Best. Thing. Ever.
I die. Every. Single. Time.
as sand we flow
from the clay
of a desert
baked to glass
The electronics are overwhelming.
The constant hum of radioactive signals
reaching corners of the world unrevealed,
attached like another limb, sticking devices
in our ears to only hear all the more better.
They consume our attention, tuning out
the rest of the world as it sweeps along
unforgiving shadows, distancing and
detaching from those closest to us
and moving our love to those farthest
from us. We live behind screens and
keyboards, entranced by the rich
and the famous, and the next headline.
We forget there’s a sun and moon
and fresh air. How is the aftertaste
of a life lived by technology?
bolded line given by: jdsundeavors
the deep rooted weed
of doubt and fear and
the fresh breath of
happiness and the
sprouting of new love.
that the warmth of the sun
stays just as long as the
cold of winter air,
and to survive in the seasons,
your heart must
prepare for the worst,
and hold on to each
breath of hope.
Let me stand on your shoulders
Allow me to caress the stars
While staying grounded
Tethered to wherever you are
it has been proven
beyond a shadow
of a doubt that
cannot destroy the
my rage, however, could put
the M theory to
the test, loosing
the matrix of
is standing and
down is up
In a matter of minutes, the front door will swing open and Mania will invite herself into the disheveled mess I call my home. Mania will step right on in and grin that heartless smile of hers before resuming the destructive procedure that had been set into motion weeks earlier. With merciless fervor, she will tear the fragile seams within the inner workings of my mind and heart. She will chip away at the brittle glass walls that shelter the only remaining sense of peace left inside of me and extinguish any lingering sense of hope. She will break in, leaving me in a state of disarray as I helplessly scurry to retrieve the shattered and fading remnants of my foundation - telltale of her victory. These remnants will tarnish into mere recollections, into intangible shards that pierce through my soul and leave me gasping, leave me on my knees pleading for any show of clemency. My efforts will prove futile; my own creations will betray me.
In a matter of minutes, mayhem will sweep through my silenced asylum in one swift motion and I will be left with nothing but uncertain possibilities; I will be left with nothing but blinding darkness. Mayhem will tear me down, but as hastily as it had arrived, it will depart.
But it doesn’t end here - it never does.
In the time it takes me to get back up on my feet, she will return.
She will return.
Misery strums the chords of her Gibson guitar with nicotine stained fingers. The sounds of the chords echo across the concert hall bringing upon listening ears a sound that drowns out their own miserable thoughts. Misery licks her dry lips as she stares out at the crowd. She sees so many eyes full of hurt looking back at her. Wounded lost souls that are looking for a path of escape. Misery’s music can provide that for them. Even if it’s only for a couple of hours, their misery can be soaked up and thrown away by the sound of her music.
To the audience Misery looks like a fallen angel. Alone and beautiful in her sorrow. The stage lights wrap her body in a gold glow and with her black hair and gown she looks like a dark angel to come save them. Her tattoos stand out against her pale skin. To one her tatts may be random inking but to her they tell the story of her life. Each pain prick of the needle were her tears and each sting she felt was the slap of fate’s hand upon her face. A story of woe is told on her skin for all to see, but to most they are just markings, they will never understand.
Misery opens her mouth and lets her vocals fly. Her voice comes out edgy and raw. Lyrics that come from her heart pour into the souls of those before her. They weave together back and forth to the music being played by Misery’s hands.
For tonight Misery has pushed upon her own pain to those that want to feel alive. To those that don’t want to feel alone. Misery loves her company and they in turn love her.
I saw your eyes drop below my chin
and travel down my glowing skin
to the curves that make me woman,
and your unspoken words stabbed me
as judgments falls against my hips.
I cannot pretend to adore the taste
of tea and crumpets when the bitterness
of your thoughts rest upon my tongue.
Darling, I am a strumpet, beautifully
and unashamed to join the ranks
of thousands of women before me
with wide hips and curvy breasts
who stride with confidence
and cut the hems a few inches shorter
to reveal the truth of our bodies.