If only poets could also be perfumers, imagine The wonders they could bottle (as I am no poet, Forgive this concoction, but I couldn't resist). It smells like our love, give it a whiff.
Those top notes you smell? Scales of butterfly wings And paper, new guitar strings and pollia Berry. You can catch a slight odor of your Much-hated fish fins (I swore you were a child of the ocean).
It gets deeper at the heart, excuse my pun and Irony (your heart turned out more shallow than my Bathroom sink).
Here tequila meets vodka, the night bleeds into Day. An orchid on the verge of rot, a mouthful Of condensed milk and tears to kiss away the Growing, gaping gash.
Only near the end notes does this spell truly Break (so forgive the “midnight” reference I put in the formula). When you smell the crushed angel wings and Blood-soaked, shattered Chandelier, a paprika heart beating wildly, Remember the smell of bruises and nightmares.
I trust you need no recipe to recreate This masterpiece but not in the same proportion, Bottle, ways; I refuse to be your donor of raw Human juices.
century.
Author: Margaryta
0
Date: 30/03/2020
№ 1194586
21st century love
The 21st century love, Equates a list of lust, A games of hearts, The legends of fucks.
The 21st century love, Is a poisoned arrow, It sets cupids on fire, The heat of unrequited love.
The 21st century love, Puts the women in a sack, It sucks and pounds to dust, The lost remnants of trust.
The 21st century love, Puts the men on a pedestal, A rotations of repentant cycles, The ride to the very end of the pit.
The 21st century love, Is not a salvation that hits the crowds, It has slowed and slugged us down, To see the sand blown damned haze.
The 21st century love, Has an impersonal high of lies, A hay of burnt passion that fades, An illusionary bewitched dedication.
The 21st century love, A reaction to survive in a new world, Give the body and preserve the heart, Keep your mind and enclose the soul.
The 21st century love, It's a jungle of reservations, An ace of diversity and availability, Guard your all littles ones.
Funny—to be a Century— And see the People—going by— I—should die of the Oddity— But then—I'm not so staid—as He—
He keeps His Secrets safely—very— Were He to tell—extremely sorry This Bashful Globe of Ours would be— So dainty of Publicity—
century.
Author: Emily Dickinson
0
Date: 20/03/2020
№ 1183859
10/30 (20th century bloodletters)
We purge with sex Cut each other with Deserves and things We know will hurt,
Perform venesection With our mouths, divide And conquer with teeth Tear in instead of heal
Wield our mistrust Because walls are dignified No castle ever withstood a siege Without bloodletting.
We barricade ourselves In because that is safe But sometimes we need To bleed, sometimes I need to
Bleed.
century.
Author: brooke
0
Date: 14/03/2020
№ 1183619
THE 21st CENTURY CONFUCIUS (Lesson 3)
I would not your teacher be If you don't come in humility Learning is of no utility Unless you can acquire morality
Life is all about you, your values, family, Community, society and country Know yourself, know duty and one day you will be A role-model, admired for now and all posterity.
The amount of pain in the brain of a man insane. He tries to do what he should but it proves to be no good. The pressures of human interaction give him an awkward set of roles In this social contraption. Is he a loser, is he a genius, is he a loner, a stoner, a pussy, a badass? Everyone tries to fit him in a class. No one feels secure in this skewed world without their false code of unspoken word. The man insane feels he is the only one who has no reason to run from the thoughts That create unease in others, People that think outside the box get killed by the others. He knows this and still lives on knowing hes ridiculed by the status hes drawn. Writers block is a bitch when it comes from a woman. And the man that hes become wants to do her no wrong But every move he makes has the effect of a nuclear bomb. He doesnt know how to do right So he writes it in a song And all along she shows him how much he means to her. Every time it comes out its news to be heard Because while shes breaking his heart and his will Hes thinking of her. While he tries and tries but the problems wont subside, He becomes the man insane with nothing to hide But no one to tell that inside he died
This morning I woke up smiling. I kissed your cheeks. Every tiny thing about you inspires me to write stanzas, But who wants to read a poem entirely based on the way your face scrunches up in the shower, exposing your pearly whites while you grab loose strands of knots from the suds of conditioner Or how in awe I am at the sight of the beautifully constructed transition of your chest to your neck and how I envision maroon little passions marks along it every time I stare at your throat vibrating when you speak, and your strong hands on my shoulders, hips, everything. The way you smile seductively to get what you want and how I never thought you'd be that good at making my knees weak enough to buckle and bow down and give you every thing and every part of me I can muster up or hold in the palms of my tiny hands. (I actually teared up today while looking at you but you don't know that because I was hogging the water and your eyes were closed. For a moment I thought you must be the physical embodiment of the perfect human polykelitos wrote an entire novel and carved an entire bronze sculpture trying to create and bring to life.
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This morning I woke up and you were smiling. You kissed my cheeks. You told me you liked my cheeks. You gave me butterfly kisses and butterflies in my stomach and you left little maroon passion marks along my neck.
I don't think my body has ever felt more euphoric. We fit together like Tetris. Your body felt sacred. Our passion was electric, Both of our souls pure and naked Just like the Greeks and then Romans painted. Sometimes I feel like our love is geometric.
