(a ballad in 5 parts)

there’s so much meaning here
between floorboards and music scores
the peacefulness rots my soul to the bone
and i’m a walking gramophone
knowing i can only sing
when i’m alone
so tear my lungs to bits
and hide them there, where silence sits
out of the way of everyday drolls
because i need this space to flow
mold me;

i’ve been screaming since womb’s release
and if you think i’ll ever keep the peace,
you’re wrong; i long to burn you
in between my teeth, like old strings,
i know i cannot touch you, nor
will you ever be taught to see
people like me
are meant to be, so
unfold me;

god, if you’re up there, hear my gruesome prayer,
tear down the chords that strung us up tight
took away these rights, unite the sight
behind these eyes before i’m blind again,
don’t tell me that the lives of men still matter
because i am not a man,
thrice been, now never am
you see, i’m a grotesque:
undress these guts
and i’ll bleed
behold me;

its hard to believe there’s something more
once my foot’s out the door and you’re
running from prison
once you’re chopped off our heads
let the windpipes glisten
let me speak through my wheezes
if it pleases you, sir
withhold me;

so here i am, alone again
the only way to hear the pen as it
strikes strikes strikes the page
breaks breaks breaks the cage
inky gore, caress these days
‘cause they’re sinking through
the languished haze
of all these old how-do-you-dos
you can’t
control me.

written january 2015 for my literature of the grotesque final project. a little gory commentary on being queer, trans and mentally ill in the 2010s.

To this day
I cannot conceive
How such a pure and beautiful soul
Would ever love a monstrous and grotesque thing as me

C Cavierre Apr 2016

Illogical, crystal clear--
this contradictory of fear--
I am caught for one precious moment by
the horrible visionary
of my grotesque fate

as promised, the continuation of Fear
Nora Feb 2016

How distasteful you are,
With your sundry splotches
and jarring imperfections.
Oh, you taunt me so!
Whether your anathemas
are reflected through the mirror or my own eyes.
Oh horrible, hateful, heinous thing!
I cannot bear to stare any longer.
How sickly your color is--
A pallid yellow, like one giant bruise
That has budded and blossomed
In some unnaturally grotesque fashion.
My blood boils, my pulse races
And I raise my weapons to fight--
Two talons--claws honed to perfection.
Be gone, you wretched scab!
And so I tear, scratching furiously,
Until no more of you is left.
The blood is stuck beneath my fingertips,
Or what is left of them.
My sinews tremble, bloody and bare,
As the last of my wallpaper
Is ripped from my bones.

A small tribute to Charlotte Perkins Gilman. Concept is mine, story and inspiration are not.
Baylee Sep 2015

The fingernail moon
Shinning through
my window
At night,
Brings light to my
dark and grotesque
As I lay awake thinking.

The junk I've collected
Makes great shaddows
on the walls
Of my room,
And the silhouettes
Of junk
Look like people arguing,
To me.

The Lonely Bard Aug 2015

The VIP culture is the grotesque manifestation eating up the democracy inch by inch.

They are elected by us from among us and then they want to be treated really special,
They want to be treated as someone royal by everyone,
Do you get the joke?

It still remains a democracy!

My HP Poem #896
©Atul Kaushal

~                                              Preaching hate
        The audacity
                                   To say
                              in gods name
                                                          T­hat yours
    is the only truth
                                That way
                             Lies madness

Sean Harbor May 2015

When you fell in love,
You realized how grotesque it is.
When tragedy struck,
You realized how gorgeous she is.

Michael Caio Mar 2015

I am the Grotesque
Marques de Sade
I am the Notorious
Giacomo Casanova

I lurk in the Dark Street
Impatiently for the Week
Enthralling and Charming
I smile (vile) with a dimple on my cheek

I see they are vulnerable
Seeking for a God
And that God I become
I am the fruit that will make them succumb

I destroy any trace of humanity left
It’s the Body that I want and Soul I shall bet

As I possess the Boy, Prostitute, the Rich Lady or the Monarch
I cannot impede the images in my mind
Crossing this Arch
Unique Treasures I will find

In my sheets of satin  
The playground of Satan
Tortures of Pleasure
Take place as I make pressure
Bloody Ropes with humans Cries
Bites of Pain while the Soul fries

To my Chandelier I tie my Slave
I whisper in sinister voice: Be Brave  
My Hand goes where it wants
It has a Will of its own
Unlike its Subject
I shall make it my Object

My Tongue travels the nervous skin
Salt and fear sheen
Sustaining the Evil in me
And the Evil rises vigorously
The Tongue seeks it Moist or Hard
Something of Putrid smell and flavour

Spiking the rib cage with an Object of Phallic nature
The Slave inhales Pain
And exhales Lust
I feel it in between the spiting in my Face
And the cries for clemency

I cannot understand why It doesn’t see the Artistry
Of the way I subdue IT to my Supremacy
Are the candles not too hot?
Is the Urine too cold?
Are the Faeces dry and old?
Maybe the splintery wooden Butt Pug is slipping out.
Or the Rusty Chain around Its neck too loose

(It is impossible to please
So have this in mind when you fall in Love
You fall alone, you see
Like a Dead Dove from a Dead Tree)

And having that Epiphany
Altruistic acts shall be only for me

Do not close your Eyes
Do not pretend Death in Disguise
My Dagger is now sharp
Spread your legs
Let us see you Drip

Drop by drop
In my mouth ‘til full
White and Red viscous Miracle
Swallow Seeds and Swallow Beads

Now that Gratitude is paid
And the Ritual complete
It’s time to get Laid
Fornication until Testicular function is Obsolete

I use Pig’ Intestines for protection of my Hook
As ridicule to the Book
It’s funny and punning
The Pork really IS Possessed

The friction stinks
And Burns to my delight
The Pain that it brings
Shows It no Light

Is this the End?
The Nirvana my friend!!!
Can you feel it?
While you chase the Last Breath?

I Erupt and Explode
It Implodes – the Explosion is within.

Oh Glorious Dissatisfaction
Oh Dead Body that dangles

I wish IT could see what IT & I created
Superb Creation
No words can explain
Its Life was not in Vain
It was Art
For me to Manipulate

The Rush in my Veins
Quickly vanishes
Leaving me with this uncomfortable

Another Day another Dime
Another Day another Dame
Another Day another Dammed

I am the Ultimate Pleasure seeker

I am the Grotesque Artist

Definitely not for the week hearted.
This is probably one of the most horrible Poems I have ever written.
I just felt like writing something horrendous.
A little trip into a sick person’s mind that has some sort of meaning to what it does.

I hope you can read it and appreciate it for the Art behind it

Take a little trip into my mind.
Akemi Feb 2015

Tastes like death
Tongue to the gallows
Winter in her veins

All flesh fails
Maggots run empty
Gorged headless

Limbs twined to the bone
Reap nothing
Limbs twined to the bone
Reap nothing
Limbs twined to the bone
Reap nothing

11:25pm, February 17th 2015

We are all dying, slowly
Death finds its way into our wrinkles and folds
And turns us grotesque
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