The Mortuary of Poetry

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[avoidcrow]

I need Ghibli therapy where some utter magic nonsense happens to me and it’s all very weird but there’s some nice people and when it’s over I come out of it a more complete person

[themortuaryofpoetry]

The Walk

And I,

am not made of stone. 

My body is not a temple; an immovable object,

an unstoppable force. 

Yes, I will still stand up,

refuse to give up

and continue, one foot in front of the other

but my thighs and knees will tremble,

bones brittle under the weight of suppression.

The world is a heavy thing to place on damanged shoulders,

the bag of burdens I carry has become a traveling wardrobe, gripped by blistered fingers.

A costume and mask for every occasion; the weight worth the disguise.

My spine aches for a post to lean upon but my journey is long

lungs burning like the first breath of crisp winter air, tears freeze on chapped skin.

My polestar is a pen, black as the abyss

tip graced with neverending ink. 

My paper is the earth, my skin, the air I breathe and the spaces in-between the trees. 

I have a pocket full of sand that reminds me that it wasn't always this cold,

That maybe winter will pass to spring

That maybe I will come across an oak stump to rest my weary limbs or a chance to weep

but the sun will set, and the night will crawl in

and once more I'll climb to my feet 

to begin my path again. 

[wordsnquotes]

I’m not used to being loved. I wouldn’t know what to do.

F. Scott Fitzgerald, ”More Than Just A House” (via wordsnquotes)

[themortuaryofpoetry]

Ouroboros

I want you to devour me whole

and I will match your devouring with my own. our flesh will blur and blend,

molding us together with

no end or beginning.

my veins stitched to your skin,

I can no longer move my tongue without tasting you.

I want to learn to be your lover;

nothing has ever been so simple and complex as this excess

this desire of consumption, of consummation. I want you to devour me,

and enclose us in this absurd infinity.

[fools-parxdise-deactivated20171]

When he thought of her (when didn’t he?) his mouth was dry and his palms were wet; he sighed; he shook. She was in his mind’s eye now, like a fugitive from some more perfect place. Her skin was flawless and always cool, always pale; her body was long, like her hair, like her fingers, like her laughter; and her eyes, oh, her eyes, had every season of leaf in them: the twin greens of spring and high summer, the golds of autumn, and, in her rages, black midwinter rot

Imajica (via abbrviate)

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mine

"You play a multifaceted role in my mind Your mouth          illustrates my want just as your hands         hold my heart and tears the whispering being that is my soul   right from the blackened chest                  that is my home." m.lynn

[themortuaryofpoetry]

the things I've learned;

"I.  the Captain of your ship isn't you but rather the dreams you hold and the Paradise you thought you forgot. II. maquillage can't change me; it won't makeup for what I'm lacking. III. hope's counterpart is not God. IV. when it comes to the end justifying the means, most don't really care at all." m.lynn

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Astrid

"If the moon was glowing  then the star, My Astrid, was beaming with                   raw       unadulterated happiness That not even the coldest of chills               could kill." m.lynn

[themortuaryofpoetry]

powerless

"His words were stained with distaste, honesty and loyalty; liars. Nothing was kind or familiar, the pulse in her sore throat sung, she stumbled and vanished. City lights flickered as she watched the glow of a cigarette cherry, she wanted to go back and change everything. " m.lynn

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hurt

“Fire flooded, melting her bones and fears, washing away the cold. She had felt vulnerable before, like an unhinged box full of anger, hurt and confusion.

Now the world was sweet molasses, she was dripping ever-so slowly from the bottle.

Nothing else mattered.

The veins in her arms whispered to her in tongues, scorching with volatile fire; it doesn’t hurt any more.

Nothing else matters.”

m.lynn

[themortuaryofpoetry]

The Man Who Lives On Mars I.

To the man who lives on Mars;

I’ve loved you, Unconditionally. Passionately. You have altered me, changed the course of my history. There is no way to explain it; I am different now. For better or worse? It’s hard to tell. I am more sensual, observant, I am so much more, yet now less, without you. I find you in everything and everywhere. How could something so quiet, feel so loud? Something so hush, be so real? It was real to me, and I believe you to be an honest man, so you must have felt it to. I do not want to say good-bye or let go.

Love, the girl from the Sun

m.lynn

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the swiveling bar stools

“The ash from your cigarette aligned neatly in a tray, with a flick of a wrist like the words you planned to say.

I didn’t know then but I did suspect; the charisma seeps out of your pores

or maybe it’s me, the girl who doesn’t know how to be loved, my refusal of acceptance is why you did not stay?

Was I prettier in the dim light than the morning after when reality set in?

Was I not tasteful enough for seconds, or did I have all the wrong things to say?

Is my presence too persistent or was I hidden too well?

An I nightmare or a dream, I sure as hell can’t tell.”

m.lynn

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Madness

[themortuaryofpoetry]

a poet

I am a poet and as poets do, I put more into things than I ought to.

There’s a million different ways that I could write you, But you will only continue to haunt me.

I am a poet and as a poet, there’s a million different ways that I could love you, and you will continue to love someone new.

m.lynn

[themortuaryofpoetry]

Cassus

There are things that I love

and do not know why

It’s peculiar that

so much love can feel like sadness.

What am I to do 

with all the affection that I have for you?

you are one of those strange loves,

your absence leaves me hollow

yet my mind is overflowing.

I look for you in others,

those eyes, laugh and quirk of the mouth.

You have plagued me like an affliction..

when I sleep,

I drown in thoughts of you.

m.lynn

[themortuaryofpoetry]

I could be me

i. I didn’t believe I could be me, the girl who required a cartographer just to discover that after hours of mapping, the land had been moving all along and there was no way to illustrate the weaving paths.

ii. I never thought I could be me, who had impenetrable anxiety and insecurities ingrained into my brain.

iii. I couldn’t think I could be me and be associated with words like ‘beautiful ’, 'desirable’, 'a keeper’ or 'worth it’ in the same lifetime, let alone the same sentence.

iv. Alone, or pretending with a companion? those were my only options, I never considered I could be me.

(m.lynn)

[themortuaryofpoetry]

the almost SONNET

I love too deeply, lovers left benumbed

I cannot decide if I am too much

Still I would prefer to be fire than numb

My blood is keening, how I long for touch.

I am passion, obsession, limerence

No choice but to be quietly devoured The hunger inside is vociferous

Ah, that flame, or heart has been deflowered. Oh, but for you my love is not enough

The moon, that darkness you call your essence The Dragon enclosed me, your love is rough Lingering gaze, I fell in quiescence.

Dear, you are sweet betrayal, my heartache Each slip of your mouth drives me insane. (m.lynn)