crimsonanarchy - Hello Poetry

Sharp is the offensive noise that abandons my ribcage Loudness bursting from me, ears ringing with rushed half-coherency. A primal urge to please threatening voids. Shame leaks from every pore, Brow slick with predictions of nauseating whispers, Of slick wet gazes of penetrating judgement. Silence, my mistress has returned. Unstitching the seams again, deconstructing this strange flesh that carries me. the wind that whips at my soul tastes different this time. A stillness, a nuclear embrace of my otherness, I scrape and carve and whittle and score, I dig, I claw, I dry and smooth. I polish and soil and shine. And then I am still. A pillar of jagged molars and leathered skin happy to bear the lashes owed. Violent fingers curl and cramp, exhausted shoulders stiffening in wake of my quiet pilgrimage through thick red blindness My soft organs compress into fossils of reflection I find no mirrors of reason clear enough to justify my ligature to this stake. But if there must be a fire, why not my sinful flesh for sacrifice? Purification, damnation, no liver nor lung nor pound of flesh will ever be my currency, Burn me, strawberry-coloured guts and all. I slip into the spaces between meaning and I find what I’ve been looking for. Not of my flesh nor yours, just of. Just of. The curtain is closed, shadows on walls need not be deciphered, If I must lean away from weapons of perception, I shall dance a strange, mangled departure, But it will be my own, I will be my own.

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Nov 5, 2025

Nov 5, 2025 at 9:41 AM UTC

eudaimonia

Sharp is the offensive noise that abandons my ribcage Loudness bursting from me, ears ringing with rushed half-coherency. A primal urge to please threatening voids. Shame leaks from every pore, Brow slick with predictions of nauseating whispers, Of slick wet gazes of penetrating judgement. Silence, my mistress has returned. Unstitching the seams again, deconstructing this strange flesh that carries me. the wind that whips at my soul tastes different this time. A stillness, a nuclear embrace of my otherness, I scrape and carve and whittle and score, I dig, I claw, I dry and smooth. I polish and soil and shine. And then I am still. A pillar of jagged molars and leathered skin happy to bear the lashes owed. Violent fingers curl and cramp, exhausted shoulders stiffening in wake of my quiet pilgrimage through thick red blindness My soft organs compress into fossils of reflection I find no mirrors of reason clear enough to justify my ligature to this stake. But if there must be a fire, why not my sinful flesh for sacrifice? Purification, damnation, no liver nor lung nor pound of flesh will ever be my currency, Burn me, strawberry-coloured guts and all. I slip into the spaces between meaning and I find what I’ve been looking for. Not of my flesh nor yours, just of. Just of. The curtain is closed, shadows on walls need not be deciphered, If I must lean away from weapons of perception, I shall dance a strange, mangled departure, But it will be my own, I will be my own.

27

I know what you did and it has a name. It spits on my wounds and whispers beneath my skin. Nails bloodied, pupils rolling. I know how much my flesh is worth to you, pound for gram. That there is no one to mourn if there is nothing left to mourn. A piece of me here, a piece of me there, I scramble to collect my spilling intestines. Pulling at loose ends as they squelch & stretch under boot & heel. No eyes within me left to see how you carved me up for Sunday brunch. Fingers turn to stumps as I crawl toward the fire Mouths watering at the scent of my falling from purgatory You built me for worship so I became your disciple A ripe sinner ready for plucking. Oh, won’t you say Grace? I know what you did, & it has a name.

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Oct 21, 2025

Oct 21, 2025 at 9:39 AM UTC

But, I am not only of flesh

I know what you did and it has a name. It spits on my wounds and whispers beneath my skin. Nails bloodied, pupils rolling. I know how much my flesh is worth to you, pound for gram. That there is no one to mourn if there is nothing left to mourn. A piece of me here, a piece of me there, I scramble to collect my spilling intestines. Pulling at loose ends as they squelch & stretch under boot & heel. No eyes within me left to see how you carved me up for Sunday brunch. Fingers turn to stumps as I crawl toward the fire Mouths watering at the scent of my falling from purgatory You built me for worship so I became your disciple A ripe sinner ready for plucking. Oh, won’t you say Grace? I know what you did, & it has a name.

14

I buried a bird at sunset To teach its elder’s some respect As bundles of familiar feathers swooped singing scornful songs of incomplete youth I knew where they’d been at time of death. I denied the cat the flightless fallen body Siblings guarding silently as I tore up flower beds With a piece of broken tile and old weeds left in a pile Solemn is the hand that carves the final nest. I buried them with nothing more than three sprigs of lavender, & fluffy baby feathers splattered with dirt I wished only empty bellied, good-hearted scavengers Would carry them to a better nurturing earth. Tucked into blankets of leaves and mud I wondered what god they feared, if any Tying twisted twigs together with reeds & blood a wonky cross to tell the worms they’re ready. Loud is the crying fowl that pushed the flightless Like pitted berries bulging through drooling chins A clumsy stork is unburdened by lightness, like the absence of young wings in the wind. I hope when I am weak in breath & bone With no children nor chirping to mourn my vessel empty Someone might lay me down with three sprigs of lavender & a stone And wonder what god I feared, if any.

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Aug 24, 2024

Aug 24, 2024 at 10:42 AM UTC

Of Tooth & Claw

I buried a bird at sunset To teach its elder’s some respect As bundles of familiar feathers swooped singing scornful songs of incomplete youth I knew where they’d been at time of death. I denied the cat the flightless fallen body Siblings guarding silently as I tore up flower beds With a piece of broken tile and old weeds left in a pile Solemn is the hand that carves the final nest. I buried them with nothing more than three sprigs of lavender, & fluffy baby feathers splattered with dirt I wished only empty bellied, good-hearted scavengers Would carry them to a better nurturing earth. Tucked into blankets of leaves and mud I wondered what god they feared, if any Tying twisted twigs together with reeds & blood a wonky cross to tell the worms they’re ready. Loud is the crying fowl that pushed the flightless Like pitted berries bulging through drooling chins A clumsy stork is unburdened by lightness, like the absence of young wings in the wind. I hope when I am weak in breath & bone With no children nor chirping to mourn my vessel empty Someone might lay me down with three sprigs of lavender & a stone And wonder what god I feared, if any.

25

Am I supposed to feel like sunrise, Or smell of freshly cut grass? Am I supposed smile with my teeth like white doves in unlocked cages? Is this supposed to give me hope Like a baby’s first breath? And emptying the vacuum? All I feel is ugly and desperate Like a mushroom sprouting from cow **** Or the fitted sheet I never put on my bed I fear if I go back to the beginning I won’t ever be Homemade Apple crumble Lipstick stained skin Or my favourite Jane Austen book Not ever again

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Sep 26, 2022

Sep 26, 2022 at 2:10 PM UTC

Suffocated flames

Am I supposed to feel like sunrise, Or smell of freshly cut grass? Am I supposed smile with my teeth like white doves in unlocked cages? Is this supposed to give me hope Like a baby’s first breath? And emptying the vacuum? All I feel is ugly and desperate Like a mushroom sprouting from cow **** Or the fitted sheet I never put on my bed I fear if I go back to the beginning I won’t ever be Homemade Apple crumble Lipstick stained skin Or my favourite Jane Austen book Not ever again

18

Fruitless, malnourished I rot within myself I give you every seed, every petal I wish I had known You’d grow bored of gardening You drown I dry up Until we both cry over soiled roots Desperate hands scraping, Squeezing fallen leaves Until they’re limp with indifference

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Sep 26, 2022

Sep 26, 2022 at 1:34 PM UTC

I’m over growing

Fruitless, malnourished I rot within myself I give you every seed, every petal I wish I had known You’d grow bored of gardening You drown I dry up Until we both cry over soiled roots Desperate hands scraping, Squeezing fallen leaves Until they’re limp with indifference

11

I grow out my fingernails, Into featureless feminine talons In a vain prolonged pursuit of Tearing, shredding, divorcing Their mundane endeavour for life Mocking me with their empty perseverance I terminate their audacity with entrapment Between tarnished tile teeth Every ribbon departed Easing my plump pulsing contempt Oh, sweet relief, I disfigure their arrogant survival Ragged pieces of something neither flesh or bone Catching upon smooth skin and loose threads Just as I am.

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Feb 21, 2022

Feb 21, 2022 at 10:15 PM UTC

Nail Biter

I grow out my fingernails, Into featureless feminine talons In a vain prolonged pursuit of Tearing, shredding, divorcing Their mundane endeavour for life Mocking me with their empty perseverance I terminate their audacity with entrapment Between tarnished tile teeth Every ribbon departed Easing my plump pulsing contempt Oh, sweet relief, I disfigure their arrogant survival Ragged pieces of something neither flesh or bone Catching upon smooth skin and loose threads Just as I am.

15

I fear I am an oyster stuck to the underside of a rock's bloated belly festering or ripening, I'm scarce to know

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Nov 16, 2021

Nov 16, 2021 at 9:54 AM UTC

Halfway-Alive

I fear I am an oyster stuck to the underside of a rock's bloated belly festering or ripening, I'm scarce to know

3

Alien is the dirt between my fingernails fathomless to me is the air upon my plastic skin this water upon my lips feels like such synthetic whispers what ecstasy I find in empty flavoured gin

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Oct 9, 2020

Oct 9, 2020 at 8:27 PM UTC

Flesh & Alchemy

Alien is the dirt between my fingernails fathomless to me is the air upon my plastic skin this water upon my lips feels like such synthetic whispers what ecstasy I find in empty flavoured gin

4

I saw a predator in the bathroom mirror or perhaps it was just confident prey

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Sep 20, 2020

Sep 20, 2020 at 8:45 AM UTC

the protagonist complex

I saw a predator in the bathroom mirror or perhaps it was just confident prey

2

In morning I awaken, gasping for light my birth, a first breath in fire ripped from my sanctuary of void sight identical synthetic houses made to admire filled with stain of suffering and spite stuffed to the brim with the wet words of liars thick is my liquid consciousness which fades into the night

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Aug 22, 2020

Aug 22, 2020 at 11:12 AM UTC

OUROBOROS

In morning I awaken, gasping for light my birth, a first breath in fire ripped from my sanctuary of void sight identical synthetic houses made to admire filled with stain of suffering and spite stuffed to the brim with the wet words of liars thick is my liquid consciousness which fades into the night

7