Side Effects

My skin is infested 

sucker marks on pale skin

I detest it

portraits of original sin

 

Scarring redness

peaceful translucent 

mindfulness a mess

living feels lucid

 

Purged of positivity 

Heavy with thought 

Misplaced creativity 

I begin to rot

 

From the inside

I need rest

Sorry I haven’t replied

but you’ve been suppressed 

 

Radiant smile

inconsolable heart

eyes hostile 

I can’t tell them apart

 

Muddled spirit 

feeling astray

nightmares vivid

when is the next ‘good-day’

 

Where I laugh

and feel human 

but only for the first half

the darkness is always looming

Where Do I Belong?

I will lie in my city bed

Wishing for my melancholy home

Sleeping in lights

Murdered by homesickness syndrome

 

I dream about being missed

Or of the old crooked tree

I just want to be kissed

By the homelike smell of the sea

 

Cuddled by home

And suffocated by love

Yet I feel so alone

I am the spy they want to get rid of

 

My childhood sings in the air

Memories stick to the leaves

In this spot, people seem to care

About what the other believes

 

This place never wanted me

I was made for the city streets

So why does this town hold the key

For where my heart and head meet

 

Unlock my hatred

For these people who roam

The only thing in common

Is we call the same town ‘home’

 

And when I wonder the little lanes

I crave the taste

Of the city planes

And I kick at the concrete waste

 

For why would I want to be in the place

Where everything is scarce

When I can be in the cold embrace

The of the cities circus

 

I don’t want to here

In the rotten town

And I hate to be there

Where the lights beat me down

 

Because I don’t want to be anywhere.

Untitled.

The night we first met

we used  headstones as resting posts

as we had the littlest respect

for the long gone and restless ghosts

 

Drunk on technicoloured poison

and high on the scent of dead flowers

I asked you please take joy in

these lonely early morning hours

 

Paint us a story

of a graveyard far away

nothing too gory

where everything is grey.

 

Giggle and whisper

don’t wake the already dead

the night air getting crisper

I can’t remember anything we said

 

Buried in the moment

I think the police came

and the hangover seemed worth it

because I’d always take the blame

 

Running from the dead

or maybe from the police

in any direction we fled

our friendship is a masterpiece

 

Paint us a story

of a graveyard far away

nothing too gory

where everything is grey.

I Wanna Talk About Time & Words.

Word’s terrify me. They grip onto me so tightly and they never let go. They burrow themselves inside my mind and make me sob. I can’t get rid of the words. That’s what writer’s block feels like; I guess. I had an issue there with grammar did the block belong to the writer? I feel like I belong to it sometimes. I haven’t written poetry in a while only because I can only be a poet when the block has me. It’s cathartic while the words latch onto my brain and refuse to settle into the crisp white paper or onto the blank screen. I have an old one though that I will share with you after this. A poem about a graveyard for a friend of a friend. A poem I forgot about until a few days ago.

Let’s talk time for a moment. How it hangs from branches in the sky and puddles at your feet. How sometimes it rains and pours and how sometimes it dries out your lungs. I want to forget time exists for a moment. But time is the moment I seek and everything adds up to the minutes and seconds it takes for you to close your eyes and fall asleep.

Maybe I am being idiotic when I feel like time holds me back, but every day would feel incomplete if time didn’t start over again. I hate the end of days and moments and trips and…

I haven’t been writing poetry. I have gotten over the writer’s block which was tying me to the confinements of rhymes and metaphors. But with untying those tight knots I discovered what it felt like to have time move quickly again. A month without writing anything but poetry. A month without any progress on any of my work. A month of freedom? Maybe. Nothing moved and neither did I.

I forgot about this blog because I was writing about things that seemed to be more important. A friend of mine started writing and I remembered it had been a while. I am sorry for the nothingness.

-L