I was born without humour
I gut the soul out of every living thing that I touch
And I was raised without laughter
I drag the carcass of my burdens as I take to the road
If loneliness was a mystery
I would have solved it on the very first day I was born
And if my parents ever loved me
They might have stripped away my sorrows just to ease my load.
I'm a loveless lover
And I'm a selfless sinner.
So take me away
Burn down my house so I can breathe in the night
Uncover the moon so I can bathe in the light
Alleviate my sins so I can feel true delight.
So tell me I'm wrong
When my tongue flicks curses at the ones I loved
If I say there's no gods reigning from above
Tear out my heart if I squander my life.
Everybody's worth something
Some less than the scrap of shirt that clings to their bones.
But money's no object to me
I sew coins to my soul then try to atone.
If happiness was a mystery
I'd write sonnets on the bones of the ones that I loved.
But there's no scrap of skin for me
'Cause my heart doesn't beat for the living no more.
But I'm a loveless lover
I'm a selfless sinner.
So take me away
Burn down my house so I can breathe in the night
Uncover the moon so I can bathe in the light
Alleviate my sins so I can feel true delight.
So tell me I'm wrong
When my tongue flicks curses at the ones I loved
If I say there's no gods reigning from above
Tear out my soul if I squander my life.
So turn out the light
Let me lay in a garden of darkness tonight
Let me sleep so soundly than I ever did in life
Call out to my mother to kiss me goodnight.
Hey honey, come sit next to me
Come closer, although you're soaked in sweat
But that's OK, 'cause I am, too
It's what you get for climbing a mountain.
Hey honey, don't you know
My heart may beat for others
But it will only bleed for you
It's what you get for tearing it open.
Hey honey, I'm not the best
At opening myself to you
But I'm learning every day
Please excuse my obtuse nature
Sometimes I'm slow to respond
But I'm loving you the best that I can
Even though I don't always want to hold your hand
I'm hoping you'll understand.
I won't always bother to make you smile
And when I'm telling you to go home
Please will you just leave me alone
It's not because I don't want you near
I'm just a solitary creature.
An overambitious zealot who never sleeps
And not next to you
I'm just a studious teacher
Trying to make my mark on the world.
I don't need you to hold my hand
I just need you to hold my heart
Then please go home.
William Shakespeare
William Shakespeare is my name
Molesting ten year old girls is my game
Their supple, lithe legs
Branches of a still-blossoming tree.
Rounded buttocks beckoning me
To place my hands upon their untouched skin
Turn them inside out and reveal their sins.
Come, child, come over to my house
Where you can dance and sing to all your favourite songs
And I can slip away with all your favourite friends,
Preparing them for my midnight feast of the flesh.
William Shakespeare is my name
My songs not my only claim to fame
My spineless, remorseless body
Heaving against their crushed-in frames.
'Mother!' You called,
But to which mother, to whom?
Who would come for you now?
Who would even want you?
My prickly skin against your cheek
My three-day old aftershave that reeks
As it cloaks your body like a second skin
And I stain your insides with my every whim.
There's no going home to tell your mother
When she's already underground.
William Shakespeare is my name
Turning girls into women is my game.
Turning women into mothers
Turning mothers into alcoholics
Turning alcoholics into barely functioning, emotionally repressed creatures
Is the aim of my game.
Want to play?
8 years ago
Sun Mar 29 2015, 03:31amKaliora
*hijacks*
Promise it's short.
Claire is my crunchy,
I love her to bits,
Alas I'm not there for you,
Distance is [censored].
I'm not great at poems,
But here I am trying,
To convey my thoughts to you,
In one giant ... Line?
Dear Claire, it pains me
When I see you in pain,
I wish I could kiss,
All that angst away,
But alas, distance is [censored],
So here I am,
Editing a poem,
So that you may read...
Dear Claire, i think about you often,
Wondering my days away,
If you're okay, if you're happy,
If there is someway, I can share your pain.
I think about the words we've shared,
I think about the words unsaid,
None of it matters
When you're in my head.
Dear Claire, what fantastic things you write,
From poetry to horror,
You never cease to delight,
I shall never match your light,
But someday, Finland awaits.
We shall conquer it together,
Just you and me,
It shall be ours,
To do with as we please.
I hope you are well,
It's all I can do,
Your letter is still unfinished,
Because I can never tell.
What to write, when to write,
How to let you know,
Your existence is part of mine,
It's not something easy to word.
I'm not good at conclusions,
So forgive the abrupt,
Poems are not my thing,
But for you my love, I try.
Xoxoxoxxoxoxoxoxooxoxoxoxxoxxooxxoxooxoxxooxoxxooxxoxo
*hugs* back to reading quality poetry written by you instead of attempting my own lol. ^.^
Hello my love!! Thank you for hijacking my poetry page! If you are in Tassie in June, I will see you there! :0 I do miss you! I wish we could all live in one big house together! Bring Izzy up in a house of artists!
I hope to see you soon!
Your Crunchy x
Eat, drink, and be merry. For the time will come when you're too full to seize the day
=D
A New Century Of Sex Killers
I'm reading a book titled
'A New Century Of Sex Killers.'
I enjoy turning each page on the train,
For how do they know I'm not one of them?
I could mutilate a corpse if I wanted to.
I could slice and dice like you surf and turf. If I wanted to.
I enjoy reading this book, as It paints a sordid picture of the animals in our kingdom
Of the beats in our human race.
Of the apex predator living next door.
I want to be one of them.
I want to build a house made of bones and rule a city of skin
Wearing nothing but the fingernails of my victims as a crown.
I want to be one of them
To be the alpha in this docile 'yes sir, no sir' society
To depreciate the classes and divide and push aside the undesirables.
Instead, I am reading a book titled 'A New Century Of Sex Killers'
Wondering what gave these people the courage to play god.
This is about the death of Malcolm Fraser ;D
Australia is in mourning
For the death of new ideas
Malcolm Fraser's funeral
Comes as a slap in the face to freedom .
A humanitarian, republican, military man
Who built the economic foundation
That Hawke and Keating flocked to
And Abbott denies.
Injustice screams
As Abbott pays his respects
Hand in hand with Howard
Like flies to a dead horse.
Out on the street
Security wear pin-striped suits
Australian Vietnamese community
With more honour than Abbott and Howard put together.
As the mourners melted away
Onlookers quipped,
"We need more leaders like Fraser,"
A passer by laughs.
"Can't the governor-general intervene like in 1975?"
The task was to write about tea :P This is what I came up with.
See that photograph there? That's us.
You used to be into
making tea yourself, didn't you, you little germ, you.
But now you can't remember how to boil a kettle.
And see that photograph there?
That's us, as well.
Except there's no tea
In the pot, since you decided you liked whiskey instead.
But now you can't remember
why alcohol made you sad.
He looks at me, frightened
Like a poor lost soul circling the afterlife
I could read to you instead, I say.
I could read some of the other pages for you, yes?
He stares at me blankly, prickly stubble, sticky fingers, piercing eyes.
See that photograph there?
That's us.
You used to be into
making tea yourself, didn't you,
you little germ, you.
Infusing my space
But now you can't even recognise my face.
30/04/1975
The morning creeps on, silently
As the soft rainfall covers a clearing of
Burnt trees and abandoned campfires, of
Hushed voices and eyes in the thickened woods.
In the grassy knolls, shots fire
Voices rise as children scream from a distance
A man bound sits propped up against a tree
Ropes thicker than the stakes driven through his chest.
Sweat drips from parched pores
Tattered clothes cling to bloodied skin
Eyes watching from across the embankment
Guns aimed towards the dead man.
Scabs rust as bullet holes bleed
Flies buzz and maggots nest in exposed flesh
Feasting on the forgotten man
Whose name they don't even know.
Radio frantically singing for assistance
Goes unheard as planes sweep overhead
Cracking bombs more brilliant than sunrise
And afterwards, a stinging silence.
Rescue chopper overhead, too late
Skids along the muddy pathway
Crew creep down go the grassy knoll
To cut the man from his unmade bed.
And then, gunfire erupts
And saviour is down and out
Head rolls into the abandoned campfire
As man lowers his machete.
A crackling, burning funeral pyre
Is erected for both men
Saviour and never-to-be-saved
Their bodies as burnt as the trees.
Over time, the excitement dies down
Victory is forgotten as VC move along.
The flesh turns to bones, turns to ashes, turns to dust
Until the wind gathers them into its arms and blows them away.
War rages on, war is ended.
30th April, 1975.
Nineteen years, five months, four weeks, and one day.
And so begins the Socialist Republic of Vietnam.
#Day14. #MakeTheBlindSee #DirtyThirty
"Want me to show you what the world looks like?" She asked.
He didn’t hesitate, eagerly taking her up on the invitation
Before she knew it
One of his hands found her cheek.
She automatically leaned in to the touch,
As if she'd been programmed to do so.
There it was again, the smile that she loved.
And even though those blue eyes were looking straight through her as
His fingers explored her face,
She couldn’t help but find their
Colour stunning.
His fingertips traveled down to
Her jaw, briefly tracing her freckles
Before they went up again, moving
On to her nose, then her eyelids.
She wasn’t even aware of closing her eyes, but at some point she did,
Revelling in his lingering touches.
She realised that even though sight was gift, so was touch.
When she felt the pad of his thumb tentatively brush against her lower lip
Her eyes snapped open.
She took his wrist
Holding his hand in place and
Pressed a light kiss to his palm.
These were the times she was Grateful for the silent language
Of touch the two of them shared.
It meant no awkward conversation
No need to confirm that they were on the same page
Or even reading the same book.
And even though her heart was
Thundering in her chest,
When he intertwined their fingers and went in for an actual kiss,
All of her hesitations flew out of the window.
For he had kissed her already with his mind.
“Beautiful…†he breathed against her lips. "The world is beautiful."
Sunrise beckons warmth
Does not reach my empty womb
Petals wither. Die.
LOVE/HATE
Love.
Love is
Feeling your body snap in two as you realise you cannot die while the owner of your heart still lives.
Love is
Feeling great wings sprout from your shoulder, and all the feathers slowly turning the same shade as their eyes.
Love is
Metamorphosis into the most divine human being you never knew lived inside you without the crucifixion.
Love is
Swimming in tainted lakes and shallow waters infested with leeches salivating for the chance to feast on your flesh.
Love is
The reason the world takes twenty-three hours, fifty-six minutes, and six seconds to rotate.
Love is
Broken cups you don’t mind putting back together with your teeth, even when your mouth is bloodied stumps.
Love is
Old shoes you can’t seem to throw away, the laces pulled so tight you lose circulation.
Love is
Knowing every ingredient that makes up their scent, and the recipe that turns their heart into ashes.
Hate.
Hate is
The soulless, lifeless, spiritless, inhuman, debased animal that you've become without them.
Hate is
All the little butterflies, and cicadas, and katydids, and moths, and grasshoppers that you crushed under your heel just because you could.
Hate is
Realising the world suddenly makes sense and you hate that you know it, hate that it’s not a mystery any longer.
Hate is
Forgetting the life you live is not for yourself, but for the life of the tiny footsteps that follow behind you.
Hate is
All the bottles, all the cans, all the packages, all the pills, all the lies, all the greed, all the nights that you made them stay up listening to you telling them how much you hate your own life. Even when they're in it.
Hate is
The discarded playthings, the broken shutters, the sun that never shines in their eyes, the faded photos, the unplayed records, the treasured birth certificates of children you decided you weren't good enough to raise.
Hate is
Love so bent and twisted it no longer recalls its true form and can't soak up the nutrients needed to survive.
Hate is
Feeling your soul snap in two as you realise you cannot live while the owner of your heart resides in this world no longer.
Love is doing it anyway.
You're taking your poetry up to another level, Kaylan! Wow.
8 years ago
Mon Jun 08 2015, 10:33amkaylanr
Thank you!! I can't wait to perform this one. It's getting published in an anthology!! ;D ;D
I've seen your Facebook posts :). That's very, very exciting.
Been quite busy performing poetry lately that I've neglected actually sharing it with people online!!
Some people say our destiny is intertwined
Yours and mine - connected by an incorporeal anima mundi
A single living entity encapsulated within
Muscle tissue and viscera.
Some people say immortal souls belong only to
Human beings - and that animism is a philosophical dream,
That the spiritual essence of the world exists
Only inside our minds.
Though I believe in more than the tangible reality
In the hot beauty of flesh -
In the warm copper of human blood
Entwined with the impalpable.
If only we could pull apart out flesh
And fold our bones around one another - rest within our warmth
Reside within one beating heart
And stay that way forever.
I would lather myself in your organs
One hand on your heart, one hand in your brain
And we would live in unity with one another
For ever and a day.
I would bathe in your blood for always
Rejuvenate my flesh - disregard myself as a single entity
Burn your cancerous cells
And blossom with your own heart.
Exquisite Corpse
She’s an exquisite corpse
Flies feast on her beauty
Drink from the cold tea
In her tiny hands.
She’s a broken record
The ones nobody buys
Too consumed by
Their own reflection.
Let me go
So I can pull out her weeds
Brighten my halo
As I seek redemption.
She’s an exquisite corpse
And I wish I could pluck the flowers
From the secret garden
Of her mind.
Adrift
I dreamed I was sleeping
I had no soul
My bed was in the sea.
I dreamed I was the sea
I had no lure
No fish swim under me.
If I had a rope
I would not anchor
Myself to the shore.
I keep my treasures
In my back pocket
Along with imagined bliss.
The moon overhead
Cools my sunburn
I do not wish
To ever return.