[x]

I Don't Miss AdolescenceMy sister calls to ask me if I'll do her makeup;
Mami promised that she would, but she's tired
and screamed when Maria reminded her senior prom
is tonight. She says, "I have a hickey on my neck,
something she doesn't want to cover, and you've always
done a better job of highlighting the subtle graces
inherent to my bone structure, the angles we share."

I say, "That's okay, but I can't pick you up,"

so she arrives in a flourish of exasperations,
telling me all the family business, waving her nails
in my face and talking about the pain of her extensions.
She says, "Do you think we need yellow concealer?
I plan to take pictures, and the last

Onyx DreamsOnyx Dreams

Fluctuations of sound waves vibrate the floor,
While the lights of my room glow brilliantly,
But as time winds down and my energy starts its decline,
My vision gets blurry and listening becomes hearing,
And hearing becomes simple background noise,
While Palaceer Lazaro’s words become filmy intonations
Yet, still creating a motion picture full of abstract images,
In my mind full of words and phrases that do nothing but stay stagnant,
And Slumber begins to wrap her warm hands around my head,
As she sweetly begins to pull me into black depths of rest,
A state of unconsciousness that will take me on a journey,
Through the grey abyss we call the center of our nervous system,
And once I fall into the pit of nothingness, the pit of onyx, for those few hours,
I will transform into an atramentous being with aphotic wings,
Because “black is free……..”

You were cold insideYour lips tasted of
summer, of warm days and
cherry-flavoured ice,
relaxing by the
pool side and
smiling against the sun.

You should have been too hot,
too sticky, too humid.
You should have
overheated, should have
melted into your bones until
they turned to ashes, but
it never happened.

I suppose I should have
seen it coming, but
I was so moonstruck over
the way you said my name, so
in love with the idea
of love, that I
didn't notice the way
your eyes bled
winter.

7 - The Pet PoetI remember when Mommy bought you
a black-haired pet for your sweet sixteenth.
Its bronze collar said its name was "Poet."
You fed it noise from the out-of-tune piano,
intense moments involving flesh and razors,
and the occasional walk by the lake.

At first, he knew only the wolf's howl,
purging blood and flames onto the carpets.
Everywhere was a smell of extravagance --
like that woman's cheap perfume on the train to work.
But you cried a little less,
smiled a bit more.
And that was when Daddy stopped
trying to send it back to the shelter.

Soon, you even started watching T.V.
(and enjoyed food, dressed nice, made friends.)
But T

The HourglassWatch the hands go round and round.
Ahhhh, how long have I been sitting here,
Listening to the grandfather clock?
Watching him ticking away?
Watching the polished wood yellow and rot?
And with every sound he makes
More maggots eat his wooden flesh.

Every grain that falls is an eternity!
In the firelight you can see the glass.
The dust that coats the cracking bulb,
Listening to the sand that trickles down.
Listening to the passing hours.
With every grain that filters through
Another man sleeps eternally.

The sundial stands defiant!
From my leather chair I see it!
It stands defiant in the plaza below me!
Standing in the moonlit night.
Standin

nothing specialthey tell you not to give up
because you have potential--
and to the ones who simply enjoy
you're probably fantastic
but to those who do
you're simply mediocre,
nothing to bat an
eyelash at.

you're not quite bad enough
to quit, but you're not
great enough to be
remembered.

unrequitedyou make my words
gather at the hollows
of my throat
until i choke on them.

my fingers ache to
hold you--
but my eyes ache to
cry.

you're nothing but heart break
wrapped in a bow
of something beautiful,
like the dust of grace from
fallen angels.

i drink a little faster and
cry a little harder
because the way whiskey and tears
mingle on my lips
tastes suspiciously of love.

Thinking.Thinking without thought,
Not thinking about a lot.

Thinking about what it how it would be,
To have a thoughts as endless as the sea.

Thinking about the passing time,
About the mountains I have not climbed.

Thinking about a world gone by,
And about the big blue sky.

Thinking about love so sweet,
And of life crumbling at my feet.

To think about everything vast as it seems,
Would take as long as counting dreams.

So to think without a thought,
And not to think about a lot.

Would carry on an endless dream,
And let time unravel at it's seams.

SeppukuA blue sky greets me as I kneel to the ground.
I hear the rushing wind and the sacred water sound.
The cold, grey stone upon my knee,
As I prepare myself for eternity.

I take a solemn look at my silent crowd,
Those cruel, dark faces scream so loud.
They want me to do the final deed.
I'll plunge the tanto in. They'll see me bleed.

I look for a while at my full rice bowl,
And prepare for the next cycle of my soul.
What shall I be? A man or god?
Shall my next life be lived in the mud and sod?

I finish quickly so we don't delay.
By now the light is fading away.
I take up the pen and start to write,
To put brush to paper is one last delight.

"

VIIEncore un peu de cendre
Au coin de tes lèvres
Parolescentes

J'épluche tes souhaits
Tu laves le ciel
En vain

Et dans ce vent chaud
Des milliers de pétales
De peau

Left AloneYou want me to leave you alone? I'll leave you alone.

You want me to buy you a cake and a knife? Sure I'll do that.

So, what else do you need me to do? OK. That should be easy to do.

Here I go, walking to and fro, to unknown destination just so I can please you.

You hate my guts, huh? Well, to be honest, and I will not lie, I hate your guts too.

You see me and I see you, walking past each other each and everyday - We do not smile.

I often invision you surrounded by flames and you invision me drowning in the sea.

And here is my question to you: Why do you hate me so much?

You snarl as you echo my words: Why do YOU hate me so much?

No wordsI don't like to talk.
I feel that words cannot truly express what I feel.
When I am filled with emotion, I can find no word that can express what I feel to the fullest.
There is no word beautiful enough to describe this joy, no word horrible enough to describe this hate, no word ugly enough to describe this miserable existence.

a small dosage per daysorrow makes its way into my cup of tea every morning
so I add more spoonfuls of sugar into it,
hoping the sweetness will overpower the bitterness;

yet, this clever feeling still seeps through the sweet substance
and clings to the sugar's particles,
races through my veins
and scatters in my blood,

making an entire day feel ruined
already.

Equestrian StormEquestrian Storm

I was walking through Canterlot,
as rain beat my plot.
I just didn’t feel right,
before it came into my sight.

The princess of the night,
alone and broken.
What a pitiful sight,
out of my slump, twas awoken.

“Princess, why are you here why are you crying?”

“Because nopony loves our night, I would be better off dying!”

“No Luna no, now that you shouldn’t say!”

“And why ever not, what reason hath you that I should stay?”

“Celestia for one, your sister whom you love.”

“Right sure, the sister from whom to the moon I was shoved.”

“Lu

Petit OiseauDon’t move a muscle
I’m not even drawing in breath
Through my heart
Oh, such a tiny, naïve little thing!
Will she let me approach, if I’m careful enough?

Or will wings divide my intentions
Widening gaps from the soil to the sky
Soil in my hands, and
Purple stars in her breath
I could never hurt you, little pixie
My winged Thumbelina

I don’t move a muscle
I’m focusing on not drawing breath
Lungs contract
She gives me a heartwarming stare
And oh, I am moments away!

But stop! Coarse laughter sings
Dark notes that may injure her
But the dancer still hops, unaware
Of the tears designing my chee

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Earth To SkyOn the edge of a windmill sits Phil,

his legs dangle off the side, feeling the breeze that he wants to allow him to glide. His potato sack trousers leave him there, his wind-blown hair leading upwards the brown strobes of shortish brown hair which usually rests on his head, and otherwise, his pillow. A pondersome stare besets his face, below him lie daisies and the rest of the human race, but right now he's in a place, where they can't get to him.

His shoes kick off, one back, one forth. His head rises up, as his legs bend straight. His arms rise out, creating a horizon with his head on top and he falls, clip, clop. The windmill spins, as g

Little ButtonsLittle
Buttons
Little
Thumbs
Little
Hiccups
Little
Hums
Massive
Feeling
Massive
Guns
Massive
Heart-break
Massive

Wait.

For the future is
here.

When young,
the past is hind-sight.

For the future is
here.

But
When you’re young
You don’t know this.

And then
The future arrives. Too late?

The Consummation TrickGolden showering flints of glass reflecting Tokyo billboards of Money and Fame. Neon lights pulsing through the skylines created by buildings as tall as the sky. Aground, civilians bustle in crowds through the city streets. Generated power leaks diffusive energy through shimmering spectrums of wished wealth. A total mass of misguided, misunderstood, or forgotten consuming. The reason to consume has been forgotten, and its meaning placed elsewhere. It has been placed, because there is no longer a severe necessity, onto each other, by each other. Some part of us has tricked another part of us into not forgetting our lack of necessity to consume

The Valley of Ancient CarnageThe valley of ancient carnage was bent by a man who didn't know what was going on. He wrote a story about it in the year 1200 B.C.. Because he was confused, he misconstrued the story and set away a world that remains still unknown in all our minds. Like a sea bed the land lies below the surface of this purple Earth, we don't even have a voice anymore, shouting through text on white screens to people who will listen, but never hear. People who will listen, try to hear now, the song reaches its way up into the clouds, it calls for kindness from a cold heart. It calls for hatred from a soul who's actions were only for others. It calls for a bal

Gargoyles and the WorldGargoyles tasting like charred oils, glistening like the repertoire of distinctive foils, basing itself on sadistic toils, as it boils, tasting like the bread of a boiling pot of mustard, sitting thin on the world aglisten, fighting for crime as though its made of dissentry.

the arguments of illiteracy compounds, its dumbfound, arguing against its own message of the low down, calm down, let it see, let it speak, let the new one die down while it eats, let the dumbfound carbons break down in into biological, chemical kung fu.

New is the dawn breaking, seeming as though it is awakening, something inside we’re not sure of, a resolute con

Mr. McGriffen Strikes BackA man called Mr. McGriffen went down to Sainsbury's to buy some alcohol. On the way he bumped into a women from his work called Jane, as he walked past and she smiled, he simply said

"I am going to get some alcohol." To which she replied,

"Right." and walked away briskly.

"Hmpfh, not one to care much about the trivialities of life." Mr. McGriffen said and carried on towards Sainsbury's. Once he had arrived, he walked through the automatic glass doors and quickly turned left. The alcohol was lining the left hand wall of the store and he paced down it slowly, getting ready to pick his drink. Hmm, I could have the peach wine vodka, or I could

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Westbury

by ~dude-im-alive, Jul 4, 2011, 3:39:19 PM
Literature / Poetry / Narrative / Free Verse

In the train station of Westbury I sit on metal bench.
Corrugated iron rooves protect me from the wet.
Industrialism has forgotten this town; I notice as the rain gets loud.
Trains pass by not only carrying people, but mounds of stones too, nothing lethal.

I go to check the cafe for a drink; it's getting cold out now.
A queue awaits as I enter the room so I join in with the crowd.
One drops off, then another too 'til I am left alone to queue.
A plain girl (pretty too) asks my order - time to choose.

Looks like my mother was right, train station prices have taken flight.

"A coffee that will be for me", I smile and say, grabbing 1.70.
I place it in the palm of her hand; she smiles at me before saying "thanks".
A way behind sits the coffee machine and so to that she tends.
A workers girl in a workers town, how's that for amends?
Down I sit filling empty chair, strangely uncomfortable with
Conditioned air; my coffee was bought to provide me warmth
So why sit, hardly cold, indoors?

The indicated pad is pressed and doors slide open, allowing my step,
Toward a better atmosphere, though colder I could hardly care.

Westbury is a one-stop place, stay too long and you'll lose the race.
So just bare with any forty minute wait, soon enough, you'll be on your way.

Westburyby ~dude-im-alive

Literature / Poetry / Narrative / Free Verse

My train was delayed by forty minutes from what was already a half hour wait. Was quite annoyed. So I pulled out my pad.

love 1 1

joy 1 1

~~wow 0 0~~

~~mad 0 0~~

~~sad 0 0~~

~~fear 0 0~~

~~neutral 0 0~~

=FaeHorsley Jan 27, 2012 Hobbyist Photographer

westbury train station in wiltshire? lol i live in westbury, unfortunatly), and that train station is my life line to the real world.

~dude-im-alive Feb 13, 2012 Writer

Haha aah wow, that's pretty funny that you found this then

do you think I portrayed it well? not sure what you'd think about the line:
"Industrialism has forgotten this town; I notice as the rain gets loud."
But I can't help but say that's the feel I got from it with the coal trains going past an' all. Anyway, thanks for reading it and feel free to look at some more

=FaeHorsley Feb 17, 2012 Hobbyist Photographer

i thought you portrayed it perfectly and its exactly what i feel when im waiting for a train lol

~dude-im-alive Feb 20, 2012 Writer

Aah brilliant, thank you very much (:

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Westbury

Westburyby ~dude-im-alive

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