"anesthetic" poems
Lovesick and you've got the cure.
Got all these symptoms. You know what for.
Don't be afraid of this contagious disease,
Just take my requisition form.
I've made room for you in my atria and ventricle.
You're the capillary to my arteriole and venule.
You're the amniotic fluid to the child in my heart.
I find you even in the interstitial parts.
Treatment like uours is like a centrifugAl force.
So be the **** stasis my heart is longing for.
Some homeostasis is what we need.
We will make compromises to succeed.
Lay me supine and you in prone.
Sensory neurons fire
Exocrine glands make to pressure
Spark endocrine glands to hear you moan.
Without your heart I'd be anemic.
Withiutbyour arms I'd be half a paraplegic.
Your kisses give me air, without them I'm cyatonic.
You're the fibrin in my veins, to my pain an anesthetic.
I'm ready for some long-term care and affection.
Got a chronic condition that needs your attention.
I k now I'm concluded, parts of me sclerosed.
Don't wait post mortem to know that you're the most.
Aug 1, 2014
Aug 1, 2014 at 3:51 PM UTC
I will sit here
forever, me
Just wondering why
the blood in
cracked veins
Turns to ink droplets
and became words
on countless pages
This isn't pain
That was not love
Either way
we are F R E E
as animals
Is this an Ancient
Marmalade Sky
and Champagne Rivers
Where we will
float away to
something louder
Then a prayer
I am sewn back together
with no anesthetic
But my insides tucked up
Gloss and clouds
Our memories are worth
every penny
With colours and textures
we are floating away
Under Marmalade Skies
and
Champagne Rivers
Jun 9, 2014
Jun 9, 2014 at 1:28 PM UTC
There was a girl.
A girl I once knew
who never felt cold.
Never felt cold when
taking a shower in
freezing water.
Never felt cold
when she would stand
at the bus stop in 6
degree weather with barely
anything on. Never felt
the slightest bit of cold
even when she layed down
in the snow for 5 hours.
In fact, she loved the cold.
She embraced it; she loved how
cold the winter was in
Michigan. She loved feeling
the icy wind hit her face and
body when she wasn't wearing
much. She loved the
way it made her hands and face feel
anesthetic . It made her feel alive, refreshed
even, and
that’s all she ever craved for.
But she still never
felt how cold it actually was.
But why?
Why did she love
it that much?
Why couldn't she ever
feel frigid like everyone else?
Why love something,
something you cant really feel?
Because even though she couldn't
feel how shivery cold
it was on the outside,
maybe that’s how her heart
was. Maybe that’s how
she felt on the inside.
Numbing cold.
Feb 16, 2015
Feb 16, 2015 at 6:16 PM UTC
the priest, whose tomato face looked like it might explode under collar tension,
gave the valedictory at the friday night execution
the yellow-toothed, combover'd serial killer buckled in electric chair
kept staring at the door, expecting an ally to crawl in late but not too late
the mother of one of the victims rattled on about
how she didn't care that the killer had an allergy to the anesthetic used
in lethal injection he's going to die either way what's it matter?
buzz of fly crack of rolled program against empty folding chair
(yes, there were programs, and whoever laid them out knew their typography)
buzz of fly raised upward, toward the black, magma-cooled ceiling
audience chin up, pupils circled fly as the priest droned on
about everlasting life like a Paul Simon song from his youth
like a catcher's mitt from his youth like a youth from his youth
the boyfriend of one of the mothers of one of the victims
said he was hungry pancakes sound good, don't they?
I love it when syrup gets on the bacon, you know? love that.
a pudgy guard with bleary eyes and 12 a.m. shadow
rolled his index finger lowered his brow, telling the
priest to wrap it up so the priest wrapped it up
by reading the names of the victims
Tara Barnes, 17, Rachel Lythe, 10, Julie McPherson, 13,
Serenity Strongman, 15, and Mary Beth Williamson, 13
the priest said something about judgement as
the boyfriend of the mother of one of the victims
took another swat at the fly missed
any last words? the priest asked
where's James? the killer asked, he was supposed to be here
did you guys give him the right time?
the guard nodded to a lab coat by a black box
then a hiss then a hum then an inhale
the first jolt of alternating current for
instantaneous brain death
hard to tell if they succeeded in that
for the second jolt came only a moment
later this shock's aim to fatally damage
the internal organs, overstimulate the heart
and the killer's face looked like a horse's leg
then an exhale then a hum then a hiss
and the killer's face looked like the crinkled
skinmemory of a cicada
it was late most of the best restaurants already closed
but we could go to that diner off 63rd, the boyfriend
of the mother
of one of the victims, said
Feb 16, 2013
Feb 16, 2013 at 1:07 PM UTC
Hearts sinking
This pain no longer a threat,
Only certain tragedy.
They say, "Risk it all."
To have your heart torn apart.
Surgery. No Anesthetic.
Mission:
Find the bleeding parts.
Abnormal.
Ice.
No warmth.
You find heat.
Give away pieces.
Turn to stone.
Then repeat.
Aug 20, 2012
Aug 20, 2012 at 2:58 PM UTC
(This verse is painted for my Loving Daughter P Suzanna Christy on her 8th birthday)
It was the day she began to move out,
She’d been in the cradle of her mother’s womb
Some seven years before silently in her dreams,
And her dreams! Who knows? But He knows.
Her mother, yea, yet to be a mother then!
Then in her travail, yet rejoicing in God’s Gift,
With her friend and neighbors close by she was wriggling.
Her father, yea, yet to be a father then!
Then in his journey, anxious, yet praying all the way,
None but the Father in Christ is beside him.
She reaches the eighth milestone of life,
How she hath reached is by His Mercy.
I remember the day of entry into the world,
She made a cry within and it was not heard unto us,
We could not know why she had cried within,
But we know for she had prayed within,
And now we’ve learnt that her first cry would be to Him.
Her mother’s friend took her in his arms,
And showered thousand kisses on her tiny forehead,
And it is he always the God-sent providence unto them.
Her mother rose from her anesthetic sleep,
And her every breath, it’s the fact, pronounced THANKS unto HIM.
She longed for her God’s Gift and took her in her arms of love.
I watched her imprinting kisses on the silky cheeks.
Every one wept and there were tears of joy,
I collected those tears in the deep of my heart.
She hath reached the eighth milestone of life:
She flutters as the dancing star in the sky,
Like the tiny trout in the running brook she plays,
Sweet like the ripe apple ‘midst the orchard,
‘cross the horizons of joy and laughter she traverses,
Dressed in the Blessings from Above,
She looks purple with floating frilled skirt,
She wears the smiles of her mother,
Filled with friendly wishes from her school mates,
She walks amidst the song of her little blooms.
I can’t hold her joy she experiences,
And so her mother shares it with her
And too with her for she hath carried my prayer in her womb.
She grows with the Heavenly Grace,
And does proclaim the Glory of Heaven in her life.
Now she’s a little plant to grow more flowers,
And every flower shall be the message of His Mercy
Dec 20, 2011
Dec 20, 2011 at 11:22 AM UTC
You promised me love,
While you break my heart
at the crack of dawn,
You promise me happiness,
While you inflict a scar in every memory.
I beg , let me be your everlasting light.
While you fill mine with darkness.
I say, please love me in way I love you.
While you take pieces of my soul.
And I cry , cry for the seasons to change
There you are stopping the time.
Rounds and rounds of ticks .
Recycle on unrequited love
Every night at break of dawn.
You promise me heaven ,
While dragging me to the gateway of hell.
You promise me comfort ,
While making me feel empty.
I taunt, let me be your every lasting kiss,
While you fill my lips with hate.
I yell, let me be the one you come home to.
While you run away to her...
And I pray , oh I pray for the pain to swell.
There you are injecting me with anesthetic.
Swelling over and over this unrequited love.
Every crack of dawn.
I fight, so many lies underline in my mind,
While you spoke love into my heart.
I protest, there's no love ,
While you confess to me this what I deserve
I sway I sway I sway for another shot
Drink and drink because of this unrequited love
Every crack of midnight.
I beg , beg, to forget this everlasting pain...
Dec 10, 2016
Dec 10, 2016 at 5:23 AM UTC
An endless waterfall of emptiness
leave her, love her, hurt her, she does not care
she longs to care but she is covered and bundled in a thick quilt that poisons her everything with “nothing”
something is missing, the tears are missing
she knew she would be okay because of the streams that would flow furiously down her cotton felt rosy cheeks
she knew she would be okay because of the tender most voluntary light tears dancing gracefully across the marbled floor that was her face
but now,
she does not know if she will be okay because of the dessert like dryness of her eyes,
and the solitude her cheeks and lips have felt for quite some time now
something is missing, she is missing
she has been looking for what seems like a million years all over her now pitch black universe for herself
she had colors
she had stars, moons, millions of suns and planets within her
now the color black is the mere most perfect description of everything she has become
the battle between deciding what to feel out of all that she felt is over
she feels as an invisible soul that has passed from our physical world feels;
anger, rage because he is truly incapable of touching those who he stands infront of all day, he cannot do anything about the fact that he is invisible and non existent to all those he wishes to be noticed by
she feels anger, rage because she finds herself incapable of touching her emotions
frustration because tears no longer dance across her face
she feels invisible to her reflection in the mirror because she remembers the image of a person
an actually person
who is able to cry when sad and smile when happy
she is no longer able to show any physical emotion so she sees no reflection
a thick black fog invades her physical body and soul crawling through her eye sockets, her mouth, ears ,nostrils, and pours
it invades her psyche with all its blackness and abducts all the stars, moons many suns, and planets converting her inner universe into endless caves made of millions of tunnels that make love with emptiness and darkness
she has become a maze
beautifully numb, impatiently lost, sedated by absence
she is me, and i,
have been kissed by apathy.
paralyzing me and incapacitating me from myself is what this beautiful demon has done to me
she touched my lips and altered my thoughts
persuaded me into the belief that she would protect me
she told me that if i did not feel i would not hurt
at the time that i fell in love with her i was in a state where i would of taken my life just to end all feelings and confusion within me
she offered her anesthetic kiss,
i took it
as she relentlessly took over me i started to realize…
now i fear it be to late
i know the end to this maze will be the gate to my stars, my moons, my many suns, and planets
and i will run for what now seems an eternity
but i will not give up on my universe
j.e
May 7, 2014
May 7, 2014 at 2:31 PM UTC
i sit here and overdose in my imagination for the fifth time today
too poor to **** myself with a pharmaceutical fantasy no pain just sleep
it's a matter of time before i'm found swinging in my basement necrotic windchime
i'm not so much a poet as a sad kid rambling who can only write inebriated
this one time life thing is getting me sick and i just don't..
**** me i thought i was stronger than this yet years with a **** job
no girl and 5 weeks a night of left hand ************ while i choke down
another bottle bottle bottled my emotions in a seven dollar anesthetic
i've been romanticizing a wished for **** addiction at least that would be an
excuse for why i'm a wasted wasting waste of life doomed to insecurity
i can't even remember half the words i learned in school
you're probably sick of my self loathing and every poem i write is
just another narcissistic cry for help because i'm to proud to ball up and cry
don't even bother this time i don't want your reason for why i can't top myself
kick my bucket, burn my farm, pluck out my eyes and puke till i die
i'm ******* done i'm just too tired to try
to all those girls i never kissed - i love you
to all those ******** i never hit - i love you
to that boy that i might have found myself with - i love you
to my best best best friends the few that i have - i love you
i was never comfortable in my skin
maybe i'll be comfortable in my grave
Sep 10, 2013
Sep 10, 2013 at 3:59 PM UTC
Your words cut like scalpels
Through hair skull and scalp
Culling the cunning thoughts
My Foolish heart has bought
But your blade is truth
No anesthetic
Can dull, numb or soothe
Unsympathetic
It removes the lie
Like a tumor
Until my life's
A rumor
Sep 12, 2014
Sep 12, 2014 at 12:28 AM UTC
I line the pills up
white and blue:
almost patriotic.
You don't notice
my back against the wall:
a wild wolf call
for fight or flight.
I always pick flight.
Almost patriotic,
what happened to your American bite?
A helicopter hovers
over bleeding covers
and blonde news anchors
say, "its much worse then it is."
Almost patriotic
Almost pathetic
Almost an anesthetic.
May 8, 2013
May 8, 2013 at 5:41 PM UTC
Open up to me, he says
But inside there is nothing but void
Feel a little, he says
Little does he know
Every word that spills from his mouth
Injects itself into my blood
The anesthetic that numbs my soul
Listen to me, he yells
But all I hear is noise.
They want to fix me
Want to hammer out the perfect girl
To fit into their crumbling little world
-- a doll to beautify their cemetery
their collection of hollowed out bodies.
I may be empty but I’ve already been a token
Too many times.
Let me fix you, they say.
But all they do is break me.
Take more from me.
Let me fix you, they say.
Never once did they ask to heal me.
Try to glue me back together.
I’m already open.
But I was broken into.
Robbed.
Shattered
Hammered.
Invaded.
I’m already open
But you don’t like what you see
I guess it’s not pretty to watch me bleed.
I’m already open.
But you don’t like what you’ve found.
******* away the pain won’t do no good,
So put me back down.
Inject me with your silent poison and
Put
Me
Down.
-lf-
Oct 30, 2013
Oct 30, 2013 at 1:31 AM UTC
The smell of death seeps through the cracks of locked doors where you hide the side of yourself that you never let me see. I keep having search parties for the key but I've finally convinced myself that you buried it along with all the other hearts you've broken. The blood stains on the ceiling are reminders that in some cases the last place I want to go is up, and laying breathless at the bottom of a lake is a better way to drown out the sound of “I love you” seeping through your clenched teeth.
When I was 10 years old I first heard the word ‘anesthesia’ come from the mouth of my best friend whose mother died a year before, and she told me that it meant she was numb to everything. Nothing could make her feel anything which is probably why she danced with death and there were rope burns around her neck as she lay in a casket 3 years later.
It escaped my mouth for the first time yesterday when I saw you walking towards me with a smile on your face and a gun in your hand and the realization hit me before the bullet did; sometimes the side that is hidden from us is the side we’re trying to escape from. But my fear of death subsides every time I stand before you, why else do you think I ever let your mouth meet mine? The consequence is just as dangerous. You’re just as poisonous. There’s no way to escape this.
I find myself standing in the middle of busy streets where cars hit me but I don’t die. I find myself waiting for the train, but never at the station. I find myself in places and I can’t remember how I got there but death always looks me hungrily in the eye and loses its appetite as soon as it gets close enough to take my breath away.
I want to quit breathing, but I don’t. This feeling is so strong yet contradicting. So powerful yet, so nonchalant. It was last night as I lay on a bed with sheets covered in my blood that I came to a conclusion...death is my anesthetic, and you've been giving it to me in doses.
Oct 23, 2014
Oct 23, 2014 at 7:00 PM UTC
Blood, now boils quick, it's intense, he is in fire,
on her every touch, there is a special anesthetic
a poisonous binge, causes tidal waves go berserk
in his stream of blood,tangible effects of arousal results,
body now is a vast field, goosebumps sprout like spotted
magic mushrooms after a night long rain and thunderclaps,
the salacious intent of the scent of woman,wafts,
singing pheromones perfectly rhyme with *** center
of the brain, "Ï am addicted to tarantula's love"
his whisper sounds ominous, tarantula casts her net
Serpentine vines tangle on wild trees,in natural history
museum premises,trees fall down and rise, create leaf beds
dark enclosures where lovers escape the detection of radars,
explore,the unbridled ascent of carnal wishes,as if a permit
is ingrained in the scent of exotic orchids wafting in the wind,
allowing the wild run of instincts, a dam burst, here cobras prowl,
tarantulas, at a quick look are exposed ******* with dark *******
on eight legs the desire stands,waiting for the next ***** lover,
She was watching an insatiable pair of tarantulas in elaborate
mating rituals,they move inside, cracks and burrows,concealed
by the cover of darkness,they come out,to eat the night flowers,
exhaling ****** hunger; their dark, devious fingers, touching, caressing
finding each other's intimate parts has a dark frenzy...
he saw the blue glimmer of a concealed weapon,smeared on by amour,
as they tumble in bed,she flashes her most venomous smile,
like the quick move of the sharp end of a bodkin,
Tarantula's love affair,when it all are over, her lover's end comes near.
Mar 30, 2015
Mar 30, 2015 at 2:48 PM UTC
This is the day I forget the sound of your voice.
For it no longer echoes in my ears, in my fingers,
in my tongue. These endless digits fallen instantaneously
numb like a local anesthetic or winter basement nights
alone in the dark.
This is the day I forget the sound of your voice.
It's melodic tones and overtures, the way it wraps
around words like my hands around your curves.
This is the day I forget the sound of your voice.
And how I fed on it like the word of God.
This is the day I forget the sound of your voice.
Sep 25, 2012
Sep 25, 2012 at 11:22 AM UTC
Before you became a diabetic,
Before the pain and the anesthetic,
We ate,
We smoked,
We slept past noon,
We played until we were out of tune,
We laughed at the cost,
“Go ahead…bill me,
I guess something has to **** me”,
And now…it is,
Imagine that,
But ****
I miss being stupid and fat
© B L Costello 2016
Aug 11, 2016
Aug 11, 2016 at 7:35 PM UTC
Today I extended a hand to fate
To see which door it would pull me through,
And it chose the one I was afraid of.
Today I put the universe to test
Since challenging authority is always best,
And it pulled me along for the ride.
Today I stood on railroad tracks
Because I wondered if I was invincible
And I wasn’t.
Today I sliced myself open
For I’d forgotten the pattern of my soul’s veins
And I remembered.
So I closed my eyes and bit my lip
And jumped right off that breaking ship
And into waves of foamy spray,
Which tended to my bleeding way,
The held me and caressed me so,
And whispered of the things they know
They carried me to sandy banks
And left me dreaming, giving thanks.
I awoke in a pool of scarlet,
feeling the wretched tendrils
of darker, greener enemies
working their way in while I slept.
I awoke in a pool of scarlet,
Knowing what I had to do
And applied antiseptic,
But no anesthetic.
I awoke,
Knowing why fate chose this door,
Knowing where the universe had taken me,
Knowing that though broken, I’d survived,
Knowing what it was to be me.
Knowing not to let the poison in
And not to let the shadows win.
Oct 1, 2012
Oct 1, 2012 at 2:14 AM UTC
All estuaries flow eastbound, and the subterranean rail tracks keep forcing against the estuaries’ grain and dust foundations perpendicularly to them.
How can a sane proposition -- a quantification of syntax execution (those squirming cuticles through bonds of regression)— an excessive reflection, reflexive inspection,
Prove its sanity through continued suggestion?
Deductive insurrections stirred in memory,
A rumble, causing sediments to crumble,
Wineglasses balanced atop countertops tumble.
Spilling contents upon the grained wooden, elitists' floors.
"Anesthetic, onsetting tuberculosis in breath patterns,
Gavels ringing on rigged tolling tongs in caverns,
Dark tolerances to Copernican astronomy in shadows,
And the handle grinds as boxcar wheels' flints and steels catch and spark in addled locks," I mumbled from a half-nap.
It was surgery, the smooth procedures on the moving trains,
The gains and plectrums scraped against the brains' spider veins,
To reorganize the sane, to bridge the broken definitions changed,
To prevent arguments' bone structure from fractures and sprains.
"Use gavels against the scalpels, sculpt with their judgment," a corona dream's habitant corrugated.
He pounded the gavel's end against the knife to chisel at the pituitary gland pulsing in his subject,
And her arms flailed like a horse's legs in heat-induced convulsion.
I thought it was done.
The Canson Merue train screamed in the night under earth to Yellowknife to meet Canadian soil as the Heavy Breather pounded his gavel.
Oct 9, 2014
Oct 9, 2014 at 5:06 PM UTC
I’m an addict
and
it’s all your fault.
There’s
a comfort
that your skin carries
it’s...
overwhelming.
It’s an aphrodisiac, it’s an anesthetic.
I’m addicted to your touch
I’m intoxicated by your embrace
The side effects?
I feel a shuddering in my bones,
my every muscle relaxing,
almost collapsing.
My breath slows to a light drag,
my thoughts become just as soft as your lovely skin.
My every worry is drawn away,
anxiety flows out of my veins.
This is symbiosis;
I release my emotional toxins
and you bestow upon me this ethereal comfort.
Laying between your legs,
my head caressed by your thighs,
my head above your ***
and my arms wrapped about your gorgeous form,
I get my fix.
I’m an addict, my dear,
just
please don’t send me away.
Dec 8, 2014
Dec 8, 2014 at 7:42 PM UTC
Threatened, repressed Inner
Backed into a jagged-glass corner by Outer
As
Hatred is suspended within Inner, on piano wire
stretched too-tight.
Outer is Legion, a communist social-anesthetic
Dominating, binding, and herding Inner
Into that small little corner
The one that forces a Balance to sway
One way
Or another
A torrent, Black
A river, Red
and Inner stands over Outer
No longer Repressed
Hatred
(Over)
Love
Truth
(Over)
Lies
Life
(Over)
All
Jul 20, 2012
Jul 20, 2012 at 10:43 PM UTC
My idol walks. Behold her beauty
born of Nicaraguan night
summoning poetic duty:
tremors of volcanic light!
Clouds of ash and lava dropping:
I come back… I going shopping.
Sounding her primeval waters
crater lakes, her green lagoons,
fabulous—this diverse daughter’s
humid palms and storm-tossed moons;
ascending up her jungle mount:
Transfer dinero to my account!
Stone-faced idol, pre-conquista;
rice with beans or sacred maize
labyrinthine Latin vista,
cumbias and sacred lays.
Hurricanes and quaking earth:
****** what’s your dollar worth?*
She who left her quaint dysfunction
reeking of colonial woes
for the multi-culti junction,
holy in her porno-pose;
scowling like exploited nations:
How you say… congratulations!
Gushing like a flow of lava
running down her placid gaze,
ripened flesh; the scent of guava,
passion-fruit in paraphrase…
Monkeys howling, torrents pouring:
Poetry to me is boring…
Rubén Darío’s wonderland:
Flor de Caña the anesthetic.
Marx’s tropic reprimand:
Sandinismo as emetic.
Verses don’t impress this lass:
Please—the car need fill with gas.
Lost in hurricanes of thought,
pounding the roof, God pours, it rains.
What was it, really, that I sought
In her land where the poetry reigns ?
It’s love. At times I long to shoot her:
Why you waste time on that computer?
Apr 20, 2016
Apr 20, 2016 at 3:50 PM UTC
Such exquisite anesthetic the
notes that decree the seconds
Shall never more be known,
their remembrence like a flickering,
gentle soothing, yearning that
matches pleasure for sorrow
in such patient terms that each
moment stands, breathes and
steps slowly without a glance
t'ward another time when
unknown tears and smiles
shall crown more glimpses
of the relentless serenade
Apr 3, 2010
Apr 3, 2010 at 2:14 PM UTC
Anodyne eye's
Narcotic lip's;
Analgesic kisses
Tranquilizer hip's.
Soporific eyebrow's
Lashes Heavensent;
Skin anesthetic,
Relieving me of
Death. Morphine
Amour', ***** bliss,
Painkiller door's; to
Thine soul I feedeth.
Thy voice a sedative,
Thine hair calmative,
As thy nose maketh
Me warm when I'm cold,
As an expensive wine, or
neuroleptic. I'm higher then
The universe, inside of thy
psyche; it's cozy there, none
Place to compare, I'm at home,
Simply: wherein all is right.
©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Earl Jane Nagley (Filipino rose) dedication
Nov 29, 2015
Nov 29, 2015 at 2:46 AM UTC
My eyes close
I'm holding onto my memories and hatred.
my slumber
all alone in my head...
so silent.
I can't explain the way my tears run blood along my veins
if I let go of my pain
I'll cease to be, give into the plague...
war is coming,
I can hear it in my heart
blood will flow along the grounds of the innocent,
I can't deceive the darkness anymore...
I'm letting go, I'm losing control of myself...
you beat me down, so low and now I'm crying my soul
I'm losing control.
you led me to a place where I can't feel my face...
death is just an anesthetic for what's to come
a body left behind with no face
feeling numb, all alone I cry here
fading into nothing
all alone I lie here
dying...
...losing myself...
Mar 4, 2014
Mar 4, 2014 at 1:41 AM UTC
ingredients:
- a piece of chocolate,
- a shooting star,
- unbridled passion,
- unbroken hearts,
- undying love,
- hopeful ideals,
- eternity,
if this is real.
crush into a fine powder,
encase in a dissolving capsule.
take one at the onset of meaninglessness.
the heart aches,
the pain erodes.
the joy remains,
the warmth turns cold.
and then you discover
that what you thought was a panacea
was only an anesthetic.
Dec 22, 2012
Dec 22, 2012 at 10:11 AM UTC