Belly Deep

like a drop from my skin
you will taste what I see
wrapped around what is mine
for all eternity

hopes are high
possibilities linger within
and the harder the fall
without tough layers of skin

never knew what I know
and believe me, if I did
would have swallowed it whole
to avoid all of my sins

I’m wounded, bring the gun
no time left, the day is done
your ego, your wasted life
a fixed blade hunting knife

take your shot, it’s the end
don’t go bragging to your friend
It’s all over, bring the gun
no time left, the day is done

let’s be young
for our time is precious
it constructs our body
with preconceived missions

let’s be young
while our bodies age
from fire and water
our spirits will wander

untamed

It’s morning time
darkness is still holding on to the sky
I can hear the cars passing by,
holding on to your skin, stretching mine
like an oyster revealing a secret
my one little pearl, I give away

they tell you to forever doubt it
they tell you life is lost without it
well, tell me what you want and i will
see what i can do about it
 
these foggy, twisted, achy strains
are running rapid through my veins
until the day you’re through with me
you don’t know what you do to me

As pain is to nerves
        is the sensation of life.
Black and blue wrestled
        to its tender submission.

As nerves is to boldness
        is the sensation of courage.
Mind and spirit struggled
        to its continued existence.

liv3lif3r3gr3tnothing asked: how do you come up with these poems? is it through personal expierence, or something else?

Most of my poems and prose are from personal experiences and/or feelings that I have. I throw in some fiction once in awhile. :)

Wrote this when I was a teenager (ha ha):

You were my favorite secret,
I followed you around like you were dead
with good intentions on your mind
and my faith balancing on your head.
So much time faded into nothing,
something that made my bones ache.
Misery threw me onto the floor
and gave me a handfull of pills to take.

I am now my own secret,
vanished in between the walls of my cell
with paintings of red hostility
and the struggles of heaven & hell.
So much of me has faded into nothing,
the walls are closing in on me fast.
I’m so tired…God, I need something else,
this bottle I have…will never last.

pilgrimsoulinme:

I fear how many
of our inside jokes 
will one day pin me
against the wall.

A bowl of tangerines
today will tomorrow
grow into hooked nails
rusting from my tears.