Staking claim to memory banks
before you can even pause to consider
whether or not an event is worth remembering
Flashback, heart attack
outlined in pink and green
a trailing stream

Broken promises
Bursting orgasms
Bleeding hearts
Painful art

Failed dreams
Accomplishments
Birth, growth, death
Choking, stress, breath

Road blocks and speed traps
Seeking to ascend all that

The desire to go beyond what I have accepted till now
The belief that my life must stop if theirs is to start
Colliding in this stormy sea of pure potentiality
Where we can die…or we can dream

They say the mind is a terrible thing to waste
I guarantee you’ll be addicted to my taste
My nectar the key
to altering your perception.

It seems fact and fiction
only serves to prove what they want to see
misinterpretation

Like the good books and their simple wisdom
they seem dead set on complicating
what is a very simple soul

Naive, scarred
having kept myself so close to the nest
it has become much more like a web

Sticky and complicated
trapped by my own misguided perception
Content to let them believe what they want

As I busy myself tearing away
these silky, gossamer threads
of the trap I perceived as security

Perhaps I am like you think
Really, who’s to say
until I’ve allowed myself
to become completely unspun.

They had vowed never to cross this line
Together, they had made the promise
And for so many years it was kept.
Her heart pounding against her chest
There is so much she does not want to see.

As per the instructions, she kills her headlights
Cementing the wet October blackness.
A garage door rises silently.
He was watching.
Already hungry. He had insisted.
Too long, too long
A game turned to hunt turned to need
And she could no longer deny her own.

Safe inside, but still so dark.
Her breath is nervous as she steps from the car.
She wants to call his name,
But has agreed to play by his rules.

Her stilettoes dance on the concrete
A reminder of just how little else he has requested.
To the letter
Every detail outlined
Red lips
Red nails
Hair down

She turns to grab the overnight bag
Toys he could never keep at home
And his scent overwhelms her.

Hand fisted in her hair
Pulled back
Teeth against her neck
Breath hot

She bites her tongue
As a moan escapes her.
As per the instructions
She will have no voice.

He is rock hard and ready
No teasing required
As he drives himself against her

Forced roughly
Face to still warm hood
His hand growing tighter round her neck
As she takes his months of waiting
His frustration
His will

Pounding
Pounding
Pounding

Until finally she begs release
Knowing her punishment
Will fit the crime.

I’ve run from light for as long as I can remember.

Give me the beach under the silver gauze of moonlight any day.

The waves sound different when they crash over your toes under a starlit, black eye sky.

There is a hallow echo to their surrender. Like the last rumble of a dying heart.

I answer the call, without even realizing

Hypnotized by texture and tone

mind playing tricks on me as pink and green dance on the silver sea foam

The ghost spirits of dancing lupins sway

Their stench, their supposed perfume

so much like the sickening sweet waves that come with decay

as spirited life leaves its vessel behind to rot and return to the earth

much like the high tide under darkened sky

pulls out and rolls under

these torturous memories that seek to sap my strength

I will remain strong, though I know how desperately you wish I would stop

See the light

come to a reason that I have never been able to make sense of

I could just be here, lay down

become one with the gray of the sand

return to the earth, poisoned by sweetness

and disappear into the inky black

of an invisible horizon.

Reblogged from THE POET BY DAY, the journey in poem:

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If you have an interest in poetry, Natasha Head is probably on the periphery of your radar even if you don't know her as well as many do through her blog, The Tashtoo Parlour, her participation in a leadership role on d'Verse ~ Poets Pub, and as the founder and coordinator of New World Creative Union. 

A highly visible part of our community of poets, writers, and bloggers, she's an accomplished poet and writer, wife and mother, and real estate agent ~

Read more… 472 more words

I remember, so long ago, sitting, glassy eyed and smiling on that floral sofa we found so funny. I laughed so hard it hurt, still freaking over your insistence at coming home with me, the games put away. No interference. No best friends to watch my back…what were the fucking odds? Just me, you, and Miss American Pie…oh yes…that will never be lived down.

Running through my set lists, hearing how my voice made you feel…YOU…the real rock star. Taking your advice, never knowing within six months that part of my life would be neatly packed away. You were telling me how to take over the world…and I was too drunk to listen.

I remember the sound of your voice, I remember the feeling of the blush taking over, all attempts at maintaining composure gone. To this day, I hear the conversation turning, feel the heat rising.

It plays on a loop, you know. And I wonder how the universe chooses to bring our angels. Your insistence on my worthiness. On my potential. On my self-defeating ways. How close were you watching. How could I not have known. I laugh at my disbelief as I remember how you lectured me on my awesomeness. How it was fact that I was too good for the likes of the folks from our parts. How I had to get out…run…or wilt, suffering the slow death of every other soul on the block. Is it too late to say I’m sorry for not listening?

I’m so sorry for laughing when you asked if we could cuddle. Those were the last words I ever expected to fall from your lips. I smile to this day at the thought. Because you…like the others…were unworthy too. You knew there was nothing I would say no to…yet, you pulled me close, your breath heavy and hot on the back of my next, and whispered 1000 reasons for not doing what you so obviously wanted to.

I feel your arms still, your breath…being crushed against you as the sober light of morning brought you to. I never told you I didn’t sleep. I never told you how scared I was you would wake and run, or how thankful I was when you didn’t.

Breakfast, cigarettes, coffee and conversation…more of the same…as though we had always been together, until, with a simple kiss on the cheek, you told me thanks…and walked right out of my life.

I don’t want to lose this moment, this memory.

Now you know.

~Taz