Posts That Told

She lingers in unwritten reveries,
In melancholic keys of nostalgia,
Stored in glassy skies
Of tapering biotic aromas
Of hidden wickery treats.

In defiance, she’d ignore
Guide posts on trialed
Threads of treading feats
And seditious nets
Of accidental passings
In regretful inquiries;
Inconspicuous dazes
Of suspended beams
Lost in transfigurations
Of undecipherable glows.

She could only remember
A single sign that read:
“They will always need.”

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Empty

In retrospect, I should be grateful, for
Being given the chance to witness
Scribbled extensions of undeciphered labor
Where figures posed in lines of incantations
Were carved as illusory caves of historical
Hysterics on breathable skin parchments,
For I’d have never learned to transpose
The technical aspects of applying those
Specific pressures on zinc plated panels.

I should be grateful, that the time I spent
Searching for healing lines weren’t wasted

Then why is it that I feel like crying
When I think of how I’ve lost images of his faces
When I still have these lines that fill up these pages
Even while silent whispers of finally met passion’s keep calling my name?

 

 

 

Then the susurrus of familiar experiences soothe
In how it didn’t seem so vastly different in its birth
In each of those misstroked hatchings.

But it was.

It Clicks


 

Can you explain
The scales that consecutively run
To those that cannot sense it.

Our vision that pales;
His, hers, and mine,
In the faces of sophists.

Then dewy inklings
Of feathered proofs lapse
By subsequent engineering
In uncounted droplets
On tympanic shields
From deciphers felt.

Breathless moments buried;
Dissonant reverberations
Diminishing;
Things I
Use to
Savor.

What We Chose

Reflections of mangled confidences
In incandescent words
Of inevitable losses
Those who sought redemption
From repudiated horrors
Of untimely hours
In muted reveries;
Vaporized voices of intangibilities.

Airtight metal doors locked;
Unresponsive to patterned codes
Of likely misconstrued rhetorics;
Of queasily relinquished prides;
In quizzical encumbrances
In unrequited diminishing vortices.

Anthropomorphically weighed physics
Of bleakly styled truths
Or exquisitely chiseled fallacies.
Where comforted comorbidities
Of mythological redundancies
And existential deities,
Salve.

Spouting extrications of love’s yearnings
Hopelessly behind those locked doors
In layered inquiries of reality, prophecies
And connected scales of measured precisions
Of ethically disapproved pursuits;
Pierced valves of barely perceived incisions.

Here’s a secret,
Morality is whatever I wanted it to be.

Crappy Titles

Crappy first liners
Pile in black crinkly bags
In how many shitty ways
Could it be dressed in rags;
The things I wanted to say,
That there was nothing finer
Then the things you’d written
That I had been smitten
The second time you caught my attention,
Though I did my best to deny it
There was no denying
The betrayal of my own actions.
I had decided towards the noncommittal
So when you first shown
In fluorescent lighting
You demolished, while you belittled
My determination to lead a life
Without romantic turbulence.
Initially I pretended
I had not been watching.
But I ended up chasing
After your prancing silhouette
Desperately trying to get a handle
On the soul you had hidden
Inside porcelain fragments.
And now that you have left
I no longer possess a smidge
Of the thrill I used to be unable
To contain while uncovering
Your flawlessly flawed existence.

Would you give
Me the pleasure
Of being able
To witness you again.

Which World

I see you close your eyes
As your words
Creep slowly inside,
Sliding deeper.
You adjust
Your weight
Against mine.
Your verses exhale.
I feel
The exchange
Of our pace
Slow and steady;
Formulaic
Transformation
Ecstatic.
The same
Feeling
I had
Before
I mistook
Your words
Disguised as a destination.

Which world are you addressing.
Are you allowing me back
Or are you casting me out.

Please show me
Your commandments.

Confirmation

If we had chosen
The lane with least resistance
Where would we be now?

On an endless winding road
Where you mystically stand,
Was it a plea I heard in passing?

Does this complete track
Hold hidden fragments
Of souls silent torrents?

Or is that imagined?

And are you
Too blind and deaf
To see and hear
That beauty doesn’t exist
Outside of you
Even if they may be
Stuttering nightmares?

Why do we think
We caught a glance
Of a distorted smile
In vapourised grimace?