Pseudo Relations

If inconsistency is a pattern, I’m in flannels til I die.

If I wasn’t this confused, I wouldn’t be around.
One day I’ll find my heart languished in the lost & found.

How much lust can you squeeze into a booth?
Diving into your presume that seduces my truth.

The font changes with each pen my hand holds.
My tongue moves in accordance with the backdrop.
Am I so malleable still?

It’s the third stanza right before the last chorus plays.
Following suit is a cat and mouse game for a chair beside a mildly suitable, semi-tolerable, respectable companion.
Maybe I should play it safe and bask in the knowledge that at least someone will put up with me.
I wonder if he realizes the continuity of time spent together is merely a byproduct of my lack of a better plan.

I need to go home.
Funny, I’m still wearing my pajamas.

Designed for those susceptible, to aid impending contusion
Washed my hands clean with the lack of illusions
It’s twisted, and it’s turned when you sit at this table
For it’s a poison that lies inside, behind this label.



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Pseudo Relations by Sophia Blacke is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.

Midnight Dinners With Oil & Vinegar

Bona fide the ties, as I packed my bags to exchange
Another summer of trading in sunshine for the Guinness and rain
A smart match indeed, I departed to embark
To endure an eon of pining for the back home counterpart
Inside Plato’s cave, I spent the slow, pensive days
Until chance presented a present— Spain, for a weeklong getaway
Left the Emerald Isle for a while and hit the mainland
Embraced the bit of excitement for respite from the man
Touched down in Madrid, need any more said (?)
Arrived with a truth, and left it there in that capital, dead.
For it didn’t allow for the subsequent defile
Rapture on arrival, it began with a look, which turned to a smile
Fueled up the courage, to share a couple words
Then he moved me to music, hitherto I’d never heard
He took my breath, as I took his hand
Spun me in circles, confuting all of my plans
Heart racing to win, though he moved me so slow
When the crowd starts to crowd, it’s a good time to go
In a doorstep of Puerta de Sol, looking up at the stars
I was taking it in, as he was taking my heart
Lamenting the future for converting present to past
I’d give anything in the world, just to make this night last
Tomorrow draws the curtains on this fantasy world
So here, in this moment, I let my emotions unfurl
If I hold back now, I’ll never let go
And I need to let go, so that I’ll be able to let go
A Spanish-English dictionary, we used our fingers to speak
Touched my face with his, my equilibrium oblique
The Vespas in the street, the Venus in sight
Touched my lips with his in the dead of that night
Every inch of me trembled, as the whole world stood still
Didn’t subscribe to such drivel, now I’m ready to spill
I’d profess my love, if I had a translator
Now kiss me again. There will never be a later.
I left a piece of my heart in a corner of that city
A benchmark, incomparable. For every next, I take pity
Those big, blue eyes brought alive the need for love in relations
Imprinted on my soul, is the night I was found in translation.

Summer 2007


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Midnight Dinners With Oil & Vinegar by Sophia Blacke is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.

Ode To The Glass Half Empty

As the light dwindles, the masquerade makes a spark
Most assuredly poised but catenated by dark
Ugly surrounds. Blindfolded, the arcane I can see
Amidst the dark in its time, inevitably bound to be

Presence of others confounds the fear in this room
But confined solitude lends consent to consume
Even the shadow of surmise, dares emit sound
To shatter this silence, risk echoing down

And startle these passage ways, inside my mind
Stick to point of destination, just walk this strait line
Get there and back, return to where sanity surrounds
Draw back the curtain assuring reality’s bounds

’Cause this is the valley, where even shadows turn left
This is the lobe which will never take rest
It’s walls are my floors, it’s floors are my ceilings
Subsistent by my thoughts, tangible by my feelings

Afraid to take step. Here lie cracks in this floor
I can’t escape I, we slipped through a trap door
Into phenomena, incredulous, not even next to parallel
Sense isn’t common, and time never tells

Here, love comes true, but monsters ensue
This travel through the woods; a thicket- “all,” versus “you”
But this “all” is my hopes, this “all,” is my fears”
All,” is my smile, this “all,” is my tears

It’s realized, it’s inside, can’t blue print a black hole
It grows and it climbs, it begins to control
These journeys, to this realm, are pleasant, at times
So enchanting, apprehension promptly slips mind

Which leaves a thought afraid, to dare even think
Since the “in” is so forcedly abrupt, with no explanation to link
Wouldn’t you think, that the “out,” just as well,
That the “out,” it would be just as inescapable as well..?

In the threshold of this question, it begins to constrict
Not a glimpse of light here, to foreshadow the predict
So what if, in this world, when I suddenly crash land
Crash into this land, but what if this time it’s not land

All about the ocean, but no one’s going with me
Because I’m under it, with no rules for simple laws of gravity
‘Cause it’s ups are my downs, it’s sides are inside
What held me together is holding me tied

Which way do I swim, which way for the air?
No means for direction, besides that of ensnare
Never left home, though my fate dangles here
Bring me back, strap me down, each thought running clear

Flashes are void but one notion, as the oblivion I befall
‘Perhaps I’m for the glass half empty, after all,’
Slowly, it begins filling into both lungs
And no one’s here now, there’s no escape now,
‘Cause they didn’t believe, I could swallow my own tongue.

July 2009

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Ode To The Glass Half Empty by Sophia Blacke is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.

A Blunt Spade To Bury Graves

Crickets grow louder, as I straddle a maybe
I call for god as you’re calling me, baby
Cannot be torn because there isn’t a tear
And I didn’t promise a thing, but you got me to swear

Boiled this existence; I’ve got a lid full a steam
I traipse this world the way I walk through your dreams
Only here because your eyes were closed to begin with
And I’d lend you a motive to lift up that chin if

I didn’t know what multiplies, at this seated, time’s table
You fucking think I no longer believe in this label (?)
Caught me dead in this one-minded track, bemused by the lip
Never good with relations ’cause I’d rather jump ship

Why ever seek a fight, when I can flirt with the tides
Why the fuck wouldn’t I believe what’s written down my sides
Since when was the barter system in this effect
Quit throwing in these extras, it doesn’t amount to respect

And I don’t hate you, for I’d first have to love you
Excuse the drunken mistakes when I stole pride from you
Hope you find the ends to those means, without doubt of sincere
Hope it’s dances along the lips at the end of that beer

Keep my picture from your frames when your lips touch the next
Keep your finger off my name when you skim that index
Severed the upper hand, dripped the blood, and some
From the hour glass you stole, held the sand up for ransom

It weighs you down to your socks. No, I forgot, you’re on top
Sit at your height, ’cause you’re too heavy, to stand on my thoughts
It’s all fun and games till you’re missing the ruse
And I think that I’ll go, ’cause I just found my shoes

However, there’s white on what you helped to construe
Shined light on the bread crumbs to finding my muse
‘Cause mean never meant, as tend never intends
Is it too late to ask, if we can still be friends?

January 2009

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A Blunt Spade To Bury Graves by Sophia Blacke is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.

Went To Wonderland, Got Beat Up By Alice

Challenged the stars for the beads of a tear
While mocking the fervor of cupid’s sharp spear
Always a line in the ocean, but never a real
Only means of commute sat behind third wheel

Call me Arial, ’cause I wished to be human like the rest
Only ever wearing this stupid man-suit at best
But your idea bears less validation than a new-found religion
Lending half of a thought to what I’ve ever been given

Can’t waste the lifestyle; it’s at the expense of my soul
To only break character, for once switch the role
Let me twist the knot that ties me to the stake
From there lies the view from cloud 9 and I need to relate

Now the whole world is spinning, every inch of me shaking
Nothing is broken, everything is breaking
Mystery has escaped, there are no more lies
Just your silhouette burned, inside of the lids of my eyes

It’s the head-strong loud mouth in the end
Feeding the knife to the fork in every unforeseen bend
The feel comes unbridled, but nothing comes free
Incarcerated is the kiss that he’s leaving me.

Pride wasn’t the martyr, this time it was me
Given to call, taken to see
The unconventional pen continues to write
Showing the teeth with the grin strung up so tight

The well-written read mind
The watch and his time
It’s the assertive stronghold I use to arrange
How I flaunt this beautiful style of genius, yet strange

It’s the confidence, the neurotic mindset
The love that I gave to the pretense of mine, yet
It was a game, it just wasn’t for keeps
It’s the abused apprehension lost in the senses of speak

It’s my dominance, how I can never turn left
And the fondness of him swept under my breath
It’s gravity’s pull, it’s the wine glass half full
Proof of cataclysmic shifts in the poles

It’s my mind, it’s all that I wanted
It’s inherent, the reason I lay haunted
For it’s what I love most— the things I love about me
It’s all that I am, all that we have, is why I watch now

As he’s leaving me.

“This, is brutally beautiful, so are we.”
-Sage Francis

October 2007

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Went To Wonderland, Got Beat Up By Alice by Sophia Blacke is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.

She Was About A Georgia Eight

Come into this world, just outside the “box”
Orphan the worry to adopt every new thought
Swallow pride with a parachute, consuming our fates
Moving a mile a minute, yet propriety escapes

The realm of reality excludes this kind of free
Can’t delete memory, can’t un-see what is seen
Every touch triggers bliss, the senses magnified
No turning back now, can’t un-open these eyes

The status quo challenged of what it can be
How it is, how it’s not, and how I want it to be
The square loses edge to the far side of much
The words grow verbose to be silenced by touch

Innocence captured and sold to the grim
Believing in the tricks the swindler spins
Pour out my heart, before again I can lie
Indebted to the deities for the flaps of this butterfly

If I can’t stay in this fantasy, I’ll walk it alone
Devoured the breadcrumbs, so I can never go home
Refined raw emotion in the midst of that night
A benchmark connection that will endure through this life

Enabled me to feel like I never knew I could do
Enabled me to love. No, that was you.

August 2007


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She Was About A Georgia Eight by Sophia Blacke is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.