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J Dec 2020
all your lovers of summer whisper soundlessly
against my collared [owned]
airy spirits of longing sleep
unseen by anyone
except me,
and yet these
flickers of response aren't
desolate and weak.
my heart remains and feels the sight
like an eternity of bleach down my throat
or glass in my eyes
or fingernails ripped
or neck broke
or burn marks
or bites
or the Judas Cradle
or the Blood Angel
or the Swedish Drink
or White Torture
or disembowelment
or Scaphism
except worse.
The thoughts are whirlwinds,
or maybe whirlpools
because I'm drowning
in the same way that you drown me out.
Paul Idiaghe Sep 2020
I await the calm, the bleach
of night, that chapter

when my ribs
unbreak, crawl back

around my cageless heart. eyelids
weigh like lead in this cruel gravity--

they swell faster than tears. tears
that fail to surge me out of this flooded

shell; they close
like every marble door

that stands straight between my dreams
and I,

           and you-- I await
you, draped in downpours & monsoon

tempests; maybe, this time, our wildest
winds would fade out in their collision.
Mark Toney May 2020
Come what may in November
Important to remember
Even if spoken in jest
Please do not ingest!

© 2020 Mark Toney.  All rights reserved.
5/2/2020 - Poetry form: Rhyme - © 2020 Mark Toney.  All rights reserved.
nat Jan 2019
bathed myself in bleach
and scrubbed my skin with rubbing alcohol
when i light myself on fire
i feel somewhat better
and i have swept the kitchen floor a lot
almost obsessively
but when i walk around i still feel dirt on the bottom of my feet
i am surprised i still have the ability to feel anything
i tried drinking gasoline and licking flames
like megan fox in jennifer's body but
i am a freak and a coward so things didn't work out
still, i am used to disappointment
and i am used to hating myself
Shadow Dragon Nov 2018
Bleach my heart,
my eyes and my mouth.
Strangle love out of me
till I scream and shout.
Let my skin turn red,
purple and blue.
Feed me till I drop dead
with an apple from Peru.
Scream at me, scream!
Let there be steam
coming out of your ears
to awaken my fears.
Hold me tight and whisper
till your lips gets blisters.
Beat me ******
roar loud.
Show me that your proud
of the hot heavy tears
that stream down my face.
They are just for you
and don't bring me a tissue.
b Oct 2018
i ask how the boyfriend is
and you say he
leaves flowers around the house
because he knows you
like them.

but i already know
about the screaming matches
and the nights spent
locked in the bathroom.
drunk and afraid
alone but together.

i dont know what it is
about people. we let the trail
control the journey.
one bad apple and we
bleach the ******* farm.

so when i ask about
the boyfriend and you tell me
about the flowers i know
exactly what you mean.
i know exactly what
youre scared of.
stopdoopy Aug 2018
Wishy Washy.


Between high and low,

Hot and cold.

Am I delicate like the load of whites? do I need to refresh my color with a strong drink- bleach?

Or am I tough and resistant like denim? toss me in for an hour, shove soap down my throat, and I'll come out like new?

Maybe I'm a mixed load, balancing between the two; teeter-tottering from feeling to feeling.
The day I wrote this I had dreamt of someone who used to be very dear to me who I am having to forget, to better myself. She hurt me bad and I'd been having the same dream of us repairing our relationship for a few months now, and I've felt like a washing machine with my guts twisting and pulling with my emotions going from one end of the spectrum to the next; low in morning, high in the middle of the day, unknown at night. I've had amazing friends, Trixie, Luigi, Houk, Rin, Cait-Cait, and many others who've helped me through these past months who I can't thank enough for their continued support. Whenever I have these dreams and feel this way it feels like a step backwards and I end up feeling guilty for no reason just because I have them, and so I'm hoping that by writing this out it's a step in the right direction. Feeling like this is normal after you've spent some great times with someone you've cared about- weather it's months or years, it hurts and it's okay. I know time will heal these wounds eventually, so for now here's a Band-Aid.

Dedicated to everyone who's been hurt and felt this way or similar, and to my amazing friends;  I hope we all find what we need and can better ourselves, and be happy.
Alex Greenwell Apr 2018
The smell of bleach is overwhelming,
but my mother always liked the smell.
She would mix bleach with a splash of lemon and the smell of sickly citrus would
drift through the house.
She would spend hours on the floor, scrubbing
each baseboard and kitchen tile.
Each swish of the mop would bring my mother
closer to God.
But for me, the fumes seemed to shake my mind and cause each ridge in my brain
to sweat.
My head succumbing to the pressure of finding my home
like some hospital.

Bleach burns. Once I let my hand slip into that lemon-scented pail,
feeling the itch rise up my wrist.
It felt similar to the Holy Spirit rising through my
chest during each Sunday service.
An antiseptic,
a decontaminate, something that desensitized and purified.
So, I began to rub my hands, with a spiritual fever,
letting my skin flake from each coat of
lemon-scented cleanliness.
But somehow, I never felt clean enough.

I never felt sanctified.
sadgirl Oct 2017
you might as well
asked me to drink
bleach through a straw,

boiling to a point where
i could smell the sharpness
like a needle through my nose

and when girls say they
tried to drink men away, i
laugh at them

because yellow teeth
and lemonade
from the sourest of lemons,

squeezed and strained through a
sugared cloth by the hands of
your mother's mother

still tastes like ****,
sour as it may be
life is nothing more

than an endless
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