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That Chair
by Dalien
15 Feb 2011

A chair full of life
sits in the corner,
of my room

A flip of the hand...
shirt draped,
jeans tossed

Heading to the dresser,
I catch a glimpse,
of my life
that has gone by

How many times have
I performed this ritual,
stripping away the days' fatigue?

Turning back,
Grabbing shirt and jeans...

Today,
resting in that chair...
I will wear my fatigue,
as I dream of life to come

In the corner
of my room,
sits a living chair
 

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16,329 Posts
Discussion Starter #7
..

That Chair
by Dalien
15 Feb 2011

A chair full of life
sits in the corner,
of my room

A flip of the hand...
shirt draped,
jeans tossed

Heading to the dresser,
I catch a glimpse,
of my life
that has gone by

How many times have
I performed this ritual,
stripping away the days' fatigue?

Turning back,
Grabbing shirt and jeans...

Today,
resting in that chair...
I will wear my fatigue,
as I dream of life to come

In the corner
of my room,
sits a living chair



TasTy Morsel.I really Like This One Hun!
 

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14,865 Posts
I posted this a little while back in the intp poetry thread.

its not
the middle of the bat that delivers the hardest blow
but the last half foot or so
that makes someone's dumb fucking little aroused bulbous prick nose
cum crimson
the hardest
the most satisfying
gratifying gush

the tingle on your hands
when the bat makes contact with the bone
is the best home base rush
 

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521 Posts
There's a snake in the grass
Nothing fake about the poetry he's amassed
I'll ready the stake, lest he wake, and bite me in the ass
Oh, that snake in the grass
 

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521 Posts
its not
the middle of the bat that delivers the hardest blow..
Nice, but I have to ask about your avatar?
Is that a sickle holding, rainbow promoting, bamboo sun hat wearing, smiling, marshmallow man?

:confused::crazy:
 

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Cafe Legend and MOTM Jan 2011
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15,420 Posts
I could saw open my skull
slowly,
making sure I feel each stroke,
poking through the bone dust,
prying diamonds from the lowly rocks.

I could get my fingers wet again.
I could pull you out through tear ducts,
an exorcism of an inspiration,
a theft of the breath that moves.

I could cut apart my ribs,
dissect myself thoroughly
beyond all nudity,
with fingertips,
a paintbrush or a pen,
bare and pinned to cardboard,
labeled, emptied and discarded.

I could saw open my skull,
seek you out just like I always do,
with sharp blades and steady hands,
no more bleeding than usual.
I must remove you.



(No, don't worry, I'm not really going to hurt myself or anyone else. It's symbolic.)
 

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Cafe Legend and MOTM Jan 2011
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15,420 Posts
Surreal Snake of Eden,
scales sensing sap inside the
leafy smoothness of limbs,
juicy, juicy, punctured peel,
sugar and sweetness within,

you fuck your muse like an engine,
shaking metal spikes and rails,
coal and steam,
explosions in an iron womb,
white-hot Promethean fuel,
burning wings as faithless Psyche sees.

With the click of ancient keys,
Pandora's mysterious tight virgin box
opens for your double-pointed tongue,
releasing horrors, making demons beg for breath,
even as you dream.

Hope is the sound of bitter consolation, sheltered in bomb craters,
huddling naked in the dust of crumpled sheets,
a notebook and an angel quill,
a sticky chin and a mouthful of seeds.
 

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Wraith sheild cloaks the dark messenger
inseminates the subconscious with venomous truth
the unworthy will choke to death
on their own ignorance
every word wounds
the complete thought kills
delusion, projection, and misplaced intent
are all exposed when it shows
like the prick, the mind is impotent
 
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