TerminalI want to kill you.
I want our love to be terminal,
And for it to be wrapped
around your heart tight when you die.
I want you to be looking
into my eyes when you do,
And I want you to know
what I have done to you,
I want our love to be terminal,
Or rather; til death do us part.
I meant what I said,
I want our love to last until you die,
Or I die,
Or beyond that.
I want to spend my life with you.
In absence of a poem.I chewed my pen to the nibIn absence of a poem.2 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
and swallowed the ink thoughtlessly,
but no matter how long I thought,
I couldn't say what you mean to me.
I tried, I tried and I tested,
every word in my diminutive range,
but I screwed up more pieces of paper
and happened upon something strange;
I noticed words, which have served me,
for all of my formative years,
had no power to convey my gratitude
for the times that you dried my tears.
Whenever I doubt myself (often),
You're the one who tells me I'm wrong
You lift up my chin and remind me, wait
for the good things that will come along.
I can't find a way to express how
you are the saving grace in my head.
So words can't tell you how I love you -
I hope my silence will tell you instead.
Mother EarthMy body is the earth;Mother Earth2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
See how under this bruise
A seed of malcontent sleeps.
See what grows out of each pore
As the pain pours over again.
There is rust in my fingerbeds
That poisons the roots
Of all good that hopes to grow here.
I am the convulsing, revolution
of the convoluted Earth...
I am the tectonic blades that clash
and shout when I curl up and hide.
You will feel me when I tremble,
and fear me when I explode
for under the magmanimous skin
There burns a core of hate
That can't be marred by human hand.
40810If only you were soulless.408101 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
If you were mindless, blind,
you and I could make a beautiful disaster.
The press would write of our brief affair;
they'd paint me (the woman in red) as pathetic.
They will not consider how I need your love
or how it pains me so deeply to throw myself at you.
I will not be remembered as a poet warrior.
I'll be the eternal survivor no more.
All who think of me will shake their bowed heads
and tearfully remark;
If only you were soulless.
If you were mindless, blind,
You wouldn't have been such a bloody disaster.
HAIKUWRIMOCOMPLETE 2013HAIKUWRIMO2 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
February 28th, 2013
A feeble whimper for help;
roar of these raw times.
February 27th, 2013
Gluttonous ash cloud
sucks the moon's blood
and swallows the night.
February 26th, 2013
Bark! An explosion!
Angry bodies escape the
network of lung cells.
February 25th, 2013
multiplying, honing in,
determined to kill.
February 24th, 2013
Tea and sympathy
for my dear sister.
February 23rd, 2013
I will hold my breath
as the north wind does the same
waiting for your love.
February 22nd, 2013
He hovers behind;
February 21st, 2013
A long slow curve,
your smile upon my shoulder,
a scar of your touch.
February 20th, 2013
Where do you go while I sleep?
To whom do you run?
February 19th, 2013
Whorls from fingers
Imprinted in the trees
Count their rings too.
February 18th, 2013
A chance secondI lie awake, staring at the cornices.A chance second2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
3AM: my fingers worry at the corners of my sheet.
My anxiety worries at the corners of my rib.
I bite and tug and huff out my misery
As the silence keeps me awake.
I lay with pressure of your absence
Pressing down over my nose and mouth.
A soft asphixiation of the heart, of the sanity.
It is a hot grey night in London.
You are awake, startled by the sunlight.
7AM: you can't lift your weighty skull from the sheet.
The day sirens, but you stay, settled,
Under the weight of your shroud, your loss,
Only the silence keeps you awake.
Unknowingly, for the first time in weeks
We are unintentionally in sync;
Laid out in funerial colours as we die.
It is a dull blue day in Dubai.
BuriedUnder the paprika house,Buried2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
are the bones of my father
and nestled between rib
and reason, is our love.
Sometimes, it's the little things.He always told me I was deep.Sometimes, it's the little things.2 years ago in Concrete Poetry More Like This
An unfiltered distillation of a humanitarian ocean.
He accepted me, gills and all -
He knew that I needed my eccentricities to breathe
under the seascrapers of pollution
that hung over my head.
Or he said he did.
At the end of it all,
he tugged the gills open to expose me;
my innards trailed across the coral reef
as I swam trustingly forward, hoping for the best.
I tried to believe.
I believed him, gills and all -
But eventually, he left me, with holes in my sides
Where he had spooned out my intestines
To tether them to a boulder.
I tried to breathe.
He always told me I was deep.
It must have been a surprise to read:
Death by puddle.
Star-writHear me read it!Star-writ1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
It is nebulonic fate that we should dance
together in this burning bald ballroom
as the flames lick up the sepiatic walls
and drip curled paper down upon us.
It is our right to spin each other here
in the torrentous reign of flames and ash
as the chandelier, already hanging,
spits and sparks at us, trying to take us too;
and as everything we ever loved or cherished
in porcelain veneer or hand-crafted sycamore
crumbles to a close, still the thought remains-
that it is our star-writ fate to dance on.
Of Nuisance LeavesHear me read it!Of Nuisance Leaves1 year ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Leaves clutch their ropy fingers around the tree's limbs. The zesty leeches bloom, crack open overnight and slip silently up the nearest oak or maple. They pierce the crunch of bark and penetrate deep into the rubbery veins.
They feed. They pauperize plum and peach until they are heavy and brown; heavy laden with the stolen sap.
When at last they reach their fill the tree can finally shake them off emphatically, desperately, until at last it is clean again. The tree reaches its black bones to the sky in praise and as a new year begins vows never again to be the victim of leaves.
AfterIt follows me.After2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
My silver skeined ghost.
An almost imperceptible thread;
only visible when you shine light
directly upon it.
It follows me.
It rides the underground.
It hides under bridges,
It is woven into the spools of tar
that form the roads between.
Inevitably if I walk too fast
it reminds me -
Like the tug of stitches in your cheek
that reminds you; you have lost your wisdom.
It reminds me.
It trips me in doorways,
when my mind is elsewhere.
If I look away from it -
- it slips round my neck.
Another knot to throw over the beams
it mauls me without a fair chance.
I tried to sever it. I can't.
Only the corrosion of time has a chance.
So for now, I am tethered
to the fragment of my heart
that I tore out for you.
Although we have placed it in a shroud
and declared it dead,
the umbilical thrumming keeps me awake.
It does not desist;
the connection to that unwanted slab of meat.
VaseA broken heart can be excavated.Vase1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
Damaged tissue can be scrupulously removed
and the cracks can be sealed
with the molten trails of gold solidified.
The upturned cavity,
once proofed against further damage,
can become a pulsing vase for tulips,
because even though your heart has been broken
it is still valuable beyond comparison.
The GhostAlright, I'll bite.The Ghost1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
I'll squirm and fold myself over
as a swelling of dough
pats down into itself;
hunkering down for the night.
I know when to fold
and when to hold; so I'll wait.
Wait while you leave me
packing up the uncomfortable
furniture in my mind.
I'll bubble wrap my dreams
and hold my breath in storage
and leave myself hollow
with only the echo of us inside.
You have me on the hook
So it's alright to let me wriggle
and slip through the carrion;
the wrecked remains of
my maggotous life.
I can't help but drop my head,
lose my pride, wait for death.
Maybe heads will roll
onto happily waiting Guillotine
and depart me from my troubles.
Until then I remain
the pestilent, petulant skeleton
rapping its ivory against the door
- Let me out of your closet.
I don't want to be
a secret that you hide from yourself
in the royal tower in your head;
a delusion, or the girlfriend
of only one personality.
I don't want to drape my cerements here
and let them stick to your floor.
If I must die, le
United, We WriteHear me read itUnited, We Write1 year ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
0hgravity, if by some divine fortune you should decide that today is the day you will fail me, then let me soar through the ChemicalSkyline. Grant me a-lovely-anxiety that raises a storm InTheStarryNightSky for me to riseandbe above all else. Let me soar.
How I long to be the frail rider-on-the-storm and not a victim of the RoamingShadow, Rogue-Of-The-Night, that BlackVelvetNightmare of my nights and days. I long
At Least Your Body Doesn't LieClandestine kisses, of peaches and pearlsAt Least Your Body Doesn't Lie3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
with half written romance by half witted girls.
Your tongue tells a tale as strong as the liquor
each passing heartbeat taints my heart bitter.
Your inaccurate adaption of saccharine truth,
whispered affections with the afflictions of youth.
You lie with your eyes and deceive with your hips;
I die in your arms and taste death on your lips.
Liar boy, lover boy, whom I love the most,
lift up your glass for a seraphim toast.
You lie when you speak but can't lie what you feel,
I know what you moan to my teeth is all real.
SolitaryTrigger warning: Discussion of sanity and suicide.Solitary1 year ago in Short Stories More Like This
The plan had been so simple. Thirty six hours in solitary confinement, Meredith was struggling. Last week this had all seemed so simple. So obvious. It seemed like she had devised the perfect escape plan. Things weren't working out as intended.
Firstly, and above all else - even breathing or thinking - there was the thirst. Her throat roared with it and she could feel its acidic anger snarl its way up and down her throat with each breath. She'd imagined discomfort, but not pain. She was starting to reconsider.
Her tongue was sore. The slab of meat in her mouth felt like unswallowed food as it got drier, and the taste when she could summon enough saliva to swallow was rancid, and reminded her of her ex boyfriends unwanted dry probings. In a desperate bid for freedom a few hours ago she had tried biting through her tongue, people did it in prison so she knew it was possible, but the pain was too sharp to work through and she didn'
KissingMy lips are still freshKissing4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
from our fevered kisses,
even after they slowed
to a steady flutter;
matching our erratic heartbeats.
My lips are still raw
with the urge to kiss again.
KonjukuYou think you are a pebble.Konjuku1 year ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
That's not the most romantic thing to say to someone, so you'll have to forgive my clumsiness. You think you are a pebble. That you have been worn down and eroded to the point where all corners have been smoothed out. That you have allowed the awkward elbows and ankle bones, the stutter and the scars, to be rubbed out. That you've let them wear you down until you are no longer abrasive when you come into direct contact with what they expect you to be.
You are not a pebble.
You are not small or part of a greater pattern. You are not disposable, at the mercy of Poisedon's temperate shifts. You are not the sum of the parts around you. You are not a pebble.
You are soil; and some may say that that's not the most kind thing to say to someone. People will walk all over you. By that, I mean that you will rise to new heights and be the beginning of something beyond what we have now. Like a sharp cliff you will become the platform that others have to build from
The DescriptionHe drinks coffeeThe Description1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
its the art of seduction,
and quite honestly
when he does it
it might as well be.
You'll catch him
frowning into it
as he hastily scribbles
in a notebook
to make the world
El cambia a español
en la mitad del frase
and I don't think
he even realises.
He loves the world
that to be a part of it
leaves you feeling
He makes the world seem
to contain his love
and when he smiles,
because he reminds me
that there is hope
to be had.
For the world,
For people like us.
He is soil,
Salt of the earth,
of everything good
that will grow from
He is a ramshackled
waking up to
the realisation that
he is an innovator;
and that his passion
could change the world.
The White ThingsNothing is as far away as a minute ago.The White Things1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
No matter how hard you row against the tide
we can never reach it, never return there.
It's hard to sleep in the light of my regrets
that creeps through curtain and barriers
to rot away and bleach all things white.
It's hard to sleep knowing that no distance
is as far away as sixty small seconds ago.
Immalleable, we rot, and things turn white.
ShockwaveFoetalShockwave2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Trying to fold the pain up
To trap it between the paper cut limbs.
But the shockwaves come
Pulsing from inside
To trap it between the paper cut limbs.
Trying to fold the pain up.
Never The Gold.I want my silver back,Never The Gold.2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I need to melt it down and forge a new connection
With someone else.
I want all the precious bits of myself
that I so willingly quarried for you.
I want my silver back.
MorningDawn crackedMorning1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
and spilt its yolk across the horizon;
a syrupy congealing beginning
to a fast breaking day.
CrucifixionWrists skyward she began to beg; "Please, Please God, I can't do this anymore. I don't want to be.. a prophet, or a messenger of peace and love or whatever it was that you sent her to me so that I would become. I don't.. I can't.." she broke off, broke down, and her mind crumbled around the excruciating wondering if she was experiencing a new type of crucifixion. If God existed, and if he was purposefully keeping her in pain for a bigger plan, and if, ultimately, she would ever know the luxury of a spinal cord snapping open and exposing the bare wires beneath.Crucifixion1 year ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
She pressed her hand over her mouth to keep the words inside, and when the tears landed on her fingers and hung for extended moments before they fell, it looked like ivy creeping over the door of a great empty house. Her eyes so dark and lonely. The shaking shed the ivy leafs and when she spoke it was as if a random series of words had tumbled out from the hurricane inside, a cough, a wretch, a sentence; "I think I'm dying".
The Bone CollectorSometimes my breath catches in my throatThe Bone Collector1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
and the very stillness of an earth going
a thousand and three miles per hour
gets lodged there.
Sometimes these simple exchanges
leave me breathless, croaking on dust:
the unfiltered pigments of other people's skin
and blood and ash
but with my tarred lungs and itchy eyes
I sit and sift through charcoaled remains,
alphabetising them from c to c. I am lost
in a world charred brazen.
Many things I have loved have turned to ash.
Many people. I was naive enough to think
that there was some perfect nutritional truth
that could outlast hell-fire.
I claw through a world turned ashen
and know those dead embers collect in my cells
They are the harbingers of a truth
I do not want.
The skittish earth throws its skirts about again
to unsettle us all, and I am unsettled
Alone in the dirt, organising piles of bone-dust
he did not love, at all.