Our Little Cock-le Boat...

Close my eyes, and breathe,
I can hear the rain creeping through trees.
But the ceiling fan plays games in circles,
Mocking, as it sells slaps for dreams.

The sky drowned slowly in nothingness,

like a black hole, without deaths kiss.
Like dark, without the suction of light,
Or is that just my heart?

And I’l listen as you rustle leaves,
softly treading while I sleep.
and I wouldn’t hear you from our bed,

But I was scurrying out our door again.

I run home smelling like your perfume,
the wind blows you back into my room,
Your tongue turns as I gasp for air,
your shape that fits perfectly, that groove, right there.

But the sun brings the dawn of new hands,
And I find myself clinging to another man.
Who will sense my spirit as it writhes, as it glides,
leave my hands with a smile, I can’t deny.

And I board his plane to zenith, hit nadir instead,
“I’m busy, I’l fuck you, next  time”, he said.
And I’l juggle two halves, not willing to choose,
I’d rather rape ego, than ask, for either of you.

So night returns me to our window, with my lips sealed,
lost in the loneliness of the bats screams,
and we run around and have sex in this bush for hours,
wanting each other, cause it can’t be ours.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(My) Propensity of Seasons

Crouching -
An angry low; being covered
blanket of snow.
Distaste to every death and being.
Living, barely breathing.
Icicles on the tip of my tongue.
Feeling frost harden skin while burning.
Slowly rain pouring and purging.
Deep breath, gag up the death.
The metamorphosis of heat and sun.
A warming upon an upturned face.
Crouch to a lounge, a stretch free from burden.

 And the shelves of winter shatter in the wake

(Leaving chipped glass hidden for the future.)



-
I'm not sure why I like this piece so much. I just loved writing it though.
I love that destruction

Keeper of the Dead Flowers

The harness around the mirror is cracked,
Blood, bruises, and pain are your better friends.
I'm hardly a consolation.
though i think you like me near

I think I admire your bravery.
I think I admire your blood, bruises, and pain.
I think I wish I could drown.

You could.
But I admire my desire to live more, or hate it.
Unsure. Either way,
I suffer for it.

Because you could drown.
But I'm always drowning.
You just gasp and throw up blood.
I let it live like poison inside.


-Poetically beautiful, no
Artistically done, not at all
Bored and feeling like the world is claustrophobic and without much hope of betterment? Per usual.