Maybe one day
I’ll find the right words
To describe
My love for you
Explain the high
That encapsulates
Every nerve
In my body
Swirling around
My throat
Like the way
Your tongue
Dances with mine
In the dark
Or the way
My spine
Melts against
Your chest
When you
Sigh
Then pull me closer
Illustrate the scent
Of cigarettes
And September rain
That you wear
On your neck
As every kiss I steal
Tastes like
Security and comfort
Or how
You leave the weight
Of every yesterday
On my bedroom floor
Oh, there once was a fellow could craft
Limericks at which most people laughed
But there was a rumor
They lacked some in humor
Till he finished that fourth or fifth draft
This rough draft love
needs some revision.
The author
isn't sure what comes next.
Chapters
often find themselves
in the shredder
called reality.
Crumpled pages
and bleeding ink;
they mark the story
of you and I.
So imperfect,
but still ours.
This autobiographic love
written only
by my hand.
The ink
smudged by my
clumsy touch
and so hard to wash away.
Tragic heroine,
maybe someday
you will find someone who
will write a story with you.
So keep writing,
young author,
for the end is yours to make.
And he said, "Have you ever felt so empty...?"
I replied,
"Son, have you never felt the Sun on your back? Or are you darkness itself? I owe no fealty to you, you lonesome coward! My sins are mine, as yours are yours, so tend your own flame. Kindle it with love and compassion my friend." To this day, I still haven't forgotten his following words. "I'm cursed you see, my touch is cruel, and my words are like knives, always stabbing at the impossible, and my soul rots of despair."
Before i could utter a word, or calculate a response he continued to say, "Can you not taste the colour of my putrid soul?"
So i said unto him... "I only see a bright light in front of me, and a soft-spoken voice is what I hear, where could such a beautiful soul ever hear such vulgarity?"
"Is there not beauty in the darkness...?"
We are not in the same
Both of us so good at the game
I told you from the get go
Now you don't wanna let go
You didn't take the clue
Infatuated with something new
All the cards said it was wrong
We didn't listen we still went along
Love doesn't have eyes
To make excuses for the lies
All I feel is lust
Miscommunication and lack of trust
Love like you've never loved before
Reaching your hand out to a closed door
Thinking I knew what was in store
Now I'm suffering, my heart bleeding on the floor
_____________________________________________________________________________________________
In the club dancing, alone on the wall
posted up chillin' , drunk, trying not to fall
Not a care at all,
I feel seven feet tall.
Influenced by the alcohol, stimulated by the beats
No matter the intoxication I methodically move my feet,
Pelvic thrusting is how I greet
This beauty who smells so sweet.
_____________________________________________________________________________________________
Look,
This is for everyone who has met their soul mate only to find out that
their search is far from over.. Is their such a person, can one satisfy
enough to to maintain love?
Sometimes skeletons rise from hibernation and those skeletons become
loves' Achilles heal... Stealing what hope was their, leaving you alone,
left posted on the wall...
In the club trying to yet again fall...
Jared Pickett
8/28/09
Asavvy1
Diversified, she sat upon the page
a tiny dot of incoherence brushed into the ink
She wondered how she got so small
and stretched to reach an "A",
the brink
which started the sentence of her life,
a thousand words to hide away.
While she studied the paper rift
she noticed the fibrous weave
of every white of every letter
to chalky dust inhaled to breathe
She split herself into twenty times two
and walked the page a struggle
So tired and broken of breath and lung
she scattered and sunk to ink
to sleep, to weep, to wallow and keep
every thought that she dared yet to think
And while the wind caught up the page
and settled it into a pond
she gathered herself in her incoherence
and wrote herself into beyond.
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