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Thread: Saccharine Fire - A Poetry Thread

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    Default Saccharine Fire - A Poetry Thread

    The First Suspension

    And you say quietly, pensive, “The dream is collapsing.”
    But darling, hasn’t it only begun?

    I’m afraid you can’t hold me.
    Not physically. You have arms, I know that.
    I mean all of me. The wilding, bucking, challenging, testing me.
    Can anything hold in a hurricane?

    The darkness cracks me open.
    Like a smashed egg.
    Crying into the dark.

    I’ll never be able to stir you awake
    Not as others have done so.

    As night fades, so does my hope.


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    March

    The ache
    like
    watery cold that settles into the bones.
    Rainwater.

    I've got messy hair
    and a thirsty heart
    And I don't know which to solve first.

    What can I say
    that will knock you sideways?

    Coax me back.
    Warm me.
    Tell me it's almost over. Show me the
    d a y b r e a k
    and say
    "The clouds will pass. This is only temporary."
    Last edited by Kiki; 09-07-2015 at 12:53 AM.


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    Too much energy.
    White-knuckled on the couch. Fetal position on the bed. I can't bring myself to get up.
    There's a storm brewing in the center of my chest.

    And he don't know what the storm entails
    but somehow he's thrilled by it.
    Just more entertainment for somebody else.

    I turn my eyes up, skyward,
    But I ain't talking to a God. I'm talking to myself.
    And the words just repeat - a mantra. Over
    and over
    and over.

    This goes beyond uncomfortable
    I feel downright murderous.
    But my criminal intent never gets past me
    as I turn it inward.

    The energy crawls in the layers of my skin.
    Were I weather,
    This is the part
    where
    the lightning

    s
    t
    r
    i
    k
    e
    s.


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    The Lighthouse

    Like ships in the night
    We've passed many times before
    The significance of which only now
    Draws me to your shore.

    Perhaps within the same room
    Perhaps in the same breath
    We've rubbed shoulders metaphorically
    But never in the same bed.

    And you're drawn to my light
    As I am drawn to you
    Who says you can't have all you want
    With something of a view?

    So I shower you with sunshine
    And we bathe within the glow
    Of something new, but not so foreign,
    Something scary, but we know.

    So I'll stand here like a lighthouse
    Gazing at sea just like your eyes
    Wanting, wishing, hoping,
    That the passion never dies.

    For I stand here tall upon this ledge
    Strong, and made of unfeeling blocks
    My will on the horizon guiding you
    So you don't smash upon the rocks.
    Last edited by Kiki; 05-21-2015 at 12:41 AM.


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    The Splendid Word

    How much of me can I hide (from you)
    before it becomes lying?

    I've given up being a liar
    but not in finding loopholes.

    How many empty glasses can I stare at
    over the weekend(s)
    and wonder -
    Just how much longer?

    I don't want to need (you)
    I don't want to feel helpless.

    What is the point then?
    To fill the middle? The void? The darkness
    is insatiable and if that's your hope
    we best pack it in now.
    You'll only be another far-flung hope.


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    Indentation

    And she doesn't know but when she leaves
    Suddenly the silence of her departure is deafening.

    How did I live in the quiet so long?

    Her raucous nature
    It permeates every hole I've ever claimed to feel safe in
    Like the rushing tide
    The water filling up a chamber
    No crook or cranny left un-tampered with.

    I can taste the salt in the back of my throat.

    It started as a whisper on the wind
    But now it's screaming at me
    Her voice.

    I love you.

    Every day does not have to be a roaring exaltation, an exclamation,
    But I feel we may get lost in the monotonous lolling of the ocean
    We might forget the pleading
    She might not know.
    She might leave.
    And I hope she knows, that I'll crack if she does. I'll snap. Break.

    I'll be dust if he leaves. I'll be forgotten. I'll forget.

    Forsaken.

    Lost. Adrift. Wasted.

    I want to spill my guts all over the sidewalk. The prettiest picture for a vulnerable act.

    Maybe then she'd know.


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    Hostage

    I glimpse off, stare at the horizon
    just to avoid your gaze. I doubt my abilities.
    I doubt myself because of you. It's what
    you've instilled in me: failure.
    You sow your ugliness when I think how
    far I've come only you nag how far I still
    have to go.
    I lose faith that I will get there.

    You're a hateful bitch. When did the
    tenderlings of maternal nature subside?
    When did you start to harbor you
    jealousy?

    I wish I could throw back my head and
    laugh at you at your pettiness. But it only
    wounds me.
    The deception that you invaded me with
    that I'm never good enough. I need to do
    more. Be more. Say more. More accolades.
    More success. More.more.more.

    I tout a hefty pile of success, present it to
    you, try to hesitantly welcome you into
    days celebrating my success
    and you only rear back and spit venom in my face.
    Tear me down.

    What good is a trophy, another medal,
    an additional degree to a mother who only
    finds her daughter just below par?


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    Moxie

    This feeling only crashes rather than undulate.
    Unmoored from my foundation,
    I fall headlong into you.
    Careening fully into the darkness.

    The notion is preposterous
    As an offense to the scheme of things
    Out on a limb
    And yet here I sit again
    Within this darkness
    Filled to the brim.

    I'm sincere for the first time in a long time.

    I stare peaceable at you though there's a storm brewing
    One that draws me into the riptide
    Nervous, this lip I'm constantly chewing.
    I get tossed out again. It's a crime.
    What am I? Nothing.
    Just a fish on the line.

    I tried to envision your face when he yells.
    It's feeble at best,
    But it helps.

    I steel my insides when I hear the door.
    It's a work in progress,
    And I just want more.

    I draw strength from somewhere.
    The first breath of your voice,
    Trapped in my ears, my hair.

    From the last time I said I loved you,
    It was from the safety of my bed.
    And it spins 'round and 'round the mental drain,
    A proclivity in my head.

    I get threatened to change,
    Pushed to be inauthentic,
    But the darkness only seems more attractive to me.

    I grow in my strength each time.
    "You don't scare me."


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    Childish Entreat

    When you ask me what I want
    It's hard to be concise
    True love's never easy to explain
    As it comes with such a price

    Of honesty and truth
    As I said from the beginning I would give
    Not knowing it would be thrown back at me
    Making it that much harder to live

    With myself
    As if guilt was a commodity for me
    Feelings of inadequacy, shame
    Only add to the grief

    So when you ask me what I want
    It's much harder to just say
    I want you now, I want you then
    Each and every day

    My striving for honesty
    Falls on only your deaf ears
    The small chiding voice in my head
    Only reaffirming all my fears

    I just wanted to be happy for a while
    That seemed too easy to keep
    If dreams are all I have now
    You can find me in my sleep.


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    Motted Gilding

    Saturday is nothing but a crumbled paper in the stack of a thousand others like it
    I've tossed carelessly in the corner of the room.

    I've been awake all night, but the sun still greets me
    with a mixture of stabbing knives in my eyes
    and a pleasured release of air.

    Smelling of last night's whiskey, Sunday has come to me.

    We both breathed in, and by the time that inhale transformed into an exhale,
    I was yours, and you were mine. A soft greeting. Nothing more than an exchange of glances.

    Sunday is a stripping off. A cleanse. I feel the pounding of my head
    I know I drank too much last night
    but it was a necessity.

    And as Sunday's morning fog burns off
    and the day is exposed to me,
    I fall into the night with a rush of hope, for a new week has come to me.

    I greet the evening with a soft smile, a suppressed desire -
    a design is already at work.

    Fall into the light of a thousand stars, dreams into the nightmares,
    I'm awoken from the choked breath caught in my throat.
    It's no matter - it's lost now.

    Last night's laughter is still in my hair, like dewdrops on leaves,
    but my hope is already content on today.
    Fallen nonsense, you pull me with you,
    "It's Sunday," you say, and I nod with you. Another stolen glance
    another silent affirmation. We've made it this far. Another week gone.

    Soft heirloom quilts hold in the dreams of tomorrow, on this Sunday at the edge of today
    in shades I can't quite describe. It's here where promises have been made. It's none too surprising
    that I lay with them,
    every Sunday. Clutching them as I come down
    from last night's heavy, blackout imbibement.

    I hold the hangover gently, as I would your hand
    for both are fragile,
    and my mental stability,
    hinges on both.

    Sunday, love.


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