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Surrealism

Categories Browse > Literature > Poetry > Experimental > Surrealism
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Labrynth.   Maze.  Endless.  Like immortality.  Like happiness.  Timeless.  Sand.  Hourglass.  Flip it over.  Give me more time.  Time to dance.  Bring the shotgun to the wedding.  Family.  Mother.  Brother.  Caring.  Loving.  I miss out.  Strike out.  Strike a match.  Flame.  Flicker.  Burn.
Poof.  A cloud.  Mush.  Marshmellow fluff.  Pillows.  Rest your head.  Goodnight world.  See you tomorrow.  Or never.  Depends on if my heart stops.  If the stitch pops.  Burst.  Jumps into my throat.  Sunrise.  Time to do it all again.  Cycle.  Eclipse.  Full moon.  Full moon eyes.  Wide and blue.  Crator cheeks.  White lips.  Frozen skin.  Perfect.  Untouched.
The Party  My friends, your faces don’t fit your words.  You are all ashen, askew, off-balance to what I remember.  
I am alone in a crowded room.  The news of departures strikes me dead.   
An hour-long groan twists right below my throat  (A spiny delicacy I apparently didn’t chew thoroughly enough).  There’s to be a changing of the guard in half a month,  
Or so I’m told.  Tall, in a Sunday bride white, he delivers a shock  An awe, a horror of which I was unaware.  The time given was not time enough.  
 
The fire burns behind me;  
I fumble throug
Maybe I didn't dare to talk.  They inclined I had no feelings.  Heartless they called me, I won't speak.  There's no hole to fall in anyways.  If there's no mind there are no thoughts.  Everything shows I was mindless.  Who am I to take place?  I never understood why I wasn't loved.
Curtains block the sun.  The floor is full of paper.  All words I will never say.  I open the curtains.  All the words disappear.
Wordsmith.  Called by many.  They may fool, interest or impress.  Convince all.  That nothing is all.
ingnatious                   it mumbles deeply  
the saterical Violin                                  as it plays the fiddler across  the tilted highway  
                             the abstracted bloomer  he sits  
 
on the top of the bottom of the end  you will still be my best friend  when we're old and young  in the purple sun  we'll dance and play  all the time and every day   
in the middle of the deep blue sea  maybe you'll hold hands with me  we'll sink to the floor  and we'll knock on all the doors  to see the things they provide  and fill our lungs with pride
I'm in a jumpsuit that gets tighter each time I breathe   
breath, breath, breath   
A silhouette shifting its arms as its legs crawling  towards me  
 
"Come with me"   
Dipped into a gourd filled with milk and honey  to drown by sweet and white   
I blink a thousand lifetimes and finally stop   
 
 
 
"Where am I?"   
 
 
I look across a patch of brittle grass  to a couple sitting at a bench   
A crooked woman with stubbles on her upper lip  and far too much makeup Frenching a transvestite   
"Why am I here?
We are two, screaming.  Anarchy is for lovers.  Chaotic souls at best, we fight and we bite.  I am one unbelieving,  tyrant underneath the covers  hoping for one last chance at flight.   
We are two. Dreaming.  Broken hearts and chemical eyes.  I am me as you are he as you are me.  You and I are undeceiving.  A deviant smile on my demise.  Crash and burn to  be.
No more time is left in my seconds,  no more time is found behind in my life that i left behind,  a long time ago,  a time i thought i have forgotten,  i was wrong to think time won't come back to haunt me,  i was right to think i was the only one who cared about the hours,  the clocks rang a ding and dong,  the minutes tick away like how my life has been doing for so long,  every breath wastes my time so short,  every blink of an eye a second passes me by,  a long gone journey none has thought of,  awaken to the truth that has been hidden,  time is never ending,  time is always
Tormented.  Beaten by thought.  All the sane lies.  Cast my role in life.  Run away once more.  Scar your body with words.  Or ideals.  You deny.  Silly woman.  Speak the truth.
I always wanted to be a traveler of a true friendship.  But I never managed.  You see, I always imagined the features of a ten year old girl.  But the years pasted and my perceptions changed so did the people.  With time I realized that above all we should know why we bond with people.  And why we continue the human myth.  I didn't know.  That's why my mental world changed and the green of my heart became dark blue, lonely.  That's the reason for all the songs.  And the sayings.  For that friendship I couldn't have.  For that friend who didn't understand me.  And who didn't want to u
People die.  And are easily forgotten.  And go to the self-conscious of our dirty minds.  Guilt...truth...pain...pleasure...  Destroying our sick lives.  They don't love you... they don't ask you.  But they burry you and forget you.  They don't count you in, they torture.  And after words they say:  "Those are the wrongfully lost.".  Young ones not talking, not asking again:  "When is the next funeral?".  Friends who leave and never come back.  To the same neighborhood.  Sons who die.  Daughters who sigh.  And grow up in a new body.  In a new soul.  And
I used to be a child.  I used to fantasize.  I used to dream.  I used to love.  I used to love my mother.
You my dear shall not weep a tear.  If you do you will know.  My friend.  What it feels like.  To weep.  But you will never do so.  I won’t allow.
I have a friend.  Who doesn’t even know it.  He solves all my problems.  Only one who understands.  Why I need to go.  He devotes time to me.  This isn’t his job.  I told him things no one knows.  Without fear.  I treasure him.  I hope he likes me.  He could be compared to a psychiatrist.  Just because he listens.  Always asks why.  But afterwards acts unknowing.  To everyone else.
Oh world!  Why do I love you?  You’re too sweet in horribleness.  Your dirt smells like perfume.  I get nervous knowing it all.  Knowing your inside jokes.  You play daily.  I come to the end.  Of the dirty, dirty road.  Realizing nobody knows me.  I spit on their faces.  With disgust.  As they babble on with their useless stories.  Stories of how they know.  What it all means.  How pain is a word in the dictionary.
OVine OVaries  IMmature IMpersonation  POssessed POpuli  SElf-DEstructive SElf-DEviation   
EXtirpation EX EX  WIshfuls WIll WIn  LA LA LAcrimosa  FOrlorns FOurth LOss  & & & &..   
THen THey THrow THe THeurge THere:  LAdy LAmb's LAst LAnd  BOvine BOmbs.. BOohoo..  HAil HArdy HAllucinogens   
ALmost ALl ALiens ALienate ALone  SHearing SHedding SHeepificators SHone
I used to think about this, as a art student. It's an installation  
I wanted to create: a room of the purest white,  
with nothing in it, and even the door is white.  
Everything is white, except for a pair of shoes, black leather,  
facing a corner of the white room.   
Between Seconds,                 is what it takes to transport us to Winterland.                 is enough to freeze, a snow flake in mid air.        &n
Everything condensed in a bubble of muddy colours  Crying in whispers  In a imaginary waterfall  I am all love   
And part of everything  And the dawn is coming closer  Descomposition of the lights  My eyes shine brightly   
A symphony keeping quiet...
Nie ostał się blask w jej źrenicach  Stwierdzili - umarła za życia  Porzucona nadzieja udała się do grabarza  i tylko ślady paznokci na wieku  krzyczały, że nosiła ciemne okulary...
he-man draws near. actually it's a he-man figurine in drag. they float in the trunk. gotta wrench 'em with my shaver; their ears are so hairy.   
the dust bin head came last night. brought a tap pack of some cheap riesling. we drank and saw a head sitting next to our fists. it was my farthest testicle in some costume which i unlocked by hitting a code onto my typewriter (japanesE).   
he-man figurines floating in the trunk.  gotta wrench 'em with my razor.  i have a gaston in your head.

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