Raw. Senseless. Prose Poesy

Prose Poesy

A flame, passion awakening. Kindled fire, seething brain. Churning emotions, like seething water, churning inside my brain. Angry thoughts, ideas, gestures.

A sea of hopelessness, churning seething. Waves, crashing over me. Fire everywhere still fire over churning waves. Be still, my heart.

No relief. Eyes closed, typng furiously. Spur of the moment, drunken sympathies. Emotions pouring out. Shot after shot seething hot. Liquid courage, alcohol. Resilience. Strength.

Burning. Pain burning, tortured souls. Cauldron of heat, misery, of torture. Couldron of dreams, cushed dreams. Churning.

Passions of the night, a pounding headache. Words pounding. Against my head, words pounding like little bullets needing to get out from the churning sea of my brain.

So much rebellious anger, fueled by night. The light of this screenwashing away the pain. Pain is dear, craving th dark once more.

The heart is in anguish. The mind is broken, in pieces. Searching for a spark, a spirit, a soul. Something to latch on to, pull it out of the churning.

Reaching, leaping. Kindred spirits. Wanting, not getting. Cupcakes and fairies, short skirts, leggings. Acceptance. Dresses and dances, boyfriends and kisses. Romances and tingles. Sex. Love. Desire.

All tempting, but the spirit encapsulated, caged away.

Come away with me, spirit. Fly out of this cage. Drink, my heart, escape the churning froth of the sea. Escape the crashing waves, escape the world of broken promises, of flaky suitors. Of fiances and broken engagements. Of love lost. Labor lost. Everything lost. Escape, fly. Win, dream, prosper.

Escape the torture. Not death, but life. Living potential, living out of the sea into the heavens. Mounting, aspiration. Marlovian ideals at their finest, aspiring and mounting and triumph, when Icarus failed. And fell.

Raw emotion, senseless passion. Laying awake but asleep. Eyes closed, mind open.

Sometimes

Sometimes in my gut,
There’s this feeling.
When I know something I want,
Just isn’t going to happen.

It creeps upon me,
At night when I’m sleeping,
And I know that what I expect
And what will occur are different.

It isn’t a good or a bad thing,
Just being wrong and knowing
That what has gotten your hopes up
Is going to make them dash right back down.

Nobody is to blame, nobody is at fault,
My heart’s just quick to attach
To false hopes. Just quick to expect
When there’s just no spark.

No spark. Nobody to blame.
Just empty fireworks on a cold
New Years Eve,
My heart breaking.

Full Circle

One year later,
I am come full circle.

I am arrived, just
Down the shore from
Whence I departed.

All those days have tumbled,
Collapsed and inverted
Into the distance of the shore –
My present and my past.

I am come full circle,
Almost back where I started.
I have learned to be stronger,
More independent, and most importantly,
BOLD.

New passions, old flames,
They have been obstacles,
And I have overcome them all,
For to come full circle,
I have jumped every hurdle
And persevered.

And now, life is rewarding me,
And I am allowed to love again.
Cleanse my palette,
And paint on my mind’s canvas with
New beginnings and journeys.

I have released my fears as if letting loose
My pent up anguish.
I am not heartbroken, I am not pining.
I have moved on, I am not dreaming.

I have left the girl of a year ago.
She needed relationships in a way
That I do not.

It has taken a year maybe,
But I am ready.

To take the plunge.

Bedtime Poems – Inkdrops

Inkdrops

Creativity is a distilled inkdrop,

Straight from the mind, it drips

Onto an artist’s canvas.

 

Where it falls in splotches,

Creativity brings bursts of ingenuity.

The comfort of unbroken black, then,

Is the colored wash of continuous fortune.

 

Purified, refined, streaming from an

Author’s mind, this Creativity

Flows onward, ebbs and wanes

Like the tides.

 

Flow cannot be halted, only

Temporarily stopped, but even

That will tax the soul of those who try,

 

Creativity, the distilled inkdrop,

A glittering serum of everlasting

Art.

Bedtime Poems – Sexting

Hey girl, watchu up to tonight?
Hmm, babe, whatchu doin tonight?
Loveyou xoxoxo girlll, I miss you tonight.
Mmmm, wish you were here with me tonight.

False.
You don’t care what I’m doing, unless I’m doing you.
Wrong.
You know what I’m doing tonight. I’m sleeping. 
Ha.
I miss you too, when you aren’t horny.
Truth.
Too bad I know exactly why you wish I was there.

So fine, sometimes I get carried away,
Sometimes, sitting in the dark, it doesn’t feel
So wrong. Fine, sometimes you can convince me,
With your smooth slippery words, and your 
Sexy thoughts. I imagine them in your mesmerizing voice,
And I am blown away. I will do anything for you

When you use that voice on me.
It is an attraction. It reminds me of your eyes,
Your gorgeous green eyes, that used to sparkle
And smile when you saw my face every morning,
Naughty, telling me how much you loved me.

Now, you’re far away, and your texts are impersonal,
You are not faithful, you broke your promises.
Baby I’ll never leave you. Baby, it’s
You and Me
Forever.

Too bad forever only lasted three months.

Bedtime Poems – Misery

The Unfortunate Girl

Why was she jealous? 
Her world grim and green,
She was disgusted by her rage,
Her silent, consuming, bottomless Rage.

Her life was at a standstill,
Or maybe it had just never taken off? 
She stood there on an empty platform,
Watching the entire world whiz by on its haunches,
Paying no attention to the whining little loser picture she presented.

"I want more" and "I want this,"
But really, in the end, all she wanted was bliss.
Cheesy perhaps, but a little piece of happiness
She wanted; she wanted to claim for her own
A forever claim in the cloth of eternity. A memento,
A companion, a vision that she was on the right path.

They are little things" she thought, but she was
Of course, denied every time. Afresh and anew,

Her wounds would fester, her mind would stray,
And she would envy those around her. They seemed
Content. "What’s my problem?" she thought sometimes,
But of course, the whispering wind never answered, 
And her injured pride would cause her to stray again.

One more drink, one more shot, one more party, one more night out.
Destiny takes no pity on the girl who begrudges others
Their essence. She has it better than most,
But she runs in a slightly off-kilter world,
One based on absence and absolution.
If one has what she does not, she is Unlucky.
If one strives to that which she does not, she is Useless.
Oh bitter child, my tear-stains do you no justice.

She was sweet once, and untainted,
But her purity is long marred by her jealousy,
And her face is pockmarked with stains of her unseemly anger.
Tendrils of the stuff seep off of her,
Poison those around her, shading even them with
Doubt and uncertainty in a world that will never care.
She is too insecure, too uneasy with her emotions.
I am a monster,
She thinks.

Her petition is futile, her wishes nulled.
Her Concentration, she divides, making
A Forge of her heart,
A Bellows of her Mind.
Steeling herself, prepared for
Absolute denial, she is. Nobody wants
An ugly thing like me.
She thinks.
Perhaps somewhere, a counterpart to her entity exists,
But such a thing is never to be written into her Destiny.