Unrequited.Muffled, sweaty bed with our naked toes achingUnrequited. by chesscakes
from the windowless cold seeping in.
He dreamt of me
and I lost the dream of you,
that same night.
Legs hang into the brittle air,
my yellowed fingers luminous
in the morning light.
Rumpled bedroom dark behind me,
half inhabited as I swing my legs
into the hollow garden,
my smoke drifting from the ledge.
I am sobering; dreamt it away
steady-footed in the morning after.
I have come down
to make my coffee, read my books –
the escapist safety of stranger’s dreams.
My toes tinge blue, winter is coming
the sodden days of summer mere memory
and I wish that emotion
was as reliable as the seasons, as London rain.
Uncovered.The insidious ‘us’ that creeps unbiddenUncovered. by chesscakes
in ghoul artefacts long buried.
I had forgotten
until the woods brought it
then a gold tooth uncovered.
Singular selectivity –
I chose what to remember
and catalogued no plurals with them,
allowed no shared history.
Like future, the past was unwritten
the arsenic chalk rubbed clear,
until our estranged pronouns united
their buried residue gagging me,
with power in the mnemonic golden glint
in fresh, womanly shrubs
in details provocative of barred antiquity
I am still weak to them,
for I cannot choose
when they release their triggers
with pain-shaken fingers,
and years later, I am blown away.
Designated DriverShe is a petulant drunk;Designated Driver by chesscakes
I remember that wine-righteousness –
that she prefers to the spirit blur
(I would have died for gin on the rocks,
before the wedding, or during
She was sober when she married him,
but their reception compensated finely
and here they are.
and many mini-cabs later.
She has emphysema,
and chose twenty deprived years
over five choking for air.
I smoke often before her,
she drinks rarely before me.
Yet we are more similar than I’d please.
She is an honest drunk,
and swears more than her sober self believes.
Her mind is tidy, contained tightly
she shakes when things or people break.
ExpectationsI had expected:Expectations by chesscakes
that the cartilage between my ribs would ache,
a bitter taste would curdle in my mouth -
instead, I fester.
My belly tensed with pride
I found that it is not my heart that broke.
I had expected:
to irately wallow, and to irrationally resent
but instead I found not agony but vain offence -
the insult doubled as, with bitter shame -
I saw that twice the same mistake I made.
I had expected:
more pain than this I feel, less anger too -
but I had expected. I had lived resigned
that want for him is greener on the side
that is not his or known to him from old.
His love-Utopia sculpted to adult form,
with lazy hands clumsy as a child.
I am weary. He role-plays his age,
yet my humour here is barren as my form.
I had expected:
that I had age enough to be unsurprised by men.
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...
|"My thoughts are messy, my emotions are messy, my body goes in and out at will. The raised white scars on my arms and legs are the only aspect of my being that comes close to minimalism. They came from chaos, but it is hard to carve frustration and unease into the flesh. Only straight lines." - Emma Forrest. This is why I write.|