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Luke Apr 2017
There was a man from Birtley,
when I met him he really hurt me,
He kicked me in the face,
and another mysterious place,
Now I have H.I.V.
To my special man in Birtley
***
These charcoal dark shadows hang beneath eyes of carbon blue.
Carrying the memories of sinister scenes, washed clean, but stained with the salt of regret.
Shame.
Mortification.
The sorrows of living within the frame of some unseen stranger's lack of obligation- irreverent and unattending to the consequences of unrestrained pleasure.
In the background, the slick black vapor slides back into illusion's nest, unfound. Within this restless cradle, ever-raging, silent battles fought.
That daily dose which nearly burned and boiled and blotted them out.
Never triumphant.
A pawn in a profiteer's pyramid scheme.
A beast in bloom, bound to eternal flowering.
Poverty empowering the privileged hand. Our death, stretched far and wide still tortures and taunts and tears us from peace- day after day, week after week, and year after year.
Trapped in a cage whose bars are not there. Whose locks have no key.
We scream and cry til out voices break and our tonsils bleed, but no one on the other side can hear.
We play our part for family and friends but deep down inside we know how this ends. We pretend to go on, but we know we are dead.
We are victims of big pharma and our ribbon is red.
Äŧül Nov 2016
Gia
Daughter of an American restaurateur,
She breathed in fashion's golden age,
On the ramp, she was hot like wildfire.
A playgirl, she likely broke a million hearts,
Prancing on a hundred beds in her life,
Of course sharing with hundreds her arts.
Also engaged in doing drugs just so often,
Not caring even a bit about the sterility,
Oh, how she shared syringes and needles.

*Be successful - but never ever like her.
Gia Carangi (born on January 29, 1960) was one among the USA's first commercially successful supermodels.

She died of multiple AIDS-linked disorders on November 18, 1986 (aged just 26).

She probably got AIDS from her substance abuse and the improper sharing of non-sterile needles if not exactly due to unprotected casual ***.

HP Poem #1240
©Atul Kaushal
Jillian Jesser May 2016
I woke up to screams from a stolen razor.    Where is it?   It was a loud scream.          The end comes swiftly, anyway,
and, if there are no razors around, it comes even faster.                        
 
At the top of the mountain, the anger flows to the valley, and there is no scream.                                  
In the valley, we wait.                
There is a pull from a cigarette.                               
Small talk that is not small talk.                                        
A man wheezes   
A woman wonders where she'll go tomorrow                                          
it comes out as a laugh
                  and lightly in the background plays a song that can only be called the disease of the 80's.                                       
 
We didn't need another.                                     

But, thank you.
Strong bukowski influence, living in med stabilization unit in ghetto. Heard you spin me right round or whatever and it made this a poem about disease.
Grimmest Apr 2016
Breathe...
I walk into your room,
And turn away from the caution sign that greets me.
The room is cold and smells of disinfectant.
I creep up beside you so as not to have you wake.
I avoid the lines that provide you life.
How small and helpless you seem.
Just a fragment of your former self.
A stranger...

I hear someone enter the room and I turn my head towards them.
The judgement and embarrassment are evident on their face.
I feel pity from those who watch his torment.
Eye contact is avoided.
They recoil from his touch and reach for the gloves,
That place a barrier between them.
I turn back towards my father.
So many memories...
Both good and bad.
I focus on the memories filled with joy.
The ones I wish to remember you by.
I keep the pain buried deep below the surface of my heart.

The silence is unbearable.
I reach for your hand and you turn your head towards me.
Your smile is quiet and no longer reaches your eyes.
There is no need to speak.
I feel the anger bubbling up inside me.
At the thought of the pain you must endure.
So many others out there in the world
But you were chosen to bear the stigma.
How did he contract it?
Is he gay or an addict?
I tried to ignore their ignorance,
But I just want to hurt them,
And have them share our pain.

I remember the day they told us,
"Sir you have AIDS".
I froze and looked up at you.
You told me it would be okay.
A lie to protect me from what the future would bring.
The end is near.
I love you Dee with all my heart,
And I will share your memories.
I give you one last kiss before you close your eyes,
You will now be free of the pain in this world,
Let your soul finally find peace.
I say goodbye for the last time,
And watch your breath fade away.
My father passed away from AIDS a number of years ago now. His memory remains in my heart.
PJ Poesy Jan 2016
Worm eats through to penetrate.
Trespasses, what ***** deeds?
What ichor is this to venerate?
How dare eat, how dare have needs?

Godly viral load unbeatable,
no t-cell left to count.
Wriggling in puddle inconceivable,
**** upon this crucified mount.

Lazarus, risen from the dead,
no dog now licks your wounds.
Lepers now banshees are instead
social workers which we swoon.

And the Roman laws and judges
continue blame, hand down sentence,
as degenerative generation smudges
out from existence, ***+ penance.

Dissected and pinned against wall,
this writhing experiment oozes.
Whilst priests and politicians naw,
compassion and AIDS funding loses.
We writhe. Yet, AIDS survives. Will any of us?
Äŧül Dec 2015
*** was transmitted from chimpanzees to humans,
Eating chimp meat in Africa they thrived,
Most not realizing the sanctity they destroyed,
And chimps got it from mangabey meat,
New SIV+SIV gave *** at the lethal end for humans.
Legend:
SIV: Simian Immunodeficiency Virus
***: Human Immunodeficiency Virus

Part of my M.Tech Animal Biotechnology studies.

My HP Poem #931
©Atul Kaushal
Brent Kincaid Oct 2015
I’m sure it has happened
To many other people before.
There comes a moment
A feeling one cannot ignore.
A want, a drive, an impulse
To have, to hold, to own
Something, someone or
A moment that is yours alone.

At a party, a face appeared
And our two eyes connected.
It seemed we were talking;
A dialogue was being erected.
A relationship of mere moments,
It seemed powerfully right.
And at just that one moment
Nothing could be more right.

We left the party immediately
And went to my place to see
If followers through with feeling
What just the right thing to be.
It was all a wonderful adventure.
I am sure we had no kind of fear.
It was an accident of timing,
One I would suffer for years.

Twice more and we were broken,
Never to be together again.
No thoughts about if ever
Not a question about when.
And after the last evening
I knew things had moved on.
When I looked into my wallet.
All of my money was gone.

All because of impatience
And not wanting to be alone
I let myself fall into a kind of
Rock and roll Twilight Zone.
Why didn’t I ask more questions?
Because in that single moment
I wanted a fantasy romance.
Nothing was more important.

It was months later I discovered
In a routine visit to my doctor
That I had contracted a disease
That would ruin my life forever.
They didn’t know what to call it
In those days before the name.
Those were the days before AIDS
And it’s horrific kind of sick fame.

And they had no way to treat it
So, most of us just quickly died.
We had no ability to resist it.
We had no resistance inside.
We lost all our friends and lovers
Because for one single moment
That one evening with a stranger,
Nothing was more important.

I fell into a frenzy of not caring,
Drugs and drink and debauchery.
I felt I had lost all hope in life
And lost all my chance at dignity.
Of course that made me sicker
My resistance went down further.
I no longer wanted to live like that
I was sick of my life altogether.

I am writing this to you, today
So you can share it with others.
Tell people that getting laid
Is not the same as a lover.
Point to me and advise them
We may have just one moment
For valuing ourselves as a person
Nothing must be more important.


(This is dedicated to many of my friends over the decades that suffered from *** and AIDS related issues.)
Zyanneh Frazier Oct 2015
Abortion

A screaming baby yelling
“Mommy! Please don’t let me go!”
All because it wants to see this world
But Mommy happens to have regrets and a mind filled with shame
All because nobody knows about little James or Joyce
Mommy isn’t ready for mistakes to happen
A screaming baby yelling
“Mommy! Please don’t give up on me!”
All because it wants to see Mommy smile
But Mommy happens to head to the clinic
All because she’s thinking about abortion
Mommy isn’t ready for regrets to happen
A screaming baby yelling
“Mommy! Please don’t do this to me!”
All because it wants to see its first birthday
But Mommy happens to grab for the scissors and then panics
All because she finally realizes life’s a blessing
Mommy isn’t ready to fall down the same path as last time
A screaming baby yelling
“Mommy! Please make the right choice!
All because it wants to know its gender
But Mommy happens to suffer from ***
All because she was ***** by a unknown man
Mommy happens to give life to a healthy
James Denzel Roberts
But…
A screaming baby yelling
“Mommy! I thank you!”
All because it misses its mommy
But Mommy happens to give James up for adoption
All because she doesn’t want James to suffer
Mommy happens to die 2 weeks later
As…
A screaming baby yelling
“Mommy! You’ll always be in my heart!”

By Zyanneh Frazier
The Name "James Denzel Roberts" Is Just a Random Name I Picked
(*** Worker to a house wife -->)

Entertain not for me hatred
It is only for a daily bread
I take your  husband abed.

Since you are so timid
In haste, you leave your husband
Restless and discontented.

******* is an art
My dear sister
You should surely master
Than on me nicknames pester
Harlot,****,****** and a *****!

Read a lot on the subject
With your spouse develop the art
At long last
When you prove your dexterity
In conjugal felicity
A tip it would be for mental integrity.

With affection and suggestion open
Your spouse,you can turn
A love-making machine,
What else do you need in return.
By and By
You may not seek a hit on the sly

(<--A housewife to a *** worker)

My dear sister in Christ
I know there is nothing foul in your heart
Except,you are a *** worker by ill fate.
Thanks a lot for your comment
Which I will second no doubt.

Dear sister in Christ
At times if both
You and my husband
Get debouch of beer or Highland
Check you have a ****** at hand
Just when you hold him inside,
For otherwise
Severe will be the consequence
For me and my child.

So you are morally obliged
By "No ****** no ***!" to abide
I am also willing to you extend
A helping hand
That could help you
On your feet stand
Than barter your body
For a daily bread!
For want of openness and a conservative culture I have seen *** claiming a heavy death toll in my country.In response to this I penned down this poem
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