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Sam Dec 2018
Lately, death is everywhere.
It sits on the rim and recites
the contrition of unburied mad.

Nectar dusted glasses.

These shards raised you.
Contoured as cells
that neat flesh together.

How far we stretch
when flavours dull
and loose thoughts the last
we push around our tongue.

Demons that swirl,
unfolded for the world
in aching concession -
how sorrow leans heavy on the bones.

Meat and sacrilege,
these apparitions scream
in a plume of citrus;
saliva like flint
drawing moths to the table.

They gauge, every ground memory;
the feeding vessels
of freshly kneaded delirium.

I'll never shake that screech.
Piercing as brass embracing brass,
the sound of death still tepid
with the scent of rotting fruit.

We circle,
a grey scar between wheels
and the unresponsive telephone.

I clawed clean every last piece of static,
served on platters once wholesome
now plunged with the ailing sunset -
our last supper.
Ever got your heart broke?
Sam Feb 2018
Silk fabrics, spin words like a black widow.
Observing shapes on the crest through a cracked window. 
Faded kinfolk percolate a vicious cycle.
Concede the title, passed from an image spiteful.
Hooded silhouettes cast a shadow in dystopia,
cityscape a gallow the skies hold a rope for ya.
Urban paradigm, tantamount to euthanasia.
Soured fruits bear the hallmarks of human nature.
Twisted labyrinth, apertures soak mundane fragments
innate patterns, ways learned through a stained malice.
Same chalice bequeathed, from a father deceased,
drowned in his sleep under smeared linen sheets.
In the belly of the beast, waves echoed familiar,
another soul torn in this concrete perimeter.
jonas ernust Feb 2018
my money

my watch
my house
my car

my phone

my wallet
my toothbrush my couch my lemons my green grass
my plastic

my plastic hair
my plastic teeth

my blue pool

my black

my red heart
my green soul

my exoskeleton . my ectomorphic mass.
my balloon filled gut

my bleeding

my brown shoes . my yellow banana. my $1,000 child slave my
$10,000 hitman

my $1,000,000 white Bengal tiger

my $0.02


my $0.02 pack of gum
Benji James Oct 2017
I won't be satisfied
Till something takes my life
Too many pills I've been prescribed
To many times I take more than I should
Something's gonna get me before my time
But that's not enough to fulfil my desire
I'm standing on a ledge on the side of a bridge may be
This might be the thing to quench this thirst
The adrenaline's pumping through my veins
My mind has been declared insane
But I won't be satisfied
Till I find a way off this ride
Cuz I've lost all desire to keep on fighting
I've just run out of thunder and lightning
Something's gonna get me before my time
Maybe super high speeds through deserted streets
Just hope I don't end up
Running into a tree
I'm still lost within my conscience
I've seen too many people come and go
Maybe I'm next to end up the mess
Maybe I'm next to be blessed
But something's gonna get me in the end
I don't need to pretend
I don't need another reality check
Cuz I know I'm getting reckless
And I know people couldn't care less
I don't feel the need to impress
I don't feel the same as I did
Something's gonna get me
I can feel it in my bones
This downward spirals coming to a close
Something inside me knows
There's not long left to go
Before everything in me explodes
Before everything shuts down from all the blows
Something in me knows
There's not much time left to go

©2017 Written By Benji James
Jenovah Oct 2016
Like a melted puddle of cherry popsicle on hot asphalt; I want to lick you up. The sweet parts of you, and the ***** parts too.

I want to feel the grittiness under my teeth.
Give me the raw parts of you. The stayed up past 3 am parts of you. The I haven't combed my hair in days parts of you.

Like a breath of cold air in a Midwestern winter, let me breathe you in.
Let me absorb you like frozen snowflakes on my tongue.

Let me feel the warm parts of your heart, and the cold parts too.
I want to touch you, every inch of you.
Show me the scars, and the freckles on your skin.

Tell me the about the dark places of your head, and what keeps you up at night in bed.
I want your voice to fill my head, and to savor each word as it rolls off your sweet lips. A slight twang of an accent you don't notice, and don't know where you got it from.

But I do.
I notice. I notice every detail of your inches from head to toe. I notice your slight paranoia and the way you fix your hair.
I could observe you for an eternity and I wouldn't get bored.

I want you to eat me up inside.
I want you to leave a trace in every corner of my room.
I want my sheets to smell like you.
I want you to get to me.
And I want you to read this
on those nights you can't sleep.
I want it to get to you.
jonas ernust Jun 2017
today was an alright day.

i just don't really feel like writing about it.

work is fine

but it's only a story you can tell once,
and it's just
i don't even remember any of it.

i go in for my hours and come out
and can't recall a single thing said.

just mumbling and a few faint faces and the next week schedule and other

tedious adjustments
and the fact the mop
is broken

and the dust pan
tilts to the side

and there's never any fresh meat-

but plenty of onion,

and all girls quit in 4 days after they discover that it's indeed ***** and
their acrylic nails aren't suited to scrubbing
tiling and grime.

and my sweat drips
and it still sticks to me.
and i walk home
and flip off ******* driving too close to me - challenging me for the fact that i even
wake up to this
and go at it
day after day after day

after day

after day.,,

everyone's a sadist   --

and everyone is afraid

myself included

but i still dream of flowers in the rain
jonas ernust May 2017
the trickling

of a cool mist

spills on my forehead----

and the evaporated *****
crusty on my elbows

begin to flake into the ventilation system.

some girl is shaving her arms on the 2nd story,

and beneath her is an ostrich
screaming at an elephant
for its last spoonful of monkey meat.

a man with a hydro-head sips lemonade in the shadows
and jerks himself while old grannies clutch pearls.

a dog
eats an alligator on the 4th of july after watching cartoons in the afternoon.

a priest is being mollested
by a todler

and a muslim is kissing the feet of an abusive female.

Trump is eating cornflakes
while hillary

is reading her emails and arranging for pizza parties.

obama is a limo getting a blow-job from Trudeau,

and Africa is sending foreign aid to the US to quell the ZIKA outbreak.

Reagan is resurrected.

and papa is sitting in an oven getting deloused with Cyclon-B.

is knitting a sweater in the hamptons while the kardashians eat strawberries from a **** bowl

and everything gets washed away and becomes a steely white

as the scent of cinnamon
flows through your nostrils

and your blood is injected with happiness forevermore
jonas ernust May 2017
i once
for a *****

and it was a two for one special-

and she took an additional $40 from my wallet
of which i forgot to subract from the $160 total.

it was after a concert.

and i drove home
then walked a little bit around a pond and fed a few ducks and it smelled from the rotting goldfish
and the old mexican lady washing her clothes with that familiar
stench wafting around.

i was tired.
but i was buzzed for a good 3 days, and i just don't know what i'm even doing anymore
or what this all means.

but the fact that i remembered it must mean something-

maybe that i should try it again,

or at least just buy a doll on amazon for 350 dollars and a new pair of shoes
church on saturday
because this other pair is getting kind of ratty.

but really
my head itches sometimes and these people outside want to **** me

and the earthquake
stole my children from me when i was barren for so many years.

years wasted
jonas ernust May 2017
i remember someone
long ago

asked me why

i liked to walk on the sidewalk
while wearing
an armani
suit in the 93 degree heat.

i told him

that sometimes
your style
is a just your manner
of thinking of things

and that oftentimes
your confusion
is just measurement
or volume
of what really is upsetting your past self in a dimension of


then he nodded
and the next
day i saw him in the same armani suit in the
93 degree
all the other people the same thing
and they started wearing their own armani
but it stopped being
93 degrees outside
and more like a cool
jonas ernust May 2017
there's a syringe filled to the dropper with ******

and a blackened spoon on the kitchen counter.

he was in the bathroom shooting up and left this one for later
but in a daze
forgot to consider
that others would be home early.

i didn't care.

i've stepped on many ***** syringes before
and as a child
poked myself by accident
a few times as well.

i don't have hepatitis luckily
but to me
it was just an annoying prickly receptacle

full of enough intoxicant to be
lethal to any person
without a tolerance.

i just banged on the door.

''hey if i see this ****
i'll break your arm''.

i heard faint mumble from within
and left him to get high.

he was going to leave within the next day or two any way.

must be fun,
and millions are having fun,

why bother them?

they know what they're doing
it's just
the lack of respect i don't appreciate.

and the fact that they get to **** themselves in plain view
we die
oftentimes in slower subtler ways
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