?

Log in

No account? Create an account
Infinite [entries|friends|calendar]
modest_rage

INFO | FRIENDS | CALENDAR | HIS SPACE
[ userinfo | livejournal userinfo ]
[ calendar | livejournal calendar ]

Liantiam [12 Jan 2011|07:35pm]
apartments and cold west ends of dormitories
empty mornings shivering upon pillows
clear water on tired brows brushing back your hair
before class the drone of hushed conversation

flickering industrial monoliths before a perfect bay
the small of your back still on my shoulders
austere requiem of your eyes slender ether of my bones
frail steel tracks lead my train along through the cold

ministries of linear structure opaque sonorous slicked streets
from the pour of rain a flowing citadel of absolution
hollow cage of my shadow looking on the crucifix
my fathers subliminal overgrown garden cast in ancient light

the contraction of my soul pushes slate water colors from my breath
reminder of southern winds and graces from the trees left behind
vanishing threshold of innocence newborn experiences left unprayed for
the wither begins

the darkness of my tepid isolation became the atmosphere
breathing shallow droughts
silver rigid coils flourishing
leaving ashen diagrams in the solemnity of her stare
2 comments|post comment

[05 Apr 2010|10:30pm]
It was 6 a.m. He flicked on the light and the strange yellow luminescence moved up hisface revealing his smooth skin and almond shaped eyes. His type writer lay at the end of his bed and the pictures he had been staring at for hours were scattered on his nightstand. He opened his cigarette case and drew one to his lips and lit it with a quick flick of his Zippo. Sebastian Thomas was 23 years old and was without romance. When he strolled through the streets on the Mondays when his home was filled with the jeers of the fraternity he resided in he would consider the lightness of his classes, the effortless breeze with which everyone seemed to be able to fathom acceptable ideas, and at times, unknowingly he would contort his otherwise handsome face in hopeless resistance to the resentment he felt. He stood up, and as usual spent some time looking at himself in the mirror, he had wondered if he would find acceptance from the more attractive women at his school, he wasn't particularly sporty, but was lean and relatively well figured. Yet, he missed the skinniness of his youth regardless of his quite awkward posture, as though there were some hidden wisdom in his diminishing stature, some ingredient that would absolve him of the shame of his eating food, and of course the disdain of his acceptance of including butter in his diet. Sebastian fastened the button of his jeans, zipped up his jacket, and applied a generous brushing of his hair with his hands. Bodies walked by in the shadows while he would look at the sidewalk trying to grasp the foundations of his feelings. Feeling rather abstracted by the torrent of ideas which kept betraying him, he had hoped he could regain some of his composure in the woods of the campus. While walking his hands became cold and he buried them in the deep of his Mackintosh Coat.
post comment

[22 Mar 2010|12:28am]
there are small things that i recall in the morning. the way the sheets feel. the difficulties in forgetting are wakes before funerals.

there are strings that are reverberating in the autumn, and it's spring i feel. i feel so far away, rationalities become my savior at night when shadows tell stories i keep forgetting about. I don't know what to think anymore about the silence that creeps up on me in the morning, the sky and the blue waves, and the blue eyes that seem to never let go are all I have to keep me going. It's getting late again on sunday, and I slept through it all anyways. I'm wondering if all of this will ever go away, if i'm going to find love again if happiness could ever be just a block away again. these seconds pass into small hours, smaller hours into microscopic days, we wake up to find that it seems to never end.

i'm tired of being sick.
post comment

[21 Dec 2009|07:18pm]
Oceans of broken glass
that we must walk over
the green field at night
with illusions that float by:
lovers clutching hands in the cold
the small glance of eyes that rise
out of the shadows the city reaches
arms that draw you to the darkness
of its heart. I look up at the ceiling
lights flickering make strange shapes
out of the sudden! stop don't move
because she holds the moment like a
newborn, then her face collapses into a
the arising explosion of fireworks when
the subtle lines of smile shimmer electric
sentences to understanding eyes, mine!
embraced and held like fire to oak

my graced angel who lays invisibly on emerald beds
darkly in the earth when i close my eyes it is with you
when i breathe all manner of winds shiver
our veins--

oh passionate consolation you give the slate
monoliths of the city a wavering rebellion
a quiet uprising in the blood lilacs of our
fleeting, don't step away so fast, train
stops farewell
post comment

time capsule [02 Dec 2009|09:10pm]
cold drops of water fall
off her cheek. she awakes to find
her grandmothers collection
of dolls, her own face freshly painted
she has a poster that reads out
your rights if you ever get stopped
by the police, because she
used to hang with a rougher crowd
at twenty seven she'd have new reason to live
an empty apartment with a small bed
and a well fed cat.

her lips bring autumn, i wrote
five years ago, thinking what it
would be she'd say if my journal
was in her small hands. my thoughts
ran like crimson veins as my fingers
clenched. she had turned her back on me
who she held on to like a ledger,
she had all the credit for love
after five years though, I found
she was filing for bankruptcy
having burned her own soul with
the flames of her heart.

few people came to her funeral.
clutch, break--her life like a sudden
accident, she had no substance to breathe
lungs collapsed like the dreams I had
of her someday returning, like the
car she drove off in.

small dreams crept into alabaster lies
sleeping with the ghosts of my absent
goodbyes.
post comment

[09 Nov 2009|07:33pm]
cold and remorseless are timeless treasures
to wayfaring hearts in bloodlined
symmetry the smallest change in pace
and the wave goes away hearts descending
in shrouds of effortless winds and rains locked
inside beneath the remotest of pains a flower blooms
regardless of the springs promises that it will hang on
the dress of the breast of some lover that I never truly know
like wine dressing the wounds inside my waist stabbed
through the echoes of a night where cries of agony line the atmosphere
of the ceiling all the shadows that you write out our love
where the mornings so frightening
and the bills we had to pay are long overdue
waking up in our twenties breathing in blue
your emptiness falling through the sheets
when you sleep in your own bed
we made somehow this time

so we rest our heads solemnly
on pillows made of dreams
my blazers lapel hangs for tomorrows
work while tiredly my face lays on your breast
post comment

[04 Nov 2009|10:42pm]
just like steel tendons breaking the bones
of artificial bodies my heart beats for you.
as some cold machine thumping onto the
grass covered dirt pushing all the fear
into the vastness of a shadow cast
to block out the reflection of our illimitable
you and I, as mere shapes and forms
emerging from the endlessness of our
memories of each other breaths. if you
could catch apples as they fall to feed yourself
believe in my eyes which cast into you divinely
like some kind of retribution, a fall into hatred
with purpose of lighting up the true evils
of the hell we made for each other as we
clutch the seams of our bodies hoping
not to fall apart in the flames of our
souls forage into the guitars hymn, the
falls anthems into your delicate features
carving death to your liking with the knife
of love, burning away even stars to break
the skull which holds his weighty crown.
yet wings with obsidian and gems can't
cast you upwards when your eyes love
so much below. alas, the sickness has
struck and in hoping dignity you cast your
arrows song through the calypso of your
heart, and when you recall so softly the
errant eyes of purity:

picking up phones for numbers
you even don't know
observe the morning when
it's night.

things to do when you're
still alive.
post comment

[02 Nov 2009|06:53pm]
its a softer thing seeing your hair lay upon the table so delicately naked and too willing to offer sacrifices, like some idol from babylon your stark blonde hair lies, like your eyes which consider so many things saying exactly the opposite perhaps it could be so poisonous to see your pumps as you walk out the door at 11:30 p.m,
so
full
of
oxygen
a
temptress
to
death
who
sits
carefully
right
by
your
window
dreaming
tellingly
about
sanctity
bills
to
be
paid
waiting
for
eviction  
notices            
post comment

cystic fibrosis [30 Oct 2009|08:08am]
greasy dishes piled up in the overfilled sink,
I'd have to put my whole arm in to unclog the mess,
like the feeling of wrestling you from your disease at 3 p.m.
you kept asking for more, so sweaty and us so unclean we just
did away with the sheets just to rupture our love.
i became the euphemism  of my darkest stories
cheaply upon your breast I rest.

my body soaked with wine, our lips
shadows spreading  venoms,
that held lilies in purest turpentine
the most fragile of bones didn't last against
your cold, all the emptiness of your leaving
all the quickness of the knife as you pressed against my body
one last time before
you said goodbye.

left me beginning to feel different
left me in a state where i had to writhe
my blood laced with ashes from the
burn you put inside
the memories of more lighter lives
and darling, i feel that the space between
your thighs was less than the the heartbeats
after your chest heaved slightly in pain unable to
draw breath from a world which couldn't bring you medicines,
loved organs left to die
seventeen years down the line.
post comment

cystic fibrosis [29 Oct 2009|04:57pm]
there were times when there were dishes in the sink
close remininsing about the way things used to be.
i felt myself become a euphemism my darkest stories
felt like lies, all the times i held you
my body my blood soaked in wine our lips
coursed with venoms that shined with light
that held lilies in purest turpentine
the most fragile of bones didn't last against
your cold, all the emptiness of your leaving
all the quickness of the knife as you pressed against my body
one last time before
you said goodbye

left me beginning to feel different
left me in a state where i had to writhe
my blood laced with ashes from the
burn you put inside
the memories
i left before just to say thank you
for all the good times you gave me every night
and darling, i feel that the space between
your thighs was less than the the heartbeats
after your chest heaved slightly in pain unable to
draw breath from a world which couldn't bring you medicines
loved organs left to die.

seventeen years down the line.
post comment

[05 Oct 2009|02:44pm]
Sweet fires of my perishing-
Bathing me constantly in the hellish
Venom of this world; oh poison--
Black as night, you who cloak my heart
And as a hidden bird I emerge;
A crow, but it will not let me
Approach.

Darkest ephemeral song
That caresses my spirit
With longing
I breathe you into my heart
In the shadows of my bed.
Alone, I await your next angelic
Appearance emerging out  the evening the air
That I breathe, in the golden
Of your secret verse, etched red
In the forgotten
Crevices of your heart.

Silent vows of my pale soul
Leave crimson petals in your fountain
White sheets lay across the bed
Illuminations when your eyes reach mine.
post comment

[23 Sep 2009|09:50pm]
small blood drops on concrete, slabs of pavement
rearranged like your symptoms degraded
we had a vigil the night you left
dark souls, candles, and me.

I remember how the shadows swore obedience,
in the depths of the nights call to my
blackened. you tell me you recall a fire
the earth has too much wind,that
our lungs might fall asleep from all the oxygen
but I swear this world is dying from the inside.

like burned nights with ashtrays,
what a cold way to say goodbye
with scars, and desperate autumn
at your heels. all our contracts signed in
the background of rains clouds.

mysterious angel of my youth,
you who rise in the spring
what are you? what constancies
do you recall? losing yourself in amber light,
your hair upon my fingertips, the taste
of my body on your lips

this eventuality strong as steel
in the backbone of your blood
that has blue eyes in your child.

shiver grey. my cloud.
post comment

The original [25 Aug 2009|06:50pm]
Her black lace foretold
crimson kisses against white skin
which could bring the darker smaller things
white wings to lay down their sorrows. Pale
kisses on foreheads breaking the bones of past loves
in the dark evenings where the hearths of her arms
played cradle to the softness of flame.
Burning, burning
a candle left in the morning warms her fingers
as she ties strings around his heart, love lies
with the money left on a cedar table.

The birds have her soul, resolved to carry her child
the quiet heartbeats she will begin to feel
will choke her with tears. Quietly she gives birth to the first crow.
My grandfather, my ancestor, my fire.
post comment

[24 Aug 2009|12:06am]
The night air was humble: it was still,
but the shakiness in your voice came too soon
like the gentle seizure of my bodies heat with
the early autmn wind. If clouds were omens there
were many, an overcast sheet above eyes when
we stopped smiling. I didn't have the money
for your gas. The oldsmobile stayed parked while
we talked out bills. Strange tact was shown in the
water glass after it shivered when your salty lips
lips stopped touching it. If all these hearses and
funerals weren't enough black, I had to recall the
solemn sobs of the night your father died, just to
find something beautiful in you. Scrolls and sorcery
you thought you learned in school wouldn't do anything
to the curses left on lips as we parted.

Your eyes the haunted tombs of our love, no
explanation for my sudden passing; enough shame
to make me blind, two breaths before "I'm not in love."

my hands making their way up your blouse.
post comment

[16 Aug 2009|10:49pm]
I've been having a pretty good time just chilling with friends and relaxing. I'm flying again soon, back to the Bay Area for the spring semester and it should be good finding a place. I might be living at a frat again, which would be pretty chill honestly. At any rate I've been writing very little, so I'll be spending some time this semester working on improving my writing. Well more later for sure.
post comment

[06 Aug 2009|04:57pm]
Sup lj homies out there. I'm currently. Experiencing some lower aspects of life but thongs should look better soon enough, my buddy buds Aaron is coming over to jam and party hardy. I'm currently going to out patient therapy, and that is sort of a downer, but at least I've been regaining my sanity and my lust for life, indeed I'm reawakening to the lighter sides of life and my perspectives have been improving tremendously. Hopeful, I await Aarons little contribution to my life. I hope today he will innovative and play risky so I can really express myself on the set. I also think it would be a good idea to contribute to the reading of my Auden book as I've been tremendously lazy lately, however this may or mag not be as a result of my no longer working or recovering go the tremendous he'll that work was for my intellectual and creative state. I swear, Marshalls prefers the dumbest of employees and intended to burn whatever intelligence I had right of me. That is quite enough ranting, adieu..
post comment

[21 Jul 2009|06:22pm]
i'm 22 today.
3 comments|post comment

[27 May 2009|05:19pm]
Hey everyone,

I haven't written in here for quite some time, but I feel that the journals been negelected so i thought I'd write in it. I've been waiting to go back home to Michigan, where I can begin working again to make money for next semester as well as make some money to take care of my car. My mom wants me to give her money, so I figured I would cash this savings bond that i had been saving for about five years, as well as put some money forwards for my board. The family residence should do well to receive some money from me. I only hope that conflicts at home are minimized by maturity. It's been a pretty long time since I've been back, and I'm looking into having a good time and spending some time bonding with friends. This past semester was rather cold, but on the bright side I was able to pull off good grades and take care of my business. I think it'd be cool if I was doing some serious business alongside with construction work, possibly working in a law office. I've been building muscle for the past few months now, and can adequately say that my body will be prepared for intense work. I'm going to spend special time on aerobic activity so I can make it through the work day.
2 comments|post comment

[18 May 2009|06:51pm]
the endless solemns of cement
in solitary evenings sipping at
the veins of rose colored girls
each perfume rising up touching at
the symptoms of lust

--a certain rouge.

the psychosis of alms are destitute
and bare on the
slow silhouettes of ceremonies
hollow like the bones
that remained on ashen plates

the summer sun streaking
slowly on the tanning of cements.
1 comment|post comment

[19 Apr 2009|09:50pm]
The skulls of the fallen rest silently
on the smallest of pedestals:
The collections of kings.
Black empires of thought stretch out
from the citadels of universities
hollowed bodies: an expose of eaten minds.
Ciculations: our swine of flesh grinding
out the economies of subhuman classes
with graves marked with emptiness, forgotten souls
that murk amongst the soils a field that has been ravaged
to feed the obese, amongst those who enjoy
the silent treatment of animals their genitals
sold on the streets to feed the lusts
of the underworld; a city
whose streetcars become
homes.

a tattered flag explaining the attention
given to our wars; failure the
scars of our decadence.
a rose blooms to greet spring
and is promptly sold.

---

The pestilent fields remain below.
the bloodshed of panzers roll on in the
hells of dead soldiers whose last memories recall
the lead of bullets coming at them like rain
from an apocalyptic morning. let us recall
that their immolation gives poetic resonance
to their defeat and in the toils of their sweat
their flesh mutilated by the demons of their
lives we see the beginnings of joy in the endless hells
of cells of sadism, a masochistic heaven to rise
draped in the reds of shame the raped and the risen
locking lips in the summoning of life;
the oracles of science plan out the sombre
week.

rain falls on paris' flames
while corpses they slowly burn
their scents satiate the bowels
of an apocalyptic god
whose divinity descends in
perfect white.
post comment

navigation
[ viewing | most recent entries ]
[ go | earlier ]