The Poetry Marathon

“I know that as long as I live, nothing can justify me…”–Wislawa Szymborska

‘i lift myself in afternoon air,

slow down and think about the wrongs,

when I am trapped and caught in bones and sold, and no one demanded anything else of me.

I could be the highest bidder,

seen gold scatter and purchased, all the riches between the teeth,

clenched my life and grew some more.

I would be justified in all my wrong-doings, justified in the chaos,

that split itself in my chest, where the heart used to be,

a swarming ensued, wasps in the mind, clung and stung all the logic out of me.

I whisper to the judge, cut and fuss about simple things,

I also see you execute every faint, weak dream,

if I could be so justified in all my actions and ask no questions and receive no answers,

for the loose ends, untied and unwind me in the stale afternoon air,

I am undone, and this was the cause, the last of it.

if the predator felt the sting of infinity,

his pelt brushed against my skin, warmed me to the core.

I went for the wolf crown, adorned in diamonds and lust,

must have been  tragic,  escaping from his mouth,

with carnage and sharp teeth,

his howl shook all the veins straight up like hairs,

pulling apart my only need.

he found blood moons in my eyes,

he forgot how to handle with care,

and shifted all the buildings in my soul,

toppled them all, built from straw and bad things.

touched his brown fur, crawling in the forest, rumbling and crumbling,

and letting his shadows out to play, wild and disastrous like all my omen and prayers.

His brown eyes carnal in the way we talk about the world,

he still haunts me still, at least I wear his wolf crown,

and I can’t stand in the darkness without feeling him all around,

like some sort of phantom thing.

Related to one of my favorite lines: “come up with the fire, in the deadly 5th dimension pyre.” Here it goes:

it’s not blood staining your hand,

some ruby red lie that came up from the throat

to drown your world in all its sentiments,

I second guess every living thing in your veins,

When I waste away when I count days and struggle in the distance.

I resurrect every third day like some sort of deity,

only the thorns on top of my skull are the funeral drone of your aftermath.

I shake away and bleed, when the spear came to cut you deep,

and I saw angels burst from your skin, and the demons came to sin on your lips,

and  come from your mouth and cum from your mouth,

and envelope you in compressed thoughts.

I hold the lot of ticking time and I burn the bodies so the dead don’t speak our secrets.

I lifted myself from your rib-cage prison and dare ask your name on the release.

I often dismiss you when I’m drinking because you dismissed me in the shrinking feelings,

though they never shrink, they’re hidden some place, only the ghosts whisper their claims to that land.

I come up with the flame, and I spell your name as though this could be our engraved headstone,

of all the things that we were afraid to say, like some ritual that we lost the words to.

I guess a certain man will be my go to inspiration throughout this next 24 hours. And as I’m kinda hungover right now, I am going to be using what’s available in my messy mind, haha. Anyway, here is the poem:

Sat beside and let the electric blue wash me in agony,

I let the silence build the room,

I let you build the silence.

I open up in the backpocket of your fragile mind,

Where excess met distress and bones,

and harmony,

We sat with the fury and let brown eyes consume all thought.

I will rot in the disaster, if you pull me closer and faster into what love was, is,

Never was, never is, I still see you painting the universe, in your curse.

I started pretty late into Hour One, but here it goes, this poem is called Hangover:

I split my brain into haves and have-nots,

ushered in faux light from between the blinds,

resisted the image and the text back, when you say words you don’t mean,

when you’re caught in a stream of bad romantics.

I am caught in a stream touching someone else but thinking of you,

as my mind clutters and buzzes like my liver and my lips,

I dismiss every attempt to persuade you, this was the demon of my prayer to get into the kingdom.

I wake up once more and I’m shot and regretting every attempt I didn’t mean,

because you’re still not here and my head hurts.

Hi Everyone,

My name is Mateo Lara. I am thrilled to be a part of this again. I have found myself in a chaotic swirl this past year and look forward to expressing everything once again. I have definitely prepared since last year. I have a poetry book coming out later this year, entitled: Keta-Miha and Other Poems, so I will definitely be writing words inspired from that. I am from California. I attend college and I am definitely a mess and still trying to experience and get a grip on this machination we call life. I look forward to going on this journey with you all. See what everyone shares. Poetry is definitely a bleeding of the soul. I am happy to bleed with all of you, as macabre as it sounds.

You can find me on facebook, my poetry page is https://www.facebook.com/asperludwig

as well as on tumblr. under the same thing, asperludwigpoetry.tumblr.com

Let’s on connect!

Thank you.

There’s almost something tangible here, don’t you think?

An answer at the end of the tunnel,

The words pouring out like wine into the glass,

The purring of the purpose,

I hear you speak, what keeps you so silent for so long?

I know the way we were going,

And then we stuck to order, and patterns,

Stuck to old ways,

Destroyed ourselves in the process,

Watching the villages go up in flames,

The master of the way we knew.

The people who knew us,

We knew nothing apparently.

Madness.

I suppose as the day lingers,

The senses grow sharper and the emotions go deeper,

Running rampant, in you and in I.

I think the water is cold tonight,

I think we should meet there,

By the lake,

The glistening omen to the dying wants,

Where every goddamn lover had their share,

Of the purity in the night.

I think the water is calm tonight,

I think we should meet there,

Fall in love, breathe the air,

Or perhaps get drunk,

Make love in the dirty grass,

And by the water,

Let the secrets eat us alive,

Or perhaps we go to that party,

Together, together, those vodka lips, a secret kiss,

In the atmosphere, the mood is my savior,

We went there,

We went there and destroyed,

The calm, but let’s meet by the water,

Or at that party,

Let’s meet tonight,

Tonight, as the night changes us,

I think that’s a good idea. right?

The song of the burdened lover,

The brief appearance of Lazarus, resurrecting the screams from us,

The lungs that whisper nothings to the ear,

And deal in foolish love.

The skeletons of the six o’clock madness come raging out,

Still wondering what you are thinking now?

This shitty city’s roads do not tell your secrets,

And you sit back and sit on your phone,

Collect the souls of eager lovers to taint your soul,

We never are anything of the night,

Lazarus has brought you back to life,

And you stumble around, your colors are gone,

Drained of what you once knew and once loved.

The secrets to your bones, the rattling echo as you move,

I see the night, the evening is my mother,

And the stars all whine your name still.

I see your name all over, the road to my north stine home,

The road to your home, down into the end of this city,

The nice homes, the ones we hide our secrets in,

Behind bricks and gold,

I see the way you shine with her,

The pale man just like the moon,

The beautiful russian savior, here to spill the truth,

The evening is my mother,

The night is your wife,

Your lover, Nocturna,

The beautiful whisper of darkness,

Between your teeth is truth,

Between the kiss are lies.

I’ll behave in the setting sun,

When you’re not around the chambered room,

And maybe this is what life is supposed to be?

People running carelessly through other’s hearts,

Never knowing how to keep anything together,

We rummage through drawers and fall apart,

The sunken treasure in your soul,

Or the way people live will give us a reason,

To show our true colors.

I know how the torn lovers speak,

In riddles and the broken tongues spill out the truth,

I see the emptiness of the day,

One more day and then the next,

Spilling words hoping they mean something eventually.

I know this sickening world is full of light,

And the darkness only cuts half as much as my sleep does,

And the day grows intense, just like your fading lips on my skin,

But these torn lovers know something I do not,

And i’ve been ripped up for some time,

Because of you, lover, you stole these eyes.