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 Untitled by Zeke "Childhood" by Sarah Bonifacio "That Beat, I Hear It" by Megan Diamondstein Untitled by A.M. Smith Relic (Memento) by Ramon Contrera Untouchable Face by Daniel Sanders Untitled by Farrah Fidler Creeping Light by VB unfamiliar ceiling by Taneka Stotts A Lost Love by P. Withers submit a poem for next month's edition go to current edition  |
unfamiliar ceiling by Taneka Stotts unfamiliar ceiling another unfamiliar ceiling another new plane full of lost souls holding tight to their shattered matchbox reality striking all their hopes against the rough dormant strips of truth they are engulfed by their desires tucking passion into empty pockets like discarded memories fore they are blinded by their lust and we are becoming shadow walkers with double vision walking a fine line of illusion and were all in denial that this high wire act just isn't't so dangerous god damn these unfamiliar ceilings especially the ones that plot against you the ones who wait for you to fall asleep so that they may drop down from upon you crushing you with memories imprinted like frozen snow and all the support you never needed and it smells like blood in here leaving a bitter taste of irony stuck to my pallet that i just can't seem to wash away scrubbing relentlessly with my truth brush till my gums bleed out from jaded bristles all my anger pent up deep in emotional cavities infecting the inner sanctum of my stability and my sight drifts sullenly across these unfamiliar ceilings watching it shift like a sea of visions deferred interrupted occasionally by he who is caught up in my flesh but my eyes stay glued upon these unfamiliar ceilings they stay locked upon the popcorn concrete flat tile surface you see i've known many unfamiliar ceilings woken up to their amnesia smiles as they greet you with the possibilities that they hold something new for you and i've never known a familiar ceiling never know a ceiling that has held the imprint of my youth the pillaging of my innocence or the beginning of my growth stretched like my flesh and my thoughts are suspended fixtures illuminating the masses however these all belongs to unfamiliar ceiling that now someone else will look up to and they will not see me they cannot hear me and most will never speak of me because to most looking up it's just another popcorn concrete flat tile surface it's just another ceiling |
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