#beep - Hello Poetry

"What's your name?" Rebekah Halle *** "D.O.B?" 13 November 1XXX "What are you here for today?: Eye surgery 'Okay, you're going to feel a freeze go through your veins now -- and then start to feel very sleepy..." . . . I wake to.... Beep, Beep, beep Buzz the machines Whee, whoosh, voo Whirl goes the blood pressure machine. . . . Knock, knock, knock on the door And a nurse peers into check, then Silence, for a sec. . . Beep, Beep, beep. . And then… Knock, knock, knock, "Your eyes are looking great, I'll come back in the morning," Dr Kowal says. . . . Beep Beep, Beep, Beep I finally sleep... . And then… Knock, knock, knock. “Do you want your dinner now?!” Inquires the hospitality staff. . . Darkness strangles light — Again nurses wheel in their trollies… Volumous voices viscerate silence. ~ All In a hospital room.

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Jun 22, 2024

Jun 22, 2024 at 5:18 PM UTC

bekahalle

The Hospital Room

"What's your name?" Rebekah Halle *** "D.O.B?" 13 November 1XXX "What are you here for today?: Eye surgery 'Okay, you're going to feel a freeze go through your veins now -- and then start to feel very sleepy..." . . . I wake to.... Beep, Beep, beep Buzz the machines Whee, whoosh, voo Whirl goes the blood pressure machine. . . . Knock, knock, knock on the door And a nurse peers into check, then Silence, for a sec. . . Beep, Beep, beep. . And then… Knock, knock, knock, "Your eyes are looking great, I'll come back in the morning," Dr Kowal says. . . . Beep Beep, Beep, Beep I finally sleep... . And then… Knock, knock, knock. “Do you want your dinner now?!” Inquires the hospitality staff. . . Darkness strangles light — Again nurses wheel in their trollies… Volumous voices viscerate silence. ~ All In a hospital room.

52

I hang my head down low When the mask falls and everybody knows, Don't look through my windows, Shades closed, I'm ok because they say so. I'm not ok but I make those jokes So they don't see real pain, They don't see emotional strain. Tried to fix the engine but it blows up. Back on a clean slate, inside ready to erupt No look he's normal, he must be great. Don't talk about it, just walk around it Look how happy the little clown is I pull these balloons so they go loose, Blow them up and tie my noose Hung up until I deflate too soon Playing that pop goes the weasel tune.

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Dec 8, 2019

Dec 8, 2019 at 7:24 PM UTC

ryan-maroni

Beep beep

I hang my head down low When the mask falls and everybody knows, Don't look through my windows, Shades closed, I'm ok because they say so. I'm not ok but I make those jokes So they don't see real pain, They don't see emotional strain. Tried to fix the engine but it blows up. Back on a clean slate, inside ready to erupt No look he's normal, he must be great. Don't talk about it, just walk around it Look how happy the little clown is I pull these balloons so they go loose, Blow them up and tie my noose Hung up until I deflate too soon Playing that pop goes the weasel tune.

16

Beep I’m going to go out there Beep I mean this is just Beep ridiculous BEEP I’m not even mad at- BEEP whoever broke in, I- BEEP just want to sleep beep beep

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Jul 23, 2018

Jul 23, 2018 at 11:15 AM UTC

Phi_Kenzie

2:00 a.m. Car Alarm

Beep I’m going to go out there Beep I mean this is just Beep ridiculous BEEP I’m not even mad at- BEEP whoever broke in, I- BEEP just want to sleep beep beep

13

Beep ..beep…beep Ceiling closed by Foot rested above my head Arms cuffed, multiple Punctures Half vein, half wire Half Survive, half dead Attachment with Machines Beep.. beep.. beep Screen displays, I still survive Hope of Humanity from Machines Health status, undergone Inertia Sometime, time wins the race Sometime, time follows my pace Accelerated Life, Arrhythmia of thought The last Stop

0

Feb 19, 2018

Feb 19, 2018 at 10:06 AM UTC

mystic-ink-plus

ICU Life

Beep ..beep…beep Ceiling closed by Foot rested above my head Arms cuffed, multiple Punctures Half vein, half wire Half Survive, half dead Attachment with Machines Beep.. beep.. beep Screen displays, I still survive Hope of Humanity from Machines Health status, undergone Inertia Sometime, time wins the race Sometime, time follows my pace Accelerated Life, Arrhythmia of thought The last Stop

15

So you are lost in dreams so deep whole night And I long to hear phone's beep whole night At dawn, I realised, my awakening Though my destiny remained asleep whole night I know the remedy, I know the toxin.. What to lose, and what to keep whole night She might have waited for me to take her back This is what made me to weep whole night Sharafat, night is to sleep, not to write Don't let enemies to creep whole night

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Jan 18, 2018

Jan 18, 2018 at 11:12 PM UTC

Mirza

Story of Night

So you are lost in dreams so deep whole night And I long to hear phone's beep whole night At dawn, I realised, my awakening Though my destiny remained asleep whole night I know the remedy, I know the toxin.. What to lose, and what to keep whole night She might have waited for me to take her back This is what made me to weep whole night Sharafat, night is to sleep, not to write Don't let enemies to creep whole night

10

I love the feel of teeth and how they were used when you punctured my skin and let out the blood beneath. {Oh, I love your teeth} when we used the air between our cheeks to push it out under tongues before we fell asleep. And I love the stains across those cheeks. The streams sting after they settle. After it spills on our bed sheets. But these day were made to suffer and I'm the one to blame because if I'm suffering alone | it will keep you sane. | | And you'll never stay the same. | | and I'll dampen all your pain. | so that in case you're coming down I'll fall in your place. Because there's absolutely nowhere for me to go absolutely nowhere but into your dreams into your head where I pray you still keep me. But I am the martyr and I'm not done bleeding

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Jun 29, 2015

Jun 29, 2015 at 2:33 AM UTC

NickyDee

Sleep

I love the feel of teeth and how they were used when you punctured my skin and let out the blood beneath. {Oh, I love your teeth} when we used the air between our cheeks to push it out under tongues before we fell asleep. And I love the stains across those cheeks. The streams sting after they settle. After it spills on our bed sheets. But these day were made to suffer and I'm the one to blame because if I'm suffering alone | it will keep you sane. | | And you'll never stay the same. | | and I'll dampen all your pain. | so that in case you're coming down I'll fall in your place. Because there's absolutely nowhere for me to go absolutely nowhere but into your dreams into your head where I pray you still keep me. But I am the martyr and I'm not done bleeding

24

"Beep, Beep, Beep..." It was the beginning of another day. " Just a little longer." I thought as I reached across the bed to hit snooze

0

Jun 11, 2015

Jun 11, 2015 at 4:31 AM UTC

habeshasoul

Beep.....

"Beep, Beep, Beep..." It was the beginning of another day. " Just a little longer." I thought as I reached across the bed to hit snooze

4

Show me, you say, show me the hallway. Show me the bedroom, show me where we used to live. That tree, over there, with the apples. You, and then not you. You, crossed out. You, in the windowsill with your hair pulled back. Take me, I say, take me like we're already dead. You know how this ends. My hands, your hands, harmony. A lit match, maybe. And death itself, there beside us. **** me, you know how, you've done this before, I say, panic and soap that smells a bit too much like your brother's wake. Play me a funeral song. Impress me, and you say, what's left to impress? And maybe I'm not the antichrist, but it's not like you are, either. This, our hands, you, the radio stuck on one station, crossed out. Red pen. This isn't a temporary solution. You're singing, I say, and you just keep on, say, this isn't a funeral, like it's none of my business. The radio again, playing the only way it knows how. The mountains, over there in the distance, spying on us. Your hands, my hands, tied up like knots, like this is the only way we can love. But it’s not, is it, don't you remember the treehouse? Three blocks down the road a man has blood on his hands, and you are the man and you aren't, all at once. You, me, clockwork. A bell, tolling in the distance. Repeat.

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Oct 1, 2014

Oct 1, 2014 at 2:13 PM UTC

buckybarnes

proceed with caution

Show me, you say, show me the hallway. Show me the bedroom, show me where we used to live. That tree, over there, with the apples. You, and then not you. You, crossed out. You, in the windowsill with your hair pulled back. Take me, I say, take me like we're already dead. You know how this ends. My hands, your hands, harmony. A lit match, maybe. And death itself, there beside us. **** me, you know how, you've done this before, I say, panic and soap that smells a bit too much like your brother's wake. Play me a funeral song. Impress me, and you say, what's left to impress? And maybe I'm not the antichrist, but it's not like you are, either. This, our hands, you, the radio stuck on one station, crossed out. Red pen. This isn't a temporary solution. You're singing, I say, and you just keep on, say, this isn't a funeral, like it's none of my business. The radio again, playing the only way it knows how. The mountains, over there in the distance, spying on us. Your hands, my hands, tied up like knots, like this is the only way we can love. But it’s not, is it, don't you remember the treehouse? Three blocks down the road a man has blood on his hands, and you are the man and you aren't, all at once. You, me, clockwork. A bell, tolling in the distance. Repeat.

31

guess you shouldve thought about that before you broke your mothers back,huh,sweetheart?

0

Sep 1, 2014

Sep 1, 2014 at 10:22 AM UTC

buckybarnes

stop calling me a witch vol 2

guess you shouldve thought about that before you broke your mothers back,huh,sweetheart?

2

We know you, and your little dark colors too. A picture book in your purse penned in mustaches on the full faces of your fare. We call you from bed, 8 o' clock in the morning, dog-light you slow wander the Peruvian darkness making jellyfish tentacles with your hands while you feel your way through Salem. We're colder than night and we wake thrice the bits of your day gig. You collapse in a green field of dandelion where thrushes drown you in Brown. We gorge ourselves on mango slivers, pineapple yolks, a half of grapefruit. We know you are close to your end. On the tops of the cities you call to your lycan friends, the half-sick and muted bray allures them to you, from Bratislava and Mimon, the thoroughfare through the suq. We wait. The foregone untold, the beep beep jug jug swoop sound of the nightingale, in all her dun glory, we wait. Then, as if descending through the moor-lounging silver smoke, the cool stickiness to your fingertips; the fog. We are there when the blue-less and smoky screen surrounds you, when you shank the auburn Scot hair of the sly fox that stalks, say, a cigarette from your lips. When you take the corners swiftly, gadding the streets. The prize king of vulpicide. You rub its matte fur against your bristly gray beard. And while you lay in your lumps of twelve carat flesh you bleat and you nag. One day you will never come home.

0

May 2, 2014

May 2, 2014 at 3:14 PM UTC

martin-narrod

Johnny 3:16

We know you, and your little dark colors too. A picture book in your purse penned in mustaches on the full faces of your fare. We call you from bed, 8 o' clock in the morning, dog-light you slow wander the Peruvian darkness making jellyfish tentacles with your hands while you feel your way through Salem. We're colder than night and we wake thrice the bits of your day gig. You collapse in a green field of dandelion where thrushes drown you in Brown. We gorge ourselves on mango slivers, pineapple yolks, a half of grapefruit. We know you are close to your end. On the tops of the cities you call to your lycan friends, the half-sick and muted bray allures them to you, from Bratislava and Mimon, the thoroughfare through the suq. We wait. The foregone untold, the beep beep jug jug swoop sound of the nightingale, in all her dun glory, we wait. Then, as if descending through the moor-lounging silver smoke, the cool stickiness to your fingertips; the fog. We are there when the blue-less and smoky screen surrounds you, when you shank the auburn Scot hair of the sly fox that stalks, say, a cigarette from your lips. When you take the corners swiftly, gadding the streets. The prize king of vulpicide. You rub its matte fur against your bristly gray beard. And while you lay in your lumps of twelve carat flesh you bleat and you nag. One day you will never come home.

3