youdont-needthis - Hello Poetry

I'm too ****** up to go back My brothers gotta come and save me They gotta drive my car for me I'm strobing in and out of consciousness But it's still not as bad as getting knocked out in a fight The nausea's not even as bad as the first time I stole whiskey And vomited black chunks I'm going to do this again And things much worse afterwards I'm hanging out the window Slumped and rag-dolled On my way to rent a tuxedo I'm starting to figure out What the chasms between me and you are made out of Where the differences of deep values lie I know why I can sleep right next to you and still be an infinity away And no amount of drugs, drinks or ***** will ever rid me of it

0

Dec 5, 2018

Dec 5, 2018 at 4:47 PM UTC

Woman, I may possibly be

I'm too ****** up to go back My brothers gotta come and save me They gotta drive my car for me I'm strobing in and out of consciousness But it's still not as bad as getting knocked out in a fight The nausea's not even as bad as the first time I stole whiskey And vomited black chunks I'm going to do this again And things much worse afterwards I'm hanging out the window Slumped and rag-dolled On my way to rent a tuxedo I'm starting to figure out What the chasms between me and you are made out of Where the differences of deep values lie I know why I can sleep right next to you and still be an infinity away And no amount of drugs, drinks or ***** will ever rid me of it

17

I'm here To entertain To play ukelele while ****** addicts in Prague score plump ***** poppies Under a lazy summer sun And their flirtations with death and their pursuit of high doses of deep oblivion Are reduced to a journalist's article submission and the breathing, sweating, bleeding men and women are now Still lights and colors in an image we can cast blank stares at I play guitar And the sound of riots that burned and looted chunks of Baltimore is now poignant accompaniement For my dainty melodies The hurling of insults, bottles and teargas Are just the blazes of Rome for my fiddle I'm here As your fellow Rwandan and neighbor to **** your daughter when our party has declared war upon yours To chase you and your surviving family with machetes through the thick marshes that surround our farms And then later mold that nightmarish scenery into a short video in which I Beg you and the world for the sweet relief of forgiveness In the background I'll play a grand piano I'm calling you To perform my executive duty and express my heartfelt condolences for the death of your young husband Whose name I've already forgotten and need to ask you for Your reaction will be televised between toilet paper advertisements and blatant social conditioning The pretty melody will continue throughout the daily openings of Hands arms legs eyes mouths cans boxes doors gates hearts minds And I'm not bitter or mad and I dont want you to be either You think I'll leave you because a client got you pregnant but I wont I'm here to take care of you in your 60usd hotel room when youre too sick to work I'm still holding you tight after your close friend overdosed in the bathroom and died I'm keeping my composure when the interviewer casually asks me if I hate everyone who doesn't look like me I'm cheating all of my factory workers out of ever getting paid well And then I'm sending them overseas to steal the jobs of college grads we hired I'm being born while hundreds of people drown on the MS Estonia And I'm dying from choking on a salty tortilla chip Yet Still The notes will calmly drift Amidst the gunfire between rebels and regime in the rubble-laden deserts of Syria Amidst the firm commands from Green Beret cadre to candidate in the lush woods of Camp Mackall Through the inconviently fatal exit wounds in my teenaged chest and the large caliber bullet holes in cheap beer cans I'm shooting for practice I'm not telling you this so you can squeeze our experiences into a mondo film that ego-tripping critics will loathe I just want you to not fixate so harshly on the particulars of how the codes you crack end someone's life on the other side of the world And realize for a moment how many of your relationships are just thinly veiled plays made between you and your rut-enabling neuro transmitter dealer I just want you to walk across this beautiful, extraordinary earth where giant beasts stomped and loving parents were murdered Walk right over to where I am And strum these strings Entertain While this world lives and breathes and pukes and cries and sings

0

Dec 5, 2018

Dec 5, 2018 at 4:11 PM UTC

50% OFF HOT GROUPON

I'm here To entertain To play ukelele while ****** addicts in Prague score plump ***** poppies Under a lazy summer sun And their flirtations with death and their pursuit of high doses of deep oblivion Are reduced to a journalist's article submission and the breathing, sweating, bleeding men and women are now Still lights and colors in an image we can cast blank stares at I play guitar And the sound of riots that burned and looted chunks of Baltimore is now poignant accompaniement For my dainty melodies The hurling of insults, bottles and teargas Are just the blazes of Rome for my fiddle I'm here As your fellow Rwandan and neighbor to **** your daughter when our party has declared war upon yours To chase you and your surviving family with machetes through the thick marshes that surround our farms And then later mold that nightmarish scenery into a short video in which I Beg you and the world for the sweet relief of forgiveness In the background I'll play a grand piano I'm calling you To perform my executive duty and express my heartfelt condolences for the death of your young husband Whose name I've already forgotten and need to ask you for Your reaction will be televised between toilet paper advertisements and blatant social conditioning The pretty melody will continue throughout the daily openings of Hands arms legs eyes mouths cans boxes doors gates hearts minds And I'm not bitter or mad and I dont want you to be either You think I'll leave you because a client got you pregnant but I wont I'm here to take care of you in your 60usd hotel room when youre too sick to work I'm still holding you tight after your close friend overdosed in the bathroom and died I'm keeping my composure when the interviewer casually asks me if I hate everyone who doesn't look like me I'm cheating all of my factory workers out of ever getting paid well And then I'm sending them overseas to steal the jobs of college grads we hired I'm being born while hundreds of people drown on the MS Estonia And I'm dying from choking on a salty tortilla chip Yet Still The notes will calmly drift Amidst the gunfire between rebels and regime in the rubble-laden deserts of Syria Amidst the firm commands from Green Beret cadre to candidate in the lush woods of Camp Mackall Through the inconviently fatal exit wounds in my teenaged chest and the large caliber bullet holes in cheap beer cans I'm shooting for practice I'm not telling you this so you can squeeze our experiences into a mondo film that ego-tripping critics will loathe I just want you to not fixate so harshly on the particulars of how the codes you crack end someone's life on the other side of the world And realize for a moment how many of your relationships are just thinly veiled plays made between you and your rut-enabling neuro transmitter dealer I just want you to walk across this beautiful, extraordinary earth where giant beasts stomped and loving parents were murdered Walk right over to where I am And strum these strings Entertain While this world lives and breathes and pukes and cries and sings

60

You live in a cul de sac Every house is built exactly the same Just painted different Some butter yellow and bright Some a ripe tomato's skin You don't know any of your neighbors You don't know who lives right next to you They have kids or something Maybe The newspapers are kept in a locked safe in the middle of the neighborhood You use your digital code to pluck one out After walking outside in the hot summer sun You return home Read the headlines And smoke *** in the dining room It takes a little while to peak The kids come home from school The Wife's home from work You're spinning You have span You hath spun The dust of the angel Has blessed you with wings They sprint away for their lives Your three kids and only wife But you're too fast First you chase down your youngest Too young and weak to even have a chance at escape You grab him by the ankles and split him apart with your bare hands You're out the door and tearing across the asphalt You hear their screams but no one else is outside And no one cares to leave their house The middle child is no where to be seen But the oldest is hopping over the stucco brick walls You follow Lawns and patio furniture Dogs and small swimming pools Just frightening blurs The oldest son trips over the knarled stump of a shrub And once again you hold both ankles His skin and bones part His whole body gives way And you're a rusty plow to the wet earth You're the sharp sickle to the golden wheat There's only one left You can't even remember a middle child Was there another child The wife is just a sprint away Holding ancient technology A payphone There shouldn't be any of those left You dig your toes in The rubber of your boots melts and reeks Your wife's form bends in the burning heat But now you're there Face to face And instead of the ankles You're just staring into her eyes You see a verdant land Green with live growth Covered in compost and fertilizer Trash and feces A beautiful Wonderful land covered in ugly waste To flourish and bloom To be bought and sold You're holding her tight and sobbing I'm scared I'm so scared I'm scared She reaches in her pocket and withdraws her nine milimeter She shoots you through the chest and your heart bursts Your last thoughts are just drivel The angels smile while they ruin your ******

0

Dec 5, 2018

Dec 5, 2018 at 4:10 PM UTC

How Things Should Be

You live in a cul de sac Every house is built exactly the same Just painted different Some butter yellow and bright Some a ripe tomato's skin You don't know any of your neighbors You don't know who lives right next to you They have kids or something Maybe The newspapers are kept in a locked safe in the middle of the neighborhood You use your digital code to pluck one out After walking outside in the hot summer sun You return home Read the headlines And smoke *** in the dining room It takes a little while to peak The kids come home from school The Wife's home from work You're spinning You have span You hath spun The dust of the angel Has blessed you with wings They sprint away for their lives Your three kids and only wife But you're too fast First you chase down your youngest Too young and weak to even have a chance at escape You grab him by the ankles and split him apart with your bare hands You're out the door and tearing across the asphalt You hear their screams but no one else is outside And no one cares to leave their house The middle child is no where to be seen But the oldest is hopping over the stucco brick walls You follow Lawns and patio furniture Dogs and small swimming pools Just frightening blurs The oldest son trips over the knarled stump of a shrub And once again you hold both ankles His skin and bones part His whole body gives way And you're a rusty plow to the wet earth You're the sharp sickle to the golden wheat There's only one left You can't even remember a middle child Was there another child The wife is just a sprint away Holding ancient technology A payphone There shouldn't be any of those left You dig your toes in The rubber of your boots melts and reeks Your wife's form bends in the burning heat But now you're there Face to face And instead of the ankles You're just staring into her eyes You see a verdant land Green with live growth Covered in compost and fertilizer Trash and feces A beautiful Wonderful land covered in ugly waste To flourish and bloom To be bought and sold You're holding her tight and sobbing I'm scared I'm so scared I'm scared She reaches in her pocket and withdraws her nine milimeter She shoots you through the chest and your heart bursts Your last thoughts are just drivel The angels smile while they ruin your ******

74

A smile is knowing The dark crease of a well-arched spine The dewy white lotus petals The sad title of concubine The blue glass so plainly beautiful With its cold smooth sides A blown vase that sits precious Atop a dead deer's stretched hide The hallowed slope of a portruding illiac And the decadent crust of a sweet fruit pie On a black vinyl stage floor In a room filled with echoing cries The reverberance loud and hollow With ears ringing opened wide The bends of her young tendons In her ropey pale limbs They flex and harshly twitch How a scared and hooked fish swims The cyclic orbits of planets and lifetimes A ballerina's pirouette spins Now the tarlatan and muslin gets torn to shreds And the blinding stage lights quickly dim The wet heat of a hungry tongue Slaps upon her sweating skin The audience simply does nothing Just like the tall plant stalks of the green motel Or the muddy vines in swamps in Rwanda Or white wallpaper in the locked rooms of certain hells The diseases that squirm in tainted waters Of Liberia's ***** wells The missing limbs of wartime amputees Reflected in the golden glint of spent brass shells Amidst the screams of NO STOP NO It yells the words GO GOD GO Through the grinning lips of the manifest destiny And the arms of Khmer Rouge's killings Its legs are formed from the many faces of lynch mobs Its hands are hewn of American prison facilities and county jails It's dripping deadly doses of fentanyl in local ****** shipments And ****** dancers

0

Jul 29, 2017

Jul 29, 2017 at 8:19 PM UTC

****** Dancers

A smile is knowing The dark crease of a well-arched spine The dewy white lotus petals The sad title of concubine The blue glass so plainly beautiful With its cold smooth sides A blown vase that sits precious Atop a dead deer's stretched hide The hallowed slope of a portruding illiac And the decadent crust of a sweet fruit pie On a black vinyl stage floor In a room filled with echoing cries The reverberance loud and hollow With ears ringing opened wide The bends of her young tendons In her ropey pale limbs They flex and harshly twitch How a scared and hooked fish swims The cyclic orbits of planets and lifetimes A ballerina's pirouette spins Now the tarlatan and muslin gets torn to shreds And the blinding stage lights quickly dim The wet heat of a hungry tongue Slaps upon her sweating skin The audience simply does nothing Just like the tall plant stalks of the green motel Or the muddy vines in swamps in Rwanda Or white wallpaper in the locked rooms of certain hells The diseases that squirm in tainted waters Of Liberia's ***** wells The missing limbs of wartime amputees Reflected in the golden glint of spent brass shells Amidst the screams of NO STOP NO It yells the words GO GOD GO Through the grinning lips of the manifest destiny And the arms of Khmer Rouge's killings Its legs are formed from the many faces of lynch mobs Its hands are hewn of American prison facilities and county jails It's dripping deadly doses of fentanyl in local ****** shipments And ****** dancers

46

Chariots spinning on snake wrapped wheels fly forth through his fiery shins The horses have sitar faces Ancestor voices vocalize with ethereal hymns The imperial rims shall want but have no get Flung forth into hypnotic dishes of nets Gasping for water in heightened air Trickle with spirit and deadly measures With morality a broken metronome A boulder smeared with clumps of pulp of mango Flamingo bends in the fiery knees Seven arms Nine heads Existed from oceans beatings Lightning of wrathful suns Tears shed skinned and dappled face of brimming whim Orangutan spiked fur Perfumed of jungles’ musk and fleas Pinkish hand with crevice knuckles To no king he bends the patella gates He leads the ravaging conquests Endless horse and bird A Danube of feathers Sterling melting herd To no king he hands the scepter He is pouting child Devil wig and fist Sprinting in red abyss amidst the hands of slaves To no king shall he relinquish the ribcage trophy

0

Jan 16, 2017

Jan 16, 2017 at 11:12 AM UTC

He Who Has No King

Chariots spinning on snake wrapped wheels fly forth through his fiery shins The horses have sitar faces Ancestor voices vocalize with ethereal hymns The imperial rims shall want but have no get Flung forth into hypnotic dishes of nets Gasping for water in heightened air Trickle with spirit and deadly measures With morality a broken metronome A boulder smeared with clumps of pulp of mango Flamingo bends in the fiery knees Seven arms Nine heads Existed from oceans beatings Lightning of wrathful suns Tears shed skinned and dappled face of brimming whim Orangutan spiked fur Perfumed of jungles’ musk and fleas Pinkish hand with crevice knuckles To no king he bends the patella gates He leads the ravaging conquests Endless horse and bird A Danube of feathers Sterling melting herd To no king he hands the scepter He is pouting child Devil wig and fist Sprinting in red abyss amidst the hands of slaves To no king shall he relinquish the ribcage trophy

28

Bones Broken Skin Cut Tree Arms No Sun Mint Breath Ragged Gasp Lips Parted Tongue Slashed Red Metal Hot Taste Gurgle Moan Tears Face Green Iris Candle Flame Black Wax Hair Same Lick Fingers ***** Light Prepare Chalice Take Knife Grip Neck Crazed Pulse Cut Splatter Life Force Enter Trance Drink Flood Split Earth Devour Sun Heavens Flowers Hells Drums Beast Blessing Will Done Will Done Will Done

0

Jan 16, 2017

Jan 16, 2017 at 11:09 AM UTC

The Will of the Spirits

Bones Broken Skin Cut Tree Arms No Sun Mint Breath Ragged Gasp Lips Parted Tongue Slashed Red Metal Hot Taste Gurgle Moan Tears Face Green Iris Candle Flame Black Wax Hair Same Lick Fingers ***** Light Prepare Chalice Take Knife Grip Neck Crazed Pulse Cut Splatter Life Force Enter Trance Drink Flood Split Earth Devour Sun Heavens Flowers Hells Drums Beast Blessing Will Done Will Done Will Done

68

Deep in wood’s twig embrace She lies beneath the leaf tessellation Her hollow skull and hollow chest are friends with the burning winds She is hallowed in her sloping waist With child She is mother bony Woman with skinless face She is grinless For her jaw was stolen in ages past Yet she is blessed with child Her middle is heavy with boundless boy A boy fated To be ******* Emperor Tyrant King To be lord of the shattered lands and even their scattered men Destined to be crowned in fragments of skulls and silky fabric reds He shall mate with fire Be father of arson spawn His face will be carved in Mammon’s silver toys He will never be forgotten by any of history’s tedious scribes Yet first he must be born Now the winds are chanting They push at her pudgy waist They are chanting for the birth of the emperor ******* king They desire the tyrant They are the slaves of God For they are catalysts that mold the shapes of futures’ lords They will sing triumphant When he is pushed through dusty hips They will congratulate their oldest and most silent friend He is birthed with great force The spit of cadaverous womb Crying shrieks in the forest No one living to clean him By spirits’ force he is taught To eat the last of mother’s skin To grow to be the friend of the whispering burning winds He shall grow into great beast With strength to wield the lance He will enter the kingdoms of men Appearing as a wild God While he is shaping his role His mother will often laugh Ever since he left her Her body was never again the same

0

Jan 8, 2017

Jan 8, 2017 at 6:52 PM UTC

Mother Bony

Deep in wood’s twig embrace She lies beneath the leaf tessellation Her hollow skull and hollow chest are friends with the burning winds She is hallowed in her sloping waist With child She is mother bony Woman with skinless face She is grinless For her jaw was stolen in ages past Yet she is blessed with child Her middle is heavy with boundless boy A boy fated To be ******* Emperor Tyrant King To be lord of the shattered lands and even their scattered men Destined to be crowned in fragments of skulls and silky fabric reds He shall mate with fire Be father of arson spawn His face will be carved in Mammon’s silver toys He will never be forgotten by any of history’s tedious scribes Yet first he must be born Now the winds are chanting They push at her pudgy waist They are chanting for the birth of the emperor ******* king They desire the tyrant They are the slaves of God For they are catalysts that mold the shapes of futures’ lords They will sing triumphant When he is pushed through dusty hips They will congratulate their oldest and most silent friend He is birthed with great force The spit of cadaverous womb Crying shrieks in the forest No one living to clean him By spirits’ force he is taught To eat the last of mother’s skin To grow to be the friend of the whispering burning winds He shall grow into great beast With strength to wield the lance He will enter the kingdoms of men Appearing as a wild God While he is shaping his role His mother will often laugh Ever since he left her Her body was never again the same

47