#flawsstitchedwithgoodintentions

[syntaxandsemantics]

Delphinidae

fusiform waves break the surface for a rising breath

pods speak in echos, navigate an infinite blue

[psicoticat]

Echelon for life.

fuq yeah

[poeticallyprofound]

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{The following is my second audio piece. It features Luke Dingle, Dennis Dubay & Danny Bullocks. Luke provided the piano in the background & pieced all our audio together. This piece is about four men all contemplating killing themselves but conquer their inertia because of their love of words.I can't find the original link when it was posted on Tumblr, maybe lost forever. I'm going to start doing some spoken pieces and wanted to rehash this because all four of us are very different poets & people and I felt that this shall forever stay relevant here and personally for at least me. Enjoy...} 

Rakuli:

Change the direction of my gait? The driver would be too late. No time to swerve Me having got the nerve would have ended this downward curve. Just one step into a bus, no fuss... I’d let the world discuss if my end was a plus. A cabinet of pills to dull the chills and increase the thrills Wills me to taste the numbness that spills Out of overuse and cries out for my abuse. It’s all conducive to the elusive hyperopia utopia I try to find here But fear it’s better to sear my ties and say my goodbyes Than to continually try to aspire. Razor to wrist, Rope to neck with a twist. Resist to persist. Desist to insist. Just what I could use to ignite my muse. So much to write about in the world where I’m without. My musing drought, My cruising bout with doubt shouts to take it all out. Yet in the world without I’m not here to write about it. Fight about it. See the light about it. Without my penned thoughts it’s too bright. I’ll stay... for this night. My words and how terse they are. Is dragging me down. This inertia. Poetically Profound: This inertia Is dragging me down Breaking further The remnants of my crown Grim proceedings Receding The recession Deep depressions of my mind Free these demons The devils cannot find Meaning In rhythm and rhyme I'm undressing These ghosts My spine is in fits Because it knows The foreboding I keep my words close The rope Resides with the skeletons In my closet Thought I locked it Spinning in spirals Quite often Don't mind me if my mind revokes Sometimes Teetering Severed my tether Heavy in obscenities But flowing as light as a feather I took every single bullet out of my gun... Waiting for the sun to come up... Waiting for the sun to come up... Waiting for the sun... The Real Vagabond King: And while the sun shines i sit here like night has already fallen forcing my mind to believe against my will that my soul has been darkened by what i feel has been stolen i have nothing left for you i have nothing left to give i have nothing more to stay for so few ounces left to my day everything has been taken away but can i pull this trigger, really? when i have so much more to say is it fair to end this life, when i have so many words left in me? i mean, this world is so fucking dark, sometimes i can't even see the way myself, i'm supposed to be a creator of worlds with my verses - yet i can't even envision a new day have we run out of dusk and dawns, of sunrises and sunsets is there anything new to write about that will save us from deaths doorstep? if i pull this trigger, altering reality for me, and anyone watching who will say what i mean to say or should i just fucking stay? should i fix this world myself, or with the help of my brothers can we finish off the ignorant with a game of word play? i guess i'll stick around, see how this all plays out Flawsstitchedwithgoodintentions: How might it play out? I’ve often wondered if A not so short trip To a hard ground Would be a solution to The problems abound I’ve mused on Liquid relief For rapid release How I might slip Myself a bit of cyanide, But, I just sigh and eye The pen and the ink That I’d never use And the words whose Meanings I couldn’t abuse I’d play with my life The same as these words Twisting and breaking Tearing and bending Every bit of essence They hold. Taking my life With this serrated knife Wouldn’t speak to the strife The way these phrases Weave mazes Through my dark cloudy Hazes It’s not the expression No, this is obsession With verbal aggression I’ll fight my depression And beat the oppression This is transgression At your discretion I’ll leave one last impression To end this word session Open bottles and open wrists Left me lesions and scars But these words, they persist And bleed pain that is ours..

[thewritersaddress]

for Danny.

For my good friend Danny, who I do love very much. Smile, friend.

It is strange to think that out of 7 billion people  in this world of ours all we need, in ruinous times is one soul to rescue our hearts to break the fall and bandage the wounds.

Life is cruel it tears their spirits until their bodies bleed anguish, until their pain is watered down with paints, mixed and employed for the basis of a smeared canvas

but out of the throng of hopeless cynics who have lost their path he remains true he is, to me, delicate but robust fallible but perfect, noble but tainted – 

he is the blindness that  stems from heroic love, the impulsiveness of brash courage, the terror of risk in following one’s dreams

and as he sits scribbling messages to a distant love a part of him dies, seeking refuge in the cursive script that emanates from his tired hands

and I hope that by the delicacy of the moon  pouring luridly through his open window he realises that he is  worthy

that out of 7 billion people  in this world of ours all he needs is one.