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Red Jan 2020
that Gigantes face
so engulfed in clouds of euphoria
teeth melt and mould
against my delirious musings
that sweat of shame
and remoulded nausea
dissipating sand of
rapacious time bruisings
Red Nov 2019
peach pits and rotting herbs
you ravage my garden
but you water hers
for all I've grown I still let you cut me down to size
Red Nov 2019
I empathize for the bugs of damnation
spiders, ants & roaches as frantic as I
flinching away from the gangly limbs of civilization
a world of fleshy foul things perched high.
Spray,   squash,  slap,   scorn,
how we scamper from the polished hand of misery
hath you no mercy for the unwillingly born?
hath you a reason to cause such injury?
perhaps I am like the cockroach who weaves between the shadows, perhaps I've romanticized insect-like alienation
Red Nov 2019
Eyes stare at me from within flowers
engulfing me in a fever-dream of light
storms rage then twist to limp showers
sprites sense the menace and take flight
In such beauty I find paradoxical peril
grabbed by the weeded floor of the ravine
suffocating on this gleaming world turned feral
I succumb to my death of melancholy green
based upon the painting by John Everett Millais
Red Nov 2019
Reach in and rob my greedy body
these retched pieces are no longer mine
giving up this flesh is an endless hobby
serve his ego by tearing out my spine

What say I the human doormat?
dare I bear the weight of your soul
I am both the mouse and the house cat
whilst you drink the milk from my bowl
I give him my world and bear the weight of his hell, oh what a mess we've made, only I can clean this retched stain
Red Oct 2019
My words are but shells of emotion
poorly imitating my thoughts
so why return to poetic devotion
and warmly embrace all I've fought

How do you decipher the incomprehensible
the unfathomable side effects of existence
what god resides here must think me dispensable
may it fear my thrashing and resistance  

these stoic shells have returned presently
and like death they stubbornly prevail
when I fade into the unknown pleasantly
these words shall live on past my last exhale
writing for the first time in a long time... sometimes words do not meet our tragedies, nor do they our triumphs. but they are all we have in a world of sin and insanity
Red May 2019
I only write sad poetry
and never say much else
I'm used to articulating my feelings
my therapist says it helps
I'm not used to being ok
instead, I'm just uncomfortable
waiting for the other shoe to drop
my tear ducts are insufferable
unusually ok
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