Newest
Air ConditionerI could say many things which have been said before; but I think I’d rather not. So I won’t tell you that your eyes as deep as all of the oceans; or that your hair reminds me of billowing sheets of silk. I would never tell you that your smile lights up the room because I’m not one for clichés. If you want to discuss what I think of you we can do so but it won’t be poetic. I’ll be honest, passionless, and scientifically critical. Your eyes are okay at best. They are the same shade of brown as most of the rest of the eyes of the world and aren’t particularly deep. Your hair? Perfect! …maybe one day out ofAir Conditioner
by ~animenerd-vash
I am Poet. Hear me sighAs I write, even now, I think and feel.I am Poet. Hear me sigh
The unconscious avant-garde calls me Frankenstein. While the embittered critic calls me McGonagall. Both are right. I am monster, as is Oscar’s Wilderness. My painting does not age as the gray one. Rather it collects my tears and has been flooded
with salt soup to and beyond its frame. My bridges, though crumbled, are often traversed. Mine is the path less traveled, until it isn’t. I am a hammer, not righteous nor vengeful, but comic. I am Milton in spirit and Byron in action. I am Swift in meaning and Shelley in passion.
by ~animenerd-vash
try not to look too happyShe is porcelain, as a mask Not in her sheen, nor her smoothness, Nor her flawless beauty. But in her coldness and in her tendency to shatter.try not to look too happy
She is clay, as a vase Not in her perfectly curved body, Nor in her great capacity for life. But in her great capacity for emptiness,
and in her tendency to crack
She is stone, as a statue Not in her strong foundations, Nor in her timeless elegance, But in the deadness of her eyes And in her tendency to be immovable
She is flesh, as a woman, Not in her countless faults Nor her fra
by ~animenerd-vash
Pieces Of EdenI see myself in this half-silvered mirror. I see that I have become ensnared. But as I move towards my image nearer My sight is suddenly impaired.Pieces Of Eden
My head reels and all thought vanishes. My hands shake and my knees bend. When I ponder on all this mirror banishes, It tells me it’s my only friend.
I see myself amidst many graves. Not all mine, but all quite human. When any corpse does misbehave, It redefines what it is to sin.
With my mirror in hand, I crawl through existence. Though life ebbs like sand, I fear no resistance. &nb
by ~animenerd-vash
Favourites
doctor, doctor -doctor, doctor -
she's a frequent visitor to the emergency room because her transplant-heart keeps failing each time she
rips it out to give to you - and you never take it. her open-closed veins pour out lovelorn lullabies, but the nurses tell her she's okay - she's still breathing.
she's like a psych patient without a doctor, but all the problems, and her trembling hands just want to hold your own, but you're too busy juggling sluts and whores to give a damn. she pops another pill and cries another hour, but the empty bottles tell her she's okay - she's still breathing. &
by *xoxoraybaybay
the emergencyFirst i was so scared. I couldn't look.. Never dared. Sirens sounded So nervous.. My heart beat pounded. Blood draining from within In shock.. My open skin Carefully taken away Make it stop.. Watched my mom pray Doctor working on me so cautiously Whats going on.. Nurses peering curiously Sew me up finish please It's been a while.. Put us all at easethe emergency
by ~withgreatintentions
9.17These are the dark hours When cold starlight draws out the miles: The mercy of the clean nights falling away to Patchwork visions of you.9.17
I will wake to a beat of peace Then bear the full-frontal assault - That mournful blow to the stomach. A new detail to mourn.
The black tickling curls to wake me The timbre of your argument The clean curve, the pained tenderness - The parting gift you promised to finish.
They circle the dawn and dance until sunset - Then they are freed. Goodnight darling.
Good morning my love.
by ~bruceadams
It's been so long
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Devious Info
- Current Residence: Ramapo College of New Jersey
- Favourite poet or writer: Lord Byron/Oscar Wilde
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death,the new beginning?
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...wait for the punchline.
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tongue ties and riddles are all the same but questions all have answers - unknown
silence is so friggen loud... - me
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tongue ties and riddles are all the same but questions all have answers - unknown
silence is so friggen loud... - me
--
...wait for the punchline.
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...wait for the punchline.
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...wait for the punchline.
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