Fast Blood - A Collection.
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SicTransitGloria Bleeding on the Floor Age: 32 Gender: Female Posts: 1150 | Contents. Ta-da. I Am Parallax and Waiting For Sunday Morning The Excuse, The Creation and The End Dizzy Blue A Lifetime Slowly Half Nelson The Gas Station |
SicTransitGloria Bleeding on the Floor Age: 32 Gender: Female Posts: 1150 | I Am Parallax. I am Parallax. I incline a landscape limb into the heavens, to scuff fingerpad hills against The darker side of noon. Your wits do not perceive the mountain's Motions, nor the scintillating flutter of eyelashes On a soft dawn. ({I wander}) I circle, illusory, on the wisps that lacerate their winding way Across your flagged cheek. I leave cruel, burnished streaks where a Kiss should have been nurtured on your skin --- Perfidious. Roll me around in your mouth, baby. Tastebud tender, oh, savour The agony! Suckle this misery. Swallow me, sweetheart. I am Parallax. Waiting For. This betrayal bites the skin; fragility Of culpable, fibreglass splinters and the lusts Implanted. The chill seeps through from lonely steel, caresses my spine. And these Wayward, liquid patters on the corrugate tease Of your footsteps. We are (simply) bullets ((to be frank with you, to be blunt-)) Swerving in the aimless eddies of A galaxy, of no known names, endlessly Searching for what could once have been called a >Target.< You have found your resting place between my ribs, And I shall not cry. I shall not cry. |
SicTransitGloria Bleeding on the Floor Age: 32 Gender: Female Posts: 1150 | Sunday Morning I clutched the stereo to my forehead Felt the thrum of you; Through the skin, To the soul. I held you to my lips and murmured The words that now cascaded, fluid as my bloodstream. A part of me. Words that were always there. Words your silver Tongue brought to the aching surface. I dropped my lids, and my breath <<reflected>> was your breath; Hot on my cheeks. Your voice shook me... I could never Be a melody like you can hum one, and yet You sang with me. Pity. Your fervour lifted me heavy, circling as My every contour tightened against you. Never wanted To let go. And for a second, if I imagined - Your face was only on the the other side of the plastic. __________________Stitched into my fingers and comfort, you said: __________________"I can see you awake, anytime, in my head." |
SicTransitGloria Bleeding on the Floor Age: 32 Gender: Female Posts: 1150 | The Excuse I want to write something Beautiful I want to write something beautiful Like that. I want to write something That will mean Something. I wanna write. So here it is. The Creation I do not believe in a God. Entering the human mind, I believe that It is good To do good, (if you, if you get my meaning) I will make other people happy For the sake of "said happiness"; By human standards, Of course. Looking through a human's two eyes, I believe that It is bad To cause harm, Since harm is seen as bad (whatever that means) By human standards? Of course. Theoretically? Hypothetically, yes; I believe that love is good For the soul Just as a glass of milk Is good for the bones. I believe that music holds meaning, Just as God holds no meaning For me. Theoretically? No - truthfully, now; I believe that human standards Are just that - human. Only, only human. And I do not believe in a God, Just as I do not feel human. I do not feel human. Not at all. The End Hope Is a cruel and condescending sort of word. Hope is the destruction of a soul; The water on a butterfly's wings [oh, oh so heavy]; The collapse of a Kingdom. Hope is the sliver of light That is painful in the midst of darkness. Slash. A sword through a ribcage. Despair, at least, is solid. Despair is real. Despair can be gripped, twisted, caressed, Coddled. Hope is just the flicker of a candle that All too soon will Snuff out Of its own accord - And leave you with less. |
SicTransitGloria Bleeding on the Floor Age: 32 Gender: Female Posts: 1150 | Dizzy Blue I can picture you now; Clear, clear like A green glass bottle (half full, bubble and fizz) All laid out and pretty on The sandbank. Waiting. Beside our swirling, giddy little river, Dizzy blue - Oh, as blue as your dress as your eyes As the sky is blue... Waiting. I sigh a note or two, tucking them Between my fingers For later - For when I’ve caught the perfect, playful breeze, (To tie ‘em up and) Send along To you. And as I wander Ever farther, dearest, Dearest. Know that I will whistle always; through the Cigarettes, over the stereo, and Under the influence Of you. |
SicTransitGloria Bleeding on the Floor Age: 32 Gender: Female Posts: 1150 | A Lifetime You came with the spring; Or rather, the spring came with you - in a silly And metaphorical sense that would probably only make you Smile. Smile. Smile for me. The clouds parted, all-a sudden like; wafting merrily, as sculpted herds In an azure meadow - following the steady, certain motion of Your lips, Parting against My lips, Uplifting. Stealing my breath from - A week and three days could so easily be counted As a lifetime, to you or For me; In which case, we two have had a long Lifetime together Already. So, why does nobody else at all appear to think so? You will always argue that Your eyes are the colour of sludge; Evading any hint of a Star, but I will never stop thinking of them as - Green, with the most beautiful brown in the middle. And as I, and as you, always insist: “I never lie.” Honestly. I think, it was the first of the light which Glanced off of your hair, Which caused me, Too, To glance. But I glanced upwards; Beyond our bubble, out into The unknown, And this was the moment. The moment when the clouds trailed out behind you, And the winning stream of Sunshine crossed the Finish line Into your Green, with the most beautiful brown in the middle eyes. And yes, I remember now. It was the spring that came with you. |
SicTransitGloria Bleeding on the Floor Age: 32 Gender: Female Posts: 1150 | As the title implies - I'd rather you sipped this poem than glugged it down in one go. Give it time to click into place. I also know that a normal sonnet is meant to have fourteen lines and a fixed rhyme scheme. However, this is not a normal sonnet. Slowly. Fourteen lines; one straight After another. A rhyme echoed in an empty space Before the next beginning - a Lover's touch of swirling nouns and adjectives. The dizzy ecstasy, the soft cadences Of flattery - the occasion of a pulse... And a few, far-flung metaphors Shedding light across the depths of your expression; The indents of your smile. Fourteen lines; one straight after another. None of which have yet come Even close, to imitating any sonnet - any love song Ever worthy of my beloved, beautiful you. |
SicTransitGloria Bleeding on the Floor Age: 32 Gender: Female Posts: 1150 | Half Nelson. My baby. Your pain is tangible; the wincing sting Of citrus, and cold, Cold sweat. It pricks and tricks my tongue, Peppered with apprehension - Atishoo. You throb and you itch with it, twitch with it. You sigh and you scrape and you Suck at such an unforgiving sky. You yearn the earnest thrum of vocal chords And the harsh, Rusty push of air from your lungs But your eyes say it all. Why? Why me? The temper drips Drips Down your spine in hot, Jostling shudders. Half nelson; your arms Twist up to greet them. Helplessness is born, baby bubble, in your throat, And dies between your teeth. The words would break you. Snap, snap, snap. Your legs are underneath you. Don't look down. I spread my wings, and Before you know it - I may be small, but By God, My soul is strong. I stretch and scratch along the length of you; I clamber over, Under you. No peepholes, no seams. Just endless, indomitable Me, and The soft, certain swirls of hurt Swelling up from you and into, into myself. My baby. I may be small, but By God, My soul is strong. I can take your pain. Every last damned drop. I will lie for passing time and time again To drink from your source. I will drain you. I will quench the fountain - I will quench the fountain, no matter How bitter The taste. |
SicTransitGloria Bleeding on the Floor Age: 32 Gender: Female Posts: 1150 | The Gas Station The sunbeams came tumblin' and fumblin' down The windscreen on that Saturday morning; All excited, Like they couldn't wait to hit the ground Running. I watched my baby in the rearview mirror - watched him Hunched beside the boot, leaning his old cowboy Hat to the back of his head. Saw the flick Of his little finger against his thumb That always meant he was On an edge o' his. I never could figure out just why he did that. He caught my stammerin' glance, and for A moment, I thought he wasn't gonna wink. But he did. Like he always did. Like nothin' at all had changed... I stared straight, Stiff ahead after that. How could I look at him, With his finger twitchin' an' his Old black hat a-quivering? So instead, I looked at the roadside, and the Rows of tanks all filled up with Gas, and the bobbing heads of cutomers In the shop. It all looked so grey. So bleak. Apart from the sunbeams. There was a sign snuggled up just outside The door; Like it was ashamed of itself, and tryin' To hide behind somethin'. Cans of beer half price when you buy 5 litres of gas. An advertisement. So many o' them damn things Around these days you wouldn't Pick a flower if you saw one - I shook my head, Letting the curls bounce in dismay. I wound down my wind-whipped window and leaned Out, far out, so that I might just catch A splash of hope in that Saturday morning sky. My baby coughed, quiet as he could fit into his fist. I glared up at God. You ain't got no hope, I told him, You're just another advertisement. Just another damned advert. An' the big, blue universe shifted its eyes an' back, Just once, As if to say, Who me? Yeah, you. You all prettied up an' sparkled for my baby, An' now you're takin' him away. Maybe for forever. He was payin' at the counter with them grubby, Gentle fingertips o' his. I did not watch as he tipped his hat an' winked. As he jogged his lonely way back Across the tarmac. I did not watch. Well. At least not with my eyes. His gloves were stickin' outta his jeans pocket; Back right, As always - As he bowed into the car, an' reached over to touch my leg - But not my leg. The gearshift. The engine an' him coughed together like old pals as we set out On that dusty, nowhere journey Road. My baby, The astronaut. |
SicTransitGloria Bleeding on the Floor Age: 32 Gender: Female Posts: 1150 | The Musician. "I'm a banker", he would say, "But playing is my passion." They met coincidentally, quite innocently In the heart of fashionable London, Where she asked him for some music And he, like the gentleman he was, Obliged. He played her quite handsomely, More like a harp or a violin Than a grand piano. Promising notes, alluring, wistful things Like silver, He drew from her willingly. She was yielding. She brimmed with his Majestic melodies, glowing with the very savour Of his nature, Drenched in his triumphant string symphonies, In bright white hours of the night-time As he lay beside her. He was moving, Compelling, A catchy chorus, forever playing and re-playing All throughout her. Until one day, all fell silent. The phone, silent, in the hallway. The doorbell ceased to sing. He was simply gone, and she, once so fine an instrument, Was silent. For he had played her, And now went dancing on his way, Feet tap-tapping to his own rhythm. And his taps became echoes, echoes Became whispers, and the whispers Turned to ghostly, half-imagined things, Things that dwindles into nothing at all. |
SicTransitGloria Bleeding on the Floor Age: 32 Gender: Female Posts: 1150 | Silverbirch. This night the moon sails upwards into space, upwards inch by inch Casting down on silverbirch trees Silver on silver, Drenched and aglow and alive With the thriving night Rays like purity, white-fletched arrows glancing off Into the blue and fading, Bare winter branches stretching, pale, soft Or naked limbs, unabashed in the cold lighting Of the lovers' time. Our time that we cannot enjoy Just yet. I am not so tired for my bed as I am For your's. And though I am confined, chained, detained and flightless, In some far place, beneath the small white moon My naked limbs are dancing with the limbs of silver trees. Marble skin crowned with fire, contrast the emerald of the grass As it lies waiting for you, Arrows glancing off the branches Pierce my soul. |
SicTransitGloria Bleeding on the Floor Age: 32 Gender: Female Posts: 1150 | Mast And Sail. It was a 'gee, thanks' moment. A sigh on skin, running touch Along the crude edges of its excess. Memories in the palm, in the palm. They cut my hands. Childlike in a heartbeat, the surf stalked us To the peak of it, syllable by syllable by assonance. Whoosh, a mast and a sail. Our hereto uncharted island. Can you feel The sweat on its breath in its heat, Columns of smoke. Escapism has Always been my Fundamental nature. You. Your heart in my mouth at your throat somewhere In your eyes; the spark That claimed to come from conflagration, The first stone on stone. And me, me Just biased around your thighs. In your own time. |
SicTransitGloria Bleeding on the Floor Age: 32 Gender: Female Posts: 1150 | Untitled. I want to touch on something tender. (Like the fact that) I think of you too often. Like the thrill of next summer, Already on my tongue. But the more I taste the sentiment, The less I Have to Say. |
SicTransitGloria Bleeding on the Floor Age: 32 Gender: Female Posts: 1150 | Sunday Morning I clutched the stereo to my forehead Felt the thrum of you; Through the skin, To the soul. I held you to my lips and murmured Words that now cascaded, fluid as my bloodstream A part of me. Words that were always there. Words your silver Tongue brought to the aching surface. I dropped my lids, and my breath Reflected was your breath; Hot on my cheeks. Your voice shook me. I could never Be a melody like you can hum one, and yet You sang with me. Pity. Your fervour lifted me heavy, circling as My every contour tightened against you. Never wanted To let go. And for a second, if I imagined - Your face was only on the the other side of the plastic. Stitched into my fingers and comfort, you said: "I can see you awake, anytime, in my head." |
SicTransitGloria Bleeding on the Floor Age: 32 Gender: Female Posts: 1150 | The Prestige. I am waiting upon a point of closure, to welcome you Across a threshold once again. And as my mind closes softly over, Like a dark pool slowly folding in and around itself In the midst of this final night Before you, I am not sure how to express that which I want to be known of me. The spirit clings foetus-like inside of me Unwilling to take a form As dark pools and dark places have no forms, Simply folding invisibly and gently Encasing itself in itself And I am only very mildly free. How does one reach in And produce, like a prestige or bouquet of flowers, That which can be called the core? What is enough? Swirls and dashes of ink Or paint All in such vivid shapes, Unless satiated with underlying glory Can never hope to accomplish it. How do you express the inexpressible? This is me, I, here I stand And all the life in me is thundering to be heard, To be recognised as something beyond everything. Lingering notes and triumphant symphonies Come close, very close, I think. But the reality is, the truth of it is That one soul requires another to complete An act of beauty such as this. Lonely art needs much more than lonely souls to speak. Music needs an eavesdropper. And, in short, I need you for this reason, And the reason is this: that I can never hope to glory In the wealth of every inch of spirit That I own Without first seeing it reflected in your face Or sense it heaving in your chest. You tie me down To set me free again. |
SicTransitGloria Bleeding on the Floor Age: 32 Gender: Female Posts: 1150 | If you've read "She" by Henry Rider Haggard, you'll understand this a lot better Ustane and She. Ayesha! Oh She-who-must-be-obeyed, thou serpentine dastard, She-who-hath-murdered-for-love, and murdered one who loved him! Thou woman above womanhood, What art thou, thief? Vampyre, daemon, gluttony In the flesh, glurping, gurgling the golden sap of eternity While thou dost press beneath thy sandal, thy delicate toes, Those who would worship thee! Fiend, I say, fiend! who turns away all And dost blast in instants all obstacles From the object of thy desire and thine only, As thou didst blast me where I stood - Professing my love in the pure And arousing thy jealousy. Thou shadow-caster, who bends all thy darkness Over light that swayed him true, And forced knees doubled in ferocious raptures, In praise of thy beauty, thy cold, merciless beauty. He forgets me, Though I, earth in earth, remember still The chill look in those dark eyes, ink stains upon thy soul, As thou didst shriek and snatch and strike with the sharpest sting of envy. Thou art in all, oh She, thou art in all Baseness only, entwined with dark Nature's secrets As secrets should have remained. And know that I shall prevail, even unto the grave, Thou shall never keep him For thine own. Ustane will lie again with him, whom love urged to her side. Ayesha evermore forsaken, for chasing love Unto its death, where it dost not belong. |
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