The withering leaves had curled
As if they too were grasping at
November, they had darkened and
Became a crunch beneath boots.

The rebirthing months come again
And the leaves grow back, finally
Unfolding, too, to the truth; it is
Not over until the core dies of rot.

0 Notes

Try-hard with my diction,
Juxtaposition rubs harshly
And it usually swells as
A runon phenomenon.

Bearing bloodshot eyes,
I’ve been rushing
On the span of
Seventeen minutes,
Your image clings on
Passed the throwaway
Intention of sleep.

Encima de las sabanas medianas,
¿Adónde va los cielos morados?
Pagamos las montañas con las
Estrellas de todos colores que
Podemos buscando. Contigo,
Estoy que es necesario estar
Llamarse tranquilamente.

Tight Muscles

Encapsulate my involuntary
Passion for your every genetic feature,
And conditioned character, I swallowed it
Dry and feel fevered. Do touch my hair
Like an outward expression and do it
Again and again, comb and
Rake through my dark brown history;
Do you feel the rolling laughter and the
Raw grasses, do you feel the comfort
Of coiling legs and sheets, can you
Feel that smile, my constant.

Americano cloistered in ego
Finds dissolutions in the parting
Of lips and in the empiric fall
Of eyelashes.

Do tell the neurotic, he’s but a
Water stained mirror in the
Darkness of gripping nighttime
Vacancy.

Side, if not for love, with him
In the name of nearness so
That falsehoods of freedom are
Pure white lies.

Affections

They wrote about the day the sun
Thrust a shine unto the ice crusted ocean
And how his lips, all chapped and cracked
As the frozen saltwater before him, had
Met the cold hardness of dark green glass.
Burn.
It’s foreign and it slides down the way
A slur comes up, all slushed joy and a
Rejoice to say it again—words we beg for.

I’ll write about that day a little differently,
How the trenches found a surface and
About how millions of needles tear a
Way through your skin, how a mind will
Drown in seconds over muffled chattering
Teeth. The seething and the searing that
Too comes from a bottle.
Chill.
The quaking beneath bumpy taught skin
Becomes less violent, and the calm in the
Depths of the mind are just darkness with
That slurry sentence as something like
Bioluminescence come to dizzy before a
Strike; this is all chemistry and biology
That takes one like a rocking boat.

Featured Poet : Camron R. aka loveemonster

jm-barraza:

toointoitblog:

Today I wanted to share some amazing poetry from a awesome writer I have been following for awhile. Camron R., aka @loveemonster was kind enough to let me share some of his work today, poems in text form as well as a few in graphics he made himself. But first, I wanted to get to know this poet I…

This is a post from my blog Too Into It, featuring a poet from tumblr that I love, loveemonster. If you aren’t familiar with his stuff, please check it out, and if you are, please share this post.

Thank you Camron for letting me publish this post! 

Follow the site’s tumblr toointoitblog for more, and please submit anything you think I may be interested in, as well as any comments or suggestions. :)

^^ Check it out!! ;)

My Heart Murmur

A hanging heart of dystrophy will
Make a human degenerate of
What one used to be, it will surely
Cave and collapse what was,
Destined to lapse from first birth.
Don’t touch the skin, though
It glows as the white smile leads.
Don’t touch the hair, though
It glides in graceful air like great
Footsteps on calm water—it’s  
As empty as a book that’s been
Translated and lost—you’ve
Lost.

The Origin of 17

Quiet pathology, swooshes
And a hand still fists. Don’t
Let a tear become a drum,
The muffled hum can make
Cold glass feel like home.

John

Pale and blonde,
I think it unfair you touch
Six more inches of sky
And demand my lips to part
Like canyons.

I don’t want to be placed upon
Silver pedestals because
You shouldn’t be looking up to me.
I’m using your sex
And your time
Giving back a meager smile
And a stiff moan so not to break
Your ego.

Working Student

Skinnies are ripped at the knees,
Muscles of the legs are swollen
From thirteen hours of Yes-sir’s
But the ache residing there and
Up through the core could not
Halt the desire to get shit done.

The perfect contact of
Chemical, meat, and shock;
Drawn into the essence
Of our own creation.