"acetone" poems
I know a guy,
he is a friend.
Whom the cops often have to,
apprehend.
He used to do
some crazy ****
But now he doesn't do most of it.
I know you are thinking,
who is this man.
He is a friend who drives a van.
Although not to pick up kids with treats,
he uses his ride to satisfy his needs.
Which includes dolphin collecting,
live or dead,
he's always selecting.
Vaping real hard
every single day,
is how he spends,
his hard worked pay.
His job is selling,
illegal pelts
of rare albino beavers.
He sets up traps
and waits in the bushes
with an over sized cleaver.
Stalking and waiting for the perfect catch,
he watches the ****** closely.
And right as it comes into reach,
he slits the baby's throat boldly. (baby ****** not a real baby.)
My friend makes his way to the flee market,
where he sells the pelts.
He greets his customers happily,
as the beavers hang from his belt.
Blood on his hands and pride in his eyes,
he knows he's got a great prize.
The money rolls in,
and he know it is true,
that night he will party
until his lungs are blue,
(due to the fat rips he'll be vaping)
On the weekends when he's not working,
he hops into his van,
and drives to the border,
to make sure no illegals are lurking.
Loving his country with deep passion,
my friend protects us,
with the guns he has stashed in. (his van.)
After his duty is fulfilled,
he spends the rest of his time,
all alone,
drinking gallons
of acetone.
Then in the big city
he streaks for hours,
with bags of broken glass,
that he likes to devour.
I totally agree,
my friend is insane,
and on his family,
his acts cause great pain.
Although,
he treats his slaves
with a lot of respect,
and he gives porridge to the
needy and other rejects.
He's better than me,
because I like to suffocate,
small injured birds.
And barge into restaurants,
to steal cheese curds.
But my friend is the best,
friend he can be,
as I described in this poem,
that you can see.
Unless you are blind or stupid,
or don't have anyone to read you this,
just know that my friend,
has your children in his shed,
and they'll sadly be missed.
Apr 23, 2016
Apr 23, 2016 at 4:23 PM UTC
Our houses, spitting-distance close
Feet propped on railing
cold beer with fresh lime
watching robins flung in flocks
to the failing of August
Too close-- Really?
John, on his cell
is fu_king the world again
from his garage
Why not-- squeeze in pool or a dog
Lawn mowers and **** whips tune in to whine
late Friday afternoon 'bout dinner time
Clinking silver, scrapes of plates
Running water for suds
through open windows to the thunk of pots
Doors bang behind on pathway to garbage
or joint in the woods
wafting over all
wordless squeals of delight from autistic child
Meanwhile, the odor of nail polish removes
all doubts of--
--Gawd!
lodging low and toxic
as the sun dissolves orange
in its acetone setting
Kids playing Man Hunt as darkness falls
Leaping hedges, slamming gates
No yards can contain these kinetics
restless legs, furtive minds
Muttering wind chimes
from four different porches
above the drone of highway
a half mile yawns
Pieces of talk
flipping the crickets
over--
Why or who or at what time?
Other-worldly glow from The Mall
dims stars
outlines mountains
brightens the horizon behind
Mosquitoes coming in for a landing
Sep 2, 2016
Sep 2, 2016 at 5:20 PM UTC
you call me a coward
for confessing my heart
through a piece of paper
rather than with my lips
perhaps because
ink dries much faster
than these tears do
acetone can disguise the truth
at the tip of my ballpoint pen
and paper may be shredded
for these feelings to not exist
Apr 6, 2021
Apr 6, 2021 at 8:14 AM UTC
Ripped ribbons scattered aimlessly,
with fractured cups, dirt and dust
pink pearly acetone just won't be enough
to erase the evidence of you.
With forced confessions,
spilled out all past indiscretions,
and cursed vindications and blood
splattered like a musty revenge.
Blank canvases,
Hand print caresses that show
Polaroid prints all faded and jaded
like the illusion of us.
It was desperate fingers
that clung to the railings
but the force of gravity meant I had to let go.
Hope had revived me
Like water to my parched throat
my oasis is the desert
All my horrid words were revoked.
Yet nothing will ever be enough
to surgically remove
our open bleeding wounds.
I must tend to the injured,
Leave alone the wielder
Knife still in hand
How did it come to this?
I missed your voice
so much it made me cry
yet after I heard
it made everything worse
Mourning a loss that was not mine
but yours.
Grieving hurts.
I still love you
but it burns
burns
until I have to take my hand off
the all consuming flame.
My teardrops cannot pay the price,
or eradicate the past in peoples minds
Will I forever be beholden to this guilt that now defines me?
Too many skin graphs to hide the scarred tissue underneath.
All paths lead me back to here.
I'm helpless to watch your ghost
Linger,you still linger.
Dec 9, 2013
Dec 9, 2013 at 7:58 PM UTC
the mange of our fuzzy logic is squandered on the imbecile.
and genius is the gene splice of twelve comedies.
a rogue moon in a hooligan.
it jumps the fence and can't jump back. lacking the tool
that undoes the beauty of the obvious.
that quaintly dismisses the Oh ! My ! God !
we cringe in the ether of our ignorance, spooning the villain.
the Mind is the Common Sense Killer....
it dives and triumphs in the acetone conundrum
of our proximity to dissipation.
the bold features of our doldrums
are the perfect ugly perfection
of our flaws.
our love is the rigid agenda of a massacre.
we the people, are the juvenile, sprained wrist of a boggart !
a Fae dreary.
we have our business in the withers of dead horses.
we are well versed
in the tundra tongue of our flat humor.
we assume the rumors are true.
and the tyranny that freed you
is the misery you
love with
and your beautiful
doom
kissing
a
mirror...
a Thing.
Apr 5, 2013
Apr 5, 2013 at 11:45 PM UTC
I am a silent monstrosity in the heavy and deep belly of the earth
I sit, carving my teeth out with
Nail clippers, chiseling bone like soap
I melt through my tongue with acetone
Like wax
Like wax, I am, like wax
Still and dripping, falling faces and hiding places in the darkest parts of museum floorboards
May 24, 2016
May 24, 2016 at 11:54 PM UTC
It’s a daughter’s prison
A school run by the rainbow nun
Without recess
Without recess
Inhaling acetone
From toes of pearls I’ve come undone
Without that high
Without that high
Be gentle to the stranger
For he too fights a battle
Someone said that
Someone said that
Existing to amuse them
They hand you exit signs
Muddled masses
Muddled masses
Here’s a ******* and a pen
And breathing holes
So take advantage
Take advantage
The stale egg floats and it
Boosts her confidence
What a plan
What a plan
Sep 5, 2012
Sep 5, 2012 at 12:28 AM UTC
*Flamboyant darkness,
Frameless frames.
Acetone visions,
Two tone transitions.
A night drenched in radioactive dreams,
Through slowing chemical split streams.
A million visions downstream,
Flowing midstream into mainstream,
Escalating the extremes off-screen,
Whirling into aquamarine.
Remorseless eternity,
A beautiful insanity,
Buried in tranquility.
For my heart is filled with celestial vengeance,
Her cauterized love stains,
Etched in me with her spectral prophets.
Reveries from her past,
Fragments built to last.
Sizzling me into a fragile sculpture
And echoes resonating & void the rupture.
- 02:59AM*
Feb 25, 2017
Feb 25, 2017 at 4:33 PM UTC
Thinking there was nowhere left to go
With tears streaming down her sickly pale cheeks
The torn threads she will not sew
While much needed help she refuses to seek
She plucked each pedal with frigid fingers
Ingested the sweet scent with a nose much too pink
Yet the smell of unforgiving acetone still lingers
Further into loneliness she begins sink
As if she were being lured by an anchor
Down to the bottom for eternity
Now numb, the heavens will take her
And return her endangered sanity
Dec 17, 2013
Dec 17, 2013 at 4:41 AM UTC
I dipped my skin in acetone to render it untrue
The look I have achieved - a simple shade of black & blue
I wonder if the people who can see it are surprised
But reckon there is nothing that will shock their states of mind
I haven't been exposed enough to feel them looking in
To ask them any questions I could even dare to spin
So if you want to look at all the flesh I've ever worn
I ask you to be gentle like you've never been before
I cannot bear the judgement of the people who are here
Who've come to make a mockery of all that I call dear
And yet I fail to move because I've paralyzed my bones
I guess I'll have to stand until I catch the final stones
May 16, 2014
May 16, 2014 at 10:33 AM UTC
There is pretty
bubbling
a faulty science experiment
on the verge of the most compliant shade of peach
blanketing itself even beneath the dirt
of my fingernails.
Daddy can you open this?
Because spoonful’s of
Mommy can’t
Never sat well
on the tip of your tongue
nor the bottom of your stomach.
The click
Resonating in my ears like a clatter
of spinning off the head
Of a bottle of red polish
Black clouds of acetone
and nights worth drowning
in salty tear-duct rain
spill over your fingers flawlessly
the way you wish pretty would
on every square inch
of your not-pretty-enough.
But pretty is all sealed up
In the same transparent plastic wrap
That clutches each brain stem
The way grubby clawed tentacle-men
grab your ***
choke every dose of ill-met
red lipstick mirror encounters
from you
and every you
ten-years in the making.
You look so pretty
on the outside
but no one wants to see
your landmines
zip modesty up to your neck
every morning
before you leave your apartment
to enter a circus
the confines of impending death
each man and each billboard
equally a lion
but please
for the love
of your ugly-fucking-face
ugly-fucking-face
ugly-fucking-face
be pretty
hold white teeth to your skull
and your skull to a fragile pair
of rose-meadow-shoulders
remember to ignore the thorns
relentlessly.
Pretty is easy
as a puncture wound.
Pretty is the only green light
In one thousand miles.
Don’t be a girl—
You’ll be okay.
May 23, 2016
May 23, 2016 at 7:01 PM UTC
Acetone
It wouldn't take
a simple overnight
to have enough of him, now;
You miss him,
isn't that right,
as you tie your shoe laces
and clench your jaw tight.
How long is soon?
The waiting party's over,
your resistance, a deflated balloon.
You're running out of air, silly girl,
too attached with your care.
You're a switch and he flips you
from nothing to everything,
and you're weaponless.
So, do yourself a favour,
and stop counting all the seconds
you've waited for him,
stop wasting your 11:11,
or else when the clock
finally breaks down,
the time might just **** you.
Feb 19, 2017
Feb 19, 2017 at 10:38 AM UTC
Acetone
I'm sorry I didn't
quite know what to say
when we were sitting in
the backseat
and your mind was driving you
a million miles away,
I'm sorry he broke your heart,
how dare he take your smile apart?
I know you're coated in pain,
so I'll ask it to
slowdance with my name:
Just tell me where it hurts
and I'll bandage your wounds
with these words,
I'll bury all your rage in my hearse
where my bones will
one day decay.
And I pray no one else will ever
rip you apart
because I love you and
watching you hurt
is the hardest part.
- Crimsyy
A/N: Oddly timed updates but that's because school has began (: Please vote and comment what you think of this poem or any constructive opinions...thankyou for reading!♡
Feb 5, 2017
Feb 5, 2017 at 7:41 AM UTC
Some children wondered why the grass is green
or the sky blue
Well, I wondered why your touch was made of ice
I learned of gravity and the f word
and decided
your presence felt like ******* free fall
You say you've changed
I know you have
but your kindness
still turns sour in my mouth
I want to love you
but how can I?
When I accidentally wiped your poison kisses
with the same sleeve I wore my heart on
May 13, 2017
May 13, 2017 at 2:03 PM UTC
The dragons of Eden
Are forking their tongues
Along the silver edge of acetone rain,
Foreclosing yesterday’s shop-fronts
In favour of a clean white page.
They smoke in tailored suits,
Blackening their lungs
And toasting freedom with afternoon champagne.
They took man to the moon, they say,
And gave light to the modern age.
They tweak offshore accounts
With battery farms
Of the hardly living, and hardly human.
Forfeiting progress for profit,
They scandalise the streets in debt.
The dragons of Eden
Are flexing their arms,
They’re setting their minds from union, to fusion.
They’re alighting our memories,
But it is our choice to forget.
May 7, 2014
May 7, 2014 at 8:25 PM UTC
Dreamt
I drank too much coffee,
I'm talking, way to much coffee,
Kind of like drinking too much gasoline,
I am currently on fire.
My pulse,
Scary repetitons
My heart,
Spinning andromeda like.
My legs,
Tired like mile walks in wet sand
My eyes,
Closed shut like too much of whatever you like
My fingers,
wet from the acetone
But it's not so, because there is NO acetone.
Just this lingering smell of manufactured chaos.
Of course you figure I like the smell.
That its a blooming poppy
Pheromones and such.
It is, and
I do.
Feb 24, 2013
Feb 24, 2013 at 8:54 PM UTC
A slow ritual of praying at her bare feet had begun on the occasion of the first time he saw her apply chapstick —
the linoleum floor wiped with acetone, her cucumber skin, sacred red, bleach white and oiled slick.
He found that it suited him to be that close to her black toe nail polish, his eyelashes lying perfectly on the glossy finish
and even as he kissed the paleness of her soft marbled skin, all he saw was black as his eyes fell shut with hers.
They dreamt of perfect oceans and places inside the piña colada glasses where nasty secrets didn’t seem all that bad.
~ fin ~
– Martha Grace Hsieh and Daniel J. Flore III
Apr 2, 2016
Apr 2, 2016 at 8:04 AM UTC
I saw a bottle of acetone.
Thought id give a squeeze.
the toxic nectar was on my hand
and now my hand is white.
Apr 22, 2014
Apr 22, 2014 at 12:56 PM UTC
Acetone
You're my hopeful undertone
and that is where
all this love is
vulnerable like acetone,
because if one day
this all ends,
where will hope go?
I must place my hope
in the stars,
because even if all else crumbles,
they will still be there,
shining, burning,
reminding me dead
things in your heart
get lighter the more it gets dark,
reminding me that a star lit sky
is capable of fixing
a person's broken parts.
Jan 10, 2017
Jan 10, 2017 at 9:31 AM UTC
The answers are Cicadas,
My compass tells me not why
This has to be the way --
But it is the way we go.
All this time we've been a
Beautiful painting
And this feels like the acetone.
Aug 3, 2015
Aug 3, 2015 at 2:48 AM UTC
Let the flowers crown your crown
with life, leeway, and lust
Let the blossoms crowd your crowd
in your mind, marked and mine
Let the starlight head your head
from dye, disaster, and divinity
Let the acetone guard your heart
because when it comes to breaking patterns
rhymes
and constancy
you seem to be
holy
Jun 29, 2016
Jun 29, 2016 at 12:56 PM UTC
rip all my hairs out hoping they access a brain cell to help me wipe my memory like a shaun white, snow tidal wipeout
strand by strand hoping to find a destresser to pull the plug of my brain's photobooks
you catalyze my grief and a cobweb nostalgia
silk an admired commodity yet **** out by a creature who has it handed to it at aggregated birth
stuck in this mess
but i have my fist clenched around a web which is as adhesive as a 48 hour hardened glue
glued to you but i'm acetone fused and it's only a serum's distance to an isle of distant cries , haunting melodies of f# major vocal hymns and
a sand filled paradise where wild life flies and quick sand awaits to offer a gorgeous, satin, embodiment of warmth.
yours deceivingly..
that good old horrendous feeling
Jul 21, 2020
Jul 21, 2020 at 2:54 AM UTC
Acetone
I spend a countless amount of time
daydreaming, picturing, imagining
small moments that could have
the ability to fill my heart
with such happiness,
people would inquire if I were a firework.
My mind carves my face, relaxed against your neck,
the ultimate safe place for me to be
when I can't run from the weight
of achievements still waiting to be accomplished.
My mind carves you, holding me,
our movements synchronizing,
we're anti-socializing,
enveloped in our world where no one, no future, could touch us or break us apart.
We're dancing to the lack of melody,
focused on feeling the beat of our hearts...
But that's just silly, just a fantasy
because I don't suppose the world
could stop spinning for just enough time to let us figure it all out.
Will the distance be insufferable?
Will this eroding earth leave our hearts vulnerable?
Jan 6, 2017
Jan 6, 2017 at 2:43 AM UTC