Time to get weird with it
What shall it be
Feeling mad science-fictional
Brain chemistry
An augmented demented
Unreality
All returning to nothing
Beyond what you see
A subliminal criminal
Mind-bending glee
In a blissful euphoria
Self killing spree
I have delved into heights
Of the darkest of lights
I have dwelled in the caverns
Of luminous nights
Felt the crushing despondent
Cold grip of despair
Immolate me in radiant
Dreamy nightmare
With the energy surging
Renewal of breath
In each step
I have tread upon Death
And in absolute loneliness
Beckoned the fates
To come alter my ego’s
Worst character traits
And assumed a new role
More befitting your eyes
As this tomb made of words
My Immortal goodbyes
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His Haibun
He does not like poetry; I write it anyway and do not tell him. It's true his face is not a poet's face. It is round and open, youthful; too apt to be compared to the sun. His nose is neat. It is impossible to imagine him smoking a cigarette, terse, full of cheekbones and tension. His warmth burns my fingertips. I am here for his fascinating body, the haphazard freckles I touch one by one; he is here for my eyes, just my eyes. A sunbeam sneaks through the curtains and pierces us both, sizzling the spices of his skin. I inhale and wrap myself in him. He kisses my eyes.
By TheSpinstress5 days ago in Poets
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