Drizzles, Giggles And A List Of Life’s Riddles.

When you see someone fall,

Don’t laugh.

We’re all falling; you’re no better,

For simply falling slower.

– O.D. ©2020

Art by: Gydw1n

Finite-State Machine.

There was no we,

Only what she needed me to be.

– O.D. ©2020

Art by: Gydw1n

Kindling For A Falling Bridge.

I suppose thinking you would stay stuck in the past

Was a little too much to ask,

You surface to the top of my current thoughts

With the dark and oozy persistence

Of an off-shore oil spill.

— You’re unwanted,

You kill the formation of my ideas often,

Your idea of living comes off to me as foreign

Your understanding of bonding bears the likeness

Of a grassy field at the periphery of erosion.

I won’t hide the bad thoughts I have when I think of you

I hold my values and speak only what I believe to be true

I don’t expect, nor hope, that you’ll hear my words and agree

I only empty my lungs, exorcising your flimsy demon out of me.

The radical would say you’re straddling satanic

You? Hardly.

I’d settle for simply calling you moronic —

— Idiotic, as you preach mindfulness from the comfort of an invisible pulpit

The sole of your shoes bound to the rustic pedestal of a f*cking narcissist.

Don’t tell me about language

If you paid attention you’d know I’ve since had it.

Go ahead, flatter yourself into thinking I wrote this for you.

Please, I dare you. Chug it all down.

Soon after, pay no mind to the sensation of your insides forming lesions,

Tends to happen when you try and digest the sharpness of a wit you can’t fathom.

I write — I breathe, life into each piece

It’s a hard tilt — unfiltered by my loyalty to the path of a creative

No experience of mine is beyond comodifying,

— Liquidating and displaying on a fine sheet of paper.

As such, you and the lint that was our tether

Will be of further use in lining my passion as a writer.

There are no good or bad choices

Only regrets,

When it comes to those — I have many

But the kindling offered by our shared experience

Assures you’ll never reach the worth of being one.

– O.D. ©2020

Art by: Gydw1n

Three Ceilings Below.

A part of me longs to form a bond.

A bond so strong, It involuntarily phases in and out

Of the spiritual realm.

A bond, that makes death nothing more than a checkpoint;

Thereby materializing, growing ever-stronger in the hereafter.

A part of me sees this “longing”

As nothing but wishful thinking;

The floundering of a mad man anchored to the bottom

Of the deep blue sea –

Drowning, desperately trying to hold onto something –

Anything – to keep me afloat;

Leaning on “hope” to make this far-flung dream;

A reality.

– O.D. ©2020

Art by: Gydw1n  

The Heart-Key Swindle.

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Kindling a romance,

Out of fear of being alone

….

And I thought I was selfish. 

 

– O.D. ©2020

 

Art by: Gydw1n 

 

I mean, the poem says it all right?

The Nine Year Bender.

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I don’t want

To live in a world

Where loving someone …

Is simply,

Not enough.

 

– O.D. ©2020

 

Art by: Gydw1n 

 

Back to abstract poetry. Getting those creative vibes flowing again.

If you missed it, I recently finished the unnamed girl series. A short six-part story I encourage you to check out if you enjoy story-telling and poetry all bundled up into one. Also because I worked real hard on it, it would not go unappreciated. Don’t forget to share your thoughts in the comments. You can check out all the parts here 

 

The Siren’s Song.

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PART 6. The final part in the unnamed girl series. Thoroughly enjoyed writing this character’s story. I hope you enjoyed reading it too. Let me know your thoughts in the comments.

For those that have yet to read the whole series,

Here’s Part 12 , 3 , 4 and 5

 

*

 

Red, Blue, Red, Blue,

So surreal, you see. But its all true.

Red, Blue, Red, Blue,

Spotlights on me, 

Honestly, you didn’t have to.

 

Red, Blue, Red, Blue, Red,

Ma… I should never have left.

Blue, Red, Blue, Red,

So much was left unsaid.

 

Blue, Red, Blue, Red,

But don’t you fret …

Blue, Red, Blue, Red,

Cause he’ll never lay his hands on you again.

 

Blue, Red, Blue, Red, Blue,

Now, this is a surprise I wish I could show you.

Red, Blue, Red, Blue, Red,

… If the shifting lights didn’t already give it away …

Red, Red, Red, Red,

That son of a b*tch is dead.

 

– O.D. ©2020

 

Art by: OptionalTypo