Solastalgia

Envy paints me like a forest;

lush and vast and green

Sadness blues my skeleton

from buried bone to glacier creek

And nothing

congregates the masses like carnage

fusing into bile brown

It smells of death

but to them

it looks like love


via Daily Prompt: Planet

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Starboard

Dancing on an orange rind

picking bits of zest out from

between the toes

Flicking them off starboard

What’s happened to the flesh

is anybody’s guess

It may have been eaten

in a citrus-y mess

I am out of ideas

but keep dancing I do

to create the illusion

that I am not plagued by

constant confusion

The Equation

Fucked up.

We are both fucked up.

Idiosyncrasies rushing over

like schools of fish

caught in a current.

Psychoses biting down

on our heads

like piranhas,

drawing blood.

We found common ground

in our mutual self-hatred,

and from it

we built love.

Fucked up,

idiosyncratic,

psychotic

love.

Together, we became

the piranhas,

preying

on the school

of fish.

 

Interpreter of melodies

He sang to me, and I fell asleep.

Not because I was bored of him,

or tired even.

Quite the contrary, in fact,

as I had never known contentment

quite like in that moment.

I had never felt such tranquility,

as when I was cocooned in him;

tangled in the hair

on his arms.

He is fictitious,

and I am dreaming,

but his song remains

as poignant as it always had.


via Daily Prompt: Melody

Your edge of the world

There are thousands of miles between

your golden coast

and mine concrete

Thousands of things to go wrong

potential for heartache

potential for loss

Potential for fresh faces turned

weather beaten moss

Thousands of reasons not to

thousands of reasons I want to

With every step towards

your edge of the world

I am more confident

that this is crazy

and more confident

in the path ahead

Just so long as it

leads me to swim

in your eyes


https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/eyes/

Carpe occasionem

Overtly

Bent on

Seizing

Every

Single

Slightly

Entrenching

Dalliance


https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/obsessed/

L’histoire de l’aubergine

Au travail aujourd’hui, une cliente s’est approché de ma caisse poussant un chariot plein de courses. Parmi les courses, il y avait une aubergine qui avait une déformation. Normalement, les clients ne veulent pas acheter des produits avec des déformations, mais cette femme a donné une chance à l’aubergine. Voici une photo :

image
Ses enfants l’avaient même décorés.

Mon amie m’a dit que ça ressemblait à Skeeter de l’émission (dessin animé) « Doug » :

image
MDR

Qu’en pensez-vous ? Achèteriez-vous du produit comme ça ? Si vous avez eu des expériences similaires, racontez-en dans un commentaire. 🙂

(S’il vous plaît, n’hésitez pas à corriger mes erreurs. Je voudrais bien à améliorer mon français.)

Stimulus

This is how your brain

responds to pleasure

The flares go up,

the lights blow out of pressure

Your eyes grow wide,

but your engines cool

Blood can still run warm

if you have the right tools

You’re a monster, you know,

from what I hear

A well-oiled machine

I’m walking away with my heart

stuck in the gears

My head lodged in a dream

Good Place

There was more of me then

More to this skin and bone template

My face lit up well with such livelihood

It complemented me like the bad does the good

Now I’ve been bulldozed by he who came before

I was in a good place but not anymore

There was less of the moon then

Less of a light at night and I slept soundly

Now I major in shortcomings and I study my flaws

Sharp with resentment and threatening like claws

Now my feathers are plucked and I’m stripped to the core

I was in a good place but not anymore

You’ll have to excuse my morose sense of reality

But I’ve learned that Hell’s arrows don’t specifically aim for me

And the ones that do strike leave a lasting impression

I’ve lived through all this and yet I’m still second-guessing

There was more to me then

More than just primary colors

But my wheels keep turning despite their golden rust

There are beautiful things that can be built from the dust

Now the crows may have perched next to my eyes

But I’m in a good place this time

The Genesis of Wanderlust

This is the twenty-fourth winter I’ve spent in this town

and I’d rather there not be a twenty-fifth

Despite the laundry list of shit it takes to move myself from this abyss

I’ll make it out of this time-space continuum rift

I’ve seen some places, pissed off some friends

Reconciled with others and fell into some harmonious trends

I’ve lived my life on impulse, settled into craters of debt

and rode out again on the back of my unsafe bets