Tag Archives: Power

Heartless

The power and rage of this permanent pain,
sporadic avenues of reviving buried yesterdays.
The tall tales of a love I initially claimed,
a tragic romance which led to dismay.

Hurt resembling a thousand knives to ones chest,
a punctured ego, riven thoughts and broken promises.
With my severed heart and capricious requests,
no gain without pain, I’ve grown to be heartless.

Intentions are as prejudice as white supremacists,
I’m wildly sucked into this infinite tunnel.
Worshiping flawed emotions as a love atheist,
things never work out for me, they always crumble.

The passion’s gone, but memories compose tattoos,
maturing into a glutton for critical heartache.
It skips us like stones to a non-rippling lagoon,
what lead me to presume union would display?

What the hell was I thinking, I’m quite the fool,
this hopeless search for a fulfilled happiness.
Too busy dreaming, discounting logical thinking,
like a needle in a haystack, I’ve lost my place.

  • Ms. Tioko

PHOTO CREDIT:
http://fineartamerica.com/featured/heartless-martin-dawids.html

Profit of the Powerless

This just can’t be life; if so
consider taking a rain check;
life has a way of omitting
what you traditionally expect.

Compensating you with leftovers,
recycled dreams and aged bullshit;
chasing you in circles, urging
to tame you like circus chimps.

Never be influenced
by life’s failing attempts,
to trap you in a frenzy
you should take another glimpse.

Collect yourself as time ticks
sit back, stop watching this pain;
before life flips out, gouging eyes out
legally blinding you once again.

Results of handicapped views, you
dangle from the bridge of sanity,
with a theoretical halo draining
it’s now lifeless batteries…

The day’s a waste while the
world awaits, patiently pacing
Around an hour-glass
depleting all hope remaining.

With clenched fists, blackened hearts,
mind’s spinning like ceiling fans,
muscle tension, faded thoughts,
I’m afraid you’ve been outran.

Tug of war with these demons,
back and forth like subways,
low blows and mood swings
dirty dancing this fatal ballet.

With no way to escape,
assuming your death to be fate;
an end to all struggling and
nonsensical justice you take.

Gasping for air, faint whispers,
staring life in the face;
everything moves in slow motion
muted speed and lack of haste.

In submission you collapse,
to the clouds you praise.
With the soil you become,
refusing to die another day.

But today…

– Ms. Tioko

PHOTO CREDIT:
http://www.dailyartfixx.com/2011/02/12/xiau-fong-wee-painting/