Erase me Write me over Hold your palm And push Cover me Pull the blanket Thrust me through Take me to that empty place Tell me I'm nothing No one Dust Hide me Smear my face with mud and soot and ash and dirt Swallow me whole Burn my memory Grind me, throw me, press your knee to my spine, deep Rip the song from me Cast me to the wind Scatter me Let me forget myself Let me go away
On the breeze floats a loud nothingness That greets waiting ears so eagerly Setting hearts beating to reminisce Valleys filled with fleeting melodies Up high in the cliffs of Donegal Down deep in the mist of Kilkenny Have meticulous bards chronicled Heroes' history marred by villainy Do you hear the fiddle's whispering Coming nearer as we assemble? What was silence is now flickering A céilí we will soon resemble Do you hear the bodhrán's playfulness? With each beat, the ear grows livelier Now let's cue that sean-nós gracefulness With the tipper's beating mightier! Do you hear the pipes of Uilleann Through glens and forests still echoing? Sure to bring tappin' from everyone 'Till whoops and hollers are bellowing Do you hear the notes oft glorious From the feadóg stáin—clear, effortless? Putting to shame dear, old Orpheus Even cold Hades would acquiesce Do you feel, in your bones, eagerness To go home and join the excitement? Clackin', tappin' to songs, treasonous And dance
I was just a little girl outside playing with my brothers, like any other day it should've been but the sun caught my eyes in a way that seemed different. If you had been there you'd think nothing of it, certainly nothing worth writing about, but for me, that moment is like a tattoo of a lover's name on my heart, that moment was my extra in the ordinary, despite so many bright summer days, I can't remember a time being more blinded by light, but that's what happens when you mix nostalgia and the extraordinary into any light. Feeling the wind against my face and the wind beneath my wings, without actually smiling, without actually saying it I was so happy and deep down I knew without knowing that I had wished on that very sun that this life I had would last forever, that was when I first described my life with my family as riding into the sunlight. I didn't know that a simple phrase, from a girl with her head in the clouds and shooting stars in her daydreams, would be the
My words, where are they?
It was like treading barefoot along wet,
uncut grass on a quiet early morning
with honesty by my side,
that looked like teardrops and constellations.
Whichever direction my heart would point, I would go.
As long as there were open skies to look up to,
I would not question it.
It was not walking blindly; I could see everything,
and it was too beautiful to be true.
When my words came from within,
I wanted to be the hope I wrote about.
Fresh, as if they never stayed a day inside
were my love of words.
my love for words would call upon the break of day,
to which it called backwith a sweet sounding voice.
Love felt t
🎵"Tears stream down your face,
as you lose something you cannot replace."🎵
—Coldplay
Just like the light of day will always return,
so will the shadows of shadows we chase,
never knowing shadows come from us.
Some things never return.
Some things never leave.
I heard when a child loses their blanket
an angel loses its wings, never grows back.
Memories, distant
in the grapefruit colored sunset,
come close and closer until they take me.
they bring me back
to one night with a girl and her blanket.
Do not let the night end,
lest the break of day break my soul.
Let tomorrow just be a word;
let words be meaningless.
So
The black cloud hanging overhead accumulated its own agenda despite the minutes spent in bed that seem to have evaporated. Marijuana my sweet catalyst of memories obliterated. I tried to hide all trace of your existence underneath smoky covers. I even drew tinted curtains over the eyes of star-crossed lovers. When I finally awoke to see that spring had come I dusted myself off outside just to come undone. I collapsed against a structure I couldn't bear to cover because flowers had grown where tears had fell around a thousand lives that shimmered, unlived inside our old wishing well.
Dry
I'm staying dry today,
no tears left to spare,
perhaps a little blood
on the floor of my lair.
No more soldiers to kill -
blindly counting coins.
The chills have choked the fire
deep down in the loins.
Rotted Alive
Bits of me could fall off anytime.
Rotting on the vine,
on the wine of self-delusion
made of imaginary friends who
live in their moms' basements and
lie for a living.
They ferment in my decaying brain,
dementia taking hold,
faces all 'round looking old;
where is my true friend, the pain?
Too lazy to scream.
No fucks left to give.
She wants me to die,
he wants me to live.
I'm stuck in between,
in a body rotting,
the blood slo
Tellus, what's the point? by librarian-of-hell, literature
Literature
Tellus, what's the point?
Red silk tatters in the air -
black wings in the open sky.
Revolution with a flair -
have you ever wondered why?
This nagging question I pursue,
each day the quest starts anew -
lots of "why"-s sit in the green,
some glowing and some unseen,
but each feeding on my mind.
The whispering gears just grind.
All this life bustling around -
fancy lace on her rock dress.
Each morsel's to decay bound.
Who does she want to impress?