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Ella Gwen Apr 2015
Insatiable bile rises at the precipice of ecstasy, undeniably
life lived is a rolling wave of emotion as I rise and I

fall with the sequences of the sun at my back and
these oceans under my feet. One day may I strike a

balance? To arise and not to plunge from these summits,
simply then to collide with the challenger deep. For now

torn moments do sustain me and drain me; I cannot
win against water whilst water cannot last against light.
Mike Essig Apr 2015
Open yourself
up to me
like a delicate,
fresh blossom;
I will become
a wanton,
profligate
hummingbird
getting drunk
on the nectar
of your soul.
  - mce
Mike Essig Apr 2015
OK, the depressive part
can be a problem:
nothing to do but lie around,
immobile, counting ceiling tiles,
waiting to die, and afraid you won't.

But mania! Oh, sweet muse!

The gods kiss you with fiery tongues;
they burn their hissing brands
into your gelid, grateful brain.

Volcanoes of metaphors;
tsunamis of words;
earthquakes of images.

Every moment pulsates;
every instant an ******.

Shrinks agree that
most artists are
manic-depressive
to some degree,
but to us it is a portal
to the godhead.

Give the meds to the rest;
the agitated, anxious sheeple
striving to be normal:
to them it is a disease.

But for those of us
who lust for Art,
it is the necessary,
not to be missed,
divine, exalted,
madness of creativity.

Consummate
Promethean
benefaction.

   - mc
Not minimizing anyone else's struggle with this illness. Just my take.
Dark soul Apr 2015
I am just an artist
Collecting and enduring
all your fumbled words and emotions
Your helplessness ,
The pity I feel for you
How needy you feel for me
How my single touch can calm down your senses
And how your soul rages with ecstasy
My devil eyes piercing into your angelic heart
Numbing your skin
Icing your blood
Everything going
acrid , poignant
Turning all such strands
of ineffable feelings
into deep dark engravings
scribbled
onto the
realms
of
time
Seán Mac Falls Mar 2015
No words were uttered
First ******* under stars
All eyes saying yes
Seán Mac Falls Mar 2015
We die to make love
Moon shuttles into heaven
White sheets cover us
Unwritten,
I set you free
Full of life,
Undying ecstasy
Open your eyes.
Break the ties that deny us love.
Wave
after wave
Of chilly fresh air
Washes over me,
Slathering me
Smothering me
In your intoxicating natural perfume,
Wafting in from the door you just waltzed through.
Confident,
Assured,
You silently entice me;
Quietly luring me into the spider's web
To devour me mercilessly ,
A wiling sacrifice to the hedonist gods.
Wrapped in your firm embrace,
I melt,
Overcome with the sensations of ecstasy and elation,
As your warm fingers wind through my hair,
Pulling -
tugging-
Bending me to the passions of the moment,
Where I exhale my simple reality,
And sink deeper into the fantasy that you lend me;
A dark and sumptuous world
Full
Of bare skin glistening in moonlight-
Writhing,
And shining
In our our titanic efforts to go to new places,
To attain new highs.
Melding-
We drink in the sultry air
As if it were the wine of the heavens,
Each breath,
a prayer to a distant god
Each sigh,
an escaping gasp of praise to the distant stars,
Bestowing their blessing upon our arching forms.
A place of exquisite torture
Where we waver in wanton abandon,
Unaware of
And without care for
the fleeting worlds around us.
We exist,
In bliss,
In utter ecstatic pleasure,
Making monuments meant to be remembered
And worshipped;
And as our sweet comedown lays us prone,
Gasping
Struggling to make sense of the sensual chaos
That just ensued
With blank minds that threaten to shut down all together
My fingers hold yours,
Locked in
And intertwined with a strong link-
Like a life raft
To carry me over
these waves of bliss.
Seán Mac Falls Mar 2015
How could I not— know . . .
See the noncut of soaring eyes,
Approach, moist, ****** and tidal,
Waves so searingly laden with tear,
Flame, forged in some mythic winter
Frozen as I was, before the rush of ice
And flows of glacier, I heard the loudest
Break of open silence in the seep and roar
Of depths' deepest, dark, coldest ocean waters,
  .  .  .  Before sweet suffocations of the very colour
White and saw the dim fates of fade, emergence of blue,
Hearts drowning.
Emma Henderson Mar 2015
Molly came to school when I was fourteen
but she was years older, appearing as a beautiful traveller
who'd circled the globe and made friends with everybody.

She was always the popular one, but one I never got to know,
because my sister at thirty-five told me that she had killed a man
once or twice.

The kids I knew found this hard to believe, as Molly got to know them all.
She'd hang out with them after school, and was always there,
waiting to widen her circle.
Molly never lost her charm,
and she stole the hearts of boys I loved.
She opened their eyes to a world I could not show them,
she drank their blood on Friday nights.
Every boy I'd meet would have a story to tell,
her name dropped like an atom bomb into conversation.

They'd all met her.
They all knew her.

They met her at nightclubs,
and stopped caring about how **** the music sounded
They met her on their holidays ,
and tasted her before the alcohol wore off
They met her at festivals,
where she'd creep into their tents before the main stage lit up

I wonder maybe one day will we be friends
Instead of resenting each other
because she's killed a man
more than once or twice
For N, D & F and all the boys and girls that found love in a pill
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