roses are red
corbin is bleu
if u dont like high school musical
im not gonna fuck u
language itself is
our words are
cries echoed from
a distant century;
our pain, a wound
reopened by the
syntax we disturb;
The boy who never loved me
would be an unfinished chapter
left in drafts
in the desk
of an old office I no longer
People like to say that
memories last a lifetime,
but they also like to say that
time heals all wounds,
which is why I always seem to
I wake when the world
falls asleep. Could that mean that
I’ve fallen too deep?
I love the silence, knowing,
your voice, will keep me going.
I’ve become the guy who talks but doesn’t really say much,
Doesn’t trust a soul but I guess that’s what the rain does,
My old walls have become castles,
Smiling chores have become hassles,
As I learn to turn my back on society,
and its battles.
She wants me to lay pipe,
I want her to suck it,
Please me then I’ll please you,
Otherwise, fuck it.
Everytime I blink, you’re there
If not in flesh then in prayer,
And everytime I think to count sheep,
You leap, into the realm of my sleep.
I start to lose control,
As I lift you and you lock me between your legs,
So confess with your eyes, and persuade with your thighs,
Use them to scream and then use them to beg.
But don’t let me hear a slip of your tongue,
I prefer the noise of your fighting lungs,
As you grip me tighter and breathe down my neck,
And my lips and my teeth explore and trek.
As my eyes linger, and my fingers squeeze.
And your lips part as I start to please,
With lust in the air and our bodies wound,
We just couldn’t hold back those muffled sounds.
But next time I promise we’ll hold the silence,
for noise has it flaws.
And I will fuck you again.
Have my pupils dilated yet?
for I know my hearts in my throat.
And I’m sure you know this already,
but your beauty makes me unsteady,
As I struggle to voice to you anything that I wrote.
Now this is quite hard to answer but I am always, always, always glad to see any post from the following poets across my dashboard. Their writing is magical. Always. I consider myself lucky to have stumbled across (but not limited to) the following ten blogs. Blogs aren’t in any particular order :D
Amongst the hate,
I still hear a hint of love in your vocals,
And as of late,
you’ve been running laps round my mind.
But you insist,
on concealing feelings behind broke walls,
And its driving me insane, with pain,
seeing my crowned so confined.
For a long time, your velvety voice was all I’d commit to memory
And your secret smile, always managed to better me,
And we haven’t spoken for a while, but s’long as my breath doesn’t cease.
In terms of art, you’d be,
at the heart, the key,
to my life’s collage.
You were always my centerpiece.
My soul longs for her
and my lungs ‘ve sprung for her
as she dances with the moon,
‘til the rise of the sun,
she leaves me breathless
she must be the one.
I’ve never really been one for violence,
I’ve always believed the wickedest weapon, is silence.
So now I tend to talk less, and let my inner hawks rest,
As these foreign birds come to acknowledge, that this is my island.
Words run loose in my head, and reform
Every time I go to bed, I’m reborn.
And nostalgia explains why I am lost again,
Why insanity and my paths have crossed again,
As these bloodshot eyes show I’m mentally war torn,
and my forlorn,
attempts at poetry.. are showing me,
that writing is the closest I’ll ever get to trusted friends.
Baby, can I call you babyblue?
Your soothing voice drives me crazy, catch 22.
And my thoughts race around as I silently muse
To contemplate truth.
Life is a game.
On crystal clear crimson nights,
I find my mind shaded red with sinful sights
As the same old desire gets to me,
To animate the images of you next to me.
As I trace ev’ry inch of your body,
with my lips perpetually whispering they’re sorry,
from cheek to collarbone and collarbone to thigh,
Obliviously wrapped in darkness as we tenderly collide.
And your lingerie rests on my jacket picking up scents of mine,
Regardless; climax nears: I’m losing sense of time,
Nails clawed to my back to remind me of reality,
Pain. Unlike this one of insanity.
Where I imagine unseen sights withered by absence,
My absence. In fact, Our absence.
And so my heads shaded red with sinful sights,
On crystal clear crimson nights.