This desperate fleeing will come to naught These poems the last mutterings of madness The last paper to take flight in the cold black and white photograph of morning Her smile dripped with fetish But the strong fingers of her words Worked at the lid of my mind Prying lose the harbored fears And delving into the sweet meat
Her own self portrait Is languid and driven with heat Curved back with intonations of lust But benith its lurid covers One percives the desperate clawing fingers And ever hungered never sated eyes
My own photograph Lay out on the floor Stained with age And torn along the edges But benith its neat posed glib humor One percives the Small room ages ago Where hope still endured That room now vacant
I go Probably to my demise A last black and white photograph Cast careless from the aperture Of a childhood's camera
Everything we thought we'd be Never amounted to enough Everything i though she would be Was just as barren As my lurid dreams
It's easy to be Broken When you know everyone Is going to try to fix you
A false idol With mindless followers
You let them reach Out to you Just to slap Their hands away
You're no poet No
But You're quite the jackass
fingers.
Author: EJ Aghassi
0
Date: 03/04/2020
№ 1205268
Letting you crumble beneathe and between my dirty little fingers and hoping you wont drown
Body.
A few years ago, i fell in love with the face of the words of the texts of someone i never met til i received singular bits and by bits i mean like 64-bit, 18-bit etc etc etc
I will want to follow you where ever you go
Miles of prodding through the mapped landscape and drawing virtual routes to where my beloved might be, to the sound finalized by the experience of cicada song.
Listen to me
When there was space between us, we would meander in the thought, of zero space, all space inside of us. perhaps the world would stop in its turning if we spun.
I have so many questions for you
Listen to me
I'll drop you off at work
You'll start a playlist as a reminder of reminding yourself
I am wearing utilitarian shoes rn, no foreshadowing.
Please send me good health, peace, happiness.
I wear multi-color often and pretend to taste color as sweetly as water from a spring, and dont.
Collects rusted metal
Los angeles, 2014 Living in a small room in chinatown With our piles Then chinatown chicago With our piles
I LIKE PILES I JUST HATE TO SEE YOU CRY Perhaps we can be friends someday, someday, someday (i'll write a screenplay and burn it to dust) (i hate screenplays)
How I missed, how I missed the wonder in your eyes The smiles at our hellos, and the pouts at our goodbyes How we kissed, how we kissed only heaven could have devised The passion with the moon, and the beauty of sunrise
How I wish, how I wish on stars to make this bloom The stars over your bed, and windows of your room How we squish, how we swish the smell of your perfume The blankets with the pillows, and the smile to resume
How it is, how it is will be left for fate to tell The anxious of a call, and the sound of the bell How it tis, how it tis will beyond me compel The things I do, and do them well. So please don't give me hell, Just answer your cell.
Mean as anger gives consent At their own lives lack And false promises they made up To convince themselves That their way of life would beget All the happiness they deserved And finding themselves bereft At a loss to be able to escape Their meanness they take out On the marginalised they consider To be weak, cause of their own grief Fair game for their vitriolic rage!
It can transcend the physical world. It resonates and vibrates, Echoing between souls. But it's more than chemistry, It's alchemy. A meshing of being, The combination of two disparate elements In creation of something new. Something different that makes everything around it different as well. A light in oppressive darkness And a shade in harsh light. We both know of it's existence, We're not strangers to it's presence. The very opposite, We know it down to it's atomic makeup. Like I know her, Like she knows me. What every touch does, What every look means. We know the name of this thing, Like we know each other. And yet we just stand and enjoy, Too breathless to name anything.
Some days I want to do nothing but write Grab the moment Dwell in it for life Fingers that itch to bleed letters So I let them fall From a mind that buzzes with nothing but white noise until it can be seen before me I can hear non existent conversations Words that make new meanings Until meaningless starts to make sense And I wish I could feed on it But then I remember how it will leave me Alone and mute Some days nothing comes to mind And I wonder if that part of me has died One hit wonders It happens all the time I'll still write No quality It lacks shine Leaving discontent behind And I long for old times Still it's mine It deserves a post To those words I can't be unjust Then like a whirlwind tornado Something unexpected will set me off The ball starts rolling And I'll write words in the air with my fingers Committing them to memory Bringing them to life And that is when you too Can feel the passion
