he says “blood is thicker than water”.
she smiles. “i agree. the blood of my injuries is thicker than the water of your tears.”
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My flip on Fripp;
There's a
Comfort in uncomfort
Discipline's a tick.
Tension > Time
Time / Repetition
Repetition = Insanity
In sanity
Diligent | 010323
-Crypticqueen
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polish off a bottle of problems and skinny dip in the bedsheets covered in dull enthusiasm, for there are demons waving flags on every street corner protesting whatever the fuck demons feel the need to protest and when the sun goes down they’ll watch television in the same skull they’ve always had
a weird world sat on top of the cosmos’ mountain and teetered either way - all it takes is a breath from a Titan pissed off from an ear infection
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No Answers
Answers left unquestioned
A teenage show it all
Confidence that overshadows
Fragile puppets on the wall
Questions left unanswered
As the shadows shrink to size
The veneer now is middle aged
And impish crises improvise
Old age calms the puppeteer
Acceptance he’s unmastered
Answers rightly questioned
Rightly remain unanswered
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I used to joke that I never felt anxious
once I was on stage.
When I'm performing, everything becomes
a fixed variable. There'll be a mic,
kind of near my face,
an audience
somewhere in front of me.
Often, I'll put a stool to my left so
I can put a glass of water on it.
Too often these days, I don't make it
out of bed. I don't know if I should
call my bookie and tell them I have
bedhead, that I couldn't comb my hair right,
my Frankensteinian screws just wouldn't take,
I caught my hand between two sheets, and
I'm sorry Jimmy. Not tonight.
Sometimes my depression and I
play peekaboo,
Play at ignoring our object permanence;
lie, like the sheets are the edges
and we are playing
shadow puppets,
laughing, laughing
with one another like
We are still children, and the world
has not touched us yet.
It is a strange thing how we become
accustomed to space.
Perhaps the edges of my bed are
a stage, and perhaps I can
play at being all kinds
of people while I am
here, perhaps
I could be a president, no.
I don't think I would like that, my hair
will soon go grey already.
Perhaps I could pretend to be a
football player so when my legs run in
the night I am just practising,
maybe I am a wrestler,
I know I don't look
the part yet,
but maybe that's why
I thrash and fight it's all in good fun.
Sometimes my sheets are haunted.
Inlaid with the
of ghosts, and memories, and
I think ghosts might be
pretty scary, but
it's worst when
your recognise them, like
You can't tell if you subconscious mind
is trying to find an answer to grief,
or to solve a jigsaw puzzle
without a part that
you gave away
to someone kind, or
someone that smiled to you, and
the worst thing about grieving
is looking at yourself and
asking yourself about
all these things
you might have been if
If is the most awful word in the English
language. If, conditional, such that
the variable, you; might change
something, anything really.
I am haunted by what ifs.
Some nights they look like you, but
some nights they look like me.
Some nights it is like you and I are standing
ankle deep in a pool of memories, and
we are holding hands looking for
how we got here, or any clue
to what happens next;
listen. That,
that is still you finding answers.
Some nights it is like you and I are standing
ankle deep in a pool of memories, except
some nights you are not there, and
there is no one holding my hand,
or yours, and the pool was
deeper than I ever
realised and I am drowning in it.
I am drowning in it, thrashing like
my eyes are closed and I do not know
which way is up and I wonder
some times whether
nightmares are
your brain problem solving
worst case scenarios so when
it comes up, which it hopefully
never will, your brain has
an answer ready, and
that's all well and good, but
it would be nice if brain
asked first, and I am
drowning in ankle deep memories.
When I was little, I nearly drowned.
I forget the specifics of how
I got myself into such a misadventure.
Still, I remember it being dark,
and being afraid, and
being alone.
I remember letting go of of half held breath,
opening my eyes and following the bubbles
to the surface; as if a dream.
Open your eyes. To your left,
somewhere over there is a glass of water.
In front of you is an audience, you may
not seem them right now.
In front of you is a microphone.
I don’t tell jokes about never feeling anxious,
anymore.
They feel disingenuous.
Shakespeare wrote that all the world
is a stage. I hope not.
I would hate that.
I could spend a lifetime in the audience though,
and never tire of listening to you.
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Madness With You
I can’t take the nakedness of your stars any more. Blind dripping blazing light,conflagration along the line of sight. It’s madness how it razesretinas into a black so absolute that it voids time and space.
View On WordPress
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I’d love
I’d love to be the kind of poet
who takes to stages
believes their words put together just so
can change what the audience knows
Bring color to sound
taste to phrase
meat and potatoes to cadence
Who leaves their bellies full
of all the things
they’ve never considered before
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Catching
The warm glow of village windows and
Birdsong at dusk, I
Remember sitting out in dappled purple
Sipping something gold
Snorting at a bad joke
Bathed in the hum of other convos and
A slice of hanging fairy lights
If asked what summer nights I'd miss
the most, I'd say
The long ones
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El asesino del anime
El asesino del anime vino a buscarme
Corre estirando los brazos hacia atrás
Y desaparece
Y aparece entre los árboles
Saca sus shuriken
Las tira pero falla
Falla porque quiere
Todavía no me va a matar
Es un gatito con su presa
Me sonríe y babea hace señas
Desaparece
Aparece otra vez
Desaparece
Soy un elfa temblando
Estoy lejos de mi elemento
Me acorrala
Pequeño ratoncito
Me dice
Cuellito blanco
Boquita de plastilina
Es tierno
Me levanta
Me ahorca
Cuellito blanco
Me dice
Y es dulce
Pequeño veneno
Aparece
Y desaparece
Saca su espada
Mi cuerpo
Rosado
Tirita
ya no
Me pertenece
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Missed Target - 190516
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Daydreamer.
I dream of you
out of
context,
content to
blur the line
between
the living
and the
damned.
---
But I want a
lover, not
a muse,
somewhere
deep
within my
bones
a reminder
of what is
and what could
have been. And
---
I don't want
to die here
anymore,
don't wanna
take two
to get right.
I want to
tear down
these walls
and run
screaming
toward you,
---
my dream
come true.
What a
nightmare
I am.
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Nectar sips grant
This well-lit dimwitt
Confidence disproportional to
The ability to
Back the 'brains' part
Of the plan to take over your mother's nest.
Tequillaaayaya | 011324
-Crypticqueen
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Page 17 out of, whatever this new book of poetry will be. #poetry #lit #writing #creativewriting #altlit #poem #poems #writingcommunity #writer #writers #writersofinstagram #art #prose #words #writerscreed https://www.instagram.com/p/CdUw4WzMFuO/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=
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i cannot feel them so my fingers often bleed
what a sad state of affairs.
and he’d follow me into a minefield because he can’t see the woods for the trees.
what a heavy cross to bear.
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The words I wished to say
to the girl in my psych's waiting room.
"Hello," and "I'm sorry."
"I promise we are going to be okay."
"You are an island and
it doesn't matter how powerful the storm,
I know that the lashes of rain will hurt,
but you will survive, and
be here after."
"Anxiety feels like suffocating while
standing in the middle of a ring of fire.
You know there is danger there, but
your body doesn't hurt yet,
your cheeks flush,
your eyes close;
hands shake.
Stop.
That is not where you are."
"The expression getting along like a house
on fire has always seemed strange to me,
like the only relationships I've felt like
fire were toxic ones, and even if
they held all this potential
energy, they were always
going to be short-lived, and
as I crawled out from beneath the
burning wreckage then the toxic
fumes might scar my lungs,
my thoughts; my memories.
Every night, I think about
all the things I want
to say when I come here,
like my psychiatrist
is a confessor,
but I can't decide if I'm the sin,
but I know you're not, and
I hope you find a way to be happy."
"If you tie a rope around the ankle
of a baby elephant, by the time it is grown
it will not know it is strong enough
to break free of the rope, so
it does not try.
You are strong enough to choose to be free."
"The funny thing about chains is that
we forget they are there. They become part
of the every day like
brushing your teeth
taking a shower,
or forgetting someone loves you.
Emancipation takes conscious
deconstruction of the
walls and fences
that keep us
penned in, and
you can knock them all down
if you acknowledge that they're there."
"The mind can be like an escape room
with now ways out, and all these puzzles that
you think you have to complete to
get to the next door, or
the next stage and
you might be turning pages
like you just want to get to the end
of the story, or the answer, and
maybe the mind is more
like a pyramid, or
a labyrinth, I have often
felt like a lab rat stuck in a maze
with no way out, that's why I come
to therapy and do you ever feel like that?"
"Sometimes I feel like a scarecrow standing
in a field watching all these ravens
whirling swirling in the sky
above me except my
scarecrow eyes
have never seen a raven before, so
all they see are these living
breathing shadows, and
I don't know if they'll
eat me or eat the corn, but
I am afraid of these
shapes in my
scarecrow eyes, and
I can't stop thinking about them."
"In the church I worked in, every morning
before I turned the lights on,
I'd light votive candles
for everyone on
my heart
my mind
for every story that I thought
that God could change if he put his mind to it.
I have often thought that God must be
a poet, but one with a wry sense
of humour, and I think
He loves building
suspense as much
as he loves building cathedrals.
Every morning, I would light these
candles like they were
a lighthouse, and I
was trying to guide God home to you, and
I don't go to church much anymore, but
if I did, I'd light you a candle because
you deserve to be happy, and
I'm so proud of you
for being here
for being alive, and
I don't know if God sees you, but I do.
You deserve candles, and you deserve
a lighthouse, and you deserve
to find your way home after
being lost at sea
all these years,
I don't know if Odysseus
would have survived your journey, but
You have, and that's an incredible story.
I'd love to hear all of it someday."
Instead, I say nothing.
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watching porn
I watch porn! Yeah I do
And it turns me on
You can call me what you want
but hey! at least I come!
Sweet dreams after the foaming, wet thoughts
Dirty search history at midnight
I go to sleep like a high school average guy
I watch porn - not sorry, not anymore
it releases my body, and so does my soul
it's not a sin, it's healthy, it's cool
But, and this is according to you...
If I am a slut then I am no good,
then I have no agency over my body
and I'm everyone's to use,
and if I am a prude, I might hold the truth
but I never touch the Sun therefore
I am never right for none of you, so get off my panties,
fuck off, (it's true)
my body and my soul will find a way out of this mess
I'm in the corners, I'm breathing in the end
So much has to change though - some really turns me off
you motherfuckers ripping our asses thinking it's hot,
leaving us dry and broken, thinking it's oh so fun,
the more we cry, the more you cum...
Just look at my underlining of fire! Let it out! Let it out!
I also can see, and it's hard to speak,
the decay and the blossom, hand in hand
the flowers are electrified, and they rise!
They might die but they are filled with danger light
look at me, I'm yours tonight
how I am sweating in desire at your cock's sight,
look at me, look at my body, look at my eyes,
watch it spread and swell, watch my thirst - please dwell
and feels like I'm dying - going above
all this so-called sewer, is the clearest water,
so crystalline - from the waste, so pristine
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