WastedWasted11 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
pour out your bloody ink in some faint rhythmic whine
while the dark, thick rain falls endlessly to earth:
the night sky is still the night sky,
and like all things it will continue.
though your blood may rush and roar like water
until in a faint whisper you finally run dry:
still the stars endure and the rain falls,
and will go on falling.
go on and make your thin poetic moan
and cut, and cry, and shake your tiny fist at the sky
but rain is the blood of the stars,
and they have no sympathy for you.
Abject GenteelAbject Genteel12 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
it starts off all twisted,
artistic and meek.
the sheets in a tangle, we tangoed,
in the sleek night.
our wrists chained to floarboards,
past my collarbone's palindrome,
(that sensitive hollow)
making impressions in memory foam.
onetwo, and threefour.
yes, go on-
rest your head here, and read what you wrote.
remember last night,
when that spot in my chest soared up past my throat,
and the light in your eyes
swallowed my conscience alive,
and we burned,
with the stars
and cared not to dream, but be rash: come undone.
on the bedpost.
we sang amid silence,
clutching at pillows and pretense,
feeding black scarves on my eyelids.
needing a breath-
as i sank,
through my webbed primidorial,
to the safety of bloodshed.