#rampant
all my demons have awakened
from such long, deep slumber
like rampant creatures with wounds to mend,
and so i caressed their madness out of grief
inside my soul's dimly lit chamber.
IA
Mar 20, 2021
Mar 20, 2021 at 12:18 PM UTC
It's become obvious you are not coming back
The thought of you and her together hits me like a smack
The blood that runs rampant through my veins suddenly starts to freeze
My heart stops pumping as I drop straight to my knees
It shatters to pieces and the shrapnel fills my chest
Impaling my lungs
Making my breathing congest
Silence has no business settling inside my ears
But the fact that it does confirms my worst fears
There is not a word I could say to possibly change your mind
Without hesitation you effortlessly leave me behind
If you're not in love anymore why couldn't you let me know?
I gave you many opportunities to let me go
Yet you are such a coward you hid how you feel
Led me to believe your emotions were still real
Then you vanished without courtesy of a text or call
I guess the truth is I meant nothing to you at all
Nov 12, 2020
Nov 12, 2020 at 4:57 AM UTC
This place
Is rampant with
People who choose jealousy over love
People who takes their anger out
To those who are in a less advantageous situation
People who would hurt their loved ones
At the sound of their ego crashing
What do we do?
Jun 22, 2020
Jun 22, 2020 at 3:48 AM UTC
Jamin Hollis has her residence in The Garden.
In The Garden, in the bloated blocks of Transit Town.
Behind the day shelter, beside the corner store.
Across the parking lot of the thrift shop.
Beyond the fluorescence of the pharmacy.
Right there, just a hop and a skip from the trains.
Right there, just a scoot from the bus barn.
Jamin Hollis is a rampant ***** and she needs,
she needs to die.
Jamin Hollis is a rampant ***** and indeed,
she'll die tonight.
Wait for the streetlights to dot the immediate sky.
Most of them are dead or flickering in the blocks.
Wait for the junk rats to leave for the metro line.
Most of them are dead or flickering.
If any open eyes remain on the sidelines, take a breath.
Collect your nerve and toss a penny on the pavement.
The eyes will blind to the shine and they will prostrate.
Bow with a force enough to imbed gravel in the forehead.
Jamin Hollis is a rampant ***** and she needs,
she needs to die.
Jamin Hollis is a rampant ***** and indeed,
she'll die tonight.
Jul 11, 2018
Jul 11, 2018 at 1:47 AM UTC
(when living nightmare pierced real time
thus engendering the following rhyme)
adrenaline powered stealth bomb blast
with the noggin of this, ah... ur... bane chap,
which debilitating anxiety doth outlast
means to cope (thunder and dumb struck)
with stranger mental things
at expressed vertigo, nausea, racing heartbeat
ogres recreated tormented, torpedoed, tortured
most decades from my yesteryear,
which aye presumed long passed.
now, within my head "guerilla"
warring faction
lobs a grenade followed by "bombs away"
broadside finding this body electric doing
a kamikaze nosedive into sick bay
where major organs suffer direct hit
analogous to a giant fist
smashing pumpkins,
sans thine flesh as if clay,
which psychic sortie plagues my ability
to function reduced
tub bing bedridden one day
approximately one week ago
from this thirtieth of April
tooth house sand ate teen gray
ting, grinding, and grounding with figurative
threshing blades employed
to winnow chaff from hay
literally crushing willpower,
where invisible jaws
of sharpened steel interlay
atop pulling stalwart garrison strafed,
(akin to a crash test dummy) named Jay
Walking to become blindsided
obliterating every last trace to stay alive
hence, this emergency transmission,
viz this bloke communicating
desperate plaintive wail,
that I haint okay
with plea PLEASE HELP
this tortured soul on verge pray
begging tubby rescued before drowning
like a panicky gull clay pigeon,
and buoy albatross
strangling me far distant from any quay
quickly sinking spirits,
abducted via fiendish runaway!
Apr 30, 2018
Apr 30, 2018 at 5:42 PM UTC
Before me is a blank page
Awaiting to be filled
And so I will sit here and spill
The words from the tattered heart within my ribcage
Struggling to find the correct diction
To bring light to my position
The ever roaring chaos within my mind
Clouds the creative process from time to time
But at times that roar
Becomes a whisper and rolls down my spinal chord
Through tissues and blood into my chest
And then I am allowed to express
These wild, demented feelings and thoughts
In the form of letters strewn together
Lines and swirls and dots
Forming the characters
Before me on this once blank page
Which has now become a stage
To present the troublesome strain
That life places on my brain
Dramatic and tragic
But isn’t that what poetry usually consists of?
Pain and angst and emotional stuff
I tend to ramble too much in my writings
Or not say enough
Because either I think of too little
Or can never shut up
Jan 4, 2018
Jan 4, 2018 at 5:31 PM UTC
Shaayad mar chuka hai Bhagwan,
Tabhi to zameer bikte hain yahan.
Maybe God is decaying and is stale,
This is why consciences are on sale.
Nov 26, 2016
Nov 26, 2016 at 6:08 AM UTC