewalk burns of scorching summer,And the heavy heat deflates a sigh that sings my frustrations.There is no poem to be seen and no prose in the winds.There is absolutely nothing to write today.
GluttonyI walked in my room dripping in goldA ruby carpet led me in;In my hands, the ultimate treasure I hold.Its pleasure, someone told,in no measure can it be sold.But I just bought it. Now I sit on my throneTasting beads of emerald,drinking diamonds- Still,sparkling and cold.Embedded with crystals, my tongue I fold;As if feeding divine honor into my soul.They’re all decorated on a platinum plate,must be fateBecause unlike rich men,I die with the riches inside of me.
InvisibleWhen I was 14 years old,it was the day I thought of suicide.Slicing my legs and my arms,wanting this pain to end.My heart was always broken,the moment you laid your hands on me.I wish I just given up in life,but I kept pushing through.When I was young,I thought i was a foolish girl.Thinking there was love in life,just to find heartaches and pain.My smile was always fake,maybe once in awhile I wouldn't show it.But the day I felt pain,I lost my smile for good.I felt like dying numerous of times,but never ended it fully.Once in awhile I felt free,but my heart ripped to pieces.Maybe when my life is gone,I will be noticed in the afterlife.But until that day comes,I will always be invisible to this world.
please don't leave without them this timeWaitdon't you wantall these littlepieces of you?I've beenkeeping them safein my heart.
Sign of a HeartBlank canvas waiting,paint absent from the surface,longing for passion.
From Dante's DoorstepWhat cynical gnostics still rot in this place,A deadened distemper; dysfunctional chaste.Enfeebled ideals were deft to portray,What a vile and detestable role they did play.They ramped up their vices, consulted in spite,By demons possessed with a rapturous bite.Asmodeus, it seems, was well in his season;As Nietzsche confound to quell with this demon.A stark reminder of the war at home.As is mine to relive, I am left to drone;The blood in my throat, from the debt of a spinster.Apple's for Eve on the playground of this minster.And still I parlay, the need to make quarrel,As the leaves left me poisoned; toxic to this laurel.I still cry when I smell it, the fire of hatred.Left to ponder their lies, was nothing left sacred?Insane I may be, torn and dejected.I thought in her arms I would be protected.But fate loathes the calloused, perverse and diseased.As it saw to keep me in exile, and on my knees.
EternityI first met God when I picked up a pen and pad.I wrote my life story and he brought it to life.But now I’m feeling like I’m moving too fastNo one ever taught me to work like this. No.Chasing pipe dreams, but I’m Mario.Would of wrote a love song but I’m married toThe music. Independent until the day I die, son.Raised with punk. D.I.Y until the day I die, son.That’s not to say I don’t like other shit.I’m just saying these kpop kids aren’t used to it.And that’s why I’m here. To educate culturesAnd bring them all together for the party. And that’s it.Never ganna censor myself for public.Naw, ganna say what I want how I imagined itGanna tell my story ‘till I die. Eternity.
The Worst Case of Plague I've Ever SeenOf illness and its description, I tend to be quite vagueI’m quite a dunce, but just for once, I knew I had the plague!Two boils broke out last Saturday, when preparing for a date,They blackened quickly, I felt sickly, and in a right old state.I phoned my date – this hunky man – and said I might not make it,Gave boils a squeeze, fell to my knees, the pain I couldn’t take it!So, I went on my computer, googling symptom list for ages,My boils were soggy, mind quite foggy and I was probably contagious.The information that I found then shocked me to the core,Pronounced no cure, would not endure, then soon fall to the floor.I called my trusty Doc at once, urged him to come post haste.He said ‘Don’t worry, I will hurry, there is no time to waste.’Well, good old Doc, give him his due, he rushed round to my bed,Looked at me, quite puzzledly and said ‘You should be dead.This is quite the worst case of bubonic plague I’ve seen,Yo
*Perfection*Fleeting momentWhen eye perceived great beautyHush now, don't disturb.2014 Delice19412nd July2014
Moment.Levity lost,His shoulders droppedAs he understood