Type

"I used to write poetry. discovered men. gave up poetry. now that i've spent some time with men, i think the poetry was better then it had seemed at the time."- b. cheever

[avenueoverpass]

music to words i put here before:

Carry me

This has been laying around incomplete for months now, so I finally decided it was time to revise it and finish it. 

He’s got a weary heart,

and an invisible soul

He keeps it hidden in the flower pot

Out on the kitchen windowsill

And i’ve been watching him

Watching me

And i’ve been wondering

Whats on his mind

But i an’t got no aptitude

For telepathy

And he just says

He an’t the saying kind

Won’t you carry me away from myself

Im done putting up my walls

And if you want to

You can keep me in

You pocket with your cigarettes

And if the craving finally comes

You can take out a match 

And light me up

I’ve been trying to learn from past mistakes

And love takes time

Even when its already in place

So don’t break the silence

I’m don’t need you to say a thing

Just to keep me in mind for your rainy days

Won’t you carry me away from myself

I’m done putting up my walls

And if you want to

You can keep me in

You pocket with your cigarettes

And if the craving finally comes

You can take out a match 

And light me up

I’ll be fine if you set me aside

I don’t mind 

I’m in love

And it’s not changing

I’ll be waiting

When your ready

Take your time

I’m not giving up

Won’t you carry me away from myself

I’m done putting up my walls

And if you want to

You can keep me in

You pocket with your cigarettes

And if the craving finally comes

You can take out a match 

And light me up

You can take out a match 

Just light me up.

[avenueoverpass]

Sleeping with Depression

I can feel the depression As it crawls into bed next to me Like a lover I keep returning to Despite my better judgment On better days I’d walk away But today is not a better day And so I let it kiss me Taste of my flesh And penetrate my most vulnerable places

[foreveratlas]

The Day After

Paranoia sleeps in my lack of womb

curling, corroding, condemning my need

for affirmation beyond these walls,

and these digital interactions.

.

I tell myself, I deserve good today,

and my abdomen recoils, churns,

clawing against my pelvis and naval,

like my body is birthing doubt--

fear and disgust to match

every intrusive thought that bleeds

from my ears to my lips.

.

There is anger, distrust, hesitation--

never bitten, always shy-- growing

in the place where my body mourns

the loss it never endured.

.

Maybe I'll give life to the tumor

my paranoia breeds inside me.

[avenueoverpass]

Wow

[remanence-of-love]

[avenueoverpass]

❤️

[avenueoverpass]

Sweet complexion

- is beneath reason

You who sits besides silence

with unknown frame

Nothing meant,

against skeptical illusions

Simple and revised -

now distorted memory remains

Only the deepest drop from enormous height

bringing doubt incurable

The infinite shifting silence in the mind

Haunts me like the harvest moon.

This illusory appearance

all intended to clear the shadows

Leaves no trace as the dark veil of night

will rise - burnt orange -

All Form washed away it seemed you spoke

Your tone strangely indisputable

What painters believe beautiful

These words humbly recognized but never heard

Beneath September sky

Pieces of darkness will not set the compass path

Ghosts of memory dance waltzes now

Coupled with shadows and echo against the black

Drifting like dried leaves

What illusion now

Silk and disconcerted

Cold stars attached to canceled smiles

Shining dead as silver spider trails

Almost trace mystery with fault

Coupled with shadows of the past

Unknown scenes

Quiet extraordinary

Azure regret

Which perpetuates

Great and divided thought

Love can despise

And move through the evenings

Increasing arc

Instead their poles magnetic

Their strength - pulling it apart

[wanderlusthearts]

They laugh at me for choosing the thorns and not the rose... How should i explain my tragedy to them? In the time of darkness, It was the thorns which kept me safe and not the rose.

[avenueoverpass]

Brilliant

[herheavyheart]

Why didn't you come with a warning sign ? Why didn't you come with something, anything, that would say “ he's the one who's going to love you, break you, leave you, and then act like replacing you is the easiest thing to do ” ?

[avenueoverpass]

Love this

[avenueoverpass]

revision

A blighted shard.

Inside the soul;

Fragmented 

into the prism fractured,

Where it strips

away the starlight,

And the moon glow.

Leaving only the darkness

Of an ocean with no reflection-

And the waves

Of a tide without a shoreline-

to dictate direction

had been beating against one another

Cause a whirlpool.

Which pulls ls the blood

- Starved for oxygen

from the heart 

 beating its fury

on its own hollow walls

 pulling they pound torn tissue 

as if pulling away boiled tar 

 -

In the struggle for survival

Each beat bellowing

Against its own walls

Deflated

drained 

destroyed

but the echo

Ever resounding-

Resonating through the bones-

which all told were in place 

 to encase it for protection -

but now  begin to crumble pervaded by their stench which reveal their rot.

[ozthewild]

s.o.l.

stranded in a hostile environment. we called it

planet earth: the third piece of shit from a dying sun. we fight for scraps for a modicum of sanity

we fornicate with myths to bind the weak in silence  for dumb labor for ready fodder

we are dying in the name of safety

[avenueoverpass]

#this

[avenueoverpass]

THIS IS WHY

A blighted shard.

Inside the soul;

Fragmented

into the prism fractured,

Where it strips

away starlight,

And moon glow.

Leaving only the darkness

Of an ocean with no reflection.

And the waves

Of a tide without a shoreline-

to dictate direction,

Cause a whirlpool.

Which pools the blood

- Starved for oxygen

From the heart-

Which drains slowly

As it beats -

Again and again

In the struggle for survival

Each beat bellowing

Against its own walls

Deflated

left empty -

With the echo

Ever resounding-

Resonating through the bones-

Said to encase it for protection -

Which now begin to crumble pervaded by the stench

Of rot

[avenueoverpass]

Today would have been my dads 66th birthday. It’s been three years since he passed, three days after his 63rd. It feels foolish that a date on a calendar should make a day hurt more than others, or cause me to slide back into the emotions that surround loss, but it does. For the last week, the number on the calendar triggers the part of my mind that says “don’t forget to call dad on the sixth” at the same time it tells me I can’t... because dead men can’t answer phone calls. It’s that same part of my brain that hears Bob Dylan and pokes at the wound by triggering the memories of him playing guitar Friday night in the kitchen when I was young. The same part of me that can’t help but cry when I smell cigar smoke or pass someone on the street wearing the same cologne he used to wear. The same part of me that’s gone from thrilled to heartbroken when looking through a wedding dress catalog then realizing that he won’t be there to walk me down the aisle. That part of my brain will always fire off memories, and those memories will always bring back the hurt that comes with loss. Time does not “heal all wounds” as they say. It merely masks them, but anything can peel off the kind of scab that never heals, just like a rainy day can make a 15-year-old injury to a knee ache. And today I miss my dad.

[avenueoverpass]

The End. Again.

Every glance,

the starting line,

of another disaster

impending;

Every word we ever spoke,

spun

into the web that

laced our ending .

We fell in love

in retrospect,

but not in

the space we both shared once

Our former selves still linger there,

within photographs and passing thoughts.

We danced the dance, nostalgia leads,

when the past

had tiptoed down the hall,

far enough for the echoes of its footsteps

to hide

beneath the sound of our own beating hearts.

[avenueoverpass]

Willfully Lost

A spirit decanted carefully,

he poured himself out;

with the finesse of a seasoned sommelier,

careful not to let those who would

          sip of his essence

taste of the sediment beneath 

his flesh.

The debris in his soul was for him 

to keep, carefully concealed;

The residue which remained,

walled up and unexamined,

time left it pressed

 into a diamond.

The lost treasure,

of an anxious mind,

and cautious heart.

[avenueoverpass]

In the sun

In The Sun

(a blackout poem).

Don’t ask me, I’m just telling you;

This was worth the call up.

High heels, a little MTV;

Friends in line, 

And what she knows

Down the  line; 

The two syllables,

Become three syllables 

And the meaning changes,

Changing everything.

Know what I mean?

Or sometimes,

The three syllables, 

Become two, 

And that’s the same.

Too far away;

Some metaphor in physics,

Disappear into the distance,

I walk in, 

Hair dyed,

Trying not to fidget.

If I were watching this all play out, 

I’d think something like

“She looks as if she wanted to believe it.”

Do I?

Is it that apparent?

My skin feels as if it’s been baked 

in batter. 

My mind feels as though its been washed 

with bleach.

Everything erased-

Cleaned like an alcoholics recollection 

of the night before.

To wear such a veil-  

  Bride to the bottle.

What peace that could bring at times like this.

I slip, 

A motto for actresses;

If the ends frazzle a

and no one calls me,

I don’t mind, 

Until I do.

I let my body droop and slide.

Another pain,

  Another “probably just late again”

Scum floating on the surface. 

I wish I could get interested.

Or maybe be of interest?

I wish I could stay warm,

 Instead I get distracted and start to shiver.

It’s always cold here,

In the sun. 

[avenueoverpass]

Cliche to say but still I say it

Black and blue

The ink 

A stain on paper

The bruise

A stain on skin

A mark made

By being struck

And bleeding out

Beneath the surface

In one way

Or another.

[avenueoverpass]

Parisian Nights

The window in this room never 

Quite closes all the way.

Its wood is weathered; 

The angle wrong; 

Its hinges slightly rusted; 

The lock misaligned -

                              Just enough, 

So there is

No way in which to secure the latch. 

The sill in the center,

Beneath where the window panes meet, 

Like past lovers who cross paths 

by accident, 

too reluctant to embrace,

is always damp when it rains.  

When the wind blows at half force

it slips itself in,

the way of a man 

30 seconds delayed 

in his daily commute,

jabs his shoulders through 

the closing  doors of the subway car 

and shrieks in the sporadic 

lament of a  forgotten kettle. 

 When this happens I turn in my bed, 

and pretend not to hear it. 

When the wind blows at full force 

it drives it’s way through the opening,

The way of a man

30 minuets late

in his daily commute,

shoves his way through the crowd

on the sidewalk who refuse to hurry

and bursts into the room 

and hollers the boom of microphone 

speaker, switched on at full volume 

in an empty concert hall.

                                                      When this happens I close my eyes                                                                                   and pretend to sleep. 

On quiet nights, 

        when there is no storm, and there is No wind and there is no rain,

 I turn and face the window and stare out

             toward the lights of the eiffel tower  In the distance. 

              I listen to the tiny voices 

that whisp their way up, 

from the cafe’s below, 

drunk on wine, and slither in.

To tip -toe secrets and 

sweet nothings across the floor.

 On quiet nights I do not sleep.

I simply dream, 

awake in this tiny bare room, 

with this tiny broken window, 

with it’s tiny postcard view 

of this fragment in my tiny time-line.

[avenueoverpass]

Overdose

He went for a ride

On a lame horse

And never returned

He watches us now

From the clouds

While he sleeps beneath

The stones in the cemetery