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Amanda  Jul 2015
Chef's Special
Amanda Jul 2015
A stomach full of disappointment.

Price: Lips stiched by all words I wished to say.
*Discount: If you have the kind of bitterness found in burnt toast.
It's just a bad day.
Not a 'bad everything.'
Vicious Circle Dec 2015
no one gifted me
this insane personality
I own it on my own

I hate where it takes me
to places I don't want to be
leaving parts of me
that should have been alone

Except it seems to be stiched
upon my lips
weaved by my fingertips
it's sewn inside my pocket
Stitches that itch
every time I breathe
I wish someone would pick
apart the grief that it brings
tightly stiched inside the woven

Oh how you could read me
in sign language that could swear
in the interim of lips not moving
could we just dance?

Bodies that bump in the night
shake a world so fragile
it would shatter
Pale crescent moonlight
seeks a perfect light
expelling it's sigh into
**Dark Matter
I've always
Had a strange attitude toward libraries
Some
Self-proclaimed peculiar insanity
Engraved and not really reasonable
Imperative
upon me
was
Spellbounded
And occasionally emerging
As
My
Elephantic memory skills


This rather charming ability

Acknowledged once and for Goooood

that:
I cannot breathe, live and develop creative
Thought processes
Flying as they are  ~ Ethereal
Divinational
Sparks of Fanaticism
Along my  

True ingeniosity at any lessser plie

Of books dancing with my diagonal glances all 9 at once

& reading 6

Three of them were  
A
Total
crap
quickly put aside

as a pun melts away when one
hears of thy neighbours death

This
Undefined sophisticated fatality Adoring
flying letters

within the prism of our lust
A narcissistic self proclaimed libido

Called love

( will you call )



YouI The Knowledge Seeker


( You can easily replace I with You whilst thorough reading )

This unfulfilled hunger
For Truth
Piled over Our dreams


Not obeying the law of Sintropy
Which was undiscovered as a scientific paradigm

Do my frangrance linger
Within you

Do you
love
me

To do it
At times you stood there frozen, as an oponnent


To all the women's
Race

At the end. . .

Staring at me Silently

Widespread floor to ceiling windows
Said nothing

Only your two pals
Were blabbering about this Biblical
Not pointing directly
At - The
Highest
Babel Wrong Priestess Fish

Who diss
missed
diss
possesed

Liked me
Ipso facto like A
Fantasy


And
Dismantled his own declination
Of
Giggling
Witches like me

Mad about cherry tea and three hearts
**** bubbles
at the
sea
humming it's beautyful melody

For each
For Us
For U
A différence
For each one with love waves

Chesee is healthy
You have a Tastful Tongue

And you knew that behind my sharp intelligence
Books and photos were draged chaotically
Mostly on the most impossible

Places
Scattered

And piled as flowering colours
As plants lacking a
solid
structure
and
Thorough Thoughts

Thorough Thoughts
( Usually Unite US )
Were We Are Found
At least my-not-importance
Usualy riding on a slick blue silvery back of the nearest
Dolphin
Diving For
Pearl Ear Shells

Or this furry crazy smiling cat
Grinnin' at my newest
Fairy Tale naïveté
Novel

We can all can communicate well
Even when we are statues


Oh ~ you'll love me !
Of that I'm sure!

As a friend or a person worth of a sirious dialog

Eventually: : :

I know
That I'm not
Special
But Spatial

The Menu at your place is not for my veggy nerves ( or have you changed your habitual ethics )

Within my genotype hides an obnoxious little nerdish
Analitical psychotherapist

The nearest person would nod as an affirmation:
A fascinatingly developed natural psychologist
That's for sure!


But I don't mind
To be in love
I love life and laugter and songs

And
I hate your
Non existing
Guardianship
Beacons
Hats

And your
Non existing
Kind sparks
Beaming at me
Loving your beating
Protecting
Whales

Pinacle of your being

Alas ! Old Chap
Thou tribute to deceased master was one of the most

. . . herein lies the enchanted ink of invisibility. . .

Through your perception

The world is seen as a Round Sphere
Substantial to your glasses and the dispersed angles the light hits you
Directemont inbetween
Daily diaries with black frames
For Architects, Thinkers and Designers

I once said that you have a broken unappealing dark face without
beauty spots
central
symetries

Healthy self-esteem
To my friend

She's no longer
Closefriend

I've altered my mind and Beauty categories
Dyonis  & Artemis :
Eros was never destroyed within books
Consumed

Intimacy

Quietness

From my heart to
A Small college library

At least ~ for me :

Here dwell forest dwarfs
Elves and near by Nasa Cute Freaks


Every once in a while I saw three handsome friends
shaking paws
HE has two
persons
or just
One

requested
Water
Fire and Ice
And Theborders of Illlusion
That was A wisdom to my deep golden WIT
y
Heart
Stiched On a T  Shirt


Ignited isynaptic crystals

Are those unforgettable *****
Burning eraticaly on wings of lust and 'creatio ex nihilo'
pressing enter
under the soft-silk soothing shade
of your
Healing un-experienced friends
Under

Rustling treetops contempt, swaying with wind
And the Grass
Swaying
Shaping
Shifting

Ignoring ***
And
Gender


Sorry Ich Bin Langsam und Gothic Mefistofeles
Who has fallen for you
Slender man creature
Masculin
Energy

Feminine and full of abundant Joy
I was
I will
)vegot
The intention is craving
Knowledge

I knowledge is null and void


As a symbolic inflated red balloon

I have it
As long as I do not have
It
Any more

...you can peacefuly replace I with You whilst thorough reading...
and tear
the love
letters
dr.op

All the absurdity

Thank you!

All the arrogance
Vanished within a Dream. . .

Until we give up The True Love
I'm hanging upon Poetry
Tree of life
Spinning

Paper life. . .span
Hanged for a fible moment,
Arrow's Swift Air Cut
Release
Please
Hear
MY
Heart
Palpitations
Die
With
Me only metaphorically

&
Listen to The Universal
Divine Ancient
Scripts
midnight prague Aug 2011
there is
there is
no literature in this

the core of my barrenss stiched between the somber of your lips

there is not enough anarchy in the mass to hold this
to speak of the almond eyes that I innocently miss
blue and full, the shadowy veins on your lips
the hands I once
---
--
-

kissed


There is no literature in this


the pretty pictures
I dismiss
I delay my thoughts

the sound of passions gunshots
the inky fluid corpse that my mind blots

In the late night I take my shots
I lay there on my wooden dusty floor
mirroring the internal rot


my eyes are sore

and I implore


you


to behave like you did that one day we were
saying goodbye at your door

please
please
just kiss me
once
more


Ill keep the hinges tight this time
this is the last time
I swore


to myself
my words they are cracking the wood on your shelf
to my poetry I scream for help
to my lamp I simmer in tears
in my pillow I drown your fears
and increase mine

your senses

I feel them
in my
spine



your jawline
all that was once you
and all that was once mine

so small and feline
you to my audience I will ******
before define



my tongue has ran out of words for you
...
..
.

my thoughts are too lonely to empansipate
my hands too empty to castrate
my mind too blane to hate
my eyes
too
numb
to
elate


I hold the heaviness of this weight
in my perched fingers
crawling to the steps of anything
but home

can I remind myself
of the sullen moments
covered in tatterted cloth filled with open wounds
leaking the blood of all your fluttering objetcs
taunting me
singing to me
everyday


there is
there is
no literature in this
the capitol punishment
of my frail little
princess
Alexander Klein Nov 2011
So ride, soft-hearted child, over windy dale
And through the forlorn wood 'til ancient home
Lies far beyond forgetful dream of mist.
And by your riding seek new lands where hide
The truth of things behind the rough-stiched "seems"
That lie like faults in explanation's cloak.

The road is rough and may be chill, but on!
From rolling hills you ride to muddied cross
Of roads, at side of which there dwell the old.
Their shacks of wood like stubble on a chin;
There are some torches burning, most are out.
Yet from them learn that flesh is no concern
For there are worlds within too vast to know
That with a careful watering can grow
To dwarf the hardships of a life. But you
Must never linger: journey is your test,
And many are the hills must be traversed.

When find yourself at tower shaped of sand
On lonely shore astride a silver stream -
Yet holding court on every afternoon -
A knocking should you make, seeking the ones
Who guard ancestral wisdoms writ in ink.
On tales-that-stay drink heartily and sup,
For in their beauty labyrinthine there thrive
The hues and details both to paint the world.
Yet I implore you, feast but to your fill:
When greed grows in a man he must succumb.
There will be time to eat again, but go!
The weeping willows of the road miss you.

A spark from yonder forest gleefully gleams,
Some spot of grace in land of dying leaves:
The sapling children, all in flower dressed
With minstrel colors. Speaks with voice of lyre
To you does winsome child, and from him shine
The song-like airs of fancy, faith, and whim,
Un-understood in all your trudging road
Made clear in forest glen by wiser sight.
The knowledge of yourself can turn
Your sight to farthest reaching stars;
The knowledge of your land does bring
An eye-to-eye with all your kin;
But knowledge to **** knowledge lives,
Devoting life to seeking joy,
Windblown and free as songbird's singing breath.

O travel on, mine eldest son, come home!
'Tis fit that here from wanderings return
And rest your weary brow from all it knows.
Sleep deep, you eldest son of human race,
Sleep, sleep, forget your journey through the land.
And when the ripening sun does bloom at morn
All fresh will be your journey's start.

So ride, soft-hearted child, over windy dale
And through the forlorn wood 'til ancient home
Lies far beyond forgetful dream of mist.
Amanda  Dec 2014
Backwards
Amanda Dec 2014
Should there ever be a backward twirling of the clock gears, a paisley maze of metal and magic to occur,

every tear will trace back to its watery scars.
Even the ropes shackling hearts will fray,
shackles broken.
Bits and crumbs of dim memories become whole again.
Just as sweet.
And perhaps, the bad will seep back in.
The dead will open their eyes again.
Roughly stiched in wounds so long ago, where even the owner has forgotten to hem back up the stiches to the surface.
The white cotton thread would have never met the needle's eye.
A baby's nursery room may gather more dust than expected.
Hello there you lovely soul!
xo
jellica  Jun 2014
him
jellica Jun 2014
him
The truth I hold,  took years to unfold, locked up and never told. Now I speak for I am done being weak.. A story I will tell, awaking the pits of hell. Pinned against the wall,  being 14 years a little small..  Tounge against my cheast you can imagine the rest.  Touching, feeling, my eyes rolling to the ceiling. I push away, forced down, I am here to stay and pray. Nights always full of fright..  Kissing, *******,  non stop *******.. Crying,  weeping, always happened while they were sleeping. Was I that bad of a girlfriend? Why couldn't I speak? Tricked into the arms of a pervert…  sitting in a chair he was. Smiling by the messyness of my hair and my eyes stained by the streaming tears.. Nobody cares about you he said, cutting my wrist wishing I was dead.  He's right you see, all these years no one ever gave a **** about me. A puppet I am to him, dangling limb to limb. The years pass on by, I have no tears left to cry.  I escaped this hate, no More videos to tape..  Visits became less and less, I am staring to grow up a mess. Drinking here, smoking there, my life is hard to share, making friends with the drunkies, partying around town like diseased monkeys… every day that goes by, I feel ashamed and left to die. I tried to share my story to those that I trust, but all they wanted was my lust.  Met a boy,  come to find out I was just his toy. I wanted to help his soul,  but instead paid his toll. Being punched in the face, always leaving without a trace.. Left in harm's way, wasted with no Place to stay. Wondering the streets, giving myself to him but never pleased. Crying while we ****, gasping for air the more it struck.. Pillow in my face, cant hear me screams. It was you who ashamed me..  No respect for myself,  no medal to place on the shelf. Falling down to the dirt, clothes stained, blood stained skirt. The cold making me shiver, drinking out of the flask and damaging my liver. Why should I care about my life, here I go to carve myself with a knife..  Blood dripping down my tummy, hatred fills me like a high. All numb cant feel at all. All numb can't feel a thing, the morning doves ready to sing. I am not dead, just hanging my a thread. The ambulance speeding so fast, all I can see is a movie of my past. All stiched up & ready to go, put on your clothes you stupid ***. Here I go to this life I lead to know,  take a seat and watch the show... Dancing for their eyes to see, please god set me free. He took me home that night, my green eyes sparkled full of fright.. He was addicted to me….  Leaving me in the streets, dreaming I was frolicking in the meadows. Touched and abused I was, just so he can get a little pleasing. Breaths filled the air, the *** smell is hard to bare. Watching him smile was a sight.. The nights so dark, its all black. His eyes so plain,  pinning me like a thumbtack. The years passed on by, still living my past as a lie..  I did survive this life, I have now retired my knife. Scars still their, people stare here & their.. I am sad at times, past full of crimes, smiling to all, putting my hands out, breaking my fall.
I would like to share my voice, but its up to me to make that choice. I understand I can write.. Its my passion, But for now I express through this text. I will speak out to those only willing to listen to my story. I don't need sympathy from anyone or petty from others…  I made it to where I am and thats all that matters. Yeah I'm pretty so I've been told, but thats all i have left.. I don't need acceptance from others..  Because beauty is also found within. I don't judge, but I do sin. Being with me comes with glory & paraise but for those who think that being me is perfect and all very glad to be… think once, twice, or three times because let me tell you.. Its not so great to be me. So before you judge or cringe at my presence, understand I don't care because I am stonecold. I'm no longer here to please anyone but to thrill, and speak for what I need to say…
Ready to speak..
g  Feb 2014
Collections
g Feb 2014
I am not making progress and
Maybe I never will.

I knew giving my all to a boy
With such destructive tendencies
Was my biggest failure, but
Who could deny your hands or
The way you whispered
"I want you"?

Your ocean eyes and sand-colored hair
Sould have warned me because the
First time we touched was a day after
The beach, and I remember every
Person in your house on that given day
And I swear there are ghosts in
My walls that sound just like your bed.

I wonder now why the ghosts I hide
Under piles of our clothes (the same clothes
That have seen your bedroom floor)
Have taken on the form of you.

I need you because you are familiar
And because of that I will always
Feel alone in a crowded room regardless
Of the faces that plague my life daily.

Kiss me until the bitterness of fear
Leaves my veins and the oxygen in
My lungs is no longer his.

The only thing left to give up on me
Is my own bones, but I feel the rust
Through the marrow and
I am out of time.

How much time did we have?
How many bars of soap must
One person go through to remove
The feel of another from their skin?

I can confirm that if he is anything like you
I will not be able to keep breathing and
That is not a metaphor for how
You took my breath away.

Stop wasting your time on me,
I am nothing but broken bones
And broken hearts, stiched incorrectly
As so and I do not have enough glue to
Fix what is left in shambles.

The last time we spoke you asked me
Why I told you I still loved you and no
Longer wanted go be with you,
But that still stands and
I'll love you til the day I die.
Akira Chinen Oct 2016
There are still mornings where I wake up with a raging after thought of you and a hard memory aching for release.  I lay in a pool of cold sweat that still has the perfume of your pheromones that you left stiched in my skin.  And I can still feel the warmth of your lips over the scar you left on the inside of my thigh with your teeth the night you wanted to see what would come first... a scream or a moan or the taste of my blood against your tounge.  Your way of loving burned and reduced me to ash every time our flesh tangled and twisted and contorted and melted away until we were nothing but lust and rage and passion fusing together under sheets and over floorboards and in front of mirrors and ontop of counters and parked in driveways and in the downpour of the rain scented by the lost and found ghosts of love.  I don't open my eyes but find myself praying to gods I don't really belive in to fall back to sleep and find this dream of you again and again and find myself questioning if you were ever really real.  Some would say that this was the kind of love you could only read about, that it was the kind of love only madness could dream of... that a human heart and mind and body couldn't survive such a feverish affair.  Or maybe it's just me, maybe I'm the one trapped on a page, the fool and the pawn to some story book queen with ink for blood and paper for skin... if that happens to be true, throw the book in the fire, but for old times sake... read it one more time again and again

— The End —