Odd of the Wall

laura-visigalli,lauravisigalli
by laura visigalli

High tides, low lights,

Staring at the cage,

That am going to spend rest, the life.

Blue ribbons and gift wrappers,

But nothing’s inside,

Box of empty rotten people.

I tried to live in between them.

All I could do, just pretend am happy.

With fake friendliness, I tried to look pleased.

I tried to look as if flying high.

And someone said, “you are odd of the wall”.

I took his name in vain, may be his blood too.

I might have.

Am too expensive as am extravagant you can’t afford me!

I better be, me and my darker self,

Like a shade, an obscurity, a shadow.

Am on drugs, help me.

Like a nightmare, they haunt me.

But still I have close my eyes to overcome the fear

In the depth of nights to pretend as if am the sleeping beau.

But whatever am an unpredictable swine.

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dope II

the fascinating creation by Yuichi Ikehata

Am busted, exhausted and ruined.
What’s so happening is what’s so accidental.
I don’t know.
What’s so overwhelming is so desirable.
So much bruise, deep and split, blood dripping madness.
Lost my texture.
Feel like being tricked.
Unexpected stories with weak twists.
I have set my course towards the unknown X.
It’s time for a good night sleep.
Beyond the seas, I dream of travelling.
I don’t know what so tiresome to say.
And what am trying to make known is so confusing.
It’s the present psyche of mine and for what am trying to break the silence.
Am truly unthinkably unknown.

Incomplete and Everything

Laura Visigalli
People & portrait photography by Laura Visigalli

The pages are empty.

The story is incomplete.

I have my own

And yet to be written

I feel nude

And tempted to be with you

Or maybe

Am being optimistic

To be able to

Enjoy your beauty

In the most darkest

The sense of fret self.

Am unknown to many

But you know my

Deepest tactions

And so are you… For me.

Everything would be written again.

Summer Night

 

An Atlas was Born by Simon McCheung
An Atlas was Born by Simon McCheung

 

The door shuts with a bang and the night was too cold and the sky is empty. As the summer grows nearer and the days go longer, its magical daydreaming of downtime and as the firefly glows after a long lazy day and the beautiful summarily night.

My gut glows like I have eaten a firefly and as it’s snowing inside my stomach. I lit up the jungle and grab a chair looking at the upper atmosphere with a wide open mouth like a nursery child and tiny drops of drool dripping from the lip joints.

I spent the whole night with that sort of feeling of how long am going to be alone and how many sleepless nights will count on.

 

 

Pale Chapter

tumblr_n5u7jykaml1sqn1x7o1_r3_1280.pngWriting poetry for so long doesn’t mean that am good at it but basically that’s what I dream about when the perfectly fine brewing machines at the café while its churring and buzzing to make mocha for my lazy callow soul and it’s wet behind ears and I shed my hair after every chemical I take in .

That’s too long for me as they said I have no much time left. The words drip apart from my hands to finger to paper but still am not contented, I want more, more like every drop, every sodium and chloride knifed apart. I feel like am drowned in an ocean that I see every morning as I walk through the wet sands of grandmother’s hole beach.

Broken shells and shred glasses like a mosaic floor cover some patches created by the waves. Dead fishes and the oil spilt tar sands, dark as chunks of coal all around and the pale white cloudy sky before the sunrise of a wintry morning that I walk past every day.

I pretend too much everything.

Plastic mind and popping eyes of a bullfrog, that cries only on a drizzling day which never happens to be in my land of fist fighters who lost to a glass storm. Cause I ain’t fighting anymore in the ring. I was never in control to fight for a reason that does have an essence for the life I live in and this ain’t Pluto to have a frozen heart that’s too pale enough for my elements to wither and fall back as I give up.

There is something to be changed forever but it never happens, because it’s just the shaggy thoughts of the mankind which he has inherited from his homo ancestors.

Though I have been writing too long, time check, night crossed and the other began silently before I again check my watch. Time defines everything, everything about your memories, from the footprints you left in the sands of the morning beach and to the last thing you remember doing it with your loved priorities.

My home is on fire but I wipe them out with my bare hands, I got burned, I don’t care, I breathe the smoke to be alive and keep me burning. But the way you stalk me is more hurting than anything more like breathing cyanide. But I would keep the fire and would be writing poetry of my kind till I have the sense of emptiness, empty like a copper box, a treasure chest that’s made of copper and is empty and is ready to fill my thoughts that I am alone!

..

The churring and buzzing stops and my mocha pours into my cup and am walking towards my daily spot.