Steps Of September

The month in which
beauty subtly resides.

In drunken nights,
newfound intimacy,
and recovered love.
Such years prior provided countless means of experience,
Provided it to be, a month
to Love.

 

*

the muttering calls an end
to the ballads and the sideway tens
nights filled with hopes and squandered dreams
life’s ruined by missed opportunities, and misappropriated leans
This mutter turns towards different sights,
different goals,
towards labouring night’s
and wanderers tales, dangling lost souls.

For I no longer feel this, text empty with passion, except I do question how
every waking hour rings me out, to a dryness resembling scorched soil,
every sleepless night a torturous temptation into ditching the world order,
abundance of escapes thwarted by the bitter burn of ethanol and cigarette oil
the girl tells me touching tales about the men who cause trauma to her.

My nose feels heighted to the burn,
A burn I no longer smell in her presence.
The thought of such a girl, oh how I fucking yearn
to simply affect, or play a part in what fills her essence.

 

She overshadows all

with her cathartic screeching,

and crooked smile; knots my gut into a ball.
*

It fades, and it recedes
The heart of a romantic
And whom it deems.
I may constantly be in love,
But always without it,
Surrounded by an abundance of mules—
Oh so besotted.
If my eyes could leave trails,
It would be
for the distant dreams
of love
and glee that lie within fantasy.
Pucker up asshole, chug another down the hatch;
all those girls you’ve been with, boy aren’t they a catch.
Oh so subtly, I yearn
to pick up the hussies and dive deeper than moans,
to itch at an impulse that resides deeper than an influence from kin-
They toil,
with your heart
cripple it,
toss it to the dogs,
Leave you with your teeth digging into soil.
and with each passing day you mutter, when shall the next come to moan
and scratch at your heart, leaving only grooves of scars.

 

 

*

A cascading glimpse
Is all I wish for
In the nights renounced of winks.
Abstained of chills, and butterflies called on by
words.
Is my heart forsaken,
designed for this?

 

 

 

*

We all think we’re above it.
Experiencing what all experience.
Drinking what the rest consume.
We all think we’re better.
Simply step away, and you’ll realise.
You’re a fucking mess
Just a member
Just like the rest.

 

*

The absentee, and flash of red, sends the end of my month
painful wishes.
Wishes for more,
wishes for others.
Subtle constants, tipping over the edge,
simply by those who do not embrace the drunk.
Sing him along, pass him another, give him a smoke, slap his ass and call him the mule,
but never
allow his idiocy to become a mockery.

 

 

*

Red
daunting,
evoking of the heart.
A dance of words,
covering hopes of intentions that lie
further behind those bellowing eyes.
Perhaps its purposeful,
the pain.
Inconceivable pain, hollowing of the gut, and below of the heart.
Perhaps I just wish to fall delicately into those hands,
logic and chance deceives my heart, faith wavers.
Faith is fleeting topic of my sense,
a blinding distinguisher between those who are born romantic
and those who simply ordain.
And those surrounding my shroud of boozing smiles, and smoky grins,
function in the sense of commonness.
And only when they feel as I do daily, they weep,
but the only tears I shed are that of a bottle,
so poignantly wedged between my lips.

 

 

 

 

*

When your eyes shift the way they do,
I am captured.
By your gaze, empty of emotion,
the damnation of unrequited,
but your eyes speak wonders.
I don’t believe in your lies,
for women of your likes are never untouched,
and with you comes an air of innocence, purified by insecurity,
yet wrecked by the words you speak, and the looks you serve.
Will your swell meet mine?
at the time we spend, stuck with each others company at quarter to 2,
or perhaps when I am tipped by those who have left my heart like brail,
When liquor takes me to your home (and begs me to call for your lips).
For this state, we partake and endorse, leaves me questioning,
Questioning of your heart, of your smile and what lies.
It’s all bullshit honey,
the title of friendship when one can tune another’s soul.
I’ll be damned by unrequited gifts if I allow it.

 

 

*

I wallow
Drowned by indulgence
Overseen by dwarves;
Tortured by temptresses;
Displaced
by
Heart.
Ready your senses,
Parry your ear.
Hold your tongue my darlings
enter a sanctum where death
draws near. Stop the quiver of lip.

At half my lifetime, my heart shall
swell to a close,
A throbbing stop
Aching blow
of smoke and other means.
Ghouls souled with red hair, and beaming eyes
touch my mind
a blissful sorrow.
And the boys,
they frolic along
with their pills and other means of discharge.
And The men they smile down,
filling my deemed eyes with pity and luck.

Pen is standstill.
edging towards
the blank.
You cannot edit a blank page,
the fuckers moan out;
blank sure is a fair expression.
I.Fucking.Wallow,
unprepared by fate and for a heart
of dumb dreams, filled with incompetency.
A lens of blue calls out to you, allowing my,
somewhat of a petty expression to shine through.

The drink will come.
It shall call the bill due.
And smoke will follow,
Cause why the fuck not right?

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Brail of romance

 

It fades, and it recedes
The heart of a romantic
And whom it deems.
I may constantly be in love,
But always without it,
Surrounded by an abundance of mules—
Oh so besotted.
If my eyes could leave trails,
It would be
for the distant dreams
of love
and glee that lie within fantasy.
Pucker up asshole, chug another down the hatch;
all those girls you’ve been with, boy aren’t they a catch.
Oh so subtly, I yearn
to pick up the hussies and dive deeper than moans,
to itch at an impulse that resides deeper than an influence from kin-
They toil,
with your heart
cripple it,
toss it to the dogs,
Leave you with your teeth digging into soil.
and with each passing day you mutter, when shall the next come to moan
and scratch at your heart, leaving only grooves of scars.

daunt me

Red
daunting,
evoking of the heart.

A dance of words,
covering hopes of intentions that lie
further behind those bellowing eyes.

Perhaps its purposeful,
the pain.
Inconceivable pain, hollowing of the gut, and below of the heart.
Perhaps I just wish to fall delicately into those hands,
logic and chance deceives my heart, faith wavers.
Faith is fleeting topic of my sense,
a blinding distinguisher between those who are born romantic
and those who simply ordain.
And those surrounding my shroud of boozing smiles, and smoky grins,
function in the sense of commonness.
And only when they feel this comical ache, they weep,
but the only tears I shed are that of a bottle,
so poignantly wedged between my lips.

the muttering calls

the muttering calls an end

to the ballads and the sideways tens

nights filled with hopes and squandered dreams

life’s ruined by missed opportunities, and misappropriated leans

This mutter turns towards different sights,

different goals,

towards labouring night’s

and wanderers tales, dangling lost souls.

 

I’m not really feeling this, text empty with passion, except I do question how

every waking hour rings me out, to a dryness resembling scorched soil,
every sleepless night a torturous temptation into ditching the world order,
abundance of escapes thwarted by the bitter burn of ethanol and cigarette oil
the girl tells me touching tales about the men who cause trauma to her.

My nose feels heighted to the burn,

A burn I no longer smell in her presence.

The thought of such a girl, oh how I fucking yearn

to simply affect, or play a part in what fills her essence.

She overshadows all
with her cathartic screeching,
and crooked smile; knots my gut into a ball.

In the heart, In the gut

I don’t know if I can hold in much longer

What?

I have to look away, her eyes sting my own.

I don’t know how much longer I can be around you

She winces in the air, without motion. Her lips draw to a close and she ponders as to what I mean with the words I mutter, that strike her with pain.

Every time I’m with you, it hurts.

I know that now, I must layer it on. Pour salt to the wounds.

Every time I see you smile I feel sickly, green and withered. You just really fuck me up.

Her gaze is stuck, wondering in the distance, her face is stricken with a meaningless stare and her mind is so poignantly feverish. I feel like a pissant, watching her in the corner of my eye, as her own begin to shine.

So, I don’t know how much longer I can take this. Being around you, not saying these things. Just sitting here like everything is okay.

I see her hand climb up her thigh, it’s like a flash in darkness at her state of seldom movement.

Just go then.

I don’t think I can do that either.

Then we’re fucking stuck here aren’t we.

Her eyelashes finally droop, filled with the dew of sorrow. And my heart lurches to my throat. I have done enough.

You know I’m sorry.

She returns to her prior state, with a stable infrequency of breaths. Her chest bellows with each blow, of air and of speak. Her heartbeat is too high and heavy, with each stride of her neck I feel my own heart sway. I am sickly. In the heart, and in the gut.

Loving is a curse.

That statement catches her mind. I watch her lip quiver, as she releases her pursed lips. And again my heart sways, this time with an increasing push, a surge.

I’m sorry. That I cant stop being in love with you. It’s out of my control.

Her back relaxes, and her fingers no longer clench at her skin, but her face still holds her meaningless stare into the dark. With her lips released I can no longer withhold, what has been tearing me out from within and under my heart. Her face, and all about her is a gorgeous gleam. But her lips taste so sweet, and her hands on my chest so soft and clean.

The imminent timing of the broken heart

Tick. Tick. Tick.

These moments feel numbing
With each passing breath and bellowing sigh,
A drink in each hand is the only way my heart will understand,
the most treacherous lie of love.

 

Endearing lips, and pictures of thighs, call us towards a crime.
And the liquor calls a static mind and an increasing rush, just jump dear boy, just leap.
Perhaps you’ll fall,
scattered by the loss of love;
With a strong beating heart your mind will say to hell with it all.

 

Your heart may soar, after the calm of it all, oh how it would fly.
Time, time, time, is what takes your mind into the storm.
For this is the love of lost, a regret in not having;
the most incessant of loving
the ache dismembered by time.

The Colluded Soul

The colluded soul is tempted no more

by the fiends that so feverously haunt his whole.

For this ballad ends just shy of ten,

but chaos must beg for more.

A friend for a day, a man would say, is all they are good for,

any more than that, would delude the soul and that man would pay a toll.

Pucker up my darlings, shed your tears no more,

as subtle winks will pick you up and make you a whore.

And the bastards sing, above the men left in the ring, retching up a storm.

 

So now I ask, for you to imagine yourself, so lost yet cheeks feeling warm,

as the smile spreads to your skin whilst tears drop near your chin,

the giggle will sink into a swarm.

 

A Lover’s Grudge

I’m sending letters to you, with these distant signs delivered by my eyes,
I’m sending letters to you, with these words passing through my lips.
I’m sending letters to you, with these turns of my head as a simple disguise,
And I swear I can’t stop my eyes from staring at your hips.

I’m sending letters to you, by crying out in pain when your gaze leaves my expanse
I’m sending letters to you, by catching your eyes when they stare at mine.
I’m sending letters to you, by monitoring the explicit changes in your stance,
And I swear I could just kiss your lips when they shine.

I’m sending letters to you, for as we leave I do not stray from your side, and
I’m sending letters to you, for all I do is smile when I catch you blushing.
I’m sending letters to you, for when you laughed I felt our hearts coincide,
But in the end you send me nothing.

 

In the end, we leave each other’s wake
In the end, we leave behind the drinks, and the place where stories met.
In the end, we leave the place where we could allow our hearts to break,
and all I wish is for you to agree to what our hearts have mutually set.

In the end, our laughs no longer grace each others ears,
In the end, our hands can no longer touch.
In the end, our minds cannot speak out to one another about our fears,
and for that we will always hold a lovers grudge.

In the end, love is thing that all of this means more,
In the end, love is debunked by simplistic resistance.
In the end, love is what leaves to the aching feeling of remorse,
But we merely chase romantic omniscience.

 

untitled

And we don’t have a car

So the journey seems miles long

And we don’t have a coat

So all forms of warmth must come from our lips.

But honey if you’re patient

The city isn’t far.

Your tongue tastes of berry’s, and my tongue so

ravenously desires such texture.

There we kneel, a coital dwarf in the night
and scare off all the wander into sight.
the neon violence that settles in my blood
idly waits for you to set off a flood.

For my tongue is my messenger and you must receive
this tale prewritten for your lips.
For in my mind I must refrain, the situations I believe
that could so simply lead to me being captured by your hips.

But now we depart, such ailments for emotions conjured in need,

we simply walk the rest of a mile to get a feed.

I so filled with terror, barely acknowledge the importance of what I won.

A simple act of gratification is not annulled, and I find

myself haunted by an eerie air of undone.

 

The pit

 

Where did it go? This inconceivable pain of mine.
The wretched twisting of my gut, whilst my heart pounds in thuds.
I thought it could not leave, that it would remain ringing out my organs thin,
breaking my thoughts into daydream skids. Where would it have gone?
This pain so relevant to the times. The ache of the heart was meant
be infinite.
So why oh darling, do I feel at a loss?
As if ache of loving was always better than not.
For now it is gone, all the pain that came with sun sway;
The aching cavern of my heart seems to be edging away.

Pity me so, anguished and numb.
But allow me once more to feel eyes that gaze over me dumb.
I guess that the deepest passions we miss,
are the ones that sting after bliss.
The passionate ache of the heart that we speak,
and the pain that comes with love I would take any day over the feeling of mere bleak.