#poisoning
Battered,
And broken,
Blood is my token.
Abused,
And scorned,
Words pricking like a thorn.
Bleeding,
And rocking,
The insane voices are talking.
Guzzling,
And yelling,
His soul she is felling.
Dying,
Being quiet,
A million voices riot:
"She was so kind,
The best of the best".
But I just weep,
For I finally have rest.
Oct 30, 2015
Oct 30, 2015 at 9:26 PM UTC
He died from a massive
insult to the brain
from alcohol poisoning ; Dylan Thomas
I say he was already dead
and couldn't stand to go on breathing
So he put an end to it the only
way he knew how
Poisoning : slow , so if your're reluctant
you can bide your time
and ease into it
You know , cross that line between living
and dead
You can do it and not even
be aware that you've done it
How easy
The only question is why ?
But I already know why
New York City . . . the where
I know :
The how
The where
And the why
He was really murdered you know
He was condemned by committee
Sentenced to death by poisoning
There was a general consensus ,
The refusal to mourn the death , by fire ,
of a child of London
Apr 13, 2015
Apr 13, 2015 at 9:50 PM UTC
Put a friendly face on death and make him my
friend. Bring diseases curled as gifts, as water on
dry tongues, and on health-stain tort in whisked
hues that all sing sad songs of early deaths. Bring
me daily, hot food on warm plates, stone cold and
grotesque. Bring it all briskly to the coffin I call
my bed, and there I'll watch myself die.
And have the Priest fit on the site of my birth,
for I'll be born a dead boy anyway. Stuck with
lab venom; your cures at the end of sticks
plunged quietly into my skin. All stilted vats
of Death in good taste– jet blindness; splash
misery for Mothers– Mock execution on mass
for nameless rats who'd been held as babies.
But now I'm old, old as a child can be without death,
how can I breath in such vile brews as the air?
Downtrodden clouds roiled by atrocity; roiled and
molested white carapace that falls day by day, each
onto innocent lungs-aged madly. But what tranquil
traumas I have witnessed– on soft eyes and soft skin–
on groves I'd though real– and how maybe if I never
spend my time here, I can never waste it, for we'll
all have drank from the tass before too long.
Jun 11, 2017
Jun 11, 2017 at 7:34 AM UTC
Big thick finger
running through the wood box
Medicine cabinet
all compartmentalized
Afterward, they keep
lead toy cars inside of it
that I put in my mouth
brain melted
because even a little bit of lead
goes too long away
and gives you
PA, poisoning
Feb 23
Feb 23, 2026 at 5:56 PM UTC