"abscess" poems
How can I be myself if you are my vampire?
I can never sleep at night.
The windows won’t stay closed.
You come and go as you please when
I am in my pajamas, such as they are
A tee shirt and underpants
You are always trying to mesmerize me
But it is you who is really
Always you
Who can blame you?
It must be complete torture to look at me
And feel me
But never possess me
If you could only eat me.
If you were my Siamese twin I would **** you
Can you imagine?
I would hack you off with no qualms
Or saw slowly, it doesn’t much matter
Even if I bled out
You are a quagmire.
An existence always with you
You knowing me better than I know myself
Listening to my thoughts
Stealing everything and thinking it’s yours
I am not you
And you are not me
We are not a we
I am not the key to your survival
You, a peculiar abscess
That faces me and holds a conversation
That wants to do this or that
The endless talking.
The windows closed
The heavy curtains drawn
Me in my underwear
I’d watch you while you slept
Thinking about crosses and solutions
Sep 22, 2018
Sep 22, 2018 at 11:37 PM UTC
You're a solar flare
Without a care
The sun is your lair
So we can't be a pair
Which I felt was unfair
So I starred down the barrel of a gun
Into the shining sun
To have my tears evaporate
But all that did was exacerbate
The eventual solar eclipse
From the sound of your lips
Telling me it's over
But it didn't start
I get in my lunar rover
And sadly depart
Your supernova
Put me in a loser's coma
From a subtle sun kiss
With a trillion ton fist
That left me loveless
Seeing the sun less
Stuck inside my tower
My eyes are a shower
I'm holding a sun powered
Drug flower
While I cower
In the midnight hour
During the solar absence
I await a sunrise advent
Like a cosmic abscess
After being denied access
Added to your black list
I become dark matter
When my dreams shatter
I am indeed sadder
Wishing my world was flatter
Yet the sun still shines
Even when I'm blind
Rays of light still come out
Causing a seed to sprout
Like a heroic water spout
After a hundred year drought
But I can only see the sunset
As the future I've met
And I begin to fret
Over my daytime debt
When I spend time but never give it
I make a mistake and then I relive it
The sun is scorching hot I can't grip it
So when I get the upper hand I flip it
And live under the sun
This life is a lonely one
Apr 23, 2018
Apr 23, 2018 at 10:23 AM UTC
A ripened sky splits and bleeds
Mangled reds and blacks;
An instant melts as heat from
Clustered newborn suns --
Blistered from the wounds --
Collects and beams 1600 feet
Earthwards from Fat Man's
Plump and pompous underbelly.
The pure-light pin-prick stopped
The city's pulse for a moment;
Collecting remnants of the
Beating hearts (of artists,
Doctors, students, parents,
Preachers, rats, and peasants)
To plant on rotting soil -
A hellish fungal pustule.
The swelling abscess breathed
But once and burst to
Ripple excess outwards
Soaking up the landscape;
Ingesting miles and spewing
Spores towards septic skies to form
A mass of mushroomed
Might and pyrrhic triumph.
May 27, 2015
May 27, 2015 at 11:21 AM UTC
touch my face and feel my gut
it's knotted up, punctured and twisted
with knives of lovers lost
look at me with shame and forget me
no longer call me by my name, brother
i'm barren from the child i chose not to let be
yet still swollen from the emptiness
stepping on nails, sharp as i pace back and forth
tattered soles and tattered souls
can't overcome the obstacle without proper shoes
end my suffering with a needle or two
let ooze the regretful sorrow that feeds on my sanity
drain the abscess that is my conscience
my conscious mind
it throbs beneath my skin
and whispers secrets from hell, ear to ear
on sunny days
tiny voices and threatening reminders
of crimes not yet repented
committed in fear of solitude
ways to escape unknown, unwanted
negligent to what could be
because the what is distracts me
traps me
i must first love myself
to be loved by you
everyday is a chance to recreate
we know that
our limbs grow longer ingesting opportunity
but hear me when i shout to you from the asphalt
the world unwillingly grows smaller and smaller
and chances are slimmer, slander
ensures
luck be eradicated
because pieces of us
have been
amputated
Oct 10, 2018
Oct 10, 2018 at 12:22 AM UTC
They say hell is not a place
But they liken it to fires
That constantly purge and burn
Kind of like our minds
And if I had a dime
For every human's ***** thought
I'd have a copper-nickel planet
With a thousand moons or more
And if this heart is my tabernacle
Could I withstand the day eternal
Or would I just become another
Abscess, maniacal
Cause like the space they claim is there
Around me all I see
Is a whole lot of nothing
Interspersed with dying breeds
And what they don't tell you
Either Or don't exist
We're all right as a button
And all wrong as an implanted chip
And just the other day
My lack of energy
Got a dead clock to start
And a bruise on my knee
So ship me where there is no one
South of the Antarctic cause
I want to see some sundog halos
And play with diamond dust
They say hell is not a place
But they liken it to fires
That constantly purge and burn
Kind of like these times
Nov 19, 2011
Nov 19, 2011 at 6:01 PM UTC
Sometimes the night is so quiet
feels like it's demanding us
to disperse into its chasm
like the seeds of silence
and caressed by the darkness
A perfect zilch to be within
leaving me with a kind of abscess that only a deadly cold could favour me such
and me lying and enduring the abyss.....
Nov 6, 2015
Nov 6, 2015 at 4:42 PM UTC
if I am to love you,
I will love without expectation
of return
or reciprocation-
neither acknowledgement
nor honey sweet affection.
I will love despite
brutal response
or dismal absence,
regardless of wounds and abscess,
and with no regret.
I will love every part
radiant and rotten alike,
leaving no portion of you out in the cold of night.
if I am to love you,
I will love with conscious intent,
not based in fleeting emotion,
but grounded
in purposeful action
and ever-evolving
spiritual awareness
of the pure metaphysical essence
of you-
and I-
as One.
I will remember that love is a garden,
and not an avalanche.
I will love in understanding
and trust that
there is nothing that separates us,
transcendent soul
immanent in each bone.
if I am to love you,
I will love in tranquil tracing,
in tender waves -
ascending and
receding.
candid caressing
peacefully pulsing pace of peeling
back layers
of my self-skin
to return to
the egoless origin.
if I am to love you,
I will love in humble gestures,
sacrificing all before me
not for moral glory,
but to recognize
shared sacredness.
surrendering desire and attachment,
equalizing all extensions
of the
you-me matrix.
I will love stepping over
self-interest
and dancing into harmony in singularity,
entire generosity
sharing all the puzzle pieces of me.
and,
if I am to love you,
I will love wild
true
and free.
letting the universe
continuously
wash my eyes in new clarity.
opening further
each golden morning
to share the light it has gifted me.
Jan 18, 2015
Jan 18, 2015 at 3:21 PM UTC
Tired of explaining
Ignoring the presence of my stillness==
as you walk with bitterness==
your radiance is no longer true==
a melody with seduction over due==
the song so bad wiped out by you==
rotating my abdomen==
from the soul==
the worms inside==
they all die==
under your control==
separating the way==
is as if though==
all the beauty in the world==
up and lived==
you are more than i need==
drowning in my own abyss==
judging you one==
right after the other==
a hellish so profound==
Revelations passed so suddenly==
expression of limbo i replay==
the revenge==
the revoke==
suffer catting my oxygen==
they illness==
then lifeless==
they identify==
then disgust==
never play the sensitive==
feel my needs==
like the wound full of abscess==
a sore to never go away==
yes like the illness==
then lifeless==
dropped addict==
these shivers down my spine==
identify, escape, abuse of certain==
announcing it even more==
proof that i am found==
out of love==
the mind finally receives==
Revolution with open eyes==
the heart is trapped to proceed==
clever than the open skies==
old sweat glands in my hand==
retiring the mind==
the best of my heart has no stand==
died from your retrieving cries==
advancing to my knowledge==
the darkness that you lend==
DISCLOSURE==
to==
in the depth of your eyes ==
i run before you hypnotize==
oblivion to the Valley of your wits==
refusing to relive the song==
feeling that are gone==
never will it feel right==
i still feel the rotation==
exhale went out your soul==
exiting far from sight==
revoke an end to your light==
a kiss of death to you good night==
a kiss of death to you good night==
By: p.d.
Jun 2, 2010
Jun 2, 2010 at 3:58 AM UTC
Hath never a query been breathed to you in jest?
Put forth to make you ponder what lies beneath
the askers unrest?
Deceit doth your eyes portray through
the bewildered mask you display
Such subterfuge hides not the pulse
exposing shameful beatings
whilst thine own heart, in return, you betray
The worth you imagine when reflecting who you are
Mirror image of dirt maybe less
Crippling your loves capacity
and your fragile esteem to abscess.
Dearest to you are the insults and curses
one gave you with harm as the only intent.
With reverence you hold that stigma
and affront any complement with contempt.
Jan 16, 2011
Jan 16, 2011 at 12:43 AM UTC
Hawk winged devil
Full of tension
About to tear
With tears of hatred
About to listen
With twenty-thousand ears
About to burst
With infinitely single energy
With eternally green sky
With epilogue analog (I had to look up the meanings of both of those words)
Variable similarity connects with my contradicting parallel-like soul-mind fight
Match the material and move!
Search and revive
Heal and derive
From absence of hive
In abscess I dive
Or compound I create
OR COMPOUND I CREATE!
Jan 10, 2014
Jan 10, 2014 at 11:54 AM UTC
You’re left at the back, anxious at sunrise
as day by day we drift through consciousness.
Ring the Bell. These thoughts are your demise
Act profound, fixating us with lies
Invigorate a prompt adress;
your qualms are back, anxious at sunrise
You’re mother’s boy, your father’s eyes
they know first hand, you’re prone to stress:
so ring the bell. Your thoughts: our demise.
Refrain from fear, nor anthropomorphise:
doe’s endear, their bliss is careless.
You’re stuck at the back, anxious as sons rise
and fall or fail to climb. Surprise,
surprise, with fear of death you now obsess,
over the bell. Our words: your demise.
They say you’re fine, you compromise,
it’s in your head, that last abscess.
You’re left to rot; absent at sunrise
they’ve all forgotten. Those thoughts, your demise.
May 29, 2014
May 29, 2014 at 6:24 AM UTC
Prologue... Voyeurs Notes: Two lovers entwined in the blue black room of the ante meridian (a.m.).
Under a cutting ******* moon
he enters you
You took him in with Pavlovian drooling eyes. He took your innocence and you shrieked in dripping compliance:::
Only that sickle overseer in the night sky bared witness
to the end of my pleasant fiction
***Halogen orb
Halcyon days***
Left only with the abscess of the apparition
that was “us”
and a
Phantom pain for the never was
Perhaps she is
somewhere
quieted by enormity of it all
Life in fast forward, a fallow future, a vertical victim of his ***** ****
Predawn...
Coldness without catharsis on a cobblestone street
**she is again spread before him,
he’s already tired of her**, and again that ******* fading crescent
watches:::
she’s wishing for a flashback, a do over,
a dream of sanity before her teardrop salinity (it could’ve been us)
But here I stand eternal
Butchered by your lunar lunacy::: alone
Against the backdrop of a pockmarked sky
Dec 22, 2018
Dec 22, 2018 at 7:02 PM UTC
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
Jan 14, 2019
Jan 14, 2019 at 8:40 PM UTC
Come to me great entangler of speech, until the mouth
is a thicket of word mash, you
who rakes strain out of the day to day visions.
Four nights last week you came in the dream-sweeps
flying at forty-one thousand feet. Encrusting this crimson suitcase of blood production with aurulent Trojan footstep rumbles in the hundreds of thousands.
Are you the new blues guitar, the trill bliss in satirical Dutch painting;
you who wrestles the languages of sleep. To get to keep you we'd **** all mystical beasts, sew treason, and wait naked for the dead things to come.
Remoteness in the time of the lonely.
Where you shed shivers of sharks
In wild dance and wicked tantrum, lilting
Beside the androgyny of days and Time.
You the dashboard Jesus of sin and canter.
No scurrying footsteps to barge the heavy moods of ****** or abscess.
In half breaths you weaponize yourself,
A take of drink and then with the rest of the aves,
Swallowed by the colossus of entanglement,
Taken beneath the blue awning amidst the company of the sea.
Dec 10, 2015
Dec 10, 2015 at 1:54 PM UTC
There's a gap in my window that lets the world in,
a crack that leads to the rest of me that I haven't quite worked out how to widen enough to jump through.
This little gap lets in a breeze that whispers of fancy's I'll never see but can envisage,
tangible to my mind but not my fingers.
I believe that sometimes my soul has shrunk so small it can slip through the crevices that bar my body.
It slithers away and leaves me cold,
too numb to notice its absence,
but I can feel the blood gush from the abscess over my heart.
My soul climbs back in from time to time,
just enough to feel the agony of being reunited with me but snatched from the world.
I think I should wait until it's gone again,
and then seal the crack with the blue tack I use to stick pictures on my wall so the faces won't haunt me.
04.04.18
Apr 14, 2018
Apr 14, 2018 at 5:49 PM UTC
Your mouth
Reminds me of a pus spewing wound
Building poison pressure bursts to the surface
Erupting a hot flood of thick green infection
Splattering over everyone you touch
Like volcanic bile.
Your words
Are an ill smelling fungus
A sick compilation
Of every hateful thought
Infesting your heart
Like a sac of wormy toadstools
Your life
Is a blame game
A who to maim game
Projecting fault
Verbal assault
Destruction the goal
Of your cold blackened soul
Jun 9, 2014
Jun 9, 2014 at 7:31 PM UTC
Words unformed stuck in her throat
Dry as a first communion host
She tried to push them past her lips
They slid back down
In a fevered putrid torrent
All the things she could not say
Trapped inside her mottled mouth
Beneath her swelling tongue
An angry cloud of hornets
Again again again they stung
All the words unspoken
An abscess ripe with pus
Throbbing in her throat
Every breath a battle
An emotional death rattle.
Jun 23, 2014
Jun 23, 2014 at 9:55 PM UTC
dream weaver swinging a meat cleaver
sewing spells with stitches of fever
pitching fast ***** and low blows
to the sweating and eager
set the succubi on the nonbelievers
steal the dams and **** the beavers
heal the toe jam nightmare
with foot cream and elbow grease
press lilies into every open knee joint crease
call the landlord
sign the lease
the sole matron of the shopping mall
sifts flour in a sun dress
the screaming fire alarm goes off
breaking dishes
knocking down sprinklers
wreaking havoc
making a mess
let me jump down your throat
and swim in the abscess
infect your brain with chloroform and soda pop in excess
no manic pixie dream girl
no damsel in distress
a ferris wheel on turbo twirl
a gravitron programmed to make you hurl
your embarrassed lunch
pick me bunches of wild flowers
i'm open to sacrifice
scrape the back of your throat with a screwdriver
dutifully collect jars full of head lice
the meek mice of the holes in the wall
crawl out gleaming sweaty sheen
the expectant floorboards creak out mean greetings
the expectant backs preemptively remove their shirts to receive beatings
students scurry by
feet frantic
late for their meetings
through it all
the crows keep bleating
goddesses nestle in the clouds
and predators eat their young
rodents mumble songs unsung
and in branches where bodies once hung
dangle fruit and flower:
another season, come.
May 14, 2015
May 14, 2015 at 5:30 PM UTC
Satan is a bird at the end of a twig
I picked up from a peach-colored lane just last year.
A dry morn, though the day was April or May
like he knew he would be fanning cherry flames soon.
The men are always in power: God and Satan.
I made a pact that I would be both –
goddess and femme fatale, bite the ears of egg shells.
He broke from one a ghost and had a beautiful voice –
high in the tide of treetops waving goodnight,
opened like an abscess on pores
and gave the terrain a kick. I mothered him,
over time Satan became my library pianist, my kid.
Girls taught him everything there is about
astronomy, little did we know he was a citizen of the
moon and pushed everyone else off the side
or into a yellowing crater. He looked so small.
No one believed his voice could be
so thunderous even when he created storms himself –
including the one that drew me to his feather
glued to moss and maggots in an attractive place,
froze and lone, Satan’s existence is my fate.
Feb 19, 2013
Feb 19, 2013 at 4:54 PM UTC
Abscess blockade burrowed
to the jawbone
dream ruptures
infectious screeches
threats of gangrene
mainlined syringe residue
drawn back-blow back-cross bow-shot across the bow
racing thought
restless night shade swollen eyes
mud caked dispossession
broken promise treatment
crack in
the pavement
things fall apart
lies upon lies upon lies
and
she says
'While I'm at it,
I don't really want to talk about it.
Can't I just use you,
to only tell me nice things? '
Jan 16, 2014
Jan 16, 2014 at 9:54 AM UTC
Simple squamous epithelium
That lines the frothing orifice
Of politicians and wine-soaked braggarts
Cytoplasm
That flows equally
In justice and infectious regurge
Genes
That transplant the ghastly
Pale-light abscess of custom-made drivel
God, Ph.D., you too?
Oct 4, 2022
Oct 4, 2022 at 1:03 PM UTC
Nothing burning,
Just a smoke and a
Small, slowing stream of
Used water from its source,
Done its work.
The could-have-been culprit is satisfied -
Then I had been too sentimental and
Wide-eyed,
Hoping things would finally appear to you,
That they would become obvious from afar
Once the distance between was made,
Once you had walked far enough away,
Seen the blue-grey spirited water bank,
Glittering and tapering against the baffled glade that once
Spoke your name.
I holdfast to these things of repose that have found me since,
And I am gentle in looking back at the place
Where you and I were left,
Unaccounted for and sour,
In the scope of our sorry abscess.
Jul 12, 2013
Jul 12, 2013 at 2:19 PM UTC
so many days
gravity got me
spooning the faux
cold linoleum wood
bent knees
the only thing
to hug
no words exist
in my lightless depths
drowning arctic
undertow
can't even try to fight
gulp mouth inviting
my own death
pouring cement
on icicle feet
layer upon layer
frozen quicksand
and then
I let go
and sink
begging the gods
to end it forever
but they don't
at the end
thread, bare
hitting bottom
ocean cavern floor
...
that's where
I lived for months
after I ate my tongue
despite surface shimmers
I'm just pro @
snatching crystalline
as it passes over
a frozen abscess
Mar 21, 2017
Mar 21, 2017 at 7:56 PM UTC