Cold Showers...

In the cold light of the morning,
there you are standing up my dreams,
and I try to hold it just a second longer,
just to see you smile then fade away.

Trickling down my body like cold water,
not sure I could take it, but too painful to resist,
And I can smell the hope and faith mix in blood and soap,
as you wash it down my drain and cease to exist.

Looking into that ugly mirror,
I see a reflection of white kissed blue,
and when this ice heart melts in shades of red,
I can only search for the fire that is you.

And in some unseen territory,
I imagine the source from where your light shines through,
but as fiction builds inside my lonely head,
wonder if I really know you.

Sitting on granite, chalking dreams,
theres a comfort this cold floor cant deny,
easing into corners, shaken, crawling by the walls,
with etches of my fingers beginning to seep in.

Looking past the grill outside my window,
couldnt find myself waiting for this day to begin,
and when Il smile like a child when an airplane goes by
Il still wonder if it were you
Il still want to go home

Somewhere I know I'm really all alone.



~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~Shraddha

UnderneathHerClothes...

Underneath her clothes,
There is a heart, barely beating,
slow, like molten gold,
its virtue, rises and falls.
But is it her face that denies it?
Or her ugly shows through the mask?
the mirror cracks in laughter,splitting,
but nobody ever cared to know.

Underneath her clothes,
there is a woman dying..
But they only see her chest heaving,
not her running out of breath.
And she bends to clutch her knees,
hoping someone would carry her home,
lay her down on a bed to rest,
and for once not hop in.

Underneath her clothes,
theres a will that cant keep fighting,
arms open as she feels it drown,
body sinking in this well.
Underneath her clothes,
theres a child who wants protection,
but no-one turned out the red lights, Roxanne.
And you have no price, to sell.

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

The HollowMan

My heart was the first to go-
but even so
Thoughts tortured me
So I said goodbye to my brain and pulled out my eyes to string the lines of life, poetry, and all else through
The blackness still made it hard to breathe-
the truth
So I dissected my lungs.
I really found no use for everything else and took it out as well.
I realized my skin still bled,
So I carved some wood and slipped inside.
Yes the fire still burned,
but I was still terrified of stone.
And didn't want to be like everyone else.

Falling into Sunrises

You make me want to write bad poetry.
Roses are red, violets are blue
Instead of tying up angels.
Glossy oil over marble Michelangelos.
Or even jazz that sings from horns.
Normally it's sex. Or death. Or those interconnections.
You make me want to dumb everything down,
You vacuous gelatin mind.

You make me feel less abnormal.
By the way,
I think I hate you for that.
There's something to be said for anti-insanity presences.

I want you to listen to my lip syncing, listen hard. Close your eyes,
Damn'it:

Sunrise's burn the waking eyes,
there's painful last breath as you die.
Clouds will touch you,
and although you won't feel,
You know by the tip of your tongue,
They do.
Earth may fold me in an embrace,
but not now, not now.
Today,
I feel your breath on my neck.
Stronger and warmer.
Ready for me to retrace.

Muse...

Those beats so clamored,
they pound in her head,
yet for once she stands,
devoid song.

They turn into rhythm
then twist brazenly away
so lyrically blessed
pristine.

And the damsel in distress
starts to digress
from the pain.
Addled and
trapped in its web
that twists
and forces her to sway

Swinging
with the world glued to the tips
of her fingers
glistening,
in the sun
for a second
till she broke
and damned it to shadows
like her being.

Rising and falling
in perfect points and arcs
tired yet continuing
cause this hate drum
never stops.

And slowly as her thoughts,
burn to haze
with the world too heavy to swing
she brushes it off
One last time
and collapses to the floor
cold granite
smooth and endless
like an ocean of black.

I guess this is what death feels like
with her body arched
and chest raised
as it drew all the hatred from her soul
sucked her in
and spat her out
to fall to the side
eyes wide open
staring.

Slain, in the sound of the wind
and all that surrounded
heaving,
gasping,
like
she was free
to suffocate.

One last time
Just one last time.


It’s all over now.

Breathe.




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

~Shraddha

Sasha...

What is this world,
if I stopped counting seconds
to when I could see your face,
to see your smile,
as each quarter of your teeth came into focus
and dissapeared.

What is this world when not happy,
as the air's no longer tickled,
by the taste of your lips,
and ether found its meaning.

And while the river falls somewhere in the distance,
I can hear its lost direction,
like it wouldnt know which way up or down,
& whoever told it left from right.

And this world was left empty,
like you drew the fizz from a bottle of coke,
shook it and all you had left
was sugar and water,
and it still didnt taste that sweet.

Close my eyes, trying to forget,
the days that caught me in bright sunrise,
forget, that light ever walked this earth,
when opened, im found staring into the mirror of today.

Dissolved in the shambles you've turned this house to,
like your power that made was the same that destroyed.

And I swear I find something evil, and sinister in her eyes,
the ones that stare back,
I see that smile emerge everytime,
you say you've met no one worth meeting.
like a possessed only child, happy lonely,
cause she has no need to share.

I can watch her eyes turn green in brightest envy,
as though loathing in defeat.
Everytime they find you happy in the presence of someone else.
Everytime someone seems beautiful.

I can feel her eyes go black in helplessness
like it was blank without a filter,
and no gaurd, with nothing to protect,
when this reflection finds a vanishing you.

And I cry for seconds now dead,
for the seconds I felt your arm wrap around mine.
and we'd walk not knowing,
where the road led us or whom to.
But theyd always lead us home.
Cause home was always you.

What is this world and all its stories,
when the same page doesnt contain me and you?
Who is my God here in Kindness and power,
when he knows not,
who am I, and who are you.

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

No amount of liquid or smoke would ever let me forget.
could you find me a new pill to pop?
to soothe the pain.
I cannot take this anymore.
I Love you.

~ Shraddha

When No Clouds Line The Horizon

No signs of rain, yet still he waits,
Eyes upturned, wishing a pouring heaven.
Yet nothing his way does flow besides,
The wind from a desert once glen.

In his eyes he has seen the Ocean,
But feet never left his fallow land.
Dying is the unborn, as pregnant Earth,
Is parched as thirsty sand.

If tears could quench his thirsty Land,
The Rivers would, an Ocean be made.
But look what angry sun has wrought,
For tears have dried unmade.

He stands over the roots of,
A Tree ancient and knotted.
As he looks away and over the forest vale,
Where the dusky woods have rotted.

Entranced he moves, towards salvation,
When a buzzing awakens afar.
He turns to see the ague of grain,
For their due, have come from far.

With sad eyes over the Locusts wild,
And lips cracked into a last grin.
Over flung he, the catcher of Rye,
Into the blighted fen within.