UntitledThis poemUntitled by chesscakes
is for the woman who hopes it will be;
the woman who I write for often
but who rarely reads those words.
This poem is for her.
is for the man who hunches in the Heath
sucking on cigarette butts,
and rewriting his past
in many tongues, silver his most used.
This poem is for him,
and for the memories I fear to forget.
is for the girl with heroin spots
lining her hands, sat in London Bridge.
Skeleton station, wired commuters;
this poem is not for them
this poem is for her.
is for those half-humans who have lost
their wars, their lives, their minds.
who forget that having been fucked
is no excuse for being fucked up.
This poem is for them
and for the lives they shred in their wake.
Ape-suitI have made coffee,Ape-suit by chesscakes
gawped in self-conscious repulsion
at my convex ape-skin body
then, gulped poison and inhaled more
fast, as stimulants.
I can wear a human costume
and smile my caffeine yellowed grin.
Gorillas run in fear, else they beat me down
for our smile, to them, is aggression;
and so, I smile -
and pretend I live before evolution
before we grew to understanding
when our language was blood and possession and hateful love
and so, I smile.
The Tree-SurgeonThere is a road in Tuscany, guarded by treesThe Tree-Surgeon by chesscakes
that stand tall and beautiful in your native light.
You told me the trees were sacred,
they were beautiful in their near extinction.
I learnt earthy women walked this road at night
and I dreamt of it later, as you held me –
I cannot forget those proud trees,
that foreign road you drove me down,
a cigarette breathing between your lips.
You cared for my old garden,
where once I fell from trees barefoot,
to gasp in leaves; adrenaline rushing.
I later smoked cigarettes in those branches,
but was scared to fall again.
My feet softened with maturity,
I no longer run barefoot, my ankles crack
Your calloused hands were tender
on my childhood bracken, square nails
ridged in honest dirt
as sweat shone from your skin.
I wanted to kiss you clean. Stiff muscles
beneath my addict mouth;
your toes clicked in my hands,
your moan made my guts ache.
I shuddered in lust.
Blinded by the trees you loved,
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...