Lust.My muddy veinsLust. by ~chesscakes
buzz with caffeine
I am a smoker
who hates the rush of nicotine.
I am uncertain;
in my fleshy placement, my electric signalling -
can you smell the lust upon me?
Curiosity the least tangible of pleasures;
satisfaction foiled in an instant. Insatiable,
there must be something more.
My desire aches
I am fired up to self-combust;
consume a furnace of uncertainty -
it burns down my body-pipes and
I am whole as I smoulder.
Life is a drug,
the consciousness we pay for
with woman blood; carnal sweat;
our tears a gratuity for joy.
I am bankrupted with my longing
indulgent flesh trembles white -
my Limbo sanctuary; go in peace.
I burn in humanity; such guiding light.
My GrandmotherMy grandmother is part of the Union of Catholic Mothers and Artists alike. She attends church each Sunday; half past six on the dot and spends the sermon with her long nails itching to pick off the white hairs congregating on the somber coloured backs of those who are unlucky enough to sit in the row ahead of her. She likes the routine, she told me once. She likes the company; the knowledge that she is part of something much bigger than she is. She can recite the rosary at top speed; rounded vowels tumble from her lips to surround her with security. She has the priest over for dinner and makes polite asides when he neglects to say grace before tucking in; knife and fork suspended in the air as the Family bite our lips in amusement that she in her lack of genuine belief is more nigh on traditional rituals than the true believer is. My grandmother is a Catholic. She enjoys the appearance.My Grandmother by ~chesscakes
I was baptized with a Jew, a thrice-divorcee and an opinionated atheist as my Godparents. Father Mur
Diary-GirlYou come back,Diary-Girl by ~chesscakes
like a bad penny that I felt lost without.
Like the roads in Croydon, with their junctions
of repetition and safety; the ghost laughs sing out
from days before I saw the underworld.
I am scared of those streets,
but they shall always be home.
You ask me if I am sure of you,
my answer depends on your heart.
I cannot carry you, I am broken myself.
I do not want pain,
but you discard yours upon my shoulders;
I bear weight on a skeleton that cracks,
I am tentatively boned, wet paper skinned
I barely support my own frame,
I wait to be thrown away
my papier-mâché body laid heavy as clay;
I will crack under excess. Give what you take,
I would dearly like to spit my hurt away,
instead I stay mute. I will not weigh you down
with what I burn alive to say. I hold my tongue tight,
You leave, yet your words always stay the night.
UntitledI am nothing without my easily changable pelt,Untitled by ~chesscakes
my scarred dyed savaged skin I wash daily
in a shower that never runs hot enough.
I would scald my body brutally bone naked
if I could, alas;
I am never to be truly cleansed. I was baptised
in the arms of a Jew, I am no Catholic.
I broke the mirror of their Holy Water, tainted it
with my imposition into purity –
so now I sweat my faux rebirth nightly,
and wake in cold shivers with sinner hands
still upon my inexplicably present body.
I am dirtied with inherited desire,
yet apples make me retch, my desire dank
not fresh. Rotten to the very core, I want more.
we watch too much internet pornblank, online eyeswe watch too much internet porn by *0hgravity
staring through each others
that mean everything
and say everything
at near imperceptible
he's a claustrophobic,
who whispers with rustled
to restful bradycardia
on secret wishes like
all i want
is for the land
to stretch like the
sands of time
under my feet
but most days
she is too busy listening
for the train rattling the tracks
where his mind races
the only train she's heard
was faint steel static
on a youtube video)
and her eyes are looking for
his eyes full of all kinds
of natural, youthful stars
she ain't seen before
(with strong, bright names like Orion--
not paparazzi-burned Angelina)
but it's all in their head
the walls they need to climb
to live and love and be
that power outages
are not quite the end
of the world
shhhwe are lurking too close to jesus,shhh by ~winterkate
on the empty edge of a lightless stage,
curved nails digging into the skin of our pale palms.
he asks as an afterthought
do you believe in something holy? and i think yes,
i think this is what i believe in.
Getting Over Youyou see that self respect you have?Getting Over You by ~lunadoodle
all those thoughts and feelings that made you feel beautiful, unique, interesting , worth anyones time?
Take every single one, and extract them from your mind, your brain, your soul, and throw them away.
You see the gaping pit left over in that pathetic bland thing you call a personality?
It needs to be filled.
Fill it with hatred, if not for the one who broke your heart, then for your feelings for them.
Even hatred for yourself will do.
Now, deep within the poison you have poured into your soul in sickening treacle thick waves, bury your heart.
Coat it in the hardening slime, and take those shattered pieces that you so treasured, and fit them in the best you can.
Almost as good as new...