Submissions by DystopianMelody
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
Poet Introduction
Pretty new to this, I like playing around with different styles etc but I usually come off as either disturbed, or as if I'm trying to choke you on a dictionary. I like my stuff to flow right
They just won't learn
The pain of nightly deaths
has left my eyes bruised shut
afraid to look in case they can't see the way back
to school bells being the flight of wanderlust feet
who's hunger has grown alongside the shadows behind sleeping doors
every old friend asks too much in the end
coffins yawn and speak of weariness
and time has grown tired of slowing steps
every morning
sometime between cold kiss of the sun
and the smacked lips of a worn watches face
I see a grimace on a face like mine
every face turns bitter by the end
and I don't...
has left my eyes bruised shut
afraid to look in case they can't see the way back
to school bells being the flight of wanderlust feet
who's hunger has grown alongside the shadows behind sleeping doors
every old friend asks too much in the end
coffins yawn and speak of weariness
and time has grown tired of slowing steps
every morning
sometime between cold kiss of the sun
and the smacked lips of a worn watches face
I see a grimace on a face like mine
every face turns bitter by the end
and I don't...
60 reads
2 Comments
Where the clouds are made of fairer shades (Our house, in the middle of the sky)
There are floating streets whose inhabitants are dark
like the nature of the sky we won't call home
call a nugget of truth a turd
but never call a holding pen a home
that should be more than cattle prods behind tampered locks
I've heard it's a place where doors open easily
even without stolen backwards glances
and the stringy clouds of stretched horizons never snap
like cheap laces between meaty hands
we'll pull at the ties that bind us
until something gives
masticated morality or illicit ingenuity
pens in storied heights...
like the nature of the sky we won't call home
call a nugget of truth a turd
but never call a holding pen a home
that should be more than cattle prods behind tampered locks
I've heard it's a place where doors open easily
even without stolen backwards glances
and the stringy clouds of stretched horizons never snap
like cheap laces between meaty hands
we'll pull at the ties that bind us
until something gives
masticated morality or illicit ingenuity
pens in storied heights...
69 reads
1 Comment
C'est la vie (How could I be anything but a song?)
There was a girl who would perch at the end of my bed
like it was a bench in New Orleans
complete with a brass band
and a red dress that moved against the breeze
the cracked paint on the tip of her crossed leg bobbed
as she sang songs of me
written with the softest insults I've ever heard
hiding between every wayward key
I've never known what she saw
with the eye that hid behind her hair
or if anyone has seen it since
she set sail from this island
long heartaches ago
but sometimes
a bottle will wash ashore that...
like it was a bench in New Orleans
complete with a brass band
and a red dress that moved against the breeze
the cracked paint on the tip of her crossed leg bobbed
as she sang songs of me
written with the softest insults I've ever heard
hiding between every wayward key
I've never known what she saw
with the eye that hid behind her hair
or if anyone has seen it since
she set sail from this island
long heartaches ago
but sometimes
a bottle will wash ashore that...
76 reads
7 Comments
What if I'm alone? (And I like it)
I lost control
again
and again
and again
I keep letting it get away
probably because
it feels so fucking good
letting my hands run free
and my fingers gouge
into the sockets they long for
until all that's left is the ringing sound of whimpers
I'm afraid
of the day my sighs will turn to euthanasia
the doorway that warps
under the weight of my guilt will cave
the kitchen floor won't even reassure my knees anymore
when I think of the day
when there's no one there to close the door
I'm afraid ...
again
and again
and again
I keep letting it get away
probably because
it feels so fucking good
letting my hands run free
and my fingers gouge
into the sockets they long for
until all that's left is the ringing sound of whimpers
I'm afraid
of the day my sighs will turn to euthanasia
the doorway that warps
under the weight of my guilt will cave
the kitchen floor won't even reassure my knees anymore
when I think of the day
when there's no one there to close the door
I'm afraid ...
91 reads
2 Comments
Why write if inks eternal?
Crucified calendars hang from the walls
dying a day at a time
left their feet swinging
so pale and listless
in case one day when I'm walking by
eyes open from inside the places where lines meet
to see in the prodigal days return
when I measured the time by my own light
and dreamt of second string suns
instead of the martyrs second risings
to bring with them the meanings of ink spilled
now in the blinks between christ's marks
I scratch at the words of my dying days
and hope for once that the ink fades
dying a day at a time
left their feet swinging
so pale and listless
in case one day when I'm walking by
eyes open from inside the places where lines meet
to see in the prodigal days return
when I measured the time by my own light
and dreamt of second string suns
instead of the martyrs second risings
to bring with them the meanings of ink spilled
now in the blinks between christ's marks
I scratch at the words of my dying days
and hope for once that the ink fades
95 reads
4 Comments
How many lives do dogs get?
A spider fell in my coffee
I let it drown for old times sake and thought
that the space between the thieves
feels like the one between the drip and twitching fingertip
don't trust no one but yourself no more
and keep one eye on that guy too
his eyes don't look like they did
he sees slow tweaks in every smile
the playmates all left their games behind
but who remembers winning?
what use is looking back
when the blood in every brother
has already poured away
I let it drown for old times sake and thought
that the space between the thieves
feels like the one between the drip and twitching fingertip
don't trust no one but yourself no more
and keep one eye on that guy too
his eyes don't look like they did
he sees slow tweaks in every smile
the playmates all left their games behind
but who remembers winning?
what use is looking back
when the blood in every brother
has already poured away
65 reads
6 Comments
Cracks in sandy footprints (I wish I could)
Dance, clumsy feet of mine
to the music of your own making
the lights are off and their all gone
so skip through piano smiles
tiptoe along the keys
listening for every missed step
that sounds of heavy curtains
with drawn smiles peering through the cracks
trip on every string that comes before blood
let your eyes fall
and hit every note before they land
play like you forgot you can't
because nobodies here again
and she feels empty
because the beat of my wrist is a lonely sound
play something
apart from...
to the music of your own making
the lights are off and their all gone
so skip through piano smiles
tiptoe along the keys
listening for every missed step
that sounds of heavy curtains
with drawn smiles peering through the cracks
trip on every string that comes before blood
let your eyes fall
and hit every note before they land
play like you forgot you can't
because nobodies here again
and she feels empty
because the beat of my wrist is a lonely sound
play something
apart from...
66 reads
8 Comments
Try and smile (when she says I do)
Blood runs too fast for vice a while
and the lying feet of fallen idols
swing heavy with indecision inside my chest
impatient to score the newest marks between my ribs
blink
before the cracks meet up and you fall apart
again
because blurred eyes see twice as much
the beaten hearts of martyrs
who don't profess a cause
have no place in any heaven
that costs anything less than a rosary garrote
and the lying feet of fallen idols
swing heavy with indecision inside my chest
impatient to score the newest marks between my ribs
blink
before the cracks meet up and you fall apart
again
because blurred eyes see twice as much
the beaten hearts of martyrs
who don't profess a cause
have no place in any heaven
that costs anything less than a rosary garrote
58 reads
9 Comments
They've come true
The memories burned away
were ones who's reminiscent touch
fondled my mind the gentlest
years spent yearning
lessons bitter in their learning
left laying in the dregs of lidded eyes
clutching at the feet of euphoric highs
nightmares
of shining lights who's embrace
is the touch of sun warmed stone
drifting
pulled under by hungry hands
from beneath the tired blue
I saw it all
but I'm awake
were ones who's reminiscent touch
fondled my mind the gentlest
years spent yearning
lessons bitter in their learning
left laying in the dregs of lidded eyes
clutching at the feet of euphoric highs
nightmares
of shining lights who's embrace
is the touch of sun warmed stone
drifting
pulled under by hungry hands
from beneath the tired blue
I saw it all
but I'm awake
73 reads
8 Comments
Pale ghosts and vivid dreams
Whilst sitting in darkened rooms
where smoke and hopes flow in wispy whirls
around an endless tundra of wish less words
that suck the sound from roaring ears
and pare away the life from breathing
that's where these words were written
an age of ugly, gasp till it hurts too much to blink away
from where poetry was made
the poetry that pried apart my chest with dark clawed fingers
at the booth where I confess my hurts to the humble bricks Bukowski and Plath turned to temple meat
that's the place I want to stake my soul
chain it to...
where smoke and hopes flow in wispy whirls
around an endless tundra of wish less words
that suck the sound from roaring ears
and pare away the life from breathing
that's where these words were written
an age of ugly, gasp till it hurts too much to blink away
from where poetry was made
the poetry that pried apart my chest with dark clawed fingers
at the booth where I confess my hurts to the humble bricks Bukowski and Plath turned to temple meat
that's the place I want to stake my soul
chain it to...
#WritingPoetry
105 reads
7 Comments
For today
I lived in a place where seagulls screamed the day away
and one where headlights turned to monsters
neither was a place to stay
but the road between the two
that felt just right
like that was where forever lived
now hidden behind every fireside
is a fast car rumbling underneath the beating rain
with teasing windows fogging every question
about which castle was looking for a king
even though I finally figured out
that thrones don't stop the keep from crumbling
the fires still make for twitchy feet
that long to match the steps...
and one where headlights turned to monsters
neither was a place to stay
but the road between the two
that felt just right
like that was where forever lived
now hidden behind every fireside
is a fast car rumbling underneath the beating rain
with teasing windows fogging every question
about which castle was looking for a king
even though I finally figured out
that thrones don't stop the keep from crumbling
the fires still make for twitchy feet
that long to match the steps...
81 reads
8 Comments
Generosity is dead
Hands are held in pockets
to brush the shade from hidden treasures
or to stop the light of day from plugging the holes
black hearted pupils of hungry eyes see both
and blink to shake away the twinkled mist
of lessons close to never forgotten
luck always liked the sour side of stuff
why would today be any different?
just walk towards the future
try not to think too much
about mister Silverspoon
and why he strolled by an age too late
to leave a few gifts
and walk away with all his hard won humble
to brush the shade from hidden treasures
or to stop the light of day from plugging the holes
black hearted pupils of hungry eyes see both
and blink to shake away the twinkled mist
of lessons close to never forgotten
luck always liked the sour side of stuff
why would today be any different?
just walk towards the future
try not to think too much
about mister Silverspoon
and why he strolled by an age too late
to leave a few gifts
and walk away with all his hard won humble
62 reads
3 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by DystopianMelody