DrowningWater - Hello Poetry

My feelings consume and devour every iota of my being Oh wanton madness malingers in my thoughts skull crushingly My headspace clouded like the sea of the frothiest milk It hurts how white-hot tears race towards release from my rapture My cranium slips towards combustion at any moment never-ending Where do I find relief for what feels as if a curse's birthright My soul begs for a ****** a coda, a finale, a demise I want to lose myself to the conundrum of cyclical fear and wash away My body will float ashore and rest with the company of coral and kelp This will be the state of my self when the sky dawns another plague -- Your hopeless devotion for a pointless lie lost in flames As the clouds tip towards grey and the moon hopelessly yearns You will find what you call my shape And I will not stay -- So **** me and end it here Within your vacuous heart Rosy perfume trails your familiar knife Gore is the language of our love Hatred our kisses, ****** our *** Torture, our existence -- There will be nothing at our consummation You will destroy us all and burn our ties Bodies will coalesce together into a nightmare -- Swallow that rotting acid Plaster your desire Dream of what has been judged Harm your shelter My life.

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Jul 2, 2023

Jul 2, 2023 at 9:19 AM UTC

Violence Near the Point Break

My feelings consume and devour every iota of my being Oh wanton madness malingers in my thoughts skull crushingly My headspace clouded like the sea of the frothiest milk It hurts how white-hot tears race towards release from my rapture My cranium slips towards combustion at any moment never-ending Where do I find relief for what feels as if a curse's birthright My soul begs for a ****** a coda, a finale, a demise I want to lose myself to the conundrum of cyclical fear and wash away My body will float ashore and rest with the company of coral and kelp This will be the state of my self when the sky dawns another plague -- Your hopeless devotion for a pointless lie lost in flames As the clouds tip towards grey and the moon hopelessly yearns You will find what you call my shape And I will not stay -- So **** me and end it here Within your vacuous heart Rosy perfume trails your familiar knife Gore is the language of our love Hatred our kisses, ****** our *** Torture, our existence -- There will be nothing at our consummation You will destroy us all and burn our ties Bodies will coalesce together into a nightmare -- Swallow that rotting acid Plaster your desire Dream of what has been judged Harm your shelter My life.

32

Great, foreboding thoughts exercise and perspire into my being. Every form of consciousness sojourns from one crevice to another. Ultraviolet flares with vivid rays peek through my budding mind. Immense electricity and excitement course through as if agreeing. I feel the water rushing through and in turn I feel the adrenaline. Craving the soul's infestation from which comes the best literature. I want to take my thoughts and dance with them in ripped dresses. My fingers ache and cry to write, it entices me, it is menacing. I hug my core and reassure her even in the deepest of midnights. Asphyxiation grips every sense and licks my skin on all sides. They come out as aggravated threads of yarn crawling for safety. The petrichor hanging overnight, I wish to know what caused this. Do the other Greek poets ever ponder what just to write? For in Greece whatever they will, it might as well be right.

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Aug 24, 2021

Aug 24, 2021 at 11:32 PM UTC

Thoughts Usually Kept to Myself

Great, foreboding thoughts exercise and perspire into my being. Every form of consciousness sojourns from one crevice to another. Ultraviolet flares with vivid rays peek through my budding mind. Immense electricity and excitement course through as if agreeing. I feel the water rushing through and in turn I feel the adrenaline. Craving the soul's infestation from which comes the best literature. I want to take my thoughts and dance with them in ripped dresses. My fingers ache and cry to write, it entices me, it is menacing. I hug my core and reassure her even in the deepest of midnights. Asphyxiation grips every sense and licks my skin on all sides. They come out as aggravated threads of yarn crawling for safety. The petrichor hanging overnight, I wish to know what caused this. Do the other Greek poets ever ponder what just to write? For in Greece whatever they will, it might as well be right.

14

A flowing, eventide sky melts like supple ******* feeling the warmth of the spring's embrace. Effervescent crystals glimmer along the concavity of her body as though it were a fountain's paragon. Her abalone eyes—kissed by the tide's mist—remain affixed to the sanctified mollusk beneath her. Perfumed laurels of myrtle frolic through her silky tresses as the droplets of her previous home are blown by Zephyr's breath. Garments—of a newborn's pink—adorned with roses whisper tales of yearning, whilst golden armlets purr hymns of fervor. Nacreous regalia drifts ashore like a rhythmic pulse and grant embellishment to the hospitality of the ocean's silt. Murmurations of Putti flutter their wings into orbit and encircle her milky frame. Worshippers—of strictly the visionary kind—passionately rejoice over her delicacy. O resplendent Anadyomene, may she rise amongst the sea foam's orchestra

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Feb 16, 2021

Feb 16, 2021 at 10:20 PM UTC

The Birth of Romanticism

A flowing, eventide sky melts like supple ******* feeling the warmth of the spring's embrace. Effervescent crystals glimmer along the concavity of her body as though it were a fountain's paragon. Her abalone eyes—kissed by the tide's mist—remain affixed to the sanctified mollusk beneath her. Perfumed laurels of myrtle frolic through her silky tresses as the droplets of her previous home are blown by Zephyr's breath. Garments—of a newborn's pink—adorned with roses whisper tales of yearning, whilst golden armlets purr hymns of fervor. Nacreous regalia drifts ashore like a rhythmic pulse and grant embellishment to the hospitality of the ocean's silt. Murmurations of Putti flutter their wings into orbit and encircle her milky frame. Worshippers—of strictly the visionary kind—passionately rejoice over her delicacy. O resplendent Anadyomene, may she rise amongst the sea foam's orchestra

9

There's a veiny, contaminated sky, Coagulated blood pummels and rains atop the residents. The subway never comes though it serves no purpose, Any remnants of passengers are already forbidden. Local "cleaners" are complaining about their jobs near the steps, "Teeth sure hurts a lot more when it comes from the velum." Another person is lighting a cigarette, People wonder how they've got a new pair of lungs. The empty diner's employees said they ran out of lamb, Someone found a pile of bodies behind their den. The fog is threatening to choke the buildings, Only the sewers can give shelter from those above. Plenty of the streetlights have gone missing once again, They always come back in different colors. Telephone pole knots challenge tenants with their glare, Nothing left to voice their thoughts, only discolored concrete. A blasting mess of jumbled drones fill their mouths, Rusted barbed wiring gives it flavor. Hardly any life near the edge, There is a net on top in case of any saving throws.

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Feb 11, 2021

Feb 11, 2021 at 12:09 AM UTC

Derelict Chaos

There's a veiny, contaminated sky, Coagulated blood pummels and rains atop the residents. The subway never comes though it serves no purpose, Any remnants of passengers are already forbidden. Local "cleaners" are complaining about their jobs near the steps, "Teeth sure hurts a lot more when it comes from the velum." Another person is lighting a cigarette, People wonder how they've got a new pair of lungs. The empty diner's employees said they ran out of lamb, Someone found a pile of bodies behind their den. The fog is threatening to choke the buildings, Only the sewers can give shelter from those above. Plenty of the streetlights have gone missing once again, They always come back in different colors. Telephone pole knots challenge tenants with their glare, Nothing left to voice their thoughts, only discolored concrete. A blasting mess of jumbled drones fill their mouths, Rusted barbed wiring gives it flavor. Hardly any life near the edge, There is a net on top in case of any saving throws.

20

You are but a candid creature, cut off from the divine grace of God. Venturing forth into the unknown oceans for the conviction of "knowledge." The stifling droning of his choir will corrupt your insistent reasoning. As you procreate remedies submerged within the declivities of Paradise. Consuming the insidious fruit, tainted coral of which men were forbidden. Transform your fleshly palate through sacrilege and degradation. Knotting the bridge between the metaphysical with the corporeal stratum, The echelon beseeches the Apocryphon by way of holy intercession. Observe, as your analysis provokes your cerebrum's malformed Genesis. You are a negligent being, rifely merged through the consciousness of God.

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Aug 6, 2020

Aug 6, 2020 at 1:59 AM UTC

Water From the Edenic Grounds

You are but a candid creature, cut off from the divine grace of God. Venturing forth into the unknown oceans for the conviction of "knowledge." The stifling droning of his choir will corrupt your insistent reasoning. As you procreate remedies submerged within the declivities of Paradise. Consuming the insidious fruit, tainted coral of which men were forbidden. Transform your fleshly palate through sacrilege and degradation. Knotting the bridge between the metaphysical with the corporeal stratum, The echelon beseeches the Apocryphon by way of holy intercession. Observe, as your analysis provokes your cerebrum's malformed Genesis. You are a negligent being, rifely merged through the consciousness of God.

10

Striding like the wind. They are frightened, Unable to cope with their bleary prospects. They'll have intruders, On the abrasions of that frigid, slick trap. They're maniacs, Ripped to bits, violated, and then spit out. They've been repressed, Miserable under the Hippocratic Oath. They've become untreatable, Battering and shrieking at whoever draws near. They were mistreated, Deformed body parts set ablaze for all. They should've perished, In that filthy amniotic fluid. They'll be laid to rest. Hallucinating and screaming into nothing. They are traumatized, Boring craters into your jammed skull. They will obliterate you.

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Dec 11, 2019

Dec 11, 2019 at 5:34 PM UTC

Children of the Womb

Striding like the wind. They are frightened, Unable to cope with their bleary prospects. They'll have intruders, On the abrasions of that frigid, slick trap. They're maniacs, Ripped to bits, violated, and then spit out. They've been repressed, Miserable under the Hippocratic Oath. They've become untreatable, Battering and shrieking at whoever draws near. They were mistreated, Deformed body parts set ablaze for all. They should've perished, In that filthy amniotic fluid. They'll be laid to rest. Hallucinating and screaming into nothing. They are traumatized, Boring craters into your jammed skull. They will obliterate you.

20

I miss you. Tracks of nothing but random bursts of laughter. Those images of vagrant innocence. They play like a carousel throughout my mind. I miss them. Activities filled with teenage recklessness. Running under the comforting moonlight. Unbeknownst we were running out of time. I miss home. Humble river water ready for someone to dip in. Pillars of limestone ready to greet me. Country music playing for a close knit crowd. It's waiting for me. Bearing my love pass yonder. My heart has whittled out a chamber for them. One day I will return, after sculpting my future.

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Dec 5, 2019

Dec 5, 2019 at 12:46 PM UTC

Turbulent Blues

I miss you. Tracks of nothing but random bursts of laughter. Those images of vagrant innocence. They play like a carousel throughout my mind. I miss them. Activities filled with teenage recklessness. Running under the comforting moonlight. Unbeknownst we were running out of time. I miss home. Humble river water ready for someone to dip in. Pillars of limestone ready to greet me. Country music playing for a close knit crowd. It's waiting for me. Bearing my love pass yonder. My heart has whittled out a chamber for them. One day I will return, after sculpting my future.

16

Do you ever look at the sea? Thinking to yourself where on Earth you could be? Looking at seashells and conches, Take a deep breath from your conscious. Hearing laughter from the turquoise waves, Wondering where the dolphins might bay. Take in the maiden's dainty splash, Creating scenery like that of endless riffraff. Perhaps it's a bit of a bore. Well the beach always has a lot in store. If it's too much for you on the floats, Don't mind joining the others on sailboats.

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Dec 4, 2019

Dec 4, 2019 at 1:14 PM UTC

Playful Tides

Do you ever look at the sea? Thinking to yourself where on Earth you could be? Looking at seashells and conches, Take a deep breath from your conscious. Hearing laughter from the turquoise waves, Wondering where the dolphins might bay. Take in the maiden's dainty splash, Creating scenery like that of endless riffraff. Perhaps it's a bit of a bore. Well the beach always has a lot in store. If it's too much for you on the floats, Don't mind joining the others on sailboats.

12

She is the Angler's flooded candela. Rotting in polished abalone opposing the currents. Sheltered by the wretched Leviathan of vilified lore. Now she is regarded amongst the caprella. Rhapsodies of calamity shatter the pearl's mantle. Hippocampi forewarn of the seafoam's ambush. Preparing for the inevitable euphotic zone's descent, She is the Angler's flooded candela. Tumultuous floods cascade over the ruined acropolis. The aqueducts conceal larimar encrusted scriptures. All cognition is forcibly devastated by vengeful rapids Now she is regarded amongst the caprella. Malformed Scylla hasty to pilfer decaying remains. Charybdis reckless to crush with its numerous jaws. Souls pillaged for their misfortune in splendor. She is the Angler's flooded candela. Shrouded solely in the fathomless, stygian depths. Oxygen minimum commences its terminal quest. She is the Angler's flooded candela. Now she is regarded amongst the caprella.

0

Nov 29, 2019

Nov 29, 2019 at 11:58 PM UTC

Coral Gates

She is the Angler's flooded candela. Rotting in polished abalone opposing the currents. Sheltered by the wretched Leviathan of vilified lore. Now she is regarded amongst the caprella. Rhapsodies of calamity shatter the pearl's mantle. Hippocampi forewarn of the seafoam's ambush. Preparing for the inevitable euphotic zone's descent, She is the Angler's flooded candela. Tumultuous floods cascade over the ruined acropolis. The aqueducts conceal larimar encrusted scriptures. All cognition is forcibly devastated by vengeful rapids Now she is regarded amongst the caprella. Malformed Scylla hasty to pilfer decaying remains. Charybdis reckless to crush with its numerous jaws. Souls pillaged for their misfortune in splendor. She is the Angler's flooded candela. Shrouded solely in the fathomless, stygian depths. Oxygen minimum commences its terminal quest. She is the Angler's flooded candela. Now she is regarded amongst the caprella.

20

The seeds belonging to the pomegranate are like that of fervid, scarlet jewels. Dripping with sinful nectar that warbles a tune of blasphemy. The heinous partake in communion throughout those cryptic, velvety pools. Entrenched in that liquid, they amalgamate in sacrificial voracity. Bodies spiraling into those abyssal fabrics are given weight. As winds torment their exposed vessels possessed by their charred entrails. They suffer continuously, punished by shards of rain and fate. Their innards squishing and staining the ground, rupturing the sacred grail. The convent is disregarded and attains solace across the unforgiving perdition. Restrained by the stems of the iniquitous cherry, they ascend the ladder. Their judgment is wedged betwixt amorality and cruel ripples of shameless frisson. Declination awaits those whose veins bear the fallacy of the adder. Eternally facing punishment amidst the breaking wheel's treacherous blight, Thus their salvation lies beyond even that of the Garden of Earthly Delights.

0

Nov 27, 2019

Nov 27, 2019 at 9:06 PM UTC

Minds of the Grotesque

The seeds belonging to the pomegranate are like that of fervid, scarlet jewels. Dripping with sinful nectar that warbles a tune of blasphemy. The heinous partake in communion throughout those cryptic, velvety pools. Entrenched in that liquid, they amalgamate in sacrificial voracity. Bodies spiraling into those abyssal fabrics are given weight. As winds torment their exposed vessels possessed by their charred entrails. They suffer continuously, punished by shards of rain and fate. Their innards squishing and staining the ground, rupturing the sacred grail. The convent is disregarded and attains solace across the unforgiving perdition. Restrained by the stems of the iniquitous cherry, they ascend the ladder. Their judgment is wedged betwixt amorality and cruel ripples of shameless frisson. Declination awaits those whose veins bear the fallacy of the adder. Eternally facing punishment amidst the breaking wheel's treacherous blight, Thus their salvation lies beyond even that of the Garden of Earthly Delights.

14