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Saint Audrey Sep 2017
Start a fire in the iconoclast kids
And the ghost start coming
Out from the now dead
Endless mystic thought processes
Left amid
Corpses strewn and silent
Disliked and then turned violent
By the hatred brewing
Though well deserved has turned into a fire

Can you force your light
Through this darkness
Keep it stalwart even as the waves crash
Over and around
The endless suffocation
The restless invocation
To open up
The light
Will it still shine at the end
Saint Audrey Sep 2017
Grinding....

Leaving it silenced, drawn and quartered
Clawing for the scraps left over

Predicament I found myself in
Or, towards the end of it
Slipping from the edges
Forager focused on finding any way back home
Sidetracked by some apparition left crying
Alone, in the corner

Grinding...

Paused, with rain drops weighted, heavy sense in the air
I can feel my lips turning blue and
Twitching

It's more literal than I would dare dream in a waking nightmare
The smell of every molecule tantamount to another realm

Hangs motionless in the air
The stone transposed becomes a rooftop asylum, overlooking such uncouth misanthropic parcels, self absorbed in this grotesque imagery, a veritable wall of self hate puzzle pieces

Grinding...

Low, on an almost ominous note, still grows colder in my ears
Blowing on winds filled with the spite and righteous
Anti holy
Fully rupturing sound of far off laughter of the
New root

My lips still moving
No sound produced
And my mind
Grinding...

I still pray to god for you
Beset on all sides by the same wickedness
Still afflicted by myself

Argue for arguments sake
****** up on the uptake
I thought that you might want it
I guess I forgot all the subtle ways
The fires spring to life at night

Arguably the wrong choice is
Looking at him
I try not to
Catch that glimpse in his eye
Already my mind races
And my bones are shivering
At the thought alone

Brickwork backing
Still swells maggots
And filing paperwork
For entrapment habits

Grinding
Martin Narrod Aug 2017
Anything All of the Everything

Events of Summer quickly ensue, it takes hold of you quickly, while the police drive thru. You cannot find it half-way into the night, you could hold up on a park bench or lay your blanket on the slough. Perhaps when your dreams kick, your asterisks will come, build a map of your defense and then head for the sun. Some foe outwit the wounds of life, furry blister-like faces, when they take up the star dust diamonds, the trail guides take after hurrying up paces.

The festivities of fear are living oaths inside of marbled starve rocks, they harvest shoots and ladders, and keep tabs on wild beasts and livestock. There's no match throughout the campgrounds. There's no matchbook light to find us. If you're quick enough with your 70s, then perhaps you'll follow the nightness that's arrived us.

In aide of her lift-gate, shredding pensive miens and speeding mimes, taking ward of one thousand fathomed depths, assumes courageous anti-hate isms. She can come quickly with a syzygy, her van packed with fresh woes of Sunday, then around Monday humbly hides her stuff in the small hems of her bed linens. You can't outwit the governess who preys on handicapped children's thrift finds. She makes clothes and keeps her hands to bed. She bares new graves for time's new roman epithets and moving pictures. She  unplugs her bleeding tongues under some new sone for her monarchic archetypical audiophile party.

While the umberphiles sleep, nyctophiliacs stalk grizzlies. Mosquitos quaff at human blood, while their offspring keep drinking. The idle bugs throes, misanthropic and useless, teach electric lusters' mouths to grow into fiery hoops with which to slip past all the clueless.  The arachnids might dance, the haunting verbs they might fray. The Egyptians at first glance, try to hide their heroine pyramids away.

So hush little violet dormant flowers, fake your fertility and keep your skeptic drink. Keep each one you might meet, within one hundred feet of where you sleep. Keep your arms length's supine, your supplies out of reach, practice wrapping yourself up inside boxes where the souls can sleep.

If you only once catch a fool, avoid the plague-speak certain lips might tell. Each uttered word commanded with too much ******* across the bandwidth. Mortal courses can't be taught, human voices can't keep the draught, ferocious abstract engineered humanity has escaped this truant absence and immorality. You, you catch a fool, she could preach hurts and djinns, it could dot the I's of when, and unfurl the sighs of men. Berthed earthlings that the **** ascribes, hurts the worthless and sours true purpose widths of curfews and its curses, all these biomes perfervidly reserve the fury for their furtive perversity, elements to obscure the telemetry that has coddled such a dark conflagration of immensity, it's the cluelessness of these transgressors that forces the abhorrence towards all-white-everything professors.
While sitting in Grand Teton National Park at the entrance to Spalding Bay.
Zero Nine Apr 2017
Don't remember that time when --
Cut with your choice of blades
Your choice of sharps used
to impale. Because if it hurts
the body no room for more
sensation.

Don't remember that time when
the outcropping felt closer than
ever and the thought of the edge
felt better than any lingering
memories of love.

What's loss when your
destiny's ash?

Don't remember --
cut with your choicest of blades
when it means salvation
from darker
sensations.
.....
Crimsyy Nov 2016
"There is a lack of redamancy, you haven't let me open my mouth for at least a month. You had a lot to purge out, I guess. I want to tell you I love you, more than he ever will, I want to tell you I'm a part of you, more than he'll ever be. You are superlunary, I don't compare to you. But please remind yourself, I'm keeping you alive, though I am not God. But in a sense, I'm locking you here on Earth, I reside in your gut, I am the reason you're not giving up. All those plans and checked off to do lists, all those goals and visions...we make them just so we've got multiple anchors to make sure we do not sink. Every substance we use, every material, is a little helper: "you should stay alive because of this." Though my tendency is to hate, I have no hate to spill. Only admiration of how far you have come, of how much you have stripped me of any malice I contained. I came in hungry, ready to devour you, but you tamed my jaw with thorns you've watered for too long, and oh darling, I beg you to stay strong."

- Anti
Crimsyy Oct 2016
Anti is a character I've created, not a new poet name. And because characters have their own voice, Anti gets stand - alone poems without my name at the bottom of it. Because it's Anti speaking. The poems between Anti and I are exchanges of conversation, and they go in the order that I post them.. just letting everyone know, in case someone was wondering.
Comment your thoughts!!

Thankyou,

- Crimsyy
Crimsyy Oct 2016
Tripping over rollercoasters
of rhymes,
I can't sleep;

I'd put my nose in your mind,
Lace my fingers through
the unpeeled layers I'd find,

But this time, I know
I've been caught; you've come
armed with hand cuffs;

I try to break free
but grow weaker as
I'm being fought.

- Anti
Crimsyy Oct 2016
Framing me as "good"
will do twice the harm,
admit that I'm faulty
no more false alarms,
I reside in every face,
any religion, any race.
Always buffeted between
right and wrong,
from head to toe,
I'm flowing with flaws,
and to escape this bloodstream curse,
I'll write my misdeeds out in verse.
- Anti.
Crimsyy Oct 2016
How do I milk these thoughts?
I extract them from her skull,
I turn off the colour switch
so she won't want to exist in this dull...
I scream inside her
and she fights me,
endlessly, tiredlessly,
She's trying all the solutions in the book
but without a grain of confidence,
she's a fishing line with no hook,
sinking into my kind of
state of mind for eternity,
penetrating my inner walls,
she knows my name as she falls,
She has become me.

Love (if I'm capable of that),
Anti.
Crimsyy Oct 2016
She stands in the kitchen,
while I slice her flesh away,
eroding a parasite, she's
the perfect picture of decay,
I'm birthing something new,
extracting the real me
from my sinews,
I've killed the girl you knew,
It looks like she's
psychopathic like me too.

Love,
Anti.
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