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Do Vaccines Disable the Immune System?
by Randall Neustaedter, O.M.D.

© 1996

Parents watch with proud satisfaction as their infant, just a few months old, begins to reach out into the world--tiny hands grasping at toys and gently twirling locks of their mother's hair. Just when they have begun to take a lively interest in the world, rolling-over, cooing, and smiling, the first illnesses strike.

The baby's runny nose develops into a fever, fussiness, and night-waking. Her previously placid demeanor suddenly changes to obvious discomfort--crying, clinging, refusing to leave her mother's arms. The pediatrician sees red eardrums and prescribes antibiotics. That first infection starts a seemingly endless battle against viral and bacterial illnesses that persists despite repeated treatment with a barrage of different antibiotics. Something is dreadfully wrong. Frequent visits to the pediatrician do nothing to prevent the continuous pattern of illness—antibiotic—illness.

Why do these illnesses begin when babies are three or four months old? What event triggers this frustrating scenario? What happens to babies at two to four months that could initiate this relentless course of symptoms? Perhaps maternal antibodies are beginning to wear out, making babies susceptible to these environmental microbes. But why don't these babies develop their own antibodies in response to the initial viral or bacterial infections? What prevents the immune system from mounting a vigorous response? And why does this pattern of illness with recurrent ear infections occur now, a pattern that seldom occurred prior to thirty years ago? What is weakening the immune function of today's infants?

The Cause of Chronic Illness
Ear infections have become the most common reason for visits to pediatricians. The incidence of asthma has steadily increased in the modern era. During the period 1980 through 1989 the prevalence rate of self-reported asthma in the United States increased 38 percent, and the death rate for asthma increased 46 percent. In the five years from 1985 through 1990, projected estimates for asthma's medical costs increased 53 percent. The total estimated cost of asthma rose from $4.5 billion to $6.2 billion, or 1 percent of all US health-care costs. This dramatic increase has been attributed to increased exposure to environmental pollutants, and to the toxic effect of asthma medications themselves. Could vaccines be weakening the immune system of our populations and causing recurrent infections and allergies at unprecedented levels?

The only event that all infants routinely encounter at two months of age is vaccination with at least five different vaccines (Diphtheria-Tetanus-Pertussis-Polio-Haemophilus). They are repeated at four months. Could this simple fact explain the onset of the recurrent illnesses that plague so many infants? If vaccines stimulate antibody production to fight diseases, why would they weaken the immune system? Is there any evidence that vaccines do cause illness and immune system dysfunction?

One answer came in a careful study of illness patterns observed in babies before and after vaccination, published in Clinical Pediatrics in 1988. If vaccines cause a weakened immune system, then we would expect to see a higher incidence of illness following vaccination. In that study conducted in Israel, the incidence of acute illnesses in the 30 day period following DTP vaccine was compared to the incidence in the same children for the 30 day period prior to vaccine. The three-day period immediately following vaccine was excluded because children frequently develop fever as a direct response to vaccine toxins. A total of 82 healthy infants received DTP, and their symptoms were reported by parents and observed by a pediatrician at weekly intervals. Those babies experienced a dramatic increase in fever, diarrhea, and cough in the month following DTP vaccine compared to their health before the shot.

How do researchers investigate immune system reactions to vaccines? First, they can observe the incidence of serious disease onset soon after vaccination. They can also study immune functions following vaccines given to children and adults. Two research models have been used to discover the possible adverse effect of vaccines on the immune system. Laboratory researchers observe whether vaccines have any negative effect on white blood cells, the body's primary immune defense system. Clinical researchers study illness patterns preceding and following vaccination. All of these investigative channels have reached the same conclusions--vaccines can trigger immune system suppression.

Vaccines are destroying our immune systems. Amazingly, the medical profession ignores the incriminating evidence against vaccines, and continues to inflict more unnecessary and harmful vaccines on our nation's infants. A recent study from the New England Journal of Medicine of May 1996 revealed that tetanus vaccine disables the immune system in *** patients. Tetanus vaccination produced a drop in T cells in 10 of 13 patients, a classic sign of immune deficiency. *** viral replication increased dramatically in response to tetanus vaccine. Finally, white blood cells from 7 of 10 uninfected individuals became more susceptible to *** infection following tetanus vaccination. Despite these findings, the authors made no comment about the immune depleting effect of the vaccine.

Why is the public unaware of these findings? Why has the medical profession kept these reports hidden from the public eye? With typical condescension, Dr. Martin Smith, president of the American Academy of Pediatrics, explained in the Academy's News that the inclusion of this type of information in vaccine brochures would confuse many parents and could even needlessly alarm them. An uninformed patient is compliant.

The cover-up of immune system failure following vaccination is reminiscent of the tobacco industry's continuous denial and misinformation campaign about the dangers of cigarettes. In both instances huge profits are at stake in multibillion-dollar industries. Vaccine manufacturers cannot afford to have their product maligned in a public forum.

Doctors have often stated that broadcasting adverse effects of vaccines to the public would hinder vaccine campaigns. This attitude emerged more than thirty years ago when Dr. Paul Meier testified before a congressional committee concerning the polio vaccine campaign of the 1960s. It is hard to convince the public that something is good. Consequently, the best way to push forward a new program is to decide on what you think the best decision is and not question it thereafter, and further, not to raise questions before the public or expose the public to open discussion of the issues.

The medical profession has been aware of the damaging effects of vaccines on the immune system since their introduction. For example, the ability of pertussis and DTP vaccines to stimulate the onset of paralytic polio was first noted in 1909. In every polio epidemic since then, DTP injections have caused the onset of polio disease.

In 1950, two careful studies were conducted in the state of New York to evaluate the reports of an association between the onset of paralytic polio and recent injections. The findings were published in the American Journal of Public Health. Investigators contacted the families of all children who contracted polio during that year, a total of 1,300 cases in New York City and 2,137 cases in the remainder of New York State. A history of vaccinations received in the previous two months was obtained on each child and from a group of matched controls in the same population. Those studies discovered that children with polio were twice as likely to have received a DTP vaccination in the two months preceding the onset of polio than were the control children.

The association of vaccines with the onset of polio continues in the modern age. During a recent polio epidemic in the Arabian peninsula country of Oman, DTP vaccination again caused the onset of paralytic polio. In that epidemic, 70 children 5 to 24 months old contracted paralytic polio during the period 1988-1989. The report in the British medical journal Lancet confirmed that a significantly higher percentage of these children had received a DTP shot within 30 days of the onset of polio compared to a control group of children without polio, 43 percent of polio victims compared to 28 percent of controls. The DTP vaccine suppresses the body's ability to fight off the polio virus.

The destructive effect of vaccines on the immune system can persist over an extended period of time. One study published in the Journal of Infectious Diseases documented a long-term depressive effect on interferon production caused by the measles vaccine. Interferon is a chemical produced by lymphocytes (a type of white blood cell) that renders the host resistant to infection. Interferon production is stimulated by infection with a virus to protect the body from superinfection by some other micro-organism. In this study, vaccination of one-year-old infants with measles vaccine caused a precipitous drop in the level of alpha-interferon produced by lymphocytes. This decline persisted for one year following vaccination, at which time the experiment was terminated. Thus, this study showed that measles vaccine produced a significant long-term immune suppression.

Autoimmune Reactions to Vaccines
An 11 year old girl received a routine tetanus booster dose and three days later developed blindness in the right eye and light perception only in the left eye. Her optic discs were swollen on exam. Two days later she had partial paralysis of her legs and loss of bladder control, then more widespread sensory loss including a lack of vibrational and positional senses. Seven weeks later she still had some vision loss and decreased muscle power. Within one year she recovered (Lancet, 1992).

A 20 year old woman experienced pain and swelling of her right wrist and fingers 4 days after a hepatitis vaccination. The pain and swelling resolved, but returned again 6 months later with more severe swelling and pain, following a second hepatitis vaccination. Nine years later, X-ray of the hands showed destruction of the bones throughout her wrist joints (Scandinavian Journal of Rheumatology, 1995).

A 4 year old girl developed progressive weakness of the legs, pain in the legs and feet, and gradual inability to walk 10 days after Hib vaccination. On the fifth day she had swallowing difficulties, ****** weakness, and a monotonous voice. Her symptoms gradually improved, and within 3 weeks she could walk with help (Journal of Pediatrics, 1993).

A 42 year old man received tetanus toxoid on three separate occasions over a period of 13 years. Following each vaccination he developed acute nerve symptoms diagnosed as Guillain-Barre syndrome, a disease of the nervous system characterized by rapid onset of motor weakness and loss of sensation.. A nerve biopsy revealed destruction of the myelin nerve sheath. Following his last injection he continued to experience multiple recurrences, and continued to show abnormal findings on examination 15 years later (Journal of Neurological Science, 1978).

What is the effect of long-term immune suppression? Some investigators are concerned that vaccines could be disabling our body's ability to react normally to disease, and creating the climate for autoimmune self-destruction. The many reports of autoimmune phenomena that occur as reactions to vaccination provide incontrovertible proof that tampering with the immune system causes devastating disease.

Federal legislation of 1986 commissioned the Institute of Medicine to establish a Vaccine Safety Committee. The purpose of that committee was to search the medical literature for reports of adverse events associated with the vaccines routinely administered to children, and report their findings. Computer searches revealed 1,800 relevant articles. However, the committee's rigid criteria for establishing a causal relationship between vaccine and adverse event made it nearly impossible for a disease condition to make their short list. Without a case-controlled study proving a relationship, the hundreds of case reports of immune system destruction following vaccines were relegated to coincidence. Case-controlled studies are expensive. They must include tens or hundreds of thousands of children.

Even the Vaccine Safety Committee acknowledged the onset of several autoimmune diseases as a result of vaccination (Guillain-Barre syndrome, a disease that causes muscle weakness and paralysis, following tetanus and polio vaccines; thrombocytopenia, destruction of blood platelets responsible for blood clotting, following MMR; and chronic arthritis following rubella). These types of symptoms have occurred following every vaccine routinely given to children--the suppressed immune system begins to attack the body's own cells, usually the nerves and joints. Thousands of autoimmune incidents following vaccines have been reported in the medical literature and adverse event reporting systems. These autoimmune responses to vaccines have resulted in permanent, chronic disease conditions--deforming arthritis and muscle wasting and paralysis.

In their attempt to explain the repeated occurrence of autoimmune diseases that attack and destroy the myelin sheaths of nerves as a direct result of vaccines, the committee members explain:

It is biologically plausible that injection of an inactivated virus, bacterium, or live attenuated virus might induce in the susceptible host an autoimmune response by deregulation of the immune response, by nonspecific activation of the T cells directed against myelin proteins, or by autoimmunity triggered by sequence similarities of proteins in the vaccine to host proteins such as those of myelin.

Since the committee's report, a large ecological study in New Zealand revealed that an epidemic of diabetes followed a massive campaign to vaccinate children against hepatitis B. This report, published in the New Zealand Medical Journal in 1996 revealed that a 60 percent increase in childhood diabetes occurred in the years following the 1989-1991 vaccination program of children aged 6 to 16. The widespread use of the new Haemophilus meningitis vaccine has similarly resulted in diabetes epidemics. Diabetes is an autoimmune disease that has been frequently observed to occur as a consequence of mumps vaccine. Three European studies reported 22 cases of diabetes that began within 30 days of mumps vaccination. The dramatic rise in vaccine-induced diabetes has led researchers to raise a warning flag. Immunologist Bart Classen has said, "We believe the effects of vaccines on diabetes are of tremendous clinical importance and that trials need to be started immediately to address the effect of vaccines on diabetes and other autoimmune diseases."

Vaccines have become a sacred cow of our culture, unassailable to criticism. Now that we know their devastating effects on the immune system, perhaps we need to take a more cautious approach to the vaccine campaigns.

New vaccines for children are being developed in an unprecedented effort to wipe out childhood diseases. In some cases this effort has strictly monetary goals. For example, the most frequently stated purpose of the chickenpox vaccine is not to protect children from this benign childhood illness, but to keep parents at their jobs rather than missing a few days of work to care for their sick child at home. According to Dr. Philip Brunell, a leading chickenpox vaccine researcher, it is clear that we can reduce the cost of chickenpox by routinely immunizing normal children, primarily by reducing the loss of parental income. Vaccination of the entire population would save an estimated $380 million dollars in lost income and wages. Economic interests have spurred the adoption of a chickenpox vaccine, not our concern for the well-being of children.

This callous disregard for the potential damage inflicted by vaccines characterizes the goals of vaccine manufacturers. The pharmaceutical giant Merck invested over $5 million in chickenpox vaccine development, according to The Wall Street Journal. Dr. Samuel Katz, Duke University's pediatrics chairman and head of a vaccine panel at the National Academy of Sciences, expressed the manufacturer's concerns: Merck isn't going to make back its investment in that vaccine by just distributing it to kids with cancer. They're going to be interested in pushing for use in the normal population.

Profit has always been the goal of vaccine manufacturers. When lawsuits leveled at drug companies began wiping out profits gleaned from the pertussis vaccine, the manufacturers simply stopped production of the vaccine. The United States government stepped in to pay these vaccine-damage claims. Only then did the drug companies agree to resume vaccine production. The formula was simple--no profits, no vaccines.

Now that drug companies are protected from legal action, the race to invent and distribute new vaccines has again switched into high gear. Vaccines for hepatitis, haemophilus, and chickenpox have all been pushed into the recommended schedule for children. This zealous rush to bring new vaccines to market, heedless of the damage inflicted in the name of prevention, could have far-reaching consequences. We may be setting the stage for the unwitting destruction of our population's health, a result that may continue to remain a hidden cause of widespread immune system failure and autoimmune disease.

About the Author
Dr. Neustaedter has practiced homeopathic medicine and Traditional Chinese Medicine for over twenty years. His book, The Vaccine Guide: Making an Informed Choice (North Atlantic Books, 1996), has become a popular resource for parents. He is a licensed acupuncturist and received his Doctorate in Oriental Medicine in Hong Kong. He lives and works in the San Francisco Bay Area.
It happens. Will it go on? ----
My mind a rock,
No fingers to grip, no tongue,
My god the iron lung

That loves me, pumps
My two
Dust bags in and out,
Will not

Let me relapse
While the day outside glides by like ticker tape.
The night brings violets,
Tapestries of eyes,

Lights,
The soft anonymous
Talkers: 'You all right?'
The starched, inaccessible breast.

Dead egg, I lie
Whole
On a whole world I cannot touch,
At the white, tight

Drum of my sleeping couch
Photographs visit me-
My wife, dead and flat, in 1920 furs,
Mouth full of pearls,

Two girls
As flat as she, who whisper 'We're your daughters.'
The still waters
Wrap my lips,

Eyes, nose and ears,
A clear
Cellophane I cannot crack.
On my bare back

I smile, a buddha, all
Wants, desire
Falling from me like rings
Hugging their lights.

The claw
Of the magnolia,
Drunk on its own scents,
Asks nothing of life.
SP Blackwell Jan 2015
II

Do not be afraid, my darling
I see you.
I see your tattered spirit
and stripped flesh
wandering in darkness.
Alas!
we are kindred,
you and I,
for I too have been
murdered.
I have died a hundred times
and I have lived a
hundred and one
We, who are dead
but still breathing,
are kindred.
I have been poisoned by
the nectar of lust. And
this nectar was
sweet and it was
intoxicating and it was
addictive and it was
******* lust.
It was fed to me by
a man posing as
a god and he kept
my goblet full and
I was paralyzed.
He was not a god
nor a man.
He was a snake,
a false prophet.
The nectar was
venomous and
my blood,
my body, and
mind were
laced with
paralytic venom
I could not move
and died waiting.
Alas!
We are kindred
you and I.
We who have died
waiting and paralyzed.
We who have been
murdered by false
prophets and snakes.
We are kindred with
Eve and the apples of
Eden, we who are
poisoned but  
still alive.
In this paralytic state
a surgeon came
and he said unto me
“I will let you be free”
and he cut into me.
He entered my chest
so delicately and
so eloquently he
whispered to me
“ Darling, if I cannot
keep you I can’t let
you be free.”
He wanted a
keepsake, a piece
of my heart.
Something which I
would never just
willingly part.
He took a small
piece though I
screamed to
his claim. This
was not my love,
just blood,
muscle, and veins.
Alas!
We are kindred
you and I.
We who walk around
with pieces that will
never be found.
We who have filled
the empty cavity with
other objects to
replace what can
never mended.
Do not fear, my darling
we are still pumping
blood and we
are still alive!
An artistic healer
found me wandering.
He said unto me,
“ My love, I see your
rough edges and you
are flawless to me
with all your perfect
imperfections.”
I was his canvas
that could be remade
to what he wanted
me to portray.
He molded me,
bent me,
folded me,
painted me.
He chiseled away
at places that
were already weak
places that were
untouched by people
like He. I was his
muse which he
misused, abused,
and attempted to
create and sculpt
art, which I was,
to his vision
of what I should be.
He coated me,
plastered me,
froze me in time but
paper machete is fragile
and I never asked to
be molded or painted.
Slowly I broke free
from thee. Death by
art was not meant
for me
Alas!
My darling,
do not be afraid.
We are kindred
you and I.
I see you in all
your molded glory
upon the altar
which he built
to display a creation
which he did not create.
I am the one
who chiseled
at the cement
and the plaster
and the paper
and the alter
so that we can
escape a different
type of cage.
I see you broken
but uncaged.
A builder of dreams
approached me and
he said unto me
“ You are a rarity
in a world full of
mediocrity. A rare
bird like you should
not be caged.”
He built me a castle
made of sand and
deafened me with
promises which
were lies. The tide
rolled in and castles
made of sand were
taken back to sea
and i was deaf
and I could not
hear the rumbling ,
the crumbling,
the mumbling as it
was all swept away.
I was asphyxiated by
the sand and sea
of empty promises
and lies
and expectations
that I found myself
chocking on.
Do not be afraid my darling.
Alas!
We are kindred
you and I.
We have
swallowed
and choked
and  inhaled
the dirt which
posed as sand.
We who have been
drowned in lies.
We who have
been buried and
have touched the
ocean floor at great
depths have come back
to the surface.
Alas!
We are still swimming.
We are the ones who
saw the shore and
returned to land
with our feet firmly
planted on sinking sand
and unsteady ground.
Hush my darling, and do
keep our secret safe.
Hush and never let them
know that we, who are
dead but living, are the
ones who created the shore.
We have a multitude of
little deaths. Deaths which
showed us life, joy, and
pain.
Alas!
My darling,
we are kindred
you and I.
We are the masochists.
We invite the murders in.
We who see the axe in his
hand as he knocks and
yet we still allow the
murderous aftermath
to begin with no regard
for the clean up.
My darling, we take with
us a piece of our killers
as they have taken a
keepsake from us.
Alas!
My darling
we have taken
we have learned
we have observed
we have seen their
surgical precision as
they have taken us
apart. We have
mended and
stitched and
sewn and
glued and
filled and
repaired
ourselves.
Oh my darling
do not fear for
we who are
still alive
still fighting
still breathing
still living
still pumping blood,
we have taken
their murderous
intent. We who
were victimized
by batting eyes
and lies that left
bitterness as an
aftertaste have
have learned to
lace honey with
arsenic. We are
kindred, you and I.
We are different
now. The stichting
and filling
and sewing
and gluing
has changed
us.
We are not afraid,
my darlings.
We see you.
You who have
caged and
trampled and
opened and
taken and
broken and
killed are no
longer feared.
Be afraid
my darlings.
Alas!
We see you.

III

I am a serial killer.
I have ravaged
empty vessels
which once upon
a time were
filled with ideas
of what could be.
I am innocent!
I slay the murderers
who murdered me.
Those who murdered
we.
I and we have
perfected the craft
which you,
and you,
and you,
and you
have used as
weapons of
mass distraction,
mass destruction.
I am the one
who distracts
and destroys.  
I have ingested
sufficient venom
to become
arsenic laced
honey.
I have let a
man drink
from me ‘til
he could drink
no more. He
drank himself
to insanity.
Oh dear!
I fear I did
not warn him
of the venom
that’s within.
What once was
just plain honey
is now
poisonous
to him.
I am a serial killer.
The killer of
cervical slayers.
But again
I am innocent!
I once sheltered
a wretch and
he sought
sanctuary
inside of me.
He never looked
at my eyes.
Only prayed at
the church that
he made betwixt
my thighs.
Oh dear!
I fear
I did not mention
that this was not
his church. It was
my sanctuary which
was now covered
in his dirt.
Death by exertion
was his end.
I let him die *******
but I did not let
him win
A tragic death
for a stallion
like he. Because
I am small he
underestimated me.
Like Helen of Troy
I brought
destruction
upon thee.
I am a serial killer.
The killer of
psychological
terrorizers and
verbal mesmerizers.
I have linguistically
lobotomized men
who thought they
could philosophize
the origin of I.
I have sown the
seeds of doubt
within the halls of
confidence which
have lain within his
mind.
I have broken
fortress walls
that were built to
withstand the  
wrath that fell
upon *****
and Gomorrah.
We have cut out
the tongues of
our verbal
betrayers and
left them befuddled
in Babylon.  
Oh dear!
I fear I forgot
to mention that
Freud is my Father
and Jung is my
uncle.
Your mommy issues
do nothing for me.
I am not her!
I am a child of
psychology.
Rationally you are
weaker than me
mentally.
I am a serial killer.
The killer of
egotistical thrillers.
I have paralyzed
and anesthetized
men who have been
thrice the size of me.
My scalpel is sharp
and my steady hand
cuts as deep as my
verbal violations.
This is my body.
This is not your nation.
My dissection was but
a brief vacation to
your annihilation.
Your internal organs
were similar to an
egotistical colonoscopy.
You thought your
insides were different
from me.
You required proof
that we were the
same.
I said
“Let me cut first”
and you did not
complain.
Oh dear!
I fear I failed
to mention I’m
quite skilled and
I have killed before,
far better men and
even their ******.
I am a serial killer!
A killer of killers!
You are a cheap
thrill as I reap
and I sow.
I plant the seeds
that I know will
not grow.
You will stay frozen
and will get old.
I need not a keepsake.
I own your soul.

IV

We are naked.
Our flesh is worn
and our spirit torn.
The garments which
once kept us warm
are now just eaten
and tattered.
We have silently
walked
and waited
and paced ourselves
and learned hatred.
WE have come
back home where
board games and
Barbies wait.
I have broken
all my favorite toys
just like you
and you
and you
and the horse
you rode in on
have taken all
my simple joys.
You have all
taken away
a piece of pink
and replaced
with a piece of
grey. A piece
which will never
be the same.
Oh Darling!
Do not fear for me
do not fear for we.
We have become the
porcelain women
which watch
and wait.
Our pink colored
kingdom shall
never be invaded
because here we
are waiting.
Not even shoots
and ladders or even
the Madd Hatter
can lead you to
green pastures.
Oh my!
You failed to notice
the malicious
twinkle in
my eyes.
I fear this was
your fault
for you created
a steeple
betwixt my
thighs.
Silly rabbit,
we were never
yours.
I was always
mine.
This is
not revenge.
This is a warning
before the rhyme.
If you danced from midnight
to six A.M. who would understand?

The runaway boy
who chucks it all
to live on the Boston Common
on speed and saltines,
******* in the duck pond,
rapping with the street priest,
trading talk like blows,
another missing person,
would understand.

The paralytic's wife
who takes her love to town,
sitting on the bar stool,
downing stingers and peanuts,
singing "That ole Ace down in the hole,"
would understand.

The passengers
from Boston to Paris
watching the movie with dawn
coming up like statues of honey,
having partaken of champagne and steak
while the world turned like a toy globe,
those murderers of the nightgown
would understand.

The amnesiac
who tunes into a new neighborhood,
having misplaced the past,
having thrown out someone else's
credit cards and monogrammed watch,
would understand.

The drunken poet
(a genius by daylight)
who places long-distance calls
at three A.M. and then lets you sit
holding the phone while he vomits
(he calls it "The Night of the Long Knives")
getting his kicks out of the death call,
would understand.

The insomniac
listening to his heart
thumping like a June bug,
listening on his transistor
to Long John Nebel arguing from New York,
lying on his bed like a stone table,
would understand.

The night nurse
with her eyes slit like Venetian blinds,
she of the tubes and the plasma,
listening to the heart monitor,
the death cricket bleeping,
she who calls you "we"
and keeps vigil like a ballistic missile,
would understand.

Once
this king had twelve daughters,
each more beautiful than the other.
They slept together, bed by bed
in a kind of girls' dormitory.
At night the king locked and bolted the door
. How could they possibly escape?
Yet each morning their shoes
were danced to pieces.
Each was as worn as an old jockstrap.
The king sent out a proclamation
that anyone who could discover
where the princesses did their dancing
could take his pick of the litter.
However there was a catch.
If he failed, he would pay with his life.
Well, so it goes.

Many princes tried,
each sitting outside the dormitory,
the door ajar so he could observe
what enchantment came over the shoes.
But each time the twelve dancing princesses
gave the snoopy man a Mickey Finn
and so he was beheaded.
****! Like a basketball.

It so happened that a poor soldier
heard about these strange goings on
and decided to give it a try.
On his way to the castle
he met an old old woman.
Age, for a change, was of some use.
She wasn't stuffed in a nursing home.
She told him not to drink a drop of wine
and gave him a cloak that would make
him invisible when the right time came.
And thus he sat outside the dorm.
The oldest princess brought him some wine
but he fastened a sponge beneath his chin,
looking the opposite of Andy Gump.

The sponge soaked up the wine,
and thus he stayed awake.
He feigned sleep however
and the princesses sprang out of their beds
and fussed around like a Miss America Contest.
Then the eldest went to her bed
and knocked upon it and it sank into the earth.
They descended down the opening
one after the other. They crafty soldier
put on his invisisble cloak and followed.
Yikes, said the youngest daughter,
something just stepped on my dress.
But the oldest thought it just a nail.

Next stood an avenue of trees,
each leaf make of sterling silver.
The soldier took a leaf for proof.
The youngest heard the branch break
and said, Oof! Who goes there?
But the oldest said, Those are
the royal trumpets playing triumphantly.
The next trees were made of diamonds.
He took one that flickered like Tinkerbell
and the youngest said: Wait up! He is here!
But the oldest said: Trumpets, my dear.

Next they came to a lake where lay
twelve boats with twelve enchanted princes
waiting to row them to the underground castle.
The soldier sat in the youngest's boat
and the boat was as heavy as if an icebox
had been added but the prince did not suspect.

Next came the ball where the shoes did duty.
The princesses danced like taxi girls at Roseland
as if those tickets would run right out.
They were painted in kisses with their secret hair
and though the soldier drank from their cups
they drank down their youth with nary a thought.

Cruets of champagne and cups full of rubies.
They danced until morning and the sun came up
naked and angry and so they returned
by the same strange route. The soldier
went forward through the dormitory and into
his waiting chair to feign his druggy sleep.
That morning the soldier, his eyes fiery
like blood in a wound, his purpose brutal
as if facing a battle, hurried with his answer
as if to the Sphinx. The shoes! The shoes!
The soldier told. He brought forth
the silver leaf, the diamond the size of a plum.

He had won. The dancing shoes would dance
no more. The princesses were torn from
their night life like a baby from its pacifier.
Because he was old he picked the eldest.
At the wedding the princesses averted their eyes
and sagged like old sweatshirts.
Now the runaways would run no more and never
again would their hair be tangled into diamonds,
never again their shoes worn down to a laugh,
never the bed falling down into purgatory
to let them climb in after
with their Lucifer kicking.
Manic Brilliance Jan 2017
My memories deceive me, and my heart bleeds to thoughts of
      you, poisoned from the curse that runs deep within my veins.
      Do I halter and use the words that I can, to try with you,
      another chance?
    

      My memories deceive me, and my mind is headed to a paradox of
      life that doesn't bring happiness but only a subtle feeling
      of contentment. For in my memories you are with me in a
      final, never ending dance.
    

      My memories deceive me, as the bewildering cries from within
      awaken the soul that has been bound by chains created from
      the sins of my past life, and are made stronger by the sins
      of which are my own.
    

      My memories deceive me, as the rumors of your betrail fade
      into the shadows but the calling from our hearts reach into
      the light, violently, yet no sound have they shown.
    

      My memories deceive me, trying to hold them back, all that
      accomplishes is bringing you into my senses once again, but I
      go forth to a different land with what could have and should
      have been.
    

      My memories deceive me, chased by an altered state of mind
      where nothing has gone wrong, no death, no pain, just the
      feeling of contentment once again.
    

      My memories, they deceive me and everyone around me, for I do
      not see faces, only souls that fade into surroundings. A
      paralytic view is what they show, of what should have, could
      have been you and me.
    

      My memories deceive me, but could they instead be the truth
      that I have been seeking as I try hard to sink them in
      deeply...

      My memories. My memories, immortal as they come, they open my
      eyes, though they burn like facing the sun, in this time I
      have begun, to realize my memories. They do not deceive, but
      only conceive the past that I have forgotten and shields me
      from...you.
Helen Mar 2016
I'd like to be able to say
I don't know what tomorrow
will bring...

but I'm scared
Because I know exactly
what tomorrow has in store
and it's everything
that has come
in the days before
and nothing will change
nothing
and that's what scares me
the most
*the never changing everything
sigh... so far down the hole I don't have enough rope for rescue, just enough to hang...
Mike T Minehan Oct 2012
They're a funny lot, some of these poets,
feisty feminists, dreamers, anti-money,
and even some who are very self-defecating
about themselves.
And then there's the literary, learned allusion lot,
and some who've got their eye on eternity, that's what,
and others who rub too much turps on the **** of their imagination.

But it's the long-winded poets who make me squirm,
and for god’s sake, give me a bottle of red wine when the ones
with blue-rinse hair get up to have their turn.
They're terribly nice, but they need an echidna
stuffed right up you know where - at least once, if not twice.

And give me another bottle of the red, even if it's rough,
or better still a whole case of that stuff,
just to protect me from those who bleed too much in poems.
Psychoanalytic stuff makes me paralytic
and I have to stifle groans.

But most of all, I like the poets with their tongues on fire,
the ones who lick lightening before they write
and who throw a sizzling poem down
like a thunderbolt from Zeus.

I like poems marsh mellow soft and bitter-sweet, too,
and those oozing with the juice. And if a poem's loud and flash,
so what? I like a bit of swagger, with shameless **** and ***.
And sometimes, I just like words that rhyme with licorice,
Dionysius, Priapus, Bacchus and preposterous!

Also, what the ****, a poem can even give offense.
Poets sometimes need to do this to stop indifference.
They call this poet's license, but really,
indifference is the only hell from which
us poets need deliverance.
PERTINAX Jul 2016
The depth of the rumble was paralytic
Causing a tremor to arise
Strong enough to vibrate the very core,
Of the art buried within,
When will it end?
Will the world stop?
Like a controlled explosion
The eruption is brief!
Yet the lingering devastation brings grief!
These noxious fumes they strangle
And they choke
Living next to a volcano
Is never a joke
So the next time you feel the house shutter
Open the doors and run for cover
Steven Hutchison Jan 2014
For each word that never made it past my teeth
-harsh critics-
I am sorry
I told you I loved you last night in bed
and all you heard was my breathing
-waves on your shore-
I am sorry

For each step I should have taken that was frozen in my legs
-stone pillars-
I am sorry
I ran to the edge of the earth for you
where I heard the lilies were blooming
-empty vase-
I am sorry

For each song that suffocated in my hollows
-white noise-
I am sorry
I scored you a serenade for clarinet and bassoon
and your shutters heard nothing
-white noise-
I am sorry

For each quiver of my hands that has held me
chained to the anvils of fear
For the confidence I lack and the love I have not given
-myself-
I am sorry
For times I held truth by the throat underwater
and prayed you wouldn't notice the splashing
For those days I went sleep walking
-through prayers-
I am sorry
For the stability I cradle while sitting on dreams
singing songs we all know the words to
the song we've each written verses to
12 bars on each wall of this blue cage that we sing through
For the times we don't fight
For the times that we mean to
For the injustices that steal the peace from our silent nights
For the riotless streets
For thriving inequalities
For microphones and stages still wet with my ego
For the silence I keep
-when the world is listening-
I am sorry

Shake me
from these paralytic dreams
from the cloud of ideas and fantasy
-what is art but a landing?-

Shake me
make me rise up and face the music
climb out of myself and breathe
-what is prayer but respiration?-

Shake me
until my apologies are gone
and your house is full of flowers
and your ears are full of songs
and your heart is filled with this love of mine
your quivering hands shook free

Shake me
until I see beauty in truth
and truth in what we are made to be
In response to Walter Mitty
spysgrandson Oct 2012
I challenged him
burly ******* captain
stubbled beard as coarse as sandpaper
standing there in muggy dusk
arms akimbo,
mama san starched uniform stained with swagger and sweat

two silver captain's bars ******* any of my brilliance or bravado
all he had to do was speaketh the words
“need those maps, head out at 2230 hours”
and that was a death sentence
which was commuted to life
if four decades since has been life

there are not words for the black
of moonless jungle
except nothingness and paralytic fear
and through that lightless, lifeless, abyssness
I crawled, crouched and crept along
sometimes as slowly as the minute hand on my watch

the silence, the silence, the silence
became my splintered cross
to carry to my place of crucifixion
at my Calvary Hill behind barbed wire, blue lead barrels and
fearful eyes

silence, silence, silence, black wordlessness
black soundlessness
punctuated by shallow precious breaths
and imagined slant-eyed demons
waiting behind each berm
to turn the timeless night into timelessness
of more black

should I chamber a round?
and follow its solitary sound
into the silent holy night
and shatter my own fragile fright?
would that end this knowing without knowing?
and answer the question,
“is this fear worse than the answer?”
since questions have answers but answers have nothing
the nothing of which I was sure I would become a part
in the silence, the silence, the silence
of the black canopied jungle
in Tay Ninh Province
in 1967

where I was sentenced to death but allowed to live
in silent, black wordlessness
sentenced to live
to wonder, after all these years of shivering fright and flickering light
did the captain become a human?
And was I really allowed to live?
This is inspired by, dedicated to, and based on the experiences of one of my closest friends, R S, one of my few brothers in arms. It is a true story of a life altering event. One of my experiences is woven into the poem as well. My friend had challenged the judgment of a captain who was likely incompetent. As retaliation, the captain sent my friend on a bogus mission, one alone through the jungle at night, and one that would probably lead to his death. The part relating to my experience is in the 6th stanza and describes my feelings/terror when I was afraid to chamber a round, thinking the enemy was so close he could hear me.
Onoma Mar 2019
her static television

of black widows,

riddled with white

lies.

froths to a shivering

freeze--as her fangs

pierce a liar.

in a paralytic lock under

her torn fishnets.
Walking is the king of exercises

It suits different age groups

And is useful for both genders

Its results are unbelievable wonders



Walk for five kilometers a day

And keeps the doctor away

You need not run like a race

But can walk at your own pace



Walking relieves your hypertension

And keeps your heart in good condition

It is a must for a diabetic

And is possible for a paralytic



It improves your vitality

And enhances your longevity

You can walk preferably in the morning

Or at least in the evening



Walking removes your bad cholesterol

And saves the consumption of petrol

Why do you eat carcinogenic fast foods in a pub?

Why don’t you join  a walkers’ club?
I lie here paralytic
Inside this soul
Screaming for you 'til my throat is numb
I wanna break out I need a way out
I don't believe that it's gotta be this way
The worst is the waiting
In this womb I'm suffocating

Feel your presence filling up my lungs with oxygen
I take you in
I've died

Rebirthing now
I wanna live for love wanna live for you and me
Breathe for the first time now
I come alive somehow
Rebirthing now
I wanna live my life wanna give you everything
Breathe for the first time now
I come alive somehow
Right now [X2]

I lie here lifeless
In this cocoon
Shedding my skin cause
I'm ready to
I wanna break out
I found a way out
I don't believe that it's gotta be this way
The worst is the waiting
In this womb I'm suffocating

Feel your presence filling up my lungs with oxygen
I take you in
I've died

Rebirthing now
I wanna live for love wanna live for you and me
Breathe for the first time now
I come alive somehow
Rebirthing now
I Wanna live my life wanna give you everything
Breathe for the first time now
I come alive somehow
(I come alive somehow)

Tell me when I'm gonna live again
Tell me when I'm gonna breathe you in
Tell me when I'm gonna feel inside
Tell me when I'm gonna feel alive

Tell me when I'm gonna live again
Tell me when this fear will end
Tell me when I'm gonna feel inside
Tell me when I'll feel alive

Rebirthing now
I wanna live for love wanna live for you and me
Breathe for the first time now
I come alive somehow
Rebirthing now
I wanna live my life wanna give you everything
Breathe for the first time now
I come alive somehow
(I come alive somehow)

Right now
I come alive somehow
Right now
I come alive somehow
This is a song by the band Skillet.
It explains a lot with how I'm feeling.
Entering a world composed of surreal images
My mind must twist itself into difficult yoga poses
Attempting comprehension of the madness
Black aprons meander in rhythmic gyrations
Under harsh soul stealing luminescence
Lubricated with coffee to perform
Menial machinations miserably
I am but a tourist
On their macabre island full
With nightmarish denizens
Of this local purgatory
The poet dreamt of no circle
As dreadfully inhabited as this sinister strata
Easily a septante of sins sordidly succumbed to by soulless citizens
Apathetic arrogance masquerading as hospitality
While decency and morality are assaulted
According to the overlords abusive schedule
I am struck mute with paralytic paranoia
As I hurriedly set my offering upon the altar
And search for exact change
Wawa is a convenience store located primarily in the Northeast, mostly New Jersey and Pennsylvania. It is simultaneously the worst and greatest thing about living in New Jersey.
saranade Nov 2016
A year and a half has passed since I crashed my motorcycle.
The broken bones and road rash had since been cast away.
The gassed up tank and fast paced life were smashed together.
A singular bash that cached my memory.
Lights flashed and all of the sudden whiplash has new meaning.
This thrash of two autos blinked my eyelash three days later.
Paralytic forecast.
I lay flabbergast.
I'm still paralyzed, elbow down, my right arm from this hit-and-run motorcycle accident. 25 broken bones have healed. 4 surgeries. More surgeries coming. Still in physical therapy 2 to 3 times a week.
Hhhhhh. I haven't given up.
.
.
Asominate Jan 2018
They come to me,
They come to me

When they speak
I listen

I can't breathe
Am I living?

They're all my eyes would see
When they come to me

I hate the voices that speak to me.
They are nothing but liars.
******,liars.
When I was young, I believed them.
They convinced me that I was an angel from heaven.
They ruined my early childhood.
And persons close to me (that are real) are ruining my teenage years. The earthly ones.

They come to me speaking things preposterous,
No wonder when they're around,
I get real anxious
Getting jittery, hormone levels rising
Wish there was real hope on the horizon

Am I crazy or purely insane
For those like me I can feel your pain

Not till I got wiser, I realized that I should be careful

Dear diary, is it in my genes to have schizophrenia,
Stabbing pains and paralytic dreams

I always hear things
But ignore them when I'm busy
So when I'm bored that is when they come to me

I like my father.
The earthly one.
I miss when he could see.
So many times we would have fun together.
But that was another day.
A day of the before.
Looking back won't change anything.
I don't even know why it is done.

Can't comprehend my inability,
To understand is something wrong with me?
I don't get man, not humanity.
Is that because they come to me?

They come to me in pursuit of my mind
Wish someone fully human was on my side
No wonder I tried to commit suicide
But I miserably failed many times

Why can't I die?!?
I know I have a purpose, but does that mean that I an not allowed to die.
Just because I won't die, I can consume anything and everything without getting sick, so far (does my malfunctioning mind blind me?).
Even bleach!
My body has immunized to them all.
That will just make me live longer.
Is life a never-ending torture?
Jen Nov 2018
Take away something real, fiction
Hold it in your arms, metaphysical
Friction, Oh, hyper-monitor diction to
Take hold of nonexistent, nonsensical
Non-fiction; How it slips from fingers
Ever distant, moving yet arthritic; much so,
This life fades, Drowning in indifference
In the future not far; Traces fill the spaces
That hold your heart back as if paralytic.
Become resistant, To feel alive in life here.
If only to replay the best yesterdays;
When tomorrow is clean-slated fate,
Today is an oil smudged rainy sidewalk,
There is a Specter, an owl on a high pole;
In the light of fluorescence a ****** there,
Eyes glow; what does the wise one know?
zebra Mar 2017
there are some folks living in my bathroom
from the in-between world
like a trailer park
for toilet home bodies

it is where some
of the the dead living habitate
gnomish broods who feed
on the mist of mold
and fecundating aberrations
of **** and excrement

where the difference
between objects and souls
blur
sinks and toilets
flapping opinionated vortexes
of gloom brooding
walls wave and warp
like angry water
and howling wind

they are living creatures
animated bodies electric
crying mouths
without breath
fierce undulations
animated denizens scowling
rattling like bricka bracka
used shaking chairs
always steaming
hysterical
daring you to fight them

sometimes between sleep and wake
i enter their dimension
unable to break free of my sleeping self
held down
paralytic
like a narcoleptic slug
inching its way
through a puddle of warm oatmeal

last night i found myself
in the in-between world
to discover some desperate hollow woman
barricading the bathroom

i pushed hard against the door
and heard her sonorous groan
as she collapsed
into thin air

i think i love her
Andrew Robertson Jul 2014
Last night, I saw the largest
and most enchanting smile
I ever recall seeing.
Large, yet cute, dimples with
a soft reassuring look.
Her eyes were the brightest,
most vivid stars in the sky.
I've seen many amazing
sights in my life,
but having our sky actually
smiling at me tops them all.
It was paralytic beauty
and wonder and truly
the most enchanting smile!


Written By:
Andrew D. Robertson
Ash Duhrkoop May 2010
This is my only moment
Of lucidity.
I lie on this bed,
On top of blankets
And pillows
And the ghosts of my lovers.
And I see the room, in which I lie
On this bed.
I am aware.

But this is not reality,
This dream-state.
My body does not move the way
It should.
I am twisted,
And frozen.
But not cold,
The icy streaks
Which paint the cement outside
Silver,
Have not taken me
As home
Yet.
Yes.
But I have forgotten that I have joints.
My hands and feet
Are backwards,
Connected to
Wrists and ankles
Which were removed,
When, I know not,
But replaced upside down.
Are they even mine?

I can see the lamp,
And feel its small light,
Like words,
Calling to me.
But I am paralyzed and cannot answer
It.

I hear, too,
A howl,
Like the howl
Of one hundred
Lost souls
Of a generation,
Not looking to be found.
And certainly not in
Any sullen art.
The howl settles
Like white noise
Into my gray matter.
This drone holds the only truth;
Ploom ploom tra da da da

Watching from within the room, but outside of my body,  
I saw you,
The phantom.
For that phantom had
To be you,
Jeremy.
And you,
The phantom, stood over my body,
In its paralytic
Dream-state,
And he,
You,
Ripped through the flesh
And bone
And grabbed at its sin.
And he, you,
Ate my tarpaulin colored
sin.
It was then that I knew
That is what fills our
Porcelain,
No limestone,
Shells.
We are afraid of our own
Nondescript insides.

Get down from that perch
Above my head,
Jeremy.
You sit
Like a lead crown.
I wish to see you,
As you were then,
But also as you are now,
A figment of my subconscious.
I lose myself to my sullen art
And wish to sleep forever
In this dream-state,
In you,
My phantom,
My lead crown.
Terrin Leigh Apr 2015
Look what you've done!
double the serving size of torment
the battle has begun
hunger pangs won't relent
another helping: slashes of lament
I'd rather be empty
necessary rations, I resent
beneficial to you, poisonous to me
drifting through the days, rugged debris
I've become a lunchroom paralytic
ignore me, mediocre bourgeoisie
not a stomach, but a heart granitic
I ask for seconds - of love, not larder
For once, I feel full. Incomparable ardor.
Chelsea Quigley Nov 2023
The feeling of neutral,
Is bleak and bland.

For I cannot fathom
This life of random.
This feeling of doom,

It is present
Yet seldom.

It is static
And paralytic.

I feel erratic.

Yet I am calm,
Content.

But my mind,
Unresponsive,
Perhaps braindead.

My sanity,
Decreased
To the thinnest thread.

As this feeling of neutral,
Has emptied my head.
waxing, planetary
odd moonlight—

the faces are whetted to diamonds.
the paralytic shadow begins
to twitch;

benign light froths to full afternoon,
this sedentary creature in between teeth,
a clear consonant of dull air.

thereby gleaming, tapered to
a nightingale's song;
i take my place amongst the elements
of night: as if to say a new portrait in mausoleum crossed by grass and aureole

the laughter shattering its dull one—
a lurid memory, all to itself amongst
kindred of parks.
My moods drain me down
To some immoderate sluice-gate,
They run down the grainy windows,
Clog the sand in the top of the hour-glass
Like bat's tears, like misplaced rainstorms
Looking for a cloud to hang out under.

All my temperaments are accidental,
Wrongly placed; too early or too late
Miscarriages of intention,
Predicaments of inattention.

All the inconsequential moments I inhabit,
I'm wearing thin, from changing my mind too often-
Why is there no groove for thinking,
No energy-saving secret gear?

Sometimes I sit absolutely still
In an uncomfortable position,
Hoping the powers that be will notice me;
Will see that I'm going nowhere, so slowly
And they will send some tempest to help move me along.

I'm also afraid they will send change;
The paralytic not only can't move,
He knows he can never move,
And his biggest fear
Is being thought capable of movement.

In that rapid swirling down the drain,
He wants someone to snag him on a branch,
Save and reclaim his manhood;
Not sit in a tree and watch him spiraling,
While repeating over and over,
Why don't you save yourself?

He knows it's too late for words;
The tears only add to the swelling river.
And if once I thought there was a savior on every corner,
I guess I just got tired of waiting-
Because the ones in the mirror only close their eyes now.

Normalcy both appalls and comforts me-
Why does it all appear so average,
As you go sprawling head first over the falls:
You know nobody elses life will change one iota,
And you know you're just paying some bill
You never even saw.
Yusof Asnan May 2016
She is one of those dreams,
Where you're half awake,
And you're not sure if you're dreaming;
Or if it's real.

Even if it's just a dream,
I wouldn't even try to wake up,
Because this version of reality is much better;
Than what we've actually been.

Scary as I might get fully awake,
I would prefer falling even further.
I couldn't help myself;
But to chase this paralytic state.


-HIY
Phillip ONeil Mar 2014
THE HAUNTING


The smell of fresh begonias fanned
by rooks and sparrows

from the black ‘n’ white tiled balcony
glowing in a sunset the colourof  lovebites

then the candle-glow dims
in the fanfare of light

you switch on from the hall
filling the frosted door like cancer

announcing another re-run
of a once OK drama

played out night after night
wearing me down with your claims

to what you believe is rightfully yours
Excalibur arm pointing your ways

I’m either paralysed or paralytic,
hard to choose as I’m dumbed down

by the never ending story
of your nightly return mocking

the symmetry of your eviction
which gave me a callous, relieved joy …

I’d put your bags back on the threshold
right back where you’d stood

with your Betty Blue smile
expecting me to invite you in

with a pout and a shout
about that ******* kicking you out

Good God, then as now you struck
fear into the very heart of me

Is it still enchanting?
Do you thrive on eternal return?

You linger, shadow filling in the flakes
With your useless key before knocking.

Stop. You. Again. Shape-shifter
Black strychnine swab

Running through me like a swallowed blood clot
making my emptiness fistula full

Listening to your black-bordered rap
of funeral amazement delivering your message

That you’ll return eery night
to reclaim what you say is yours

buried in these walls like a tic.
i cant name that pain
when i see a human foraging food
beneath a large hoarding of a restaurant

i cant express that feeling of helplessness
when i see a human feasting on leftovers
thrown by a mouth too full to gorge more

i cant put in words that paralytic numbness
when i see a human and an animal together
pouring on the roadside bin for something

i cant give all these pains a name

or tell you about them in a rhymed poem.
The earth’s resource is there
For each among us to equally share
But that can’t happen
So long the greed of gain
Keeps man insane.
Joseph Perales Jan 2011
I am my own biggest critic
second thoughts; parasitic
with eyes harshly analytic
leave my hand paralytic

my pen has become sedentary
words won’t come as necessary
what used to be so elementary
no longer comes as secondary

I read and re-read obsessively
I write and re-write aggressively
until a poem forms progressively
until a poem forms successfully
Grace Grimsley Nov 2016
When paranoia takes its course I don't know whether to stay or run but how can you run from your own mind?
I try to escape from its grip but it's dragging me in and consuming me.
I can hardly breathe. I can't move yet everything is racing around me, like a vortex, the darkness beckoning my soul.
I feel my heart beating and the sweat on my skin yet nothing can draw me from this paralytic state of fear. I know it's not real. I know nothing will happen but the trepidation is the contortionist of my mind, I'm no longer in control and here I must face my inner demons.
zebra Apr 2017
she became sexually excited
by the thought of being eaten
like a piece of spit roasted chicken
slow cooked
fall off the bone
melt in your mouth
**** food

as she reflected back
she could not remember a time
when she did not harbor
this venomous ache
wanting wanting wanting
what she should not want

she obsessed
some times she dare cut herself
admiring the split tissue
first thin white peaks
the emergent sticky red plush
then the little red river Nile
just a taste
better not eat to much
teeheehee

one summer evening
sitting alone
in a crowded pub
sharing a table with a strange couple
not from around here.
definitely not
may be from outer space

girl became fixated on
their presence

their intensity pierced
like a needle through a banana

both of them lean & tall
almost architectural
like black rod iron gates en-castleations
hair combed straight back jet black
like licorice

the woman wore a tight small bun
immaculate
ornate rings with enshrined family crest
manicured like Malibu real estate
both dressed to ****

girl was drawn to them
they emitted a sense of terror
thrilling her, making her sweat
they looked good enough to eat her

she felt her **** dampen
as they all peered at each other
the man, the woman
siting before her
like Medusa's
with shape shift mouths
and eyes that kiss your soul
till it bleeds
making girl feel like lamb chops
with a side of pom fritz
perhaps a glass of merlot

the woman mused at her
with eyes like black Cole
touched her hand and said
so veautiful

girl found herself in a plain house dress
******-less, bare foot
her toes had been lovingly painted
black with with rich clear lacquer
with no memory of her arrival

woman saunters in
buoyant like a pink float
******* clad

her countenance
like white seamless marble
her eye socket darkened
like pouting dark rose ****
walked to girl
kiss her mouth
then again and again
each time longer deeper sweeter
like a swarm of licking bees
i am yellow daffodils girl thought

man enters like grand swinging doors
to a great cathedral
licks kisses girls mouth
so tender
he tasted of dark butter ***
a hint of worm perhaps
touching her *******
her ******* growing attentive
**** wet wet wet
like low hanging summer fruit

man says we are not human
we are

dragool
undead
loogaroo
dampir
soucoyant


may we please eat you my love
we like for food and the darkest ***
we treasure every morsel
your blood gives us strength
your viscera a prized dark stew
your death brings us optimism
your sacrifice sustains us
we eat you with tears of blood
because we love you
and your body is our holy sacrament
you are our Christ

girl says
you are my destiny
my beloveds
come show me your love
feast on me
take me slow with kisses, black mamba tongue and razor teeth
i do not run from you my darlings

girl disrobed
centered herself on the table
spreads her self wide
like a contortionist
knees held to her chest
toes pointed
feet arched

the man and the woman
on all 4s
hovered like hyenas
first with kisses
womans *** curved like a pearl
her ******* longish as if
stretched silk
with foreboding dark plum aureoles

the mans ****
arterial contoured like a tear drop
a creeping snake with dark appetites
a dispenser of paralytic toxin and MDA
a **** thats poisons and exults
some where between love and death

each of them beautiful
girl thought ooooooowwww

there where long periods of kissing at first
then wet tongues insinuating themselves
in dark rose ****
pink primrose *****
mouths feeding mouths feeding mouths
foot adorations and then teeth and little bites
and mumblings about the grace of Satan
and uncrossing themselves
and thunderous goetic rituals
for fear that god would take their girl away
their lovely food
there sweet bleeding lover
their robe of blood
and starve them
they wept tears of gratitude
as they licked and tore flesh

the pain of their bites excited girl
oh it hurt so
braking her soul
as they ate her sweetbreads

girl
pushed passed limits
pushed past limitlessness
despicable delirious delicious
her **** inflamed

girl thought in fractured clouds
and heaping *******
before fading in to dark water labyrinths


finally she thought
i am lamb chops
with aside of pom fritz
perhaps a glass of merlot

but most of all i am girl
feeding those i love

her very last words
come my darklings
finish me now
clean your plates
drink your wine
and remember

eat up
there are children starving in Africa
Roo Feb 2017
(TW ****** abuse, suicide)

My body comes with a trigger warning,
to see me naked no longer
means the same thing.
I'm ugly. Scarred,
Both emotionally and physically.
I need help,
but I don't know how to reach out.
My voice has been silenced
by one too many men,
controlling, abusing, ruining.


Recently, the emotional pain I had been
rejecting when I remembered my ****
hit me all at once.
I couldn't breath, I couldn't see, I couldn't feel
anything except, well,
suddenly, the knot that never disappears from my chest
grew. Minutely at first, then it became more confident.
It knew it was taking over my body: my arms and legs and feet and fingers went paralytic, all I could hear was a ringing noise, raging in my ears.


Sometimes, I mix *** with death. Both seem like the ending to me. I'll fantasise about being dressed up for ***, I'll slide downstairs and seductively choose my lover. I'll debate over men, women and everyone else in between and outside, but I know from the beginning which I'll choose. I'll slink over to the knives and select the biggest and baddest I own. I won't shake, I won't back down. I can feel it sliding between the layers of my skin as we speak now, I can feel my body weakening.

I'm so tired, my friends. I've spent so many years fighting back and now all I want to do is sleep, forever.
vicious motivator
crimes of passion of bloodlust
paralytic of sorts
silent agonizing over one moment
how could it have been like this
how could it not
(i can remember how i used to feel but i don't feel it now)
Lexie Mar 2022
Have you heard the sound
The mouth makes
When the heart breaks
So loud it looks like screaming
But it couldn't be more silent

— The End —