opaqueglitter:

magda laguinge by charlie engman for the room magazine #18 fall winter 2013-2014.
anothergraphic:

Les Graphiquants
kyanderson:

Ky Anderson
18” x 18”Acrylic on paper2013

it feels so good to drown sometimes

give me a puddle,
fill it up red
i lay on my back, my torso, my head.

your fingers they drip, they stir, they run
entice me, entice me,
you’ve already won.

pretend is the game
fill, fill, spill with shame.
the red is now white,
and you are to blame.

emptiness, emptiness,
bleached nowhere in space.
what i would do for just
one
more
taste.

today: i heard a little lie
that made me want to cry

now all who believe
leave me broken with ease

my childhood is done
now i’m heading nowhere on the run.

Are Those You Love In Your Poems Real?

If by real you mean as real as the sting of bourbon
on a 12 year old’s tongue,
the hook that is still pierced in a fish’s mouth,
the scar on your inner thigh—
then Yes, every last word is true,
every nuance, bit, and bite.
Wait. I have made that up—all of it—
and when I say I miss you, I miss no one, for you do not exist.
the verb without the noun.
but my words still sing truth.
my heart,
waiting—like the hands on a clock—
beats synchronously with the tune of time.

what is real anyways?

[Tribute to “Are All the Break-Ups in Your Poems Real?”
BY AIMEE NEZHUKUMATATHIL]

needle.
the pain deep down inside
is choking on your lie
the truth will set you free,
but so will misery
i play dumb, 1, 2, 3
but you left me on my knee
the helpless can’t be helped
so agony it will be!
i crush your name in my head
though nothing has been said
time is but a dream
but so is a silent scream
slathers of emotion
to much to bare
i find it more pleasant
when
nothing
is
there.