Intoxyc8me's blog: "My Writings"

A thought! by LateNiteFantasy© A thought! it comes to me when I wallow in the slowly decreasing intoxication of bar after beer after bottle anticipating an impending hangover flung over the pearly cold smoothness of the omnipotent graceful gorgeous porcelain god of every friday night's inevitable slowdown What a thought! It's a gritty slow funk It's a super slam dunk and it rocks my world as it kicks my ass and breaks my head open with the insight that the height of my abilities has so far been hiding in the damp dungeons of the mighty palace that my mind will one day become Oh, what a thought! such a revolution evolution pollution of the regular form factor way of thinking an idea so big it strains my temples and so sharp it leaves scars on the inside of my skull This thought! It's not a new thought It's a new world "What if..." Wait. What was that? And by the power of the same elixir out of which it was born my thought fall and fade into the background absorbed once again by the grey matter that brought it to life And I am doomed to once again live my days with the knowledge that there was a thought a something lost until the next time the night sings me in and the slowdance of bar after beer after bottle will give me serendipity and over and over again make me forget

A Poet's Wicked Pen by LateNiteFantasy© She loves my wicked pen, My wicked pen of non-commitment, For she isn't married already, My wicked pen is what makes her heady. "Write me, write to me autumn's poet, Spare no ink, Use it all, I'm so glad you're BIG and tall, A perfect fit for my impassioned parchment, Spread your ink rich and thick, I can't get enough of it." Her eyes say “write to me, I read everything you have to say, Compose a poem of you and I, You are my older guy.” Where to start with one as beautiful as you; You are like a dream that comes to me, A dream reoccurring, Sometimes I can’t wait to find my bed at night, As you come to me in delight, Belly to belly hot and sweaty. Phantom kisses felt on her slender neck, She is not sure what to do, Because she has never had a man write to her eyes of poetry.

Sweet Poetry by LateNiteFantasy© This is the end result of what happens when you stay up all night thinking about writing poems. I couldn't sleep, and this is the fruits of my labor, and insomnia.... I hope you enjoy ---------------------------------------------- I wanted to create, poetry that moves But I couldn’t decide what form to chose Should I go with slam, or Maya Angelou Or fit my words into hip hop bugaloo I sat back and pondered, oscillating my thought All night was this logical battle I fought Then suddenly it hit me, like a Mariah Carey note I just had to flow with what ever I wrote So whether its onomatopoeia Or just simply prose I made like Toucan Sam and followed my nose I lifted my fingers and let them fall The keyboard rang out and answered the call My words flowed freely and took on life They inhaled pain and exhaled strife They sought out poverty, enlightened solitude They erred perfection, and polited rude When ever my brain ran into a brick wall The words stepped in and corrected the stall I didn’t have to think too hard, it just flowed And at the end of it all don’t you know What I read left me in awe, amazed In the midst of my cerebral, chaotic craze I had written a poem, deep and surreal I had simply written about how I feel Tossed and tormented, stressed and defeated My life long reserves of patience depleted A victim of life and the choices I made The bed in which for so long I have laid And as I reread the words that I wrote My eyes shed a tear, a knot caught my throat I had to step back, and take a deep breath I let it soak in, and then I wept I had written from the heart, from the soul In the end, I had finally accomplished my goal I didn’t chose the words, I let them chose me And after all that I wound up, with sweet poetry.

A Poet's Singularity by LateNiteFantasy© every poet charts a course opening windows to their soul yellow brick roads stairways to hell needs and fetishes offered up placing emotions on keyboards conjuring devils and angels warp speed through a cyber brothel entangled but unattached a Fubar black hole

The Author by LateNiteFantasy© The Author The line betwen the real and unreal, is never sharply drawn. And I'm still trying to decide, just which side you're on. Dreams can come, and dreams can go, and sometimes dreams come true. The trick is in telling which dreams are which, a knack that I once knew. So I sit amid my thoughts, and I write down what I dream. letting my imagination run free, exploring variations on a theme. Someday, someone will read these lines, and get a peek inside my mind. I hope they'll see the magic there, and share the wonders that they find.