This fucking silence is deafening

fucking whatever...

Sunday July 25th, 2010

Her voice is fluid.
Conversation

poured heavy.
Showering me in light mist

I dance

We are flowing.
Down
together.

a waterfall.

Slow and blur of time
Here.
Soon.
Patience.
and plenty of distractions.

Draft

I miss her but
I am not depressed yet,
but give me a couple more days.
No right now I just have an
over active imagination.

Boredom doesnt help either,
because when I am not
sleeping or eating I am thinking
about how much I want to cook for her
or dream of her lips.

Or daydreaming of her lips
while I am cooking.
Which I will argue does not
correlate to the fact that
I have burnt noodles for the 3rd time.

This rectangle mattress
has become my prison
and the numerous blankets
are the ropes that holds me down
preventing my escape to go out and find her.

To take her when I do,
in my arms no matter
where or what she is doing
and proceed to give her a very
hot and sexy reason we should never part.

I have taken to making paper origami
to the pass the time, and
I plan on giving them to her
when she returns
but so far I only have

23 Cranes,
45 roses,
11 flowers, and
5 elephants
Along with the 8 love letters

I wrote but didnt send because
I wanted to see the look on her face when she read them.
And I know each word will sound corny and sickening
as a candy-corn smeared with chocolate to the rest of the
world but I say screw you haters

I think metaphors
comparing our love to sunshine rainbow is original
because I am the first to give her sunshine rainbow love
I am still bored however
and I still miss her.

And with all the presents
that have been accumulating
in a small pile beside our soft love making nest,
all I ask in return
is a sweet kiss and for her to

grab my hand and promise
to never leave my side again.
Or at least take me with her
the next time
she goes to the corner store.

Small acts of Pain

Im not alone and I am loved.
Im really fortunate

But

Sometimes I feel really lonely
and when I feel that way

Even the smallest act of kindness
can make me cry

Even people at conveyance stores saying
'Have a nice day'

when they're accidently
looking me in the eye.

More winter

White Noise
by ~black-flame

Outside
Feels numb.
Too cold
To think.
Rush to
Get there.
Somewhere
Nowhere.

I thought
I heard
In the distance calling
Howling
With the wind
Somewhere
Nowhere

In the dark
In the cold.
Through the white
Thorugh the noise
Through the frost
Through my eyes
Somewhere
Nowhere.

Incomplete
Faded words.
Like a dream you know is real
You won't
Wake up.
Somewhere
Nowhere

Somewhere...
Nowhere...
Somewhere...
Nowhere...
Somewhere...
Nowhere...

Crappy love poem

Every once in a while my mind would have a thought,
A flashback to a moment
where my heart pumped fast
A blush warmed my moca cheeks
All was right in the world and
I was alright in the arms of
whom with I wanted to be

Every once in a while I will
dream of a face that shattered my heart
And wake up with tears stained sheets.
With eyes opened now the tears remain at bay.
And continue to stay that way
As I shifted closer to the one that merticulously glued
Back together each shattered piece.

Well, I guess I have turned back into a poet.

But I have no voice. I've got three weeks of free time on my hands and dammit I don't want to spend it trying to find that missing sound.

2:10 am, still early I see.
Question of the night, why are all the fucking clocks wrong in this room.

You are a poet if...

Have an irregular sleep pattern

Don't think you have a habit but drink coffee or smoke cigarettes religiously

Is neurotic

Is a bit out of touch with reality

Thinks odious and pious are cool words

Have a list of cool words

tv makes you bored

Thinks 20th century modernist poets had the right idea about life

Prone to depressing thoughts about life

Your own worst critic

Notice small details

Make bizarre connections with random stuff

Introverted

Hates and needs to be alone

Neurotic

Eccentric, quirky, or just weird

Snow Carol

She walked
into the falling snow and felt
elated by the music made.
As though she was falling herself,
with each step she sunk higher into the ground.

From a cadence only she can hear.
Every crunch her ball and toe made
she drowned

just a bit more than usual. It sent shivers
up the calf
passing inner thighs and torso
crossing mounds and valleys stopping just at
her ears.

She wanted to extol the notes she heard
into the wind
for all to know.
But usually if one is not pleading for help
people tend to become impatient with
you.

Oh! I am so sorry
I didnt know you were running late, even so do you
fancy a listen to the snow with me?

Doubt anyone could recognize
any sound beside melancholy and helplessness
or
melancholy and bitterness
or
melancholy and melancholy
anyways.

Not that she minded much, poor bastards dont know
what they're missing.

The thought actually tickled her throat
and she embraced the furtive song only
she could hear
in between each fallen but uplifting note.

Birds (2nd draft)

For the Unknown Poet

The canaries,
stretched yellow wings
over the suns eyes.

Allowing her to danced,
hidden under the
shadows of the soft wings.

She was always bright
but never seen.
Always bright but never seen.
Always bright but never seen.

dear sun

Sun.

I sat on the top of the Sequoia tree
blinding myself by watching the sun in the sky.
Hoping by watching that sun
I can find the answers my
Son wont provide
When I ask
Why?

See I already called his high school,
talked to the teachers.
Who provided me with details
of the actions done
by taunting little righteous preachers

Now don’t get it twisted
mama didn’t raise no punk
In fact the boy can be
downright devilish himself
If only a tad more sensitive than most

And so my son cries
when not him
The track-running star
but his shy gay best friend
Is beaten within an inch of his life

And my son
He cant bring himself to
Tell me why he wish
It had been him instead

I watched the sun be
foolishly swallow by the world
but I am comforted in
knowing both will rise again tomorrow.

Elegy

He hated his wrists.
if one was to look
closely at just the right time.
With the perfect tilt
and in the
correct kind of light.
One can almost catch a glimpse
of his long thin
failed attempt

tristful (meaning sorrowful or gloomy)

I only wanted to pull your halo down
not watch it slip around your neck.
You burned not just you but us
and your smoke rose to make a cloudy grave
in our heaven.

Even as I choked on your embers,
I still wanted to bring you back to me.
Except you hovered too high
above the ground instead.
Just out of my reach.

Your mouth tasted too hollow to speak
Anything besides half-truths and empty lies.
So I turned my face into your palms to kiss
your cold wrists and cry
under your dangling dirty feet.

Frankenstein Mary Shelley

Through the eyes of love
Grotesque and deformity
turned him into an Adonis

fucking INFJ

-- You see what others could become, and how to help them

-- You seem outgoing, but you listen more and say less than people realise

-- You’ve learned that people often don’t want your insights, so you keep most of them to yourself

-- Everything you think about is connected to something else

-- Your imagination is seemingly endless

-- You are dependable, reliable and trustworthy but easily overlooked

-- You want people to understand you, and alternate between being secretive and revealing

Perfect little Moments

I like the way you kiss my shoulder. You like how I turn my head and smile at your affectionate gesture, and we both like when we press our lips together to complete the moment.