Rage in all four corners.

You know it’s getting bad again when the poetry flows...

[thehauntedp0et]

Sitting and open windows

Stars and thunderstorms

Counting the seconds

Between lightning

and sound

Smoking through the cracks

Guitars and mellow melodies

Waiting for the new day

Fearing what comes when this mirage ends

Silence is on our side tonight

But there is no promise

It will be tomorrow.

I am

running

From this precious idea we call time

The idea of losing now

So I count the seconds to make them last a little bit longer

Grasp them with my fingertips and hope they stay still

And by doing so

I lose it all the same

Their is no running from time

It all catches up to you

inevitably.

// humor me, let’s sit and watch the stars and listen to the thunder and pretend this moment shall last forever, because I can’t bear the thought of it’s end.

[thehauntedp0et]

The rain poured down like a million glistening teardrops.

Blue orbs of light shown around shadow in a spiral of illumination.

Night become one with the tears of the liongirl,

and all else ceased to exist except for the immensity of her heartbreak.

Sad broken girl

Are you falling apart, in the wake of his departure?

Ancient brutal hunter

Are you tired of only knowing slaughter?

What else is left of this dying breed

But archaic customs, we can’t seem to keep

Don’t run far, little witch

The hunter always catches the apostate.

A women watches from the window in discontent, the scene in front of her tearing at her

Your love is my daughter

and her fight is my burden.

Powerful lover girl

You will be their ruin.

Kisses littered on shoulders

Long stares in lonely corridors

Your torment is my torment

And my body is your body

The liongirl and her hunter

Restful and bundled.

//liongirl and her hunter

[thehauntedp0et]

Why am I sad?

I shouldn’t be sad.

Life is good, life is evolving…

Yeah, life is good.

So why am I still motionless in my bed in the middle of the night when I am exhausted,

I am so exhausted.

I want sleep but I can’t sleep for I will be thinking.

But even without the thinking, I feel like I’m sinking,

Sinking into the 3 inch foam topper on my bed,

Sinking into my wicked thoughts

Sinking in my gut, deep, deep, a rotten place I can never seem to cut out fully.

It always comes back eventually,

to devour.

//it always takes too much

[thehauntedp0et]

I never told anyone that I wanted it to be true. That I wanted it to last. That I wanted it to be you.

I never told anyone that every text was a drug. That your distant presence lingered like a faint touch.

That I was waiting like you were the only one.

And I told everyone that it didn’t matter. That the hours upon hours on delivered wasn’t a whatever. That your absence didn’t make my hands clatter.

I never told anyone to save my self from the embarrassment of the inevitable.

Because the moment any one other than yourself knows, the consequences of your chatter become starkly present.

And it is so stupendously predictable how every time it is the same.

Everything is feeling so right until it all restrains. And you realize it was all in vain.

How long did it take for them to disappear completely without a trace?

How long til’ there influence does not linger in my brain?

How long till I stop seeing your face every time I hear a plane?

[thehauntedp0et]

I hate that I love so much

I hate that I care too much

I hate that I think everyone hates me.

I hate that I obsess so much

I hate that I check too much

I hate that I pretend it doesn’t kill me.

I hate to be the crazy one

I hate to be so out of touch

I hate myself and my gullibility.

I hate to be the broken one

I hate to be the only one

I hate that everyone leaves me.

I hate that it never lasts

I hate that they ignore me after the initial match

I hate that I thought it to be something.

I hate that I keep doubling back

I hate that my stomach hurts so bad

I hate that you came and left just like that.

//I hate…

[thehauntedp0et]

I.

And did you dance with her, when the moonlight fell on her nymph silhouette?

As she span in circles, chasing the night and its dragonflies.

Did you follow her through the shadows of the quaking night?

Did you dance dance dance till the moon fell and the sun beckoned the light?

Did you embrace her tenderly?

She ruled the night, she stole your sight,

the stars collide.

Are you blind blind blind

to all else but her, her crystalline allure

her gazing eyes into yours?

II.

And did you see it coming?

When her mouth came to yours,

did you expect the sting, the metallic ring, her unrelenting cling?

oh, But was it not pleasant when her tongue tied to yours?

Did it make you want to worship her despite the gore?

oh, But she was so tender, so pure.

Was her deceit, perhaps, the one thing you have been waiting for?

III.

And when the moon fell and the sun beckoned into light,

And when you saw the fright, unmistakable, in her eyes.

Bearing into your soul,

Imploring you to take her hand in yours.

Crimson tears slipping down to her chin.

One second, two… three… four…

Her nymph silhouette, hair whipping like a violent storm, the last thing your eyes ever saw.

And now the night has completely vanished.

Every trace of the moonlit girl,

had completely been banished.

//dance with the moonlit girl

[thehauntedp0et]

And is it empty?

Your heart,

is it still beating?

Has it stopped like you said it would if we ever ended.

Has the silence killed you yet?

Does it dwell on in your head,

our every conversation,

like you said?

Forever.

Forgotten.

It must be the same too you,

It must have gotten mixed in translation.

Does the bed still smell like me and you?

Or have you washed away the scent of us?

Has your skin grown cold like mine has?

Is there a lump in your throat, one that refuses to relinquish?

Do you still linger?

Do your fingertips miss the warmth of another hand to hold?

Has regret sunk in?

Has sadness crept in?

Is it under your skin?

.

.

.

Does it ache?

Your heart,

Does it

ache?

//inquires of the heartbroken

[thehauntedp0et]

1. I am aching in the silence

of my darkened room and I talk to no one.

I scribble on a page and I rot away.

Horrible, horrible, alone.

2. Did you know people who tell you

they like to be alone, do not mean always?

It is a paradox. Alone. Not alone.

With people. Still alone.

Never ending suffering.

3. I start begging to no one.

To the silence?

I don’t believe in a god,

but I still beg the nothingness for,

something, for,

anything.

4. Are you listening now?

Are you finally listening?

No one ever listens.

5. I do not know what is worse,

the night, or the day?

The day when everyone else is being a person

and you are barley alive.

Or the night,

When everything is quiet but your mind.

//youth is a death sentence

[thehauntedp0et]

A writers mind is never quiet,

it is a forever churning mystery of every word they have ever uttered.

A time space where everyone and everything moves in frequencies down their spine.

A chill to the bone.

A tingle on the tongue.

A tumor echoing in the brain.

A hand to the throat.

An ache that never quite settles.

A writers mind is a place of endless torture.

Everyone who has left is laughing in the deepness of the brain

And they never stop laughing.

They screech and wail all night long.

And the people who have stayed they secretly hate you.

And writers, they almost always want to die.

For what is a writer without the dept of this pain.

A writer is not a writer without the dread.

The world was a magical place for one

meekly second

But the dread always catches up to you.

//writers always want to die

[thehauntedp0et]

When your own parent does something unforgivable, what are you to do?

I do not think I will ever be able to look him in the eyes?

I already could barely tolerate him.

Now standing in his presence,

is like walking on shattered glass.

He has drawn the last stick

The last chance

And my faith has worn out.

He was careless as he always has been

And always will be,

And now a piece of my heart is gone.

And he has stolen much more then the pieces of my broken aching heart

He has stolen my trust in people as a whole.

// my cat is gone and I’m going to hurl

[thehauntedp0et]

Why is it only acceptable for a man to be a slut?

Why is a women’s virginity deemed a virtue,

and a man’s not?

Men are praised and women are shamed.

When has anyone’s body ever been anyone’s business but their own?

Why can’t woman be left alone?

A man’s hunger makes him powerful

But a women’s, it destroys her reputation.

Her hunger is a sin.

Why can’t she want like he wants?

Why must she be shamed for that of the same?

Why is she only a pretty face?

Why do you care if she shaves?

Why is her worth dependent on her weight?

Why is her clothes an excuse to be raped?

The only shame is in the asking

The only sin is the hypocrisy

Her body was never yours.

//her body is none of your business

[thehauntedp0et]

I believe every person holds a beauty inside of them.

Maybe it is our souls, something we have that is pure, at the essence.

Or maybe it is simply that of life itself.

Whatever which, we are all made to be beautiful, and the life that surrounds us is what changes us into the not so beautiful.

Maybe your parents never loved you like there’s never loved them,

Maybe something so terrible happened that caused the terrible in you,

It all comes down to one rotten no good cycle, a never ending never breaking cycle that makes this world so terrible.

I can not believe it is who we are made to be. We were once all serene and possibilities but this terrible pain sinks into you and pulls you under,

so far, you can no longer see the light.

But at the core, at the core I believe there is pure sunshine, gifted to us by the stars.

//if we are not good what hope is there

[thehauntedp0et]

Why do I burn?

With a vengeance in my heart

So powerful I feel it may explode.

I’ve always hunted down a truth that no one yet knows

And when I don’t find it

I fall over in despair

As if it wasn’t hopeless all along.

Why shall I be different?

What is so special about me

Besides the pain in my bones

That aches so profoundly

I sometimes wish I was dead.

But every one hurts, don’t they

We all have a subtle ache inside of our chests

that beats like a second heartbeat

A reminder that the hurt, it never goes away

It will always linger.

It’s as if we were made to hurt

When pain is all you know

Why would you expect

Any less

Then heartbreak.

//we were made to hurt.

[thehauntedp0et]

It is that time again, when the night is so quiet you can almost hear the monsters

under your bed whispering your name, calling out too you, asking you too come play.

So utterly quiet it seems the dark is seeping into your eye sockets and pouring into your brain.

Rotting your insides until flowers grow in place

of your

Bones

your

Organs

And they trap you

in there tangled embrace.

Seeds of worry expanding into madness

Their thorns digging into molten skin and filling you with ugly little lies

And choking you with the tangled vines

Wrapping around your throat until there’s only silent suffering

And smothered cries.

//there are monsters still under my bed.

[thehauntedp0et]

I love when people are kind.

When they hold the door open, or pick up that five dollar bill that you dropped and yell:

Hey you, you dropped this

And you say wow thanks how can I repay you

And they say what for, and walk away.

Or they say simply nothing at all, no expectations, just pure bread compassion of the unlikely kind.

I love when people do good things without any reward other than the blind hope of receiving what we give.

Kindness is something we learn at a young age, in kindergarten, when we’re taught to share, and if you have nothing good to say, say nothing at all.

It is something many have forgotten.

With rotten youth, spines grow unsparingly harsh.

And they twist words like a knife to our yearning hearts.

And kindness, they never do get back

The older, the fainter, the crueler.

[thehauntedp0et]



//wasting and waiting

[thehauntedp0et]

Hearing the children screaming in joy

On the playground

Had brought back memories I never could have imagined forgetting

How childhood had slowly slipped away

To a scarcely hum

In the back of the brain

When it was lost on me, I can’t recall

I just know it is gone

And I am morning it like waking up from a lovely dream.

Becoming

Foggy

Distant

As more time passes

To the point when you knew you had one

But recollecting the events is a near impossible deed.

//childhood is dead