all of a sudden passion suddenly

My perfect man will never be perfect. He will have beautiful flaws and I will love every one of them. But it will take me an eternity to allow myself to love him. He will need to be strong and love me even when I don’t love myself. When I slowly start to let him in, he needs to be patient and kind. When I push him away thru a lie or manipulation, he will need to take a deep breath and be strong enough to call me on it, hold my hand while I scream and yell, then hold me tight while I cry. For my cries will be nothing more than my soul exponging the heartaches from my past to make room for the hope I see with him for our future. He will understand that there have been several before him that have failed. That I expect him to fail me too. But he will stay. And he will fight for me and for us even when he has to fight alone. He will understand I have been broken many times, but I always find a way to piece myself back together to come back stronger than before. He will love me enough to want to become part of my strength. He will know I don’t need him, but I will want him. One day we will realize that we could never exist with out each other. He will dream of me as I dream of him and one day we will be reality. It will be a spark unlike any other. Fireworks so bright we will blind the masses. Until then I will continue to grow. I will continue to love myself enough to be the best I can be. And I will find happiness. Solitary at first, then peaceful, then open to seeing him when he stands before me. And I will know. Silently, instantly. And it will be perfect. In our imperfect world.

Could everyone take a moment,
if a moment's all you've got,
search under chairs for my
marbles, I've also lost the plot.
I know I had them yesterday,
they snuck out in the night,
when Himself was snoring ,
I woke with such a fright.
I think the cat made off with them,
or the little men under the bed
for they certainly no longer live here
in the place marked in my head,
So if I my gaze looks vacant
or I mutter "Eh you what?"
it's not old age a creeping ..........
Someone's stolen my plot!!

I want to make bad decisions
and memories
that will live with me
everyday

For once spit in the face of proper
take your arm
and run naked
through the mall
fuck on the balcony in broad daylight
till your cries
the impropriety
of our sinning
knell like midday bells
for mass

so you can melt on my tongue like the wafer
commune with spirits
in convulsions like some born again christian
that has found her body the temple that needs to be worshipped in

Sip wine,
or
shoot tequila ice cold
from the freezer
and get drunk on our
own hedonistic prayers

for all I care the world can burn
as I burn for you

So yesterday I had a meltdown,
I haven't visited that dark place
for quite some time now.
My demons still hang out there
and don't seem to have diminished any.
Perhaps they need the occasional airing
to make them more manageable,
if I could bear to face then head on,
but their ugliness still has the power
to turn me into a quivering mess.

It started off with a radio interview,
I thought I could hack it, and listen
....... I couldn't, it turned out.
Everything flooded back,
just like it was yesterday.

All her trauma, humiliation were mine.
My scars burst wide open, and bled tears.
The locked box shattered under pressure,
revealing demons gibbering
and cavorting in glee.
What was one presenter's prize interview
was my Apocalypse
........... and I cried.

Our desires ignited
you kneel
face down in the sheets
history made on the inside

I push slowly
the pressure increases
until your soul
the whet of our appetites
opens

and we are one

sinking in the quicksilver heat
of clenched muscles
tension
taught
I breathe through my teeth
taste the salt and musk
the scent of passion
burns
heady
like poppies in a shamans tent

yessss muffled
as you meet my drive
newtons laws
In motion
the equal opposite reaction

rhythms twined as we unwind
the time, the stress
where all that matters
is us

and these moments
of depth
we speak
in our own language
multilingual
the feel of your skin
as you writhe with sensation
your cries match my moans

in synchronicity
we ride the
flight of mind
the dimensions
of reality distorted in the gateways
of contact
broken down to microns
in these moments
we can be no closer
and I want to hold that note
that sweet pitch
as our duet
baritone and falsetto
climax
and the only sound left
is the brethless pant
as one
becomes two

Be With Me

Tremble with me as I supplicate to this love,
at your feet my prayer continues to move
my lips in a litany of never go, never go.
Your departure will cause me to fail.

I will not continue to shamble through life
my golem steps will cease searching for you,
my master, the artist of my heart, for you
will be gone and my purpose will be no more.

Stay with me and lift me to my feet that I may fall
into your arms and share the flight my passion
takes as we embrace. I will cease searching then
for I have found you, my master, the artist, who I love.

I don't think
the "you Tarzan,
me Jane" look
is getting us anywhere.

Wait I got that wrong,
I think.

As if...

I was thinking the other day
about old lovers.
Not that they were old
when we were lovers.
I guess some might call us old now.
What I mean was that we were lovers
a long, long time ago.
Almost dark ages.
Al least a lot of time
were were lovers in the dark.
I meant with the lights off.
Of course if I had said clueless,
that would apply as well.

Where was I going with this?
I don't know.
Must be getting old.

Not that old.
The dick still works,
even if the brain doesn't.
Sometimes.

How can it be about the memories
when I'm not sure I remember correctly?

More!?
he wants some more!?

I feel like that scene in oliver twist
Where the poor little orphan boy
asks the question you all equated
as soon as you read the first line
in this scene though, I aint Oliver
and Im not the dickhead shouting
his righteous indignation

No,
in this scene I'm the sustenance
and they all quibble
about how much they can have
not realizing
once I'm gone
the hunger pangs will return

and I will be absent anything
bar the excrement
they flush down the toilet
a husk of used nothings
that was there for the enticement
the tease
and I'm sorry my scent and flavour
are your appetites desire.

Requiems of neverland by the broken

floating amidst the dreck and wreck
of rusted trains and dreams
cast on the cold concrete
among trash piles with broken booze bottles
used syringes to tap dance past
the shattered line between
their reality and our neverland

where green runs from the nose or the young
and art is the discoloured skin you fetch
from the last beating you recieved
coz dad was coming down
of mum was so fucking tired from trying
to survive

lice burrow into the living to feast further
on the pain of the poor
the crocodiles glock keeps the hook in his
squad car, but he watches
and bust you upside the head
if you don't run in packs

because you're just a lost boy on the wrongside of neverland
drinking in the decay cast your way
the flying you do is in magic pixie dust
sprinkled up your nose,
melted down and injected with their venom
because boy thats all the worthless
can amount to
is another vein-darts player shooting tripple 20's

we fight with swords and sticks
and dream of the future
where the decay of rusted freight trains
the binge-drinking alcohol-toting
violence fueled adrenaline
is not what makes us fly
until then

We are just lost boys
did you wanna fly with us?

I woudn't either....

The king sits in his kingly place
the pawns are there
and the game begins
struggles overcome as small skirmishes
counter attack on the black or white

my knights were bold, noble
my bishops upstanding
my castles were steadfast
my pawns fought on despite the sacrifices

none were braver than my queen
and there in the midst of chaos
clarity forms
and decisions were made

she went in without hesitation
sacrificed for the greater good
of the King
not her greater good
nor the kingdoms
but the whims of a mad man

she went smiling
no hesitation
threw herself at it with the recklessness
of a child
unaware of danger and pain

when it was all settled
the king stood atop his throne
surveying the loss
he wept

alone
at the top

when all the pieces go back in the box
I can still see the shock on the kings face
as he watched on in abject horror
the moves he made
well played said my rival

I couldnt even muster a smile
because is it really a win
at such great cost
the sum worth of a true queen
should be more
far more
than a petty sacrifice

Father's Day Concern

I rode an '88 Acura into the ground.
At the end the brakes were gone;
we'd see a red light and pray,
jerk up the e-brake,
stand on the pedal,
laugh,
scream.

We stopped every time
eventually.
Sometimes in the middle of intersections.
It made me feel so alive
being so close to not.
Mostly I just couldn't be assed to buy something other than cigarettes.

My worst dreams are without brakes
and I speed into the intersection
trying

to


stop



and when I wake I blindly go.

Silken clad ladies mince in stilettos heels
across the lawn, sipping gin and tonics.
Wrinkling aristocratic noses
at the scent of juniper berries
and rich, oily olives,
beside fish ponds, surfaces
still as mirrored glass.
In the distance the low whistle
of the 2.30 express to Kings Cross
is the only sound to disturb
the quintessential scene
of an English Garden Party.

The air is heavy
a breeze blows from the ocean
jarring in its cool breath
upon soap-scented skin
3am-gate squeaks
groaning its protest at being roused so early
gravel crunches beneath the soles of iron-toed boots

I am broken-down asphalt weary
pot-holes and tyre marks
a well worn road
that I drive over
learning the way intimately
skirting the deepest holes
slowing down when I can't avoid collisions

that cool breeze
a sky full of stars
a street light
a shotgunblast in the restless air
because weary is not broken
and trudging has pride
even if
that is all that's left
when the asphalt has worn away
exposed and vulnerable
to the elements

Impression

I wet your heart
on the stamp pad of my emotions
and press and press

you in bubblegum pink
over all the paper of my body.

I know. Enthusiasm.
Still, I love the image of your love
printed all over me, however

much it violates your copyright, however
much I now have to wash it all off
on court order,

however much we don't really mesh
outside of my dreams,

however, still, god in his wisdom has left me
some small faint and fading ink

ridged however ghostly on my limbs

howl me a full moon
of lost wolves
fragile,
fleeting fragments
the keening cry
echoes stories on the skin

of days long past
time etched in ancient memories
instincts on high alert
the sound of a moth's wings
stutter a helicopter rhythm

the moon itself
dials the pupils in
it's hunting time

Apparently interpretation is everything
despite your intentions

so fuck poetry
and all its fucking variables
its indistinct uniqueness
flying possibilite of spacial awareness

Fuck it all
because I'm beyond the help of my own self
of daliances, glances and somehow
I don't even know how to control any of it
this maddening rush of ink and ill intent
that had no intent bar the words on page

A cap full of do's and a mountain full of do-nots
I'm tired of the squeaking wheel
rolling on it's uneven surface

seasons that blur together between seasonal
indifference
montone cretins reponding with mutual masturbation
a circle jerking daisy chain

Can't keep checking myself against the backdrop of your intentions
or the intention of my meaning
so fuck it I guess I just need to stop
put on the breaks
decease the rambke of rumbled thoughts
simply put down the pen

and give
the fuck
up.....

So I lay here
curled in the foetal position
as always
when some one I love starts in with the kicking

Funny I'm big enough
strong enough to say no
my words are sharp wnough to slice back

But instead I lay here while the abuse rolls over me
a passing storm lashing an island
counting the fallen trees and wind smashed beaches
I carry on with a subtly changed landscape
but still willing to
to be the rock your finer weather clings to

You have an eCard from XXXXX, "Happy Mother's Day 2016!"

You forgot her birthday.
You forgot my birthday.
You forgot to be a mother.
You forgot to be a grandmother.
You forgot yourself.
You forgot me.
You forgot her funeral,
I can't wait to forget yours.
I hope you can still hold your vodka with all of these holes.

White wash
froth-foam bubbles

piss in the toilet bubbles

bubbles from a soap mix
as child runs dancing in the sun

bubbles in aorta
pulminary distress

digress and move on
swallowed bubbles bleed

this dichotomy of disease
well springs and fountains
here have some more
of the places you tore open

drink from the well that burrowed
pain
piss
disease

savour it the way fuckheads savour
wine

instead of aiming for the high
they swill it
distilling pain into piquant spice
and made up
full flavoured bile

I have cassettes from mom and dad
foaming at the edge of memories
from my first kiss in daycare:
Maria.
Peanut butter lips.

I brought Peter Gabriel,
we had Genesis.
We can't dance,
but I brought the invisible touch.

...............

fast and nervous this I write
not knowing what awaits
madness boss we always fight
I hope the business doesnt fades

Lemons

Hubby's hungry for skin
A first time for everything
This body won't cooperate
Wifey says, "it hurts, maybe another time"

What the fuck, he didn't stop
He didn't blink when I said, "stop"
Frozen, shocked, shamed, disgusted, scared
Stabbing; screaming silence

A year & a baby
She'll never know how she came to be
And he still hasn't said, "sorry"
Fucking life: that angel is the best lemonade I've ever made

Machines of God

That anyone would care, but it seems this poem was never finished on this website. There should be a better way to edit.

Grasshopper Fistagon

A cloud of scattered frames cross the new intruder
who should have never ventured through their field
Tiny hooks cling to foreign fabric as their numb
and lifeless minds drift farther from their fallen friends

A wicked, dripping smile breaks across their face as their eyes find the sun
and lungs fill with icy vapor pulled between the sleet and sleep in their new home

A branch pops and splinters, swinging softly downward
and leaves the hollow of its presence in its place
Time knits them together with no less decision, with magic's precision
They share peace with the dark and their depth is erased

http://forum.literotica.com/showpost.php?p=75496976&postcount=744

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