Watch & Write Endlessly

Love|Poetry| Sociologically analyzing life to such an extent that it no longer makes sense. Insomniac spoken word artist that'll ramble your ears (eyes) off. I write to feel alive. Heartbroken, but will always be in love. Enjoy

[deadsensescompany]

Don’t sell yourself short. You are abundant.

[heavensno-hellyeah]

Taking a sip of wine for every time I have a negative thought And I put a good song on To try counteract it With a good memory And remember it doesn’t matter But the more I follow This fucking way of life Regardless of doing right or wrong I don’t feel any better I feel more and more lost Entering something What seems like Hasn’t been discovered

So now I’m sat here in silence With barely any wine left And no money to buy more So what does that say?

[ancientwriting]

Fill Me Up?

You do not fill me up! You fail to bring my cup to overflow! And even though my cup is broken, with chips and cracks at the base, I want to be full, I want to be satisfied, I want you to pour yourself into the center of all that is me, So you could see that you are not enough!

If I was an empty cup, And I needed all of you to overflow, I would go blind with thirst, I would gasp for a beverage, sweeter than you, But stronger than the acidic twinge of your taste,

A liquid and a cup whose volume exponentially increases with my thirst, But you are not enough for this vessel, And when I try to pour myself into you, There is nothing that drips out of me.

My cup is empty, with nothing to offer, But a thirst that will linger for eternity. And if lips were to come begging for a taste of me, I could only let them pass me by on my journey to find a person who quenches this appentency for you.

[lifeinpoetry]

But, at the center: I am shaking; I am flashing like tinsel.

Mary Oliver, from “Home,” Long Life: Essays and Other Writings (via lipfused)

[ancientwriting]

Stop. Focus. Love!?

It begins how it ends, A kiss, A look, A dream,

Swaying through the trees a Palmetto song sings, A beautiful swan song of ultimatums it brings.

With a kiss I shall steal, And steel my heart for you, quick! For if fighting would give me your honor, Then this pen may grant me your lips! Celestial bodies will defy this fate, ‘Tis why your dreams only flourish when your mind stays up late.

It begins with a look, It will end with a stare, But my eyes how they admire your body with care.

Revitalize the vital signs in this love that you seek. May the songbird speak secrets, That your heart will forever keep.

But endings aren’t forever, and our eternity will soon end, And if my enigmatic, paradoxical perception wasn’t perhaps enough.

It ends how it begins.

[lifeinpoetry]

I would like to step out of my heart and go walking beneath the enormous sky.

Rainer Maria Rilke, from “Lament,” The Book of Pictures, The Selected Poetry of Rainer Maria Rilke, tr. Stephen Mitchell (via 7-weeks)

[wnq-writers]

You are a poem, and one day I’ll figure out how to write you

hidden-in-my-eyess (via wnq-writers)

[ancientwriting]

The angry woman, bit her lips at the sound of her heel cracking. She cursed under her breath, and muttered a failed mantra of relaxation, as she removed her now broken footwear. What a shame to be angry with oneself, when things are out of our control. But the angry woman, WAS in control, she will FOREVER be in control. So she bit her lip, and walked herself home barefooted, biting down harder as each sole was met by sharp rocks. The angry woman, knew not why these things were happening to her. But she continued on, with bloody lips, and bloody feet.

- Anger leads to more pain

[ancientwriting]

Rejoinder to your Delusional Guff

I could write you under the table, My words can put you to sleep, Of course after a round of linguistic ones and twos,

A literary battlefield, In where my words take yours on, In where my experiences can conjure up fears in your writing, And at the end of the ruffle and rouse, Your poetry will meet flames,

Because you cannot control the fiery passion that hides in this tongue, And the fire that spits from my fingertips, I tell you now, You will regret stepping up to the microphone, You will regret picking up a pen and blotching ink to paper,

My words will drown yours, But not after dancing to the heartbeat of this rhythmic piece, My words will flit around yours, as your stanzas wobble and drift apart, My poetry will not ignite yours, it will instead smear its ashes upon your own face,

Your acquiescent poetry can't compare, To writing like mine, Even if we were to compete, Your tongue is severely unqualified.

[ancientwriting]

Unknown Caller, Unknown Number

I keep going to sleep, And upon my waking I find missed calls from unknown numbers, Anonymous callers, who in my sleep, Wanted to pry into the depths of my humanity, To know something. 

I keep waking up, To find missed calls from a past that's rightfully asking for answers, Because somewhere down the line I fucked up, And I left something behind.  I keep waking up, From sleep that didn't even happen.

And I'm stuck.

I keep going to sleep, Only to wake up to find myself missing days on a calendar I should have thrown away. And the phone buzzes voicemails with voices I don't remember.

Things just fall out of place, And without meaning to, You end up sleeping away the wake up calls.

[ancientwriting]

She couldn't remember a time in where her lover's eyes did not look empty. There was never a fire, or a will. No light to guide you into love, or a deep sense of passion in his sleep deprived gaze. It was darkness that would enfold her heart, and caress her feelings. It was a frozen stare, by which he saw the world through. But she lit him ablaze anyways.

-& Maybe that's love

[ancientwriting]

Pang

The night danced about, With light footsteps creeping through my house, I could feel the cool touch of a hand on my cheek,

I open my eyes and find myself in daylight, Being kissed by rays of Sun, That pressed upon freckled skin,

I was alive

As I walked through the sun rays,  Shadows cast upon a bed, Twirling and dancing, as ardently as the night, I could feel myself attracted,

Intoxicated with the show, I decided to dance with shadows, But each touch would make them vanish, And the shadows turned to smoke in my hands,

As the sun beat down on my bare back, The remaining shadows laughed, They taunted me as they danced and twirled around my head, They ran as I chased them through pillars of light, And occasionally more would appear, As my body interfered with the bright rays,

I chased down shadows until I found myself in darkness, But I could not feel it, It was impossible to touch the dark,

For if I tried to get close to such cold love from the night, It would surely vanish in an instant.

[ancientwriting]

I keep waking up, To find missed calls from a past that’s rightfully asking for answers, Because somewhere down the line I fucked up, And I left something behind.

- Unknown Caller, Unknown Number

[ancientwriting]

I can still feel the sensation on my lips. Your blood trickling down from your nose as your body grew pale. I can still feel you on my lips, melting away in your mind as your hands travel over me, thinking only of more. But your body gives in before your psyche, you will inevitably always be mine.

- You have always been weak

[ancientwriting]

Do you have a book out? Or were you promoting one on your page? I love your poetry.... I went through your page and weeped at some, I was like I get it. You inspired me to get writing again. Keep up the fab work. Because I'm in love with it x

At one point I was working on getting published! But I think you may be referring to me promoting someone else's stuff. And I'm very happy you enjoy my writing, it makes me smile hearing you say that it is making you want to write again! Don't give that up~ Thank you so much for your support and love ^-^

[wakethetrees-deactivated2014053]

"I wish I knew where the moon is" was an odd way to begin a conversation, especially with a stranger, but the curly haired girl who bagged my groceries as though she knew I would carry them home, seemed genuinely sad when she told me how, night after night, she sits by her bedroom window waiting for the moon to appear before her like a giant coin, or fucking token for the lonely, that will buy access to some faraway place outside herself. I wanted to hug her, tell her I rarely look at the sky anymore now that I am being loved by someone whose company I actually enjoy, but I just paid her instead because a line was forming behind me and blackberries, whether in season or not, do not keep well.

Bianca Stewart

[ancientwriting]

But, did he love her?

She told me, that she once took a knife, and pressed it to her chest when nobody was home.

She sat on my bed half naked, and she pointed to her arms, and told me about how she’d once sliced her arm open,

She was crying, when I told her I thought I wanted to die. She cried for hours, holding me to her chest, as if I needed comfort.

I had told her that my thoughts had passed, and that I was happy to not have been stupid enough to take my life, but she held my face in her hands, and stared cautiously into my eyes,

I could tell she was scared, I could tell she was confused at whatever was floating inside of my head, I could tell my eyes were scarier than they were welcoming…

She smiled when I told her I had done the same things with a knife, and we both laughed at how two people could have something so macabre in common, to wish to die, in the same ways.

~ She was crying by the time my funeral came around.

~ Her eyes filled with sadness, and her head filled with excuses. It was 3 months since his last episode. She’d spent the night before his incident at his house, cuddling up to him, and spilling her secrets, telling him, that if it wasn’t for him, she’d be a mess.

But that wasn’t enough was it? She was too afraid of commitment, she was too afraid to say this was love. She was too afraid, to tell him, that she never wanted to be alive more than she did when they would smile and laugh. She never got to say that.. She never got to see him fight this. He wanted to die, and she didn’t stop him.