Luci Black

Words are merely the shadows of our deepest, darkest thoughts.

  • 22nd July
    2014
  • 22

scabs of words.

lulu-llama:

I’m still picking pieces
of your poetry
from my flesh.
That’s what happens
when you make love
to a writer;
pieces of their existence
stick so solidly to you
that the remnants 
of the act of passion
becomes a part of you.
You,
your poetry
has become a part of me.

  • 22nd July
    2014
  • 22

lulu-llama:

When you fall in love
with a writer,
you either remain in love
forever

or

not only do you get
your heart torn apart,
but you get to
read about it

time after time.

Immortalised in heartbreak,
free verse and broken rhyme.

  • 22nd July
    2014
  • 22
I still find it hard to breathe some days but at least it is not my hands around my neck anymore, I am not choking the memories of a long ago life anymore and I am not giving anyone else the power to hurt me just so I can feel something anymore. It is all of me - my heart, my mind, my soul and I am exploring the depths of myself and this great big world.
this is how beginnings begin.
Luci Black
  • 22nd July
    2014
  • 22

expressionlessly sound.

Another shot ringing through 
the silences of darkness, 
a blood moon echoes cries
of forgotten, nay, 
suppressed memories 
encircling the thumb 
dipping in and out of her mouth 
as she sleeps, soundly…

Her sound mind already forming 
a counterattack to awareness, 
subconsciously stabbing truths 
in the dark while her face remains

expressionless.

//Tomorrow her heart will beat 
with the remembrance 
of her forgotten 
melody.//

  • 21st July
    2014
  • 21

running towards myself.

I hold fondly in my heart each person that has ever given me a pair of running shoes as a gift, for not only did they offer me a means to escape but they have given me another chance to run freely on the road of self-discovery.

Forever indebted, from the freedom of clear thinking in my head to the pounding of my heel to toe steps on the road. ♡

  • 20th July
    2014
  • 20
  • 20th July
    2014
  • 20
  • 19th July
    2014
  • 19
  • 18th July
    2014
  • 18

meet me on the broken pebbled path.

Broken pebbled paths still lead 
to an ultimate destination 
where heart and mind converge 
to soothe the aching soul 
with the tenderness of 
a guiding hand reaching out 
to put the wavering hand at ease
and in the explosive moment 
of fingers interlacing, 
palm against palm fusion… 

a bright new world is born,
paved with good intentions 
and from the brokenness 
a new beginning will rise.

  • 18th July
    2014
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  • 18th July
    2014
  • 18

I understand that as writers we choose to write things down and soak our sorrows in metaphors but sometimes I really appreciate the way people can deal with confrontation head on instead of passive aggressive post after post after post of the same thing…  It’s one thing to vent but things only change when you start changing them and people only treat you the way you allow them to.  Stop putting up with people’s bullshit and fight for yourself for once.

Also I’ve been sober for fifteen days and this could be why I see things a bit differently than before.

  • 17th July
    2014
  • 17

the pathway to truth.

Soul resting, ankles crossed, 
tired back against the labyrinth 
to feel the heated whisper 
of a lost summer wind 
against the cheek that turned 
for another blow of truth… 

The hand of fate tying a string 
around the sun to light a path 
into the inner workings of 
the unpaved mind - 
"more light!", "more light!" 

the subconscious begs 
when the darkness of conscience 
turns a corner to produce night…

//It is daytime in the land of the living
but you have to find your own way
out of the frightful dark.//

  • 17th July
    2014
  • 17

If only the rumbles of my tummy could translate into semi decent poetry, this day can turn around for the better!

  • 17th July
    2014
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  • 17th July
    2014
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