Discover Top Posts Tagged with #abstractcomunity

Don’t Fall In Love With Broken Mirrors, Kid

There comes a time When there's nothing to love Except withering roses and The whistling of a steel kettle.

Drinking away the leaden sky With another cup of black coffee. "It's a new, unbearable morning." Wounded knuckles bleeding out Every story that got left untold.

There comes a time When the world means nothing to you.

An eloquent scripture of scars And crumbling constellations. There comes a time When the sky leaves its ivory tower To descend into the common world.

No hopeless eyes Look up at the stars anymore. They are all here, at every bus stop. The starless skies of twitching shadows In temporary gardens of the void.

When your only stars are lit-up cigarettes, You know it is over. The poisoned sky is the milk in your tea And the past is the slit on your palm.

You're waiting. For a voice that can no longer speak On the other end of the phone with no ringer.

Don't fall in love with broken mirrors, kid. Please, find yourself a home that is worth staying for.

Intimacy

Intimacy: close familiarity or friendship; closeness.

Something about that definition...

Too short, too long, too blunt to describe

the way I feel about you.

The brief moment of stillness

as the atmosphere sombers, time slows, and our heartbeats align,

alone in the world but not lonely,

detatched from the world but not ever more in tune...

Isn’t that intimacy?

The way I feel about you,

barely contained in a five word definition,

unmatched in the multitude of emotions in that one

intimate

moment.

Five words to describe an almost indescribable feeling

of yearning, longing, imagining,

of a passing, fleeting moment

that seems to manifest a tug in our chests —

pulling, pleading, begging us to draw a little nearer

a connection thin and fulfilling as we both know —

and in the distant thump thump thump of synchronized heartbeats...

Isn’t that intimacy, too?

Such a heavy burden to convey

a description so illustrious and evasive to describe this feeling

in just five words.

For those five words express (although falling short)

what even the most worldly poets cannot,

as they too strive to find the right words to describe...

This is intimacy.

#poetry #poets on tumblr #original poetry #intimacy #excerpts from a story i'll never write #excerpt from a book i'll never write #writers on tumblr #poetsexlixir #savagewords #abstractcomunity

if only you had tasted of lavender and honey and if only the mauve within you had not deepened. if only the jacaranda tree did not shed and if only the train window framed by violet was not hurtling to a stop. if only you could love in shades of purple then maybe purple would still be my favourite colour.

sticky blackberry jam kisses and diary entries filled with purple gel ink. the way her hair looked purple in the evening light and how she broke your heart permanently in violet Sharpie ink // archaic remains 13

People Are Not Drugs

You can’t treat people like drugs, One hit, one kiss does not equate to love And I understand this power from above Seems like an answer to your prayers This ecstasy is a replacement for your fears. But you can’t treat people like drugs Without getting addicted, The snowy gates of Hell might claim its next victim And you would fall face forward towards the depraved Can you even hear God calling your name? For drugs are not a substitute for adventure And people are not a substitute for pain, This tract is dangerous and would drive anyone insane. People can not satisfy your needs without scourging your soul What each one takes is out of your control; Do you really think you are above this fight? A heroine addict might think the same, You can change your life but you can’t change the game.

#poetryportal #writerscreed #abstractcomunity #savage words

I can see your vapor, & the threads of panels spread; symbols before fissures & absent tidings. I just don't look at the strange, I adore it's light like mine.

#savage-words #writerscreed #abstractcomunity #poetryportal #inkstay

C A G E D A N I M A L S

Confined by time, We live as caged animals In the prison cells Of our temporary bodies. They too, shall fade away, Taking everything we've ever been Down an eternal path of decay.

Confined by time, A temporary cage becomes The only home and only heart. The only way to witness The purity and blueness of the skies That were never designed to save us, And never destined for us.

By the end of time, it is easy To grow accustomed to anything. To ecstasy, to agony, And even the obscuring blackness Of bars that keep us hostage to time. They'll be there to shelter us From the unbearable beauty Of the storming celestial ocean.

After years, the bars stop being noticeable, Becoming familiar, dear. But if a dove attempted to open Her newly formed wings and fly towards the blueness, The wings would shatter against the cold metal, And the dove fall back to the ground, Immotile and dead as a rock.

That is what you get for following A deceiving sky-colored mirage, By the way.

So lean back and watch the sky From behind these blackened bars, Until someone comes To open up your cage.

And then, you’ll be free! You'll taste the sky in mouthfuls, Devouring every part of it, Until it sets Your soul Ablaze.

E X H U M A T I O N

"Make sure to take your specs off Before he past arrives to get you beaten up."

Remember? It's just another Thousand razorblades away, Hundred coffee stains below, And ten sealed boxes above.

It's time to tear the cardboard up And visit desecrated memories. A centipede soul scorched by the sun, I know that you still hide beneath the floorboards In the kitchen. You crawl up from my crystal vase When I least expect to see you, admiring my fear. Tiny feet and inky steps from within my fountain pen.

I hope you'll turn my screams to ink. I spend days excavating the mind for answers, But all I ever find is centipede bodies and disordered Voices coming back from the walls.

The dead belong with the dead and I hate exhuming dead bodies. Centipede soul, can we give these memories A proper burial? Would you leave with them?

Your grave will be another Thousand razorblades away, Hundred coffee stains below, And ten sealed boxes above.

I'll throw away the spade and you Must never let me dig it up again.