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Livi  Aug 2018
Good Condition
Livi Aug 2018
I have an ulcer.

An ulcer is bad, did you know?
Do you know anything?
I feel the ***** every night. My organs bubble with unease, anxiety scratching at my stomach walls, digestion is a luxury.

You are a luxury.

The price is climbing, you tax and you tax; you know you love a chase



But I have an ulcer.

You can’t chase a ******* thing with an ulcer.
Erin Schenke Nov 2010
Waiting all alone
waiting on this cold table
waiting for the doctors and the drones

I feel the scratch
of the itchy cotton gown
on the narrows of my back
as it climbs up and down

Displayed I lye on the medical tables hard cold steel
It seers into the crevices of my bones
I ponder the lone window and wonder if it's real
I listen for the bleep and bloop of medical tones

Nurses walk by in a mechanical grace
poke and **** & tap and touch my face
and then proceed to leave without a trace
with no hint of knowledge of my medical case

Waiting all alone
waiting on this cold table
waiting for the doctors and the drones

I'm a big girl, I'm a big girl
I begin to chant in a simple rhythm
as small as a ball I begin to curl
I'm abandoned inside this glassy prism

The dead silence creeps inside my brain
I want to scream to fill the deadly gap
but the cold thick air of silence brings pain
I comfort myself and say it will be ok

My breathing begins to quicken
my eyes dart around the room
only comfort is the fear which I am stricken
my sight goes bleary as darkness looms

Waiting all alone
waiting on this cold table
waiting for the doctors and the drones

Tears sting the corner of my eyes
I want someone to hold my hand
Oh God how I want to cry
but the only thing there is the bleeding arm band

The test begins with the thickness of barium
It slides down my throat and clings to my esophagus
It tastes like chalk and pandemonium
they want me to suffocate I guess

I chug and chug as the pictures are snapped
x-ray upon x-ray of my stomach and my back
Drink more Drink more They tell me to do
Nervously I shake and say, anymore and I will puke on you

Waiting all alone
waiting on this cold table
waiting for the doctors and the drones

Even more poking and prodding ensues
but of my stomach, ribs and *******
I lay rigid as a board from the pain of each touch
I grow weary of this tiresome rues

The tests are done
and the coast is clear
I am left alone
to dress myself in fear

Dismissed and discharged to walk away
they file my chart with a robotic smile
now for the wait of endless days
I'm lost in my mind's land of emotional exile

Waiting all alone
waiting on this cold table
waiting for the doctors and the drones

Pins & Needles Pins & Needles
I wait for the results
Is it stomach cancer, an ulcer or both??
In the dark I am kept like followers in cults.
Duke Thompson  Sep 2014
rape eyes
Duke Thompson Sep 2014
Eat me before I eat you
Staring with **** eyes
I'll be yer mantis
(Who's the *****)
Swallow me whole
Devour me alive
Loving it more
Than all the whips of Caesar
Regurgitated hate like
Mary Shelley's Frankenstein
Or pigs feeding on blood and bones
At the trough

Boring my way out thru
Yer ****** ulcer guts
You shouldn't drink like a fish
If you aren't at sea
Weakening your resolve
With surly drunk parasitic me
This is how we show
Our extensive toxic love sensibility
Gavin Betty  Jul 2014
Ulcer.
Gavin Betty Jul 2014
The thought of you now pains me,
Like an ulcer you sit and you bleed,
The sound of your voice is salt in my wounds.
Jordan Chacon Apr 2014
The Norwegian Rune Poem

Here you have both alliterative Fornyrðislag meter, and end rhyme.

Fé vældr frænda róge;
fðesk ulfr í skóge.

Úr er af illu jarne;
opt lypr ræinn á hjarne.

Þurs vældr kvinna kvillu;
kátr værðr fár af illu.

Óss er flæstra færða för;
en skalpr er sværða.

Ræið kveða rossom væsta;
Reginn sló sværðet bæzta.

Kaun er barna bölvan;
böl görver nán fölvan.

Hagall er kaldastr korna;
Kristr skóp hæimenn forna.

Nauðr gerer næppa koste;
nöktan kælr í froste.

Ís köllum brú bræiða;
blindan þarf at læiða.

Ár er gumna góðe;
get ek at örr var Fróðe.

Sól er landa ljóme;
lúti ek helgum dóme.

Týr er æinendr ása;
opt værðr smiðr blása.

Bjarkan er laufgroenstr líma;
Loki bar flærða tíma.

Maðr er moldar auki;
mikil er græip á hauki.

Lögr er, fællr ór fjalle foss;
en gull ero nosser.

Ýr er vetrgroenstr viða;
vænt er, er brennr, at sviða.

Translation:

Wealth is a source of discord among kinsmen;
the wolf lives in the forest.

Dross comes from bad iron;
the reindeer often races over the frozen snow.

Giant causes anguish to women;
misfortune makes few men cheerful.

Estuary is the way of most journeys;
but a scabbard is of swords.

Riding is said to be the hardest for horses;
Reginn forged the finest sword.

Ulcer is fatal to children;
death makes a corpse pale.

Hail is the coldest of grain;
Christ created the world of old.

Need gives scant choice;
a naked man is chilled by the frost.

Ice we call the broad bridge;
the blind man must be led.

Harvest is a boon to men;
I say that Froði was generous.

Sun is the light of the world;
I bow to the divine decree.

Týr is a one-handed God;
often has the smith to blow.

Birch has the greenest leaves of any shrub;
Loki was fortunate in his deceit.

Man is an augmentation of the dust;
great is the talon-span of the hawk.

Waterfall is a River falling from a mountain;
but ornaments are of gold.

Yew is the greenest of trees in winter;
it is wont to crackle when it burns.
Jake Spacey  Dec 2012
an ulcer
Jake Spacey Dec 2012
sell you a little death, puts one more count on my head
crumbling under climbing numbers,
smothered by heavier, uglier guilt
bury me, the failure, in ****, please **** where i'm dead
this is all i am, the life i "built", let no flower grow

ingesting again and it's conquering my head
crumbling under climbing numbers,
smothered by heavier, uglier guilt
too jealous to reach back out, too selfish not to
take you with me, i refuse to be alone in my hold

"if i can't have it, then no one will"
but self hatred never gave anyone the right to ****
no matter whether they're mine, these hands on my shoulders
will not let go
Donald Guy Nov 2012
Chicken and beef
More beef
More Chicken

Potatoes fried in vats of fat, A cow's
heart in a wine reduction;
Bacon strips,
   bacon strips,
bacon strips,
    bacon strips.

"Ulcer in the pit...
...never neglect to salt"

It hurts again.
—Doesn't it always?

Jack and Advil,
A half-hearted suggestion.
"You don't really know unless you try?":

Burn a hole, Bleed it out
Pain is water-soluble, right?

I tried it once. I've told that story
Brought down in one day by two pots of chili

                                 9.26.11
                                 D.B. Guy
_Poems in Autumn_. #3 of 7 .
Nods to John Wieners' The Hotel Wently Poems & William Corbett's MIT course 21W.756 Writing and Reading Poems
palladia Dec 2013
i cannot face a day without acknowledging a loss.
i cannot fathom such a wilderness grew so close to my place,
my society-free, impositionless place
a tepid forest inhabited
by the requiems of the agnostically murdered
and the cogged wheels of the deceased's clocks.
sometimes they stick and the clockmaster unsticks them,
but they stop up again ever so quickly.
there is nobody who has the time or effort to continually watch the clocks.
and they return to ticking an eldritch song
which may cause pain.
it has not abolished mine, nor shall forth be disseminated to do so.
i am an ascetic mastermind, abiding in my messy pool
of thought, without my womb, without my brood, without my broom
to tidy the mishmash of unruly cobwebs and such.
the fumes cause me to wonder “where is my world,
which i’ve fondled so dearly?”
i detox and recycle memories, it’s to no worth of you
a venomous whisper on a silver lining of a dream tells you everything:
a fanatic’s agenda degrading urbane,
a plummeting depth to deep impact,
i drift away on a molten lava lilypad, and fantasize that...
i am god
but i haven’t found time to juggle your sect
reissuing lessons to mind the sheriff
and i cannot bear to lead me, to my own cultural death.
i cannot receive your moral disease, a signal on my knees
con e preghiere sbiancante. can’t you understand it?
my life is spent with hope placed
on each pair of snake eyes i roll
chance is the meter for everything.
dare i dare go back to my fantasizing,
i am god
ashamed by the lack of hope, and regret
disgraced by the hate and intolerance of man
and i see now their perfect world, is everything i detest.
and the tears produced
form new embryos of emotions
crystalline structures of psychological proportions
which develop into mature,
sentient, and emotion-proof organisms.
which become i.
and i respond vehemently yet come to my senses in a diplomatic tone,
because i am a diplomat.
and i have learned to nail my destiny to an altar each night,
an altar which can sacrifice my pensive motives
and my self-incriminating philosophy
that i should be able to write my destiny, and not
have it planned and read aloud,
read out loud, out in the air, outside.
i try myself.
i tempt myself.
and i return to supplicated suffering about my own mortality
and the atoms i will never see
and the universe i will never span
and the people i will never meet
and the times i will never live.
what if i rivered thirty silver-coins:
◌◌◌◌◌◌◌◌◌◌
◌◌◌◌◌◌◌◌◌◌
◌◌◌◌◌◌◌◌◌◌
what if i
didn’t
?
i might be ****** for this: but i’ll still set fire to the catacombs.
i might be scourged for this: but i’ll still hold on,
hoping there’s skin on my bones.
ecclesia, – a common, a sanctuary, a vanguard from the darkness in the world.
i know what i should do but never ever get it done;
i know what i have been and what i will become.
not defined by a dimension nor reputed by a benchmark
but shaded by the passion and dissuaded by the lashes.
i’ll do anything you want me to,
if you **** the self-inflicted psalms i plead!
the ulcer grows
that sweet cologne
i ***** it into the unknown.
i won’t tax your soul, i won’t stick a price to it:
coins ◌◌◌◌◌ won’t fill the hole -in a business deal (assets corrode)
i won’t tax your soul (i won’t buy it with blood money ◌◌◌◌◌, no)
it’s yours alone (but in business deals,
deficit is prone)
and there’s an aspect {a static} of forever and the inescapable gap
between the conscious
and the desired.
i sit here, ever so comfy and lustrous,
and habitually wait the day
they merge.
my invitations stand clear.
if you cannot come, i’ll wait for you. hidden
in the grillework of my past. but if you cannot come,
i’ll be waiting. hidden in the warmth of our teepee haus,
i’ll wait for you.

if X Marx the spot then why Kant i Locke it up?
*could living hand-to-mouth so long make me so Jung?
There’s a complex relationship with the earth, Pleroma, God, and mortality. And none of it can be solved. We live in such a saddened state today.
shiftingclouds  Jun 2014
Wants
shiftingclouds Jun 2014
Let's get one thing clear: When people say "You're all I've ever wanted", they're lying.

I want many things. I want a pizza. I want to get an A for a paper I hardly studied for. I want a room with wooden floors. I want a house facing the sea. I want to walk into Forever 21 and take home anything I like. I want to travel around the world. I want to be better at sports. I want my ulcer gone immediately. I want longer eyelashes. I want to finish an entire season of a tv show without anyone bothering me. I want more followers on Twitter. I want to be friends with my favorite Youtuber. I want a pair of twin boys. I want Hogwarts to be real. I want to be good at archery like Katniss-freaking-Everdeen, cause it's so ******* cool. I want a new phone. I want to sleep late watching chick flicks without having to worry about sleep deprivation. I want three hamsters. I want superpowers. I want to fly.

But you see, here's the catch: What I want most, is you.
What about you?

— The End —