Christened on billiard paper
Lo and fro, oh no
Love comes to the town again
And I am rendered spent
A recalcitrant pen begging,
"*** knows when,
He'll hurt my beard, rest me deep under again"

Mother! Mother!
Hear my forlorn screams
They are inauthentic
They yearn to be redeemed

Father, you, sister!
Watch this cold hand
They were born spastic
Neutered with a brand

A brand that loves to burn alone
A brand that seethes, kiss the bone
Take me to a walk in your grove
I couldn't do anything in your cove
Just a lover's weary shove
Until you take me above
There, the night will reign with a shadow
Soviet Jet
Soviets are like mosquitoes
Always there in the environment
There’s no escape from them
They get in your head

So they rule you remorsessly
By power of paranoia
A bite is a bullet
An infection is a bomb

A disease is a nuclear blast
Mosquitoes are Russians
Russians are mosquitoes
Waiting to be eradicated

By a superior power
Always ready for war
Endless circle of deceit
Mosquito flight round you

Looking for an opening
To attack you
While you sleep
The Russian way

Keep you off guard
Then get you
But not if we strike
And drain their pond

Spray them with insecticide
So they never breed again
No more Novichok
Or nukes or bio weapons

Finally we are safe
Except from our own
******* PARANOIA!!!
a swollen finger rising to the occasion
rising to the size of a grape, purple
bloated like a stuffed pocket or pregnant chicken
green oozing out like the slime i got from the museum and the smell of rubber and plastic following me in my sleep

a ghost by the window slipping into my thumb and biting pain
the numb pressure of muscle tissue ripping
the phantom claws out and shouts that women are debris
swamps with lost metal buried at the bottom if you dig long enough the days become one and their hair consumes you whole

i argue with the shadow, threaten that this bruise will burst and blood with meet alcohol, an antibiotic fever dream
it stares at me defiant, like a giant pulverizing a village
my fingers wrestle and before the abscess can pop
the fingerprints unravel until i am nothing but thread
a coil at the bottom of the floor
a dress to be sewn in a bedroom
the shadow stand up and fits her bones into the fibers, a bride in white
the thumb hurts no more
a gross anatomy dissection
hani aqil Jan 12
I’m not one to tell
But some people really deserve it

I’m not one to be so fell
But some people really need it

Sometimes I think I could ****
Sometimes I think I am wrong
But now I know I was right
My just bloodlust is useless to fight

I paint your face white
I paint over the neon mess
I tackle you to the ground
Ram your head on the seething white floor

I want to ***** your skull
I want to hear it snap under the weight of my hands
Alas I am weak
But not weak enough to **** you quickly

My knees are digging into your chest
My hands are around your grizzly neck
Asphyxia is a good solution to some problems

Choke, you old *******

I won’t let you go so fast

I drag you by your hair into the lift outside my unit
It’s really dark
It’s way past midnight and everything is quiet
Everything is quiet when you’ve lived so noisily

The red lights from the buttons glow slowly and gently and I press the first floor gingerly
The automated voice says “first floor” in that funny little way it always does

The lift descends, with me and you
It is like a passage to ****
For the both of us

We’re not dead yet
But we are corpses
Both of us

The stars are so pretty tonight
You can rarely see them so clear
But tonight every corner of time is enveloped in a
Gluttonous cocoon of darkness

I haul you out to the shady alley where
Nobody sleeps but nobody listens
And I wait
For the dogs to smell you

The dogs are tearing your flesh apart
Like bubblegum
I want to feed you to them
See their canine fangs sink into you
But even the most vicious hounds
Will never use you as meat
For fear of the evil laced in you

You’re not dead yet
I told you I wouldn’t let you go just like that
You can scream all you want, old man
Nobody sleeps but nobody listens
A timely taste of your own medicine

You can’t spell illegal without legal

In your last moments I **** your mouth with a knife
hani aqil Jan 12
he came in my dreams one night
faceless, bleeding fluorescent pink
dragonfly wings
caved at feet
Bugs are so easy to squash

a child is a
limp rag doll
is a two tongued succubus
carving fishnets in flesh

I cannot touch but
I can scream from the watchtower
in the dead of night
in the dense blackness
void penetrated by a voice
dissipating in futility

as the
fish on deck
spluttering, scales fluttering
entwines in honeycomb plastic

who knew the one who started it all
had the strength to take it all away?
tongues are so dangerous
they can taste ever so sweet and slick
or cut like knives
wet with anger
the sweetness I drowned in is now
petals rotten, blackened and thickened the water
fragment me
over and over

Me, a wolf
Bit a chunk
But drowned
in my shadow
I’m one with the one I despise

I am
Venus fly
Antichrist embedded
Parasitic blood

Who knew the one who started it all
Had the sense to take it all away?

Who's your
Precious little child now?
Who's your
Precious little child now?

Father, child
Cat and mouse
Choke, choke and cough up that
you *******

Ripe for the plucking like a plum begging for harvest
A cat may as well be a mouse to a wolf
A cat may as well be a mouse to a wolf
sorry for inconsistent formatting im a lazy *******
Taliesin Jan 7
Electric snakeskin
Draped, casting green-grey shadows
Over the pine trees
Cryptic Jan 7
I did not engineer

Nor attempt to construct

The human soul


Not I

The mere idea seemed frivolous

Damnably gelatinous and

Above all else

Impossible to comprehend

How silly it might turn out

Indeed I thought this

I did attempt however

To make a spicy jam

One evening at the

End of Winter I believe

Lovely time

When this,

What I consider the beginning of a debacle,


I threw together

Bits, and things, and twigs,

And professional spices,

And Illicit words, and

Brown sugar,

And old tea,

And harmless fun

And Puppy Dog Tails,

And I’m allergic to snails,

And something that I called Steve

It could have been Tom

But it looked like a Steve to me

Despite its arguments that it was

A Barbra through and through

I stirred and fiddled and sang

To this black and thin glop

I indeed attempted to call

A spiced jam concoction

That was tap-dancing in circles

On my stovetop without permission

When, no I know, the usual happened

I became bored


Yes Indeed I did






Where was I?

Oh yes.


Bored of this



Fred Astaire

Not spicy jam

So I left what would become

The self-engineering diluent,

Now a vicious, viscous, and crude thing

That would become the human soul

On the back burner  

While I cooked some pasta instead

I prefer pasta

It is delicious

Not like that mistake of mine

It continued to be a mistake of mine

It was not pasta,

It was not spiced jam,

And I never remembered to throw it in the Hazmat bin


For a year

I believe

It could have been a week

A very long and tiring week

Or seven years

When I heard the back burning

Singing back to me

About apples with a crisp bite

About fireworks that misfired

About drug needles used to sew together sanity

Was this too spicy?

With its two voices of

Hospital dust


Captive applause

Oh my,

This couldn't possibly

Taste good

I believe whatever this has

Festered into without

Adult supervision,

I believe it might be beginning to turn

Like milk and wine

I bottled it in a wooden bottle

And left it on the stoop of an orphanage

To find a good home

I wonder if this not spiced jam

Has found a good home

Last I heard

They all went from it to They

And attended Engineering School.
Eric Pon Dec 2018
An outlet of articulates, is this solemn, surreal site.
Many minds, and many more, shall glow beneath its light.
Yet sadly for myself I've found, the holes within it all,
and now no longer does my heart, answer to its call.

Goodbye poetry, and thank you always; you deserve all you achieve-

Thank you for giving us a place to share all what we believe.

I will say hello to you, and glow with all again someday,
But for now I say goodbye- as I go on my own way.
Bella Dec 2018
you see it.
you hold your breath
step, crunch
it turns to dust
step, step, crunch
prickling goosebumps
step, crunch
you walk along
crunch crunch
it gets closer
step crunch
silence follows
as you continue  
you can almost touch it
you stare
a world of unknown
it stares back
Derrek Faraday Dec 2018
I've bent my mouth up to my ear
Believing in the stuff belief is made of
Milk replaced by silky biers
Losing my fingers to the Barren Baron Dove

Hurts to admit I'm stealing away
A curly knife held to my ear
Simple, crimpled, waning days
Throw unto the heart of the pier

Lark and tumble
Bark and fumble

Still those tired eyes of dust
I have found the beveled rhythm
Among the pristine clouds of rust,
Entropy's daily rhythm

Wake away the roaring morning
Rising heat in fuchsia dawn
Spend the many days adorning
The beating pulse of the lawn

Stupefied, nullified
Numb and in crumbs
A stump to the vein
A lump of sweetened pain
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