Latest Posts by tblackwater - Page 2

Marian

That kind of look that just breathes "I know what the fuck I'm doing, And you want it, You want to know". It captures me At the basest most innocent of levels. She stands Forever still In black and white. This wolf at my door.

Burden

I am sick Of the knowledge Of your thoughts Of the potential decision That you could have made Of the responsibility You place on me To look after you The finger That you point at me The moment I don't The moment I'm not there The moment I take for myself I stand accused Betrayal they say Disrespect A lacking love The noose around my heart The dead weight on my shoulders I cannot give in Or give up I do not sell myself as a hero Or even a good man So do not blame me For when I do not do What's right by you. I am sick Of the knowledge Of your thoughts Of the potential decision That you could have made Of the responsibility You place on me To look after you The finger That you point at me The moment I don't The moment I'm not there The moment I take for myself I stand accused Betrayal they say Disrespect A lacking love The noose around my heart The dead weight on my shoulders I cannot give in Or give up I do not sell myself as a hero Or even a good man So do not blame me For when I do not do What's right by you.

A final question, begun

"Shall we begin" "How Fucking Dare You?" The beast, enraged by a seemingly random and unfounded accusation, snarls, fangs bared. The boy, not understanding, much like the beast, what has been asked, but presuming the worst, cowers, and pulls himself up onto the chair. The man, dumbfounded, just sits there, and stares at the painted man, as if querying the query, with a slight tilt of his head, but otherwise his face portrays no emotion, once again stuck between his two companions.

Awaiting questions

Still waiting. The entertainment Has long since dried up The beast The man The boy We sit We wait Always we wait Forever so it seems. We wait. No ticket No number Just the cold, hard, plastic Of our chairs And the bright, fluorescence, hanging overhead. In walks another Dressed brightly With a smile painted upon his face Does he represent another side? Or is this one wholly separate? The jester sits In front of the three: The boy The man The beast. He sits And he asks

Questions of waiting

I find myself In a waiting room The real life Purgatory Realised With seats And nonsensical material With which to 'entertain' And pass the time. I'm Not free And not Accepted, Imprisoned, perhaps, But Just there. Between a boy And a beast Perhaps they symbolise me Perhaps that's why I find myself between And not beside. When they call my name Will we all rise? Or will they be left behind?

Tread carefully

I'm so used to walking in the gutter that placing my feet on level ground has become Somewhat of a privilege. Ironically though, I find that my feet fumble and move around, unable to find even footing On the flat surface I now find myself on. I aim for the cracks Just to find Some resistance. Maybe I should Just stay in my place, And not seek things above my station To forever crawl in the dirt Realise And accept The struggle The comfort In the uneven surface of my life

On my way home...

Have you ever Felt so... Ethereal? A part of yourself And a part of nothing In touch but unable to, All that is you And all that is everything Is not anymore. Have you ever Watched yourself From the inside, An out of body experience Yet trapped in your own. Disconnected control Of your own self, You are you. But barely able to feel And yet remaining fully aware Just, Dulled Numb To all that is. Danger lies in that stillness Like quicksand It becomes hard not to sink To fall into And embrace That sweet nothing Because there is no fear Just a vague sense of acceptance Without question or answer

I'm finding that as I get older Getting older feels divine Now I don't believe in the divine There's just no better word to describe The feeling of age in my mind Now sun is dead ahead And the road is behind. I'm being blinded, Is this the cost of freedom? Too much coffee And not enough sleep Black. Light. Spots. Peaks don't help when Stars are staring you down And December is no place For tinted lenses

Summer dress

I trace your shape through it The tops of your thighs Silhouetted, with your back to the sun Your hips Holding it high and holding back the truth Your waist, pulling it in Like the ebb of the tide Your breasts pushing it back Washing it over me I can't stop now. Your neck Bare and fragile Like gold leaf illuminated by that burning star at your back I look closer and watch your pulse for a second or two Wondering how it would feel against my lips A breeze blows Your hair is fire Caught in that slowed wind I taste your perfume on the air Fresh and deep And I'm gone I'm yours and always will be I look down and I see the print And want to leave my prints on it

Closed, go away

Too much duvet In the way Thinkings not allowed We're closed The mind opens at 10 Come back then Wait outside if ya have to Just don't expect any Privileges for being keen Sharp as a stone The mind opens at 10 On The Dot Just five minutes more Just five Minutes more

This kinda talkative is bordering On lunacy Clearly overheated synapses Lazy caps firing firing firing Who rigged this circuit board Bored So bored of this wiring Cut the red cut the blue What the fuck does this one do Zzzzzap Now I feel a bit strange I taste all blurry Was the ground always this furry?

The eleven thirty train to sleepsville via stone heart town has left

How do you feel Because I don't know how To. I want to know But Don't lend me your knowledge Just let me know, Tell me Your side of the story Don't let me in the door Just let me peek through the window And catch a glimpse I don't have the time Or the capacity For it all

Thoughts confuse me

Is this right Or am I Just Projecting society inside myself Wanting what I should want Rather than what I do want Enjoying what should be enjoyed Rather than deciding for myself Should you want something Just because you can do it Should you enjoy something Just because you're good at it How do we know When we are conditioned so Taught what to want And How to feel Learning only when It's too late That we don't Have to participate When we've already run the race

Thirteen - a retrospective

The innocence of youth Left me then I understood That we all Co depend It might end my pain But It would increase theirs The fear had taken hold And entered my mind Overdramatising My situation in life It was bad But it would get better Now I had no need To write that letter

Thirteen

I'm gonna do it I've gotta do it Maybe it'll mean I can start over I can become new again Because how can one so young Fuck up so much I've lost the love I've lost the respect The hope The trust The dreams The tears nestled in between the screams I hope no one ever finds out But I want them all to know I made a mistake This is who I am But I will atone I promise You'll see You'll see It'll never happen again You'll see Just believe me Please No This can't happen There can be no Continuation From this point on From here on out There will be No More I found you Now I plead Come sweet edge And find your place Drink deeply And take me home Please Take me away Because I took something And now I pay

Wait, what?

Little fingers never waited So long To be waited Upon Had to weigh out some Gold, or was it silver That had a lighter weight I can't wait for the answer Now that they're waited They can move faster But that's only after They've waited to have The weight lifted To become weight-less

Grey

I hide behind Dressed up exteriors And dark interiors Hoping I don't notice What I really am So here, see me This is the painting I choose to show Allowing no one to enter the attic And see How scarred Burned And torn The real one is So what you see Is most definitely what you get Because you will never know What's inside this head

Yup

Esquire he's my idol But now Now Lets not get Carried away Swept A-way with the tide Weigh anchor dogs This whale wants us inside But we won't go down No we won't go down Not with this ship Not on your life No not on your lives Neither on mine

Questioning fate

And whether we are all trapped in it and thinking we are free to decide what we do or whether we actually are. Not that it ultimately matters, you are who you are and you do what you do. She begged With tears on her cheeks Screams in her throat And blood in her hands But I cut him still Watching him drain into the ground And her sink next to him All for what. We all knew this was the way It had to end But just because you know the end You can't stop wanting To hope That it will change How do you fight fate Wether you believe in it Or not How do you know that our actions have consequences Is it a consequence if it's preordained? How can you fool the very thing that's writing your story How do you choose, if the choice was never yours How do you live If the life was never yours to lead If you are lead by some string tied to your soul Tied to the pages we are written on Your life Ink on pages Does someone read us when we pass Or are we just stored on the shelf To impress and gather dust She begged And I cut

Introspective and whatnot

So this poem came from me looking at how I function in a group. I'm inherently a quiet person, but I'm more than happy to talk if I feel I can offer something to the conversation, but quite often I feel like the first line, just there, observing. Especially with people that have recently joined my life, and I don't mean it in a bad way, as I know there is no way I could contribute to years of peoples past or knowledge of their homes, I wasn't there, I didn't know them, and I'm fine with that. I quite like just listening. A silent observer  From over the edges of torn sheets Keep to the daylight To the peripheral shadows  at the edges of your eyes Just wanting to see Not to be Happy to listen And speak within Hiding in plain sight They can all see But not comprehend Or recognise  The distance between The distance within Steal yourself from the participation You have nothing to offer So just hover And exist in front of their eyes But at the back of their minds

No titles for you!

So this started out as a sort of homage/inspired by a dead mans bones song (who you should listen to if you don't already) but then changed and evolved as most of what I write does. It isn't what I wanted it to be at the start but I like what it has become. You're gonna drip ethereal Your blood will illuminate the fires in the sky Celestial ecstasy For I am the devil And darlin you are done Your soul will come When I do We're all just trying to move up And let's face it I can't get much lower Deep down in the chasm of you Burning through Burning through A brief taste of destruction With a mouthful of ecstasy Lose yourself To your sensibilities To the fire that grips you From the deep Deep Depths Let go your inhibitions And break down the walls Let you take over yourself Flow free With me And I will make you A queen Of your own being Now reign Look into the darkness Reach out And taste it Know yourself Before I take You Away

I make people burn Apparently And shake Shake down Through You? It could have been you It could Still Be Still Tonight Just watch the light From a million years ago Gently illuminate The face of the moon Brightening your eyes As the ground you stand on flies Through nothing But this is our everything It's all.

Ambiguity is the core of good literature

It keeps you guessing. I know what it's about, you think you do. But different things mean different things to different people, differently... I get off on that a bit. You draw me in Oh, the way you do Taking my very essence From between your lips Dry or wet  It's all the same Taking me down  Into you Stealing my soul Then breathing me out  Into the world I knew before Tainted now Discoloured Part of me left in there Remaining Attached to your insides Like a memory of what  Could Have Been But will no longer come to pass Go ahead, take another That's all I am to you I'm used and I love it It's all I am

Always bring a knife to a gun fight, or any fight, life is a constant fight, bring it to that too

Pack for every Eventuality Fill your pockets with Golden survival Stuff knives in your socks  Fire in your hands And jerky in your briefs And pray Pray they come Or this'll all be for Naught And if they do Turn out  Offer them an Open hand But don't forget to Arm the other

Let's talk about sex

I wrote this drunk, on my way home from god knows where. I guess I wrote it because of how hung up everyone (even me) gets about it, when it is the most natural thing there is, every living organism reproduces, we are one of the handful that enjoy it, so just fucking enjoy it.... Sex is not a goddamn performance. Sex should feel as natural as drinking water. It should not require confidence. Sex should happen, because the moment is ripe. Ripening lips, ripening labia, ripening cock, ripening pupils, ripening state of being. Ripe and augmented and brimming. Your energy goes to your pumping heart, then to every external nerve, then to theirs, on fire. You bask, roll, play in it. You sigh, moan, laugh. It’s not about being “good in bed.” It’s about being happy. One should never worry if they’re doing it “correctly.” Sex is not factual. I don’t want your cookie-cutter sex, I don’t want your meticulously crafted, calculated, fool-proof fuck. I don’t want a show. I want you. Let your instincts, urges and whims define that. It’s enough. What do most girls like? Forget about it. Statistics are meaningless when there’s only one. Hello, here’s me. Here’s you. Don’t worry about taking it too slow. We got time. We got infinite rhythms, combinations, possibilities. Explore each fuck. Take our time. We can do a different one later. Don’t worry about making me come. I’m here. Right where I want to be. I am overwhelmed by wanting; you don’t have to convince me. I want you because I like you. So don’t put on a front. Don’t taint this. I’m frustrated—it’s just authenticity I want. It’s originality. It’s passion. It’s joy. Don’t say that something I like is ugly. Don’t compare yourself to the rest. You will live and die with and within your experiences like everyone else. If someone thinks you are amazing, they are not wrong. Their universe is as real as any other; it is forged through perception. I don’t care if you accidentally slammed my head into the wall, if you slipped out, if my arm cracked, if the delightful pressure of your wet lips on my anything made a silly sound. There is no right way and no wrong way. “Good in bed,” what. You’re good in my bed. I’m pleased you’re there. I feel it suits you. Shove your technique. Let your memory swallow it. Fuck me like you’d fuck me, fuck me like you feel. This isn’t a test.

Let's start with something easy

Or let's not. I write because the words speak to me, when they come, I stop whatever I'm doing to record them, it's like possession, it takes over and I lose control. But saying that, I like to write, I could never keep a diary because I think it was too regimented, but I've always enjoyed writing, for me. It's only recently that I've let people see this side of me, let them read my thoughts, which is essentially what it is. I guess some of what I write is pretty deep, but that's because I like to rant to get how I feel out of me, I can understand it more if I can see it, like a tangible reflection. Conversely, I write some random things that aren't deep. Essays, poetry, conversations, it's just how my brain deals with life. Anyway, welcome to the ramblings.