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2:50pm Jan 9 2013 (last edited on 2:55pm Jan 9 2013)
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Normal User
Posts: 198
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i want to get into writing again. i used to write something everyday, but, eh.
i'm not sure if anything here counts as poetry really but i do try to rhyme sometimes.
most of it will be older stuff that i have saved onto my computer somewhere, and those are numbered in order.
i'll eventually build up to writing more new things. :)
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3:08pm Jan 9 2013
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Normal User
Posts: 198
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1
hope gently caves into the walls of abandonment.
we've seen the sirens pierce the sky,
bloated with the absent-minded, cold-hearted nightmares
left behind by the dreamers.
it rains from the clouds and
takes away the last of our faith.
the imagination
threads out of our shells
like the clouds above us,
drowning in the depths of self pity
and letting us know that we have died
once before.
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3:11pm Jan 9 2013
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Normal User
Posts: 198
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2 (Pisces)
you are the lone wolf.
you are cloaked in
mysterious string
that wraps around your arms,
defending those of
the defenseless and
judging quietly
the opinions of the wise.
you don't say much,
but become noticed
all the same, howling
away your dreams
to the sky
and bringing imagination
to the ones who lack it.
your paws are not
touching the ground.
we see your footprints
around in the clouds,
and no one can
bring you back down
to the surface.
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3:14pm Jan 9 2013
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Normal User
Posts: 198
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8
do not count the dead
if they are just tired of living.
well, i'm not much alive anymore,
and i can't say the same for you.
people end up dying alone,
flowers left in place of void company
that replace the bones under our flesh.
i'm forgetting how to breathe
while i'm counting these bodies,
but at least one of us has the hope left
to spit out the numbers.
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3:16pm Jan 9 2013 (last edited on 3:17pm Jan 9 2013)
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Normal User
Posts: 198
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10 (An Old Friend on the Bookshelf)
you are a glimpse of the past,
rotting on the bookshelf
where you are neatly tucked away.
yellow pages corrode off your spine.
you tried so hard to keep together,
but the dust collected on you like
resentment.
those neatly printed words used to tell a story,
but now with no one to apprehend,
consign of oblivion leaks from their eyes,
something they tried to forget.
you are a stain,
a smudge,
a small pattern of regret
that relapses in the paper,
silently screaming rejection.
you have not been touched since.
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4:30am Jan 10 2013
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Normal User
Posts: 198
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15
i told you to leave me,
but you decided to
plunge into dwindling days-
lights across the sky,
bloody fingers,
and still you continued on.
brave as that sounds,
the tragedies ahead
discouraged-
raw and empty,
full of hate.
not for you,
but enough that you
might have turned away.
you said you weren't giving up,
but i suppose
everyone says that
and eventually
crawls through the floorboards.
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4:24am Jan 14 2013
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Normal User
Posts: 198
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17
smile with all the decay you have,
teeth like stomach acid
rotting from your brain
and falling into piles
at the floor.
exhausted,
you collapse to your knees
and finish what's left of you.
they know you know and
you do,
you do, you do, you do.
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9:59pm Jan 15 2013
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Normal User
Posts: 198
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21
do you know where i come and go?
my name is your name
and the name of five others
you once knew,
and they also might have
the same brown hair, too.
if there is a god,
please forbid him from
making me like them
because i think you know
the things that i lack.
do you know where i come and go?
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1:58pm Jan 18 2013
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Normal User
Posts: 198
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22
i was born a water rat around here,
and i couldn't help but overhear
how a kid like you could disappear
in this suburb, run-down
city town,
where the teenagers drown.
well, we've been asking for it
ever since we polluted the bay with our spit,
and although it's not a crime to commit
we see the fish rise with gills slit.
your eyes are blue
like the water's hue,
peer view.
you are new to the town of broken,
bringing sensations softly spoken
to the waters that will break open
a new kind of living
to a water rat's misgivings,
the death: forgetting.
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4:32am Jan 23 2013 (last edited on 4:32am Jan 23 2013)
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Normal User
Posts: 198
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the artist
from drawing trees to painting leaves in the fall,
you've come to the man who could paint it all,
or so that's what he had said, at least,
yet a critique against him made him a beast.
the artist, out of touch with what's real,
who often frolicked out in the surreal.
with red liquid he could make a masterpiece,
chanted to himself with canvas splattered in grease.
dress in paint-stained clothes he would go
out into the night to find a victim in their woe,
and take them he would, back to his home,
a paintbrush in their heart marked their tomb.
crimson stained his hands, he showed no restraint,
all he wanted to do was paint, paint, and paint.
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12:41am May 11 2014
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Normal User
Posts: 198
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A visit from North An alley cat from the city
passed us the other day
with tired bags under her eyes
though only one was looking
she says they call me Northfly
Northfly Northfly
for i am to go forward
the city life is not for me
this headache comes from bright lights
and human suffering
do not test me
says i am not like those toms
i am no ordinary cat
i did not lose my eye
to continue like this
we agreed of course
and fixed her a place to sleep
in our alley of two dumpsters |
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1:04am May 11 2014
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Normal User
Posts: 198
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i wish i still had my old poetry from the earlier years of high school! i went searching around my documents but alas- they have been destroyed. however, i have little SNIPPETS of my poetry back then in a journal, which isn't enough for me to be satisfied with, but i will post them anyway in case i may ever lose them again.
stolen
i'll be waiting
to pull this thread
and rip the skin from around your neck
because there are flowers in your spine.
i'll find you
deep down in your rib cage,
lightly pulling the breath from your lungs
and wondering about the importance of your life.
your oxygen tank is running on empty.
God stole what was left of your bones
and now you can't remember
how to walk
how to laugh
how to smile
because every time you stand,
something tumbles down
(and it's never your spinal chord).
it appears you've run out of thread.
do you count as dead
if you're just sick of living?
i can't say you're very much alive
anymore.
untitled
What is out there for you?
Ragged razor shoes and big brown eyes
a sliver of silver lighting
which is hiding in your forest.
I am looking under rocks
and chopping down trees
littering the floor
with pine needles
shoes that stomp on
fragile bees
(the rest of this is lost)
untitled
i want you to be there
when the sky stops spinning
and the trees simply shake.
we will die.
feeding the earth with our bodies
and empty thoughts chilling
the dead dark dirt.
this is not how you had hoped.
sometimes people die alone,
but not us.
we will grow flowers here
in our void company.
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