The Ultimate Vampire Resource and Directory

In solemn wonderment

I have studied the solarplexivity of your being.

To which it has captured my regret.

When mornings were dull

I fount solace in your curved lips

and nano-sparks in your eyes-

How, I've wondered,

could brown become so deep and dark;

That I mistake them for glimmering

minerals surrounding

the bottomless pit of your pupil.

They have cut me down

and with uncertainty

my mind gives in, and I make

a universe from your essence;

Float unsounder,

the lack of air

sends me dizzy on my heels.



In Euphoria I am

still gazing at your skin;

Looking sullen with your coffee

copy of howl.

I concoct how a kiss would taste-

Mint pack of camels perhaps,

filtered.

With wonderment

I have studied every inch of you

Because I am sure you've scribed your hieroglyph

epics of me.

I've known you with my words

and loved you as my muse-

Met you through before and afterthoughts,

made love to you under pages

and between ripped out pages...

Twas a temptress that foresaw my shadows

end.

A face that swept my heart a'flutter,

and captured pulse between her teeth.

Strip it bare,

with velvet fleshed lips that consumed sex

and spat out words.

She sent my heavy hands to rest

my words but mutter of a muse so pure-

Whose eyes were amber,

and crunched like autumn leaves neath my sole.

Crooked a finger,

in those coals.

and set a smile in the pupils-

Ah yes,

a tempest at any hour I shall follow.

The jaw,

and curve that lay under wild spiral-

For every a girl will envy,

a writers words

of a letter written beauty.

If love came knocking on my door

would I falter?

Or turn the knob to which I have failed to

twist?

Would your face, like a wreath

hang by a hook on the oak-

Eye pressed to peer into my home.

Or, is it foolish.

To enter threshold

unscathed and soaked-

Perhaps.

It was regret that drowns a man,

and cheap vodka that warms his spirits.

Maybe.

Inviting should be given by the host,

and the intruder made ready to leave.

If perhaps, I wanted love.

I would have sent him an invitation. . .

Is it so simple.

To hate

does it grow like brush fire-

Lick the surface of the water;

Smolder time

and become ticking clock hands.

Is it so simple to see

flames float above

liquid glass.

Peer in the ripples-

Lips bubble to surface

break the tide and fill up with salt.

Now; They become thirsty.

Quenched with fire

and sand.

Was it simple,

when they dismembered you;

Though they built sand castles from your skin-

They left the walls bare.

Was it simple.



W

A

S



I

t

S

I M

P



L

E



When they showered you with ashes.

and tied your ankles to the sea.

COMMENTS

-

---

Xyla
04:32 Mar 25 2012

(=

---

POST COMMENT

Why are you wearing that stupid human-suit-

is it stitched with a thimble

on your finger?

Take it off

put it in the boxes under your bed

where all those bottled demons slumber;

You forget,

about the girls feet-

Dangling, turning

north

south

east

west by her neck-

You said worthless

and she snapped.



Are you scared of pricking your fingers?

Bleed them of dirt an bones.

does it scare you when shes ready to be free from

her uncertainty?

Is that why you beat her

with letters.

Inked between the eyes to cut off thoughts.

Is it your turn to cage the bird;

Clip the wings like before and afterness.

Crush the nest because you live i the past.



This great evil swells;

Curdles in your chest and clots.

You've forgotten how to love when someone reaches happiness.

You've in turn

remembered how to kill without weapons.

She's left you all alone in her past,

you've become nothing-



You murdered her,

until she knew how to live again.

You humiliated her

until she learned how to laugh back at you.

Who are you now sir?









You're no one

anymore.

In all my years I have feared love-

Simple make-up powder box,

split and tipped over.

I find that using the brush to apply

is most unskilled.

When feelings rush into your face

you stare off in the distance and forget-

Memories,

old ones.

Like instagram photos, linked in reel.

Twirl,

they mock the tears ducts-

This is where you remember what

heartache is-

and you smile

because that's the only sensible thing to do when you remember hushed words.

Broken pacts of promise;

and laughed brought on my teenage carnal desires.

You remember love

only to forget again until you find where you've hidden it.

Shoebox records hidden under the beds,

you'll find it.

Different, crooked smile-

Gentle hands that press your chest for air

where those butterfly's float from lips

into air.

Yes,

in all my years I have fear love

and experienced it.

It is difficult to tell whether I suffer from

Depression or am simply bored out of my being.

I put up a sense of calm, a

Dignified quiet. Meanwhile,

hanging breathless on the verge of being crazed

by everyone else I run into.

I tell tales of misadventures, broken dreams; is that lack

Of compassion or simply scorn to man?

I offer luminous claims, ferocities of

unhinged mind; but somehow keep banging on

Fragile dwellings with uninterested passion-

Love un gifted.

I do not have a single lovely thought, real and lucid,

Just a vacant yearning for something that

I never had; days and nights seem blurred and endless--

Unwilling ears. But then,

I am not really eager to be heard shedding, or hold

Dry Tears.

My mind does not claim before or afterness.

I want to shout drenched in sweat,

though no one wants to hear my voice-

Inaudible. Dark Flavored.

Is this simply a death postpone deep in the marrow?

There's something tucked away

Under my breast bone,

neath my shirt-

It reminds me of the smell of damp wood,

the sound of rocks under my sole-

Twirls around the fingers

like a lonely lovers charm;

It rocks the body like a shot gun,

reverberates through the bones-

Knocks you on your back

and brings you striped into the world-

Reborn

new.

Pristine while legs shift down a path

where you can do no harm.

It's tucked away under the skin

neath a lonely lovers arm.

So this is what it has came down to?

I implore you sir,

with my thoughts and with my head.

I am no longer thinking as well-

My feet have left my ankles

and stepped down the gravel road where my body should

have met them;

Although the sun meets my cheeks,

burns them with his tongue.

My eyes cannot help but follow you.

They always have,

my lips that rise to meet my eyes

could tell you.

But they do not mutter sounds--

No

when trapped between a lovers quarrel

and the battle of men.

The muse should never speak,

only listen.

I have a stack of books

towered like my change-

Looms over the hardbacks,

and seeks the refuge of the leather bound

classical's-

Jingles in my pocket,

like beggar money shouts on sidewalks-

Hold out a hand for the pages,

Invent tales;

What would happen to words

if they never spoke to us?

Sought to stay silent,

could we read them?

Stand tall with their adventures,

Innocent nulls

with lips sealed tight-

Open them up

and break the spine,

martyrs dead with the humans mysteries.

Tell me stories of a love that

could be true if we existed-

Conjure stories.

Did we dissolve in some disjointed dream,

sought its lost content?

Did we dance to the syllables of an unweeded tune,

From unknown days and unknown towns?

Who would remember us?

For there were no others.

Could love remember?-

If we existed,

love would tell us.

I am new in my own skin

that gave way

under the suns visage-

It hovers there now; in

tangled viscosity

that lay bare to

pockets of flesh-

There,

I know not what; grows

under it.

Neath bashful atoms

where

i have been made up-

Matter ridden.

Why do I crave immortality

At the oddest moments

of nothing-

There hovers the now

in unknown forms,

Strung up with

Unmeant cadence;

All things hewned and left

Empty of insecure shapes;

Long for a hide-and-go-seek

pace

Fastened to patience.

While I abuse my time.

I saw the stars steal the shadows

Of forthcoming earth and

Anoint the gods

To heaven's bosom.



I saw the darkness sever the lights

Of sheltered earth and

Scatter the fleeting gods

To the sky's edge.



I saw torrents impale

The immaculate earth and

Parody the yielding gods

To their structured dome.



I saw the songlights caress

the sights on maculate earth and

Shelter the gods

For their prayers.

Stories portray a hero with the

epitome of glory;

Hero that had slain the dragon,

and with it

consumed the fire through his mouth-

They say,

his armor would shine upon the grassland,

and fall shadow to the Earth.

Blanket it like a child

he would raise in his arms,

press to his chest.



His eyes were steady and fluid like

salt-water streams,

lips that spoke of magic

Weaved with them tales of long battles-

They say he feared no one

for the mighty swing of sword would hush them;

and they would lay still with trance-



But,

one weakness be fell him,

this hero-

His eyes would warm

and his sword would be that of ash.

For a simple maiden

could steal his pride and wear his honor on

her finger.



There are no morals

when it comes

to love.

Sometime ago

my lips and tongue remembered the smell of lavender.

Quipped in the fields that lay off from the suns wondering,

half-opened eyes;

My fingers craved rough edges

of wheat stalks that danced in ritual winds;

and my feet would melt in the moss soil,

damped by mother earths womb-

She would caress me,

go through the ears and out the nostrils;

Fill my to the brim with fresh

cut scents...

Long ago,

and I still remember

her touch.

Magic moved once with plucking of strings,

made limbs fold in on one another;

Collided

with bars of light

the blinds conceived.

Patches,

black

grey.

Fused with the milky white ivory.

It's a jacket of sorts.

Once dance with the shades ripped wide...

Everyone decided they'd window shop that day.

Have you misplaced words so simply?

Put them up for safe keeping,

and forgotten where the lock and key lay...

Perhaps under the cupboard?

In the cabinets that crease with maple decay,

an old friends face etched with gentle ware.

Your hand prints stain the surface

where you've searched for your words-

Come;

No they do not-

Hidden flaxive neath dusty boards

where shoes have scuffed the grain smooth.

You'll never find the answers,

to the riddles of a curious sparrow-



For a Raven is like a writing desk

because

of it's inky quills.

There's in intruder under my skin,

when I push it down it crunches

between my finger and thumb.

Glissade down small tubes of tedious

functions-

It does it's dance with arms unfolded,

a mantra of the gods ventriloquize;

It dares not give name nor purpose

with it's simplistic tales.



A silk worm weaving cobwebs that glisten

in my head.

When I push it down in crunches between my finger and thumb-

Serenades my ear drums with Shiva's destruction

and Buddhas enlightenment.

Inches

crawls a path in muscle,

nourishes itself on tactless images of memory.



The pours of calm make me breath in the sounds

of it's Garden;

Invites me to stay

while my body soaks in the rivers water.

This intrusion

parasite.

Paralyses the knot set deep in my ribs,

cuts the strings.

Strokes the tip

the

nerves.



It crunches between my finger and thumb,

an releases me.