SajkoWolfe's I cant sleep lets write poetry thread

As title says, I cant get to sleep for some reason, so I decided to do something I havent done in years and thats write some poetry. So far I have three short poems written, so I decided to share ^.^ Im espiecially interested in @Pistol s opinion because I remember her mentioning she writes songs/poetry :3

EDIT: Compiled all poems into one post so I can have this as an ongoing storage medium for my poetry. Gonna write more tonight

They dont have names, they are called by order of my writing them:

1:
In a ghastly shade,
Where residue of emotions lies,
A sharp emptiness, with the bite of a blade,
A sharp silence, within which every human cries,
Silent cries, penetrate with the sound of strife,
A 4th dimention created for those,
Who cannot stabilise,
Their desire for life.

2:
Soaring seas, breaking apart,
A vision distorted, beyond our comprehension,
Surreal thoughts created by my mind,
A literary distortion,
What Ive read, what Ive seen, what Ive experienced,
Mingle and entangle,
To create the chaos of my reality,
I do not remember anymore, what is real,
What is a memory,
And what I imagined, what I wished.
I live a half life,
Or maybe,
A double life with half the meaning.

3:
A noble obligation, to live, create, perform,
To out do the last generation, to up their ideals and their form,
I suffocate in my own aristocracy, in my own pretentions,
Set my goals too high, but fail to chase those aspirations,
A shade of my former self,
A self I barely remember,
A self fragile and beautiful, a porcelain doll,
Set on the shop self,
To be bought, to be sold,
A toy.

4:
A grotesque outline of a world I abandoned,
A burnt cinder, the love I found abandoned,
A realm of imagination, again Im abandoned,
A solitary tear, that is all that I can handle,
For truly, cast away,
Humanity is what I abandoned.

5:
All my previous ladies have few photos with me,
Although in their mind they propably have many photos of me,
Their mental photos full of hate of me,
Remember a girl who always thought of "me",
They forget the moments that I abandoned my beliefs, my stigma for them, the times I lost my "me",
And I dont know about you but thats sad for me.
They hate me,
Detest me,
Even though they were everything to me.
Is this how I feel when everything fails me?

6:
A colourful light,
Sparks that play roles of shadows,
Casting through an open window,
A colourful light,
Early, pinkish dawn,
Sharply reflecting off of the skin,
Of Gods incarnation laying amongst bed sheets.
The light seems almost fractal, almost perfect,
In the imperfection on her skin,
I see Gods work.
The light freckles that adorn her cheeks,
Cheeks of pure white, bright as lilies,
The same lilies that will decorate her funeral casket,
As the light seeks deeper, as if looking for her beauty,
Reflecting off her bare chest,
Stomach,
Thighs,
Neck,
Synergy of a form complete,
They brand me a heretic, because looking at this cannon,
I cannot help but conclude,
That if God indeed exists.
God must have the shape of a female.

7:
Quam amoena,
The way the sound falls on my lips,
Like rosepetals that flood my world,
Each a delicacy that lasts a lifetime,
A single moment, compromised of an eternity of lifetimes,
Each different, yet the same,
Quam amoena,
The petals like silk,
Touch my lips, allow me to kiss,
In my dying moments,
As I lay in an ocean of blood,
Quam amoena that today, I finally get to die.

8:
Imagine a desert,
An eternal world of emptiness.
The material is immaterial,
Snow, sand, concrete, space,
All that is consequential is the emptiness.
Now imagine a solitary figure amongst the dunes,
Wrapped in cloth, holding a sword.
A plain sword, damascus steel from an age long gone.
Crismon is the primary colour of her clothing,
A strange contrast to the gray surroundings.
As you try to grasp her appearance, you find it impossible,
As her figure flows, ever so softly, like a mountain stream.
The moment you see an image, it is long gone into nothingness.
And you realise she has no form,
An outcast, forgotten.
As you leave the scene, filled with sadness,
Take one look back at her emptiness, at her darkness,
Open your eyes, breathe deeply, feel alive
And know you survived,
Seeing the inside of my mind.

9:
Burn you distance,
Burn your self righteousness
The apocalypse has come, the world has ended,
God has abandoned us,
God has stuck a middle finger at his creation,
Picked up a bottle of vodka, poured it into his liver,
And went to make a new better world.
Sad, or maybe its not,
Because how can truth be sad if truth is the only reality and reality is simply beautiful?
Fuck your truism,
Fuck what I think,
Fuck me, fuck you, fuck everyone,
Banal,
Maybe I should make the metaphor of pandoras box,
Just to fit with this cliche?

10:
I cant sleep,
I cant really be awake either,
My world revolves around ezoterisms,
The ezoterism of my own being,
My world revolves around these
People I use
These procents I consume
This music I abuse
This poetry I destroy myself with
When I used to still care about my life
I used to cut, bleed crimson on the bright white floor tiles
Now that Ive given up I cut my mentality with this poetry
Mental self harm

11:
There are moments when words just dont flow,
Emotionless nights when apathy and darkness consumes it all,
There are moments when the words overflow,
A hateful river, flooding the plains of your world,
Between nihilism and destruction,
My plain resides,
A 4th dimention,
Full of self lies.

12:
Will anyone cry, when I am layed to rest,
A thought every person has, an easy thought,
An easy thought to make me cry however,
When I realise that while anyone will cry,
Everyone will cry,
They will all cry for the wrong me,
When my parents weep for their daughter,
My previous lovers weep from happiness that their object of hate is gone,
My friends will weep for their sister,
And I will weep for the potential that never became
Never became anything at all

13:
Drops slowly dropping of the celing,
My eyes follow them, lazy, my retinas peeling
Away the fractal nature of this moment, this feeling,
An emotion that is always too far, but somehow to close to my own begining,
A trace of love, a trace of erotism,
A trace of my long lost heart
A trace of my oversized egoism
The path of the drop, as if tracing the path of hate that I have so often traveled,
Slowly progressing, gravity pulling it towards its epitath,
A sad end, but fitting,
For the last drop of blood that sustained my living.

Any sorta comments, negative or positive are welcome <3 thankyouuuuu and Ill update this thread as I write more (this looksl ikes its gonna be a loong night)

4 Likes

The second cries sounds weird to me, maybe use tears instead? I'm not very good at poetry though.

Great work!

1 Like

I was trying to go for a double here, but since im an ammateur it came out well... clumsy ^.^ Thank you for your compliment and input <3 <3

I really like that last one.

1 Like

Not bad, i don't like most poetry, but this is pretty good.

1 Like

Thankieee <3

This one is inspired by a song that goes "All my previous ladies have few photos with me,
I was better than your previous,
I am better than your next."

5:

All my previous ladies have few photos with me,
Although in their mind they propably have many photos of me,
Their mental photos full of hate of me,
Remember a girl who always thought of "me",
They forget the moments that I abandoned my beliefs, my stigma for them, the times I lost my "me",
And I dont know about you but thats sad for me.
They hate me,
Detest me,
Even though they were everything to me.
Is this how I feel when everything fails me?

............
Well then.......
I don't know what to say......
Damn.

1 Like

That bad? :v

No, just left me speechless.
No words..

1 Like

Aw, thankie <3 Im flattered.

Looks like having a sad life is good for making art... huh.

Art love misery!
Van Gogh was manic depressive.
BTW I have something to share on our PM thread.

I did enjoy reading these when I work up.

From pure emotion, comes great work.

Keep up the good work @sajkowolfe <3

1 Like

Thank you sweetness! <3

I will propably end up writing more tonight because I feel like its gonna be another long night.

2 Likes

Your pictures inspired this one ^.^

6:

A colourful light,
Sparks that play roles of shadows,
Casting through an open window,
A colourful light,
Early, pinkish dawn,
Sharply reflecting off of the skin,
Of Gods incarnation laying amongst bed sheets.
The light seems almost fractal, almost perfect,
In the imperfection on her skin,
I see Gods work.
The light freckles that adorn her cheeks,
Cheeks of pure white, bright as lilies,
The same lilies that will decorate her funeral casket,
As the light seeks deeper, as if looking for her beauty,
Reflecting off her bare chest,
Stomach,
Thighs,
Neck,
Synergy of a form complete,
They brand me a heretic, because looking at this cannon,
I cannot help but conclude,
That if God indeed exists.
God must have the shape of a female.

1 Like

Damn...... I don't know what to say....... I'm not that good am i? That was beautiful....

1 Like

Your drawings are definately better than my attempt at "poetry"
:D

My poetry doesnt follow any forms or conventions or rhyming patterns not because I am above such mortal frames and jails but because I am not good enough to actually master form. To reference what we were talking about before, Im like an artist that cant draw a horse but can draw a cube that represents a horse ;)

Hey that lack of

Makes it even better. I always hate it when poetry is confusing and i have to look up odd words.
Your poetry make my imagination come alive, which is an amazing thing.

You would have hated the poetry I used to write which was full of ezoterism (secrets/complicated concepts only for the elites/initalised) and latin phrases XD I turned more towards abstraction as I grew up though.

Haha, I actually took Latin in middle school. I like anything that can make my imagination light up, so your poetry is beautiful to me.

1 Like

Inspired by Latin XD quam amoena means how beautiful/how pleasant

7:

Quam amoena,
The way the sound falls on my lips,
Like rosepetals that flood my world,
Each a delicacy that lasts a lifetime,
A single moment, compromised of an eternity of lifetimes,
Each different, yet the same,
Quam amoena,
The petals like silk,
Touch my lips, allow me to kiss,
In my dying moments,
As I lay in an ocean of blood,
Quam amoena that today, I finally get to die.