kyle turner
kyle turner Poems
Iced dreams weigh heavy
on my heart;
and while I sleep my demons die,
but when I wake the echoes cry.
...
Sad yet sexy shivers
from a little lady on the street corner,
named Wendy.
She’s as breezy as last week
...
The disappearance of miss Emilie Devine
Weighed heavy on our broken minds.
She slipped into the punch bowl
And blew a kiss to our troubled souls.
...
Pretty girl, deep sea explorer.
The secrets she keeps, are inside a bottle;
and as she sleeps, her and that bottle
go for the ride of their lives.
...
Somewhere
A hipster lion bangs his mane
As a hippopotamus plays violent guitar riffs,
While iced out iguanas send sexts to the lady lizards
...
There’s a storm inside my head
which is impossible to prove,
so I hired a scientist
to deconstruct my thoughts.
...
Once upon a midday tea
a conversation broke loose
and grew out of hand, and into our laps.
The flowing blue sky
...
This rolex hasn’t worked
since I cut it from that lawyer’s hand,
but it’s not about time;
it’s about the glimmering ice.
...
Rescue this dull heartache
from the inclement whether,
I’ve designed a bullet proof bird bath
for it to rest in.
...
Let everyone know
you’re doing alright.
It’s just another day
of violent delight;
...
kyle turner Biography
Suicidalcrow.blogspot.com I eat love poems for breakfast and dull landscape poems for lunch, then I sit down and crush the mountains with my irrational yet devastatingly beautiful eloquence, as I write my poems on my arm with a knife.)
The Best Poem Of kyle turner
I Sleep When Awake, I’m Awake When I Sleep.
Iced dreams weigh heavy
on my heart;
and while I sleep my demons die,
but when I wake the echoes cry.
This quicksand keeps tugging;
tug, tugging at my feet.
Chained to my own impatience
as the vultures circle above;
I’m juggling the frustrations of failure
while the angels harmonize with Spanish guitars.
Charcoal tears stain my face,
nicotine stains my eyes;
and my nervous feelings start to fade
as the bleeding cello of infinite happiness
tickles my eardrums.
My darling, life is hard;
I’m talking having open wounds on your wrists
and being forced to work in a lemonade factory
hand squeezing gallons of juice, hard.
But no one said paranoia was fun,
that is, no one but me.
Dancing with indifference under the starlight,
my lover’s eyes flutter,
while our feet shuffle to the beat
of my anxiety.
Make sure to love me,
even when I’m gone.
suicidalcrow.blogspot.com
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