Hidden Pigeon's Wordspew Topic

[Hidden_Pigeon]

I didn't know there was a writing section on here. Cheer noodle for link that headed over this direction. I'll just post crap I write from time to time and are relatively happy with in here. One easy topic for all the pigeon crap.

This ones from pre day 1 of the plan.

Goodnight

it’s so cold​

alone​

and bed sheets barely cover

thoughts​

you shiver against the warmth

and imagine all

that’s absent​

as you try to focus

on the depths of sleep​

with words to tame the feelings

a moment’s repetition​

as it shakes your heart with fear

can you allow this feeling?​

as desperately you try to swallow

do you welcome it?​

and not give into wonder

to forsake examination​

and for a moment sit alone​

with only yourself​

to hear

could you let this feeling go?

and ask with doubt, ‘would I let it go?’​

to cloud your mind with breathing

and finally lie alone with thoughts​

of nothing​

and ponder​

‘when will these lies be true?’





And this ones from day 4.



Untitled

I take it in my fist and feel it struggle,

feel the pulse slow as it either calms or dies.

Does it die?



I wonder if it is mine to own,

or better left to where it wonders.

Is it mine?



And then I command it,

I will it to stop.

But does it cease?



And then I hear it whisper and I wonder what it cries.

 

[Hidden_Pigeon]

Walls

and there​

they lay​

ex lovers


her head

upon his chest​

listening​

to breathing​

to a gentle thud

and there​

they lament​

how they fell apart?

and wonder for mere moments​

why they lay together

and there​

half naked

ex loves rest​

his hand upon her chest​

and here​

the moments

pass by​

and once again

they part​

You’re Inviting
I’m familiar

and you’re comforted​

this is comfortable


I’m willing and you’re able

tensing to my touch​

you’re lusting​

after lust

drawing lines​

between​

our lips

yet​

resigning with your hips

redefining​

how we fit​

and climbing to our bliss


your comfort

my lust​

your lust

and my comfort​

who’s using

who​

is it me​

or is it you?

out With you.
you talk of future conquests

and I shy away from conversation​

and look and wonder at our thoughts


to later continue on a different talk


where we laugh

so unlike lovers​

and yet exchange familiar glances


where we chat

amongst our friends and selves​

and yet trade suggestive gestures


private moments

within the crowd​

when their eyes do leave us


it’s more than talk and thought

of changing​

it is

it has​

and it will​

but can I?

 

[copelandia.]

I liked all of them.

I simply loved "Walls" and "You're Inviting".

I wish I could write like you, I understand and felt everything you said in those two in particular.

Funny how similiar situations can occur to so many people, yet it feels so specific to the person.

 

[Hidden_Pigeon]

I'm glad you liked them. Yeah its not very fun but it does give me something to write about doesn't it?

Bad Behaviour

you lay​

lids closed​

my hand light upon your neck

desire​

parts your lips​

I cross the lines

between our lips​

tightening the grip


lips parted

we kiss​

forgetting​

marks upon our wrists

sigh and feel breath​

warm against your neck


and teeth that lightly creep

and you bite​

the lips that feel you


and sleep with those who knew you

 

[Hidden_Pigeon]

WARNING: Some SI so don't read if that triggers you.



Transgression: Ritual

The room is lit by a solitary lamp that arcs it’s back so as to peer at the corner of wall and ceiling. The light reflects warmly around the room creating mood, it’s deceptive in its portrayal of the space. A young man sits contemplatively in front of a wide glowing screen. From time to time he interrupts his contemplation with the almost magical sound of keyboard keys being danced upon. He bows his head for a moment, elbows on the desk his hands run through his hair. Whispers part his lips and expand out into room desperately trying to fill the space.​

Can I allow this feeling? He pauses. No, I cannot.​

Could I let this feeling go? Again he pauses and then meekly replies, yes.​

Would I let this feeling go? Closing his eyes for a moment he takes a deep breath. Yes.​

With finality he asks himself, when? He looks briefly around the desk as if searching for the answer. Tonight, right now before I go to sleep.​

Scattered out upon the desk are small piles of loose notes, necklaces or as he would prefer to call them, chains, three scented candles, incense, the remains of tonight’s dinner, a loosely grouped collection of empty deodorant cans sitting next to a fresh one, a wallet , a set of keys, and a black pocket knife. If you were to go through the loose notes you’d find in short, lists: of names, of food, of things to do, or in a couple of cases things to not do. Do not contact her.​

In truth the room was cold, lonely, and too full of space. It was too absent of noise and smells. And it lacked a certain something. If you were to put a name to this something you might go with Isabella; it’s not an entirely accurate choice but you get the picture. He missed her tarnished pale skin. He missed her complex imperfection and her eyes near too big to be real.​

He leaves the room for a moment returning with a lighter. Deciding on a scented candle he clicks the lighter a few times and lights the candle. He switches off the lamp and darkness scatters briefly about the room. The dim candle flickers as if yawning, its flame stretching triumphantly as basks in its own glory.​

For a few seconds the young man sits as his unkempt bread casts shadows across his face and neck. He retrieves the pocket knife from the desk, flicks it open, and pulls out the knife section then closes the pocket knife back up. He holds the pocket knife so the tip is pointing diagonally up and then places it in the flame. He believes that this way more of the heat will go to the tip. The blade darkens in the flame and there is a faint sickly metallic smell.​

He takes the blade from the candle and whiffs of smoke flow up from it. He brings the blade closer to his skin. He can feel the heat radiating from the metal. He flips the knife so blunt edge faces his skin and edges it closer and closer. It touches. He winces at first then presses it hard against himself. There is a faint sizzle. Once the blade passes from hot to warm he returns it to the flame and repeats. The first time he hears a pop as the blade is pressed over already burned skin he hastily removes the blade reasoning that, it’s not right hearing your own skin pop.​

 

[Hidden_Pigeon]

If you are reading any of these just drop a quick line about what you thought. Hell if you want be critical or go on a long 'rant' about your thoughts and feelings. Really I don't share these things much to anyone anymore :/

Fondly
You glance nervously towards the mirror
and fondle uncertainly,
“They look enormous”.

You turn to show me -
they do indeed look ample,
and as I look over you I make no attempt to hide my gaze.

My mind running over your soft milky skin,
how I wish you’d smoother me.

I suggest you take a big stick with you tonight
I’ve brought mine and I don’t mind sharing.​

Here are the last two parts of a piece. The first 3 parts are probably less interesting... perhaps. I dunno. The last 2 parts are very different to the first 3 which are less narrative/story ish. Much less.


Is it mine?

I try to keep everything skin deep. Its night and my eyes are closed and it’s all surface noise while I swim under the waves. I can’t focus in the torrent. I can’t hold myself steady. And the only thing on the surface, is everyone else.​

I light the candle. I heat the blade. And I press it to the skin. I am in control. It gives me something to focus on. It’s something to bring me back to right now: the sting of the hot blade, the smell of heated metal, the anticipation as the blade draws near, and the steady radiating pain. This is my moment. This is now.​

The uncomfortable off centre flutter ceases, at least for a moment. And my mind is still and silent. Everything falls away until all that is left is a candle, a blade, and me. It’s quiet, simple, and safe.​

There’s nothing unique about this scene. In a world full of socially distant beings communicating at the speed of light, this scene is familiar. We all crave control in a world out of control. Some sense of security when everything is short term and fleeting. Some sense of who we are.​

I need a constant as I face the unknown, the isolation of not being with someone. I need the ritual, the pain, this itching, and the scars. It’s reassuring. I can control something. I mean, really control it.​

The Controller

The music is loud but it’s not loud enough. I move myself to the front of the crowd and off to the side. There are less people off to the side and the speakers are right here. Now I can feel the music as it thrusts into existence. All I can hear is the band playing. I close my eyes and let it wash over me. A myriad of blacks pulse behind my lids and in my head there is only sound. I let the music flow into me and out along my limbs.​

I can’t dance but I like to think I can move to the music. There’s no one else in the room but me and the sounds. All the emotion and noise moves in me. Pulling and pushing its way around. I can’t think and I am glad of it because this is what my thoughts feel like all the time; limbs and noise. Chaos, that somehow makes perfect sense.​

I down the rest of my drink and listen to the end of the song. I feel marginally larger then my body actually is, as if the borders of my being have been blurred out in every direction. I’m lighter and heavier at the very same moment. Like a pendulum my centre sways as I make my way around The Venue. I find myself to the bar and browse around while I wait for it to be my turn.​

Here at the back of the music room, gather those: who can’t dance, who are chatting, who don’t like the crowd at the stage, who are not game enough to make their way down the front, those content in standing back, and those not drunk enough, yet. This is me but not. I dream of sound and noise caressing me in the darkness of the crowd. Anonymous strangers fornicating to the sweat and spilt booze of people they wish they knew.​

I pay for my drink and nod my thanks to the bartender who has already moved on to the next customer. Retracing my steps back to the front I weave my way through the crowd to find my perch taken by young lady I’d like to get to know more intimately.​

A welcomed hand to her breast returns a luscious look. Closing her eyes she inhales then staring back into mine she desperately curls her bottom lip. She moves in close with delicious purpose and poses her question to my lips.​

But I won’t. Sure, I’ll think about unrealistic ‘could have beens’ and I wish I were ‘That Guy’. Unconcerned with the thoughts of others, confident, and almost as if by magic he appeals to those he seeks out without seeking. No, I’ll let it pass. I’ll let her pass in and out of my life over the next few weekends and next time, I’ll think on the next time.​

We, the crowd, move as if possessed. We join together, limbs and heads, to the same beat. And yet we aren’t together. We are all little individual worlds stretching out in search of other little worlds to obit with.​

I continue to drink and move the night away until either my wallet or my stomach gives out. As always I dangerously balance myself between being sick and being as drunk as I can be. And when I go back to the share place to sleep I’ll have company. No, it won’t be a just as drunk young lady but the parting gift from too much sound at too high a volume. She’ll sing a tone to me, till sleep creeps up upon on me and my eyes close. She sings the tone of the Young, the Drunk, and the Broken Hearted.​

 

[nearjat]

I didn't read all of them, but despite the formatting making it hard to read kinda I really like your style Good stuff

 

[Hidden_Pigeon]

thanks! Most of the poems are in a fragmented grammar/punctuation less style where it uses spacing to create pace. It's probably hard to understand on paper but it works when I read it. As for the stories/narrative... they definitely don't format right on here. Since you can't do proper paragraphing And it looks horrible on a widescreen lol.

Yeah they really should be in audio I reckon. Maybe I'll do that sometime. I did get a funny comment on my tube about how my voice is nice to listen to

 

[nearjat]

Yeah I totally understand why it's written like that dont get me wrong Audio would be the dopeness.

 

[Raz]

I really like these - I haven't read them all, but you have a great writing voice.

 

[Hidden_Pigeon]

Thanks Raz. I sometimes have a bit of trouble with it all. Well, all the time really. I'd love to have a messy paint session and just go insane or you know get some of the insane out


tragedia lirica - 1831

welcome it​

as it breaks

the surface​

and remember​

her​

inert response.


Beyond obscure reference here that no one in the world would get besides 2 people and even then they'd probably miss it.

 

[Hidden_Pigeon]

Housemates should all be off to their respective other homes in the not too distant future. So upon said event happening I'll attempt audio/readings of these. No promises on quality or this adding anything to them or even me being happy enough with it to post it up but it's on the cards.

I'm definitely not big on public speaking or acting or even reading my own work aloud to an audience so we will see how this goes. With me being the shy and quiet person I am.

 

[Hidden_Pigeon]

and it was to me​

to dream​

of romantic gestures​

to lost lovers​

and lay​

and do nothing​