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"anesthetized" poems
Kindness glides about my house. Dame Kindness, she is so nice! The blue and red jewels of her rings smoke In the windows, the mirrors Are filling with smiles. What is so real as the cry of a child? A rabbit's cry may be wilder But it has no soul. Sugar can cure everything, so Kindness says. Sugar is a necessary fluid, Its crystals a little poultice. O kindness, kindness Sweetly picking up pieces! My Japanese silks, desperate butterflies, May be pinned any minute, anesthetized. And here you come, with a cup of tea Wreathed in steam. The blood jet is poetry, There is no stopping it. You hand me two children, two roses.
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Kindness
**Unprecedented poetry,    newfangled conception in       idiosyncratic transparency perceived by the hierarchy     to be the garb of peons, thine command accepts nothing  less than the likes of sonnets    penned deliberately archaic         in Old English tradition, figurative language   of the huddled masses       is strictly forbidden,   contradicted,      ostracized,         anesthetized            and possible grounds                for poetic eradication**
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Jun 12, 2015
Jun 12, 2015 at 8:06 AM UTC
Poetic eradication
***Creatively enticing,    profoundly sensual   boundlessly experienced, cryptically presumptive inordinately exclusive    effusively lavished, anesthetized or blatant allusive beyond ethereal, metaphorically inferred criminal insanity disquiet midst agitation, peaceably surrendered illustriously polished or indubitably raw     fruitful to a fault - - in reciprocity's glory be    quenches thirst,      satiates a hunger flourished midst ink's designed grandeur, poetry never fails to thrive,    tripping the light fantastic       in its exuberant offering*** Seize the power
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Jun 16, 2015
Jun 16, 2015 at 7:22 AM UTC
Inordinately Exclusive
Rather I did, once. No longer. We were magnetic, tectonic. Constantly and consistently converging. Unfolding. Seamlessly (it would seem) arranged on Memory's golden stage. But today, tomorrow, Where moves are flimsy and unsure Lines drop from lips in silence, Unraveling like gauze, As we both wait for alarums that cannot sound. I feel anesthetized, don't I? I— And the curtain will be merciful. A breath of disdain perhaps, disastrous. Your touch is autumn. I eclipse the sun, suffocate you from it. Take your warmth. Leave you colder than Ophelia And bloodier than Brutus. My inadequacy was once your balm, A catechism to ensure another world That we both know isn't sound. The very least you can do is become like Icarus Who was beautiful in his fall And silent at his end.
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Feb 23, 2010
Feb 23, 2010 at 6:21 PM UTC
The Allusion
Hipnotized Suffering,smashing,sneaking Kept all alone in the dark Loosing power without noticing Pain, Begging,pleasing,praying To stop torturing Falling to pieces ****** Smooth,sweet crime Adorable feeling Cold serial killer Giving up for destiny Blood took away his mind He couldn't stop This is new kind of ****** "Blood addiction" Going nowhere but hell The voice of thunder hearing it rumble Remaining,lasting,enduring Immortal Undying thoughts Bringing death to life Feel the earth moving Like a earthquake Didn't want to kill'em Irresistible Anesthetized Under the soul of ghosts Upheaval of a mad man Let's play a game ? Who **** the other first ? Residual Calling hell Depressed , timeless Percipient the lies Wrotten, spoken Buried with her owner Secrets stayed secrets Unknown and untold. Forgotten memories Neurogical Died Between past and present
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Nov 30, 2013
Nov 30, 2013 at 7:10 AM UTC
Hipnotized
Today I am heavily Medicated Isolation Is tantamount To happiness
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Feb 15, 2014
Feb 15, 2014 at 6:41 PM UTC
Anesthetized
I'm beginning to wonder if the sensation in my fingers will ever return. maybe its like writers block. perhaps only temporary... but some people can have writers block for years, maybe even a lifetime. Bilateral broken wrists. What the **** does that mean? Day 1: I woke up in the hospital, my only concern was my precious forty dollar jeans. "Aaliyah your back is broken." Day 3: Post surgery, heavily anesthetized "Mom I want to be on American Idol." *starts to sing in the recovery room" Day 12: I woke up and couldn't feel my right arm Oh right they numbed my radial nerve! It only lasts a few hours the said Day 13: My arm was still numb. Lets, not fail to  mention that I also have my t12 removed and replace somewhere in the middle of all this. I have several fractures in my lumbar. Day 14: I finally went home. Four weeks later. I cant feel my fingers.
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Jun 24, 2015
Jun 24, 2015 at 7:41 PM UTC
Don't fall from zip lines.
I often forget how to write.             Not because I am happy,                         and, as they say, happiness writes white.             Nor for any lack of sadness,                         for, as I see, sadness is a bottomless ink well.             But for any wild and outrageous feeling,                         any like spirit who possesses my hand to start --                                     with awesome, judging faces sliding on the ceiling,                                                 icons of the mother and god-child                                                             dripping down eternal blue and martyr red,                                                                         like arms hanging, waking, pinning!                                                                                     "Woman, behold your son!"                                                                                               Behold me, my THC and psilo-sin life,                                                                                               an endlessly whirling maelstrom of emotion!                                                             flanked by monstrous, winged choirs of Motown                                                                         slinging fiery spears, gold rays penetrating!                                                                                     "Oh, oh, God!" The Ecstasy of St. Philip!                                                                                               Visions of horse-hung hosts and celestial orbs,                                                                                               Heaven's dynamo, an **** of screws and cogs!                         -- are hid. I too watched the best minds of my generation,             anesthetized by sanity in a bottle                         (id est: pills, pills, pills, pills, pills);             mesmerized by patterns of flashing lights                         of digital desperation crying, "affirm me, friend me!" -;             drowned in an endless sea under a twilight of information                         or else cats, cats, cats, cats, cats;             and ever afeard of mortal judgment.                        “Big boys don’t cry” (so poets do in breathy meter). A generation asleep            - and though in hopeful dream -                       We are placid.                       We work obedient.                       We speak soft.                                  Because the whole world is medicated now.                                  Because the whole world is fixed. And I wonder if there is a Spirit.            I think, if there is,                       We have drugged her.                       We have ravished her.                       We have wasted her.                                  And the whole world is silent now.                                  And the whole world is fixed.
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Sep 28, 2012
Sep 28, 2012 at 11:51 AM UTC
I often forget how to write
I often forget how to write.             Not because I am happy,                         and, as they say, happiness writes white.             Nor for any lack of sadness,                         for, as I see, sadness is a bottomless ink well.             But for any wild and outrageous feeling,                         any like spirit who possesses my hand to start --                                     with awesome, judging faces sliding on the ceiling,                                                 icons of the mother and god-child                                                             dripping down eternal blue and martyr red,                                                                         like arms hanging, waking, pinning!                                                                                     "Woman, behold your son!"                                                                                               Behold me, my THC and psilo-sin life,                                                                                               an endlessly whirling maelstrom of emotion!                                                             flanked by monstrous, winged choirs of Motown                                                                         slinging fiery spears, gold rays penetrating!                                                                                     "Oh, oh, God!" The Ecstasy of St. Philip!                                                                                               Visions of horse-hung hosts and celestial orbs,                                                                                               Heaven's dynamo, an **** of screws and cogs!                         -- are hid. I too watched the best minds of my generation,             anesthetized by sanity in a bottle                         (id est: pills, pills, pills, pills, pills);             mesmerized by patterns of flashing lights                         of digital desperation crying, "affirm me, friend me!" -;             drowned in an endless sea under a twilight of information                         or else cats, cats, cats, cats, cats;             and ever afeard of mortal judgment.                        “Big boys don’t cry” (so poets do in breathy meter). A generation asleep            - and though in hopeful dream -                       We are placid.                       We work obedient.                       We speak soft.                                  Because the whole world is medicated now.                                  Because the whole world is fixed. And I wonder if there is a Spirit.            I think, if there is,                       We have drugged her.                       We have ravished her.                       We have wasted her.                                  And the whole world is silent now.                                  And the whole world is fixed.
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-Open -To a man on the street; as he stands no shoes on his feet and his heart on his sleeve -Call'em Andy -Now he sees the smiles on their faces and mouths speaking phrases -But he's frozen -Anesthetized mind, body, and thought but the soul can never be caught -On the contrary -Unable to move or analyze; trapped in his mind but his eye works just fine -Like Horus -Cuz is only after the one, two, and three that the fifth can be freed -Fourth -"The worlds in chaos, the worlds on fire. The world will pay for its burning desire." -Close
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Sep 1, 2014
Sep 1, 2014 at 8:33 PM UTC
Land of The Blind
Quivering, shivering Cold as ice. Numb, unfeeling anesthetized. Unloved, uncared solitary.
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Sep 20, 2012
Sep 20, 2012 at 12:06 PM UTC
Solitary
From where they stood She was a juvenile who needed detention From where I stand, I see a lost child seeking attention From what they heard, Her words were harsh and threatening From what I hear, She didn’t mean for her words to harm, it was a clear case of misunderstanding From where they looked, They saw a girl who was overweight and wasn’t easy on the eye From where I look, I see beyond her flaws, a loving lady whose deepest feelings have been anesthetized with lies They said to her, You are a waste of space, you voice is too husky and you lack technique I wish I could say to her, No one else can give the world what you have to offer, your voice is different and your style is unique Now she feels she doesn’t have anything to live for, They had assassinated her mentally and she was going to help them physically She had carefully planned how she would execute her suicide She was headed for doom ‘cause her fate she let them decide Helplessly I watch from outside. Locked out and powerless to put a stop to this I watched her put the rope around her neck as I screamed and implored her not to. If only she could hear me, she might have had a chance to see through my eyes that life was hers to live and enjoy, that she had every right to be happy, that she could dare to be different and it was okay for her to dream big dreams even if they never materialized -r3d-
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Sep 14, 2012
Sep 14, 2012 at 8:16 AM UTC
Perspectives
i am holding on too tightly let me fall. let me let go, let me feel let me hurt i want that ache again love ****** im a slave to heartbreak, i wanna seek out those kisses that leave my lips burning want that fire reignited deep in my chest again there's just a shell now built up like a cage protect me from harm, so i thought, but no it's not letting anything out it's not letting anything in and im done im done with that i need to feel again i need to be alive again my heart needs to beat again. love ****** slave to comfort, too afraid of passion, of losing control so here i am, heart beats in a cage, needles in my arms, anesthetized, clinging on too tight to what my life was let me fall into the unknown now before i push myself off this ledge it's been no fun at all let me feel let me fall
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May 6, 2014
May 6, 2014 at 12:55 AM UTC
******
i am roused by paltry gasps in the furrow of my consternation-- dizzying, still, is the puzzling weight of vacuity, my shapeless existence where the wind has blown the weakness from your heart and you've settled like ceiling-fan dust; invisible, i asphyxiate in sultry bated breaths like the acrid smoke that seems to leave your lips so romantically, so gleefully anesthetized in our secret place where we pollinate the emptiness, legs sticky with desire and rapt with a fleeting symbiosis. we awaken in ambiguity, the taste in my mouth is your yesterday's heaving tongue. little lamb, sad-eyed baby, thrush with too much touch, always leaving in that heavy-eyed hurry. your sweater brushes against my face, i smell the paint that's stained a cold and ringed finger. my senses are frenzied and willfully discordant until you open the front door and dissolve away-- dissipate into the realness of the day. in my vapidity, i wait. i wait.
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Oct 10, 2013
Oct 10, 2013 at 4:09 AM UTC
the girl made of stars, fearing vapidity pt. 2
Fear is a constant friend for me in this old town, It numbs, yet excites in the men's old tin drums. Everything else runs away and hides in the imminent   twilight. It keeps us old folk happy, and us young folk safe, even if I'm anesthetized in street dances. The love of your life is in that next building, honey, looking over his footprints for the future.   And if he's not it, live with it. Keep Him happy, so that you're safe.   Never stop fearing... Love was never in the cards for any of us; why would it happen for me? I wasn't any more than us. A distant longing quenches a soul with doubts for only so long though ...making the white hum and breed black.   A lone sound amongst the silence with its soul thirsts for what has been hidden.   There's no sign of true life without something more, bigger than you and us.   How can there be, when true loss is unpredictable, our founders said.   It has already been spoken in a prophecy...         Perhaps, for me it is different, what then? Do you pity me?   them? I do. But there's something wrong with the little party I didn't plan, yet didn't cancel. There were people overseas, beside you and me that have died for what   I have been avoiding. Why?     Perhaps my own parade needs a little rain,     or a blazing hellfire to make way for the reality? The transfiguration I've been dreaming for, has watched me, and cried for me while I watched the town parade, riding on my dad's shoulders. But we have been anointed by the bravery and hope I've dreamed about when I saw us walk away. We need to leave this ghost town, where beasts of my blood  roam the streets. Where fear overtook me and mated with me in an incestuous ceremony.   A true joining of true , lost ones   Created in the beginning to love   lost their way, found home   with the one and only Reason, not to fear....a goodbye.
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May 27, 2015
May 27, 2015 at 2:06 AM UTC
Transfiguration
Fear is a constant friend for me in this old town, It numbs, yet excites in the men's old tin drums. Everything else runs away and hides in the imminent   twilight. It keeps us old folk happy, and us young folk safe, even if I'm anesthetized in street dances. The love of your life is in that next building, honey, looking over his footprints for the future.   And if he's not it, live with it. Keep Him happy, so that you're safe.   Never stop fearing... Love was never in the cards for any of us; why would it happen for me? I wasn't any more than us. A distant longing quenches a soul with doubts for only so long though ...making the white hum and breed black.   A lone sound amongst the silence with its soul thirsts for what has been hidden.   There's no sign of true life without something more, bigger than you and us.   How can there be, when true loss is unpredictable, our founders said.   It has already been spoken in a prophecy...         Perhaps, for me it is different, what then? Do you pity me?   them? I do. But there's something wrong with the little party I didn't plan, yet didn't cancel. There were people overseas, beside you and me that have died for what   I have been avoiding. Why?     Perhaps my own parade needs a little rain,     or a blazing hellfire to make way for the reality? The transfiguration I've been dreaming for, has watched me, and cried for me while I watched the town parade, riding on my dad's shoulders. But we have been anointed by the bravery and hope I've dreamed about when I saw us walk away. We need to leave this ghost town, where beasts of my blood  roam the streets. Where fear overtook me and mated with me in an incestuous ceremony.   A true joining of true , lost ones   Created in the beginning to love   lost their way, found home   with the one and only Reason, not to fear....a goodbye.
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My eyes saw her And my heart longed for her And my lips wanted a taste Of her seething venom She was a cup I didn’t want to pass Without having a sip That opened a flesh wound Only she could nurse Because it could never heal And any one I’d **** For her to be mine and mine alone.   On the drags ov the black wine Brood from African matured raw dark vines Bitter sweet and sedating like ecstasy She anesthetized me Leaving me numb To the wound she had inflicted Upon my heart of flesh, When I let my Shield down And left her sizzling arrow Piercing my heart Like a thorn for the holy one Her arrow inoculated a venom That enfeebled my trembling frame As I bled love unafraid of bleeding to death! I looked deeply Into Her dark eyes My vision impaired, High from the venom And partial hemorrhage. I said slowly “What is love? Tell me please…” She smiled and replied… “I can’t tell you, I can only show you Cuz you have prayed. Love is a tourniquet To your heart a wound I can nurse it for you That’s why it hurts If you are wounded By someone without skill Some wounds never heal But fear not For my love is not lethal And leaving you might be fatal, Words can never be love Only actions can be Thoughts are useless If never said  or expressed So don’t be afraid I will nurse your wound Because mine is deeper than yours”
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Aug 1, 2018
Aug 1, 2018 at 6:14 PM UTC
Love, What is? [Tourniquet...]
I want love Just as bad as the next person... But I want a love that can heal-- a love that can fuse together the shattered and tarnished bits and make me whole again. I want a love that electrifies, amplifies. a love that exemplifies beauty and truth. So done being stuffed full of lies, demonized, anesthetized. I want feeling, I want meaning. I need love.
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Aug 28, 2015
Aug 28, 2015 at 10:43 PM UTC
Your Typical Love Poem
Her deep brown eyes were now achromic I craved her love but she was bent on straight needles. Constantly needing reminders that she's still human and can feel, still putting up barriers between her and her evils. Seeing the man up on the steeple she knows her attempts are feeble Constantly misguided by the Christian belief that acceptance was key to the question of "am I worth it" We use to talk but now you're aphasic She was in a dreamland where voices were something to be tasted she was so anesthetized from these pills that were prescribed to help her dream but nothing could be prescribed to help her wake It was like seeing the sun go away but not being replaced by the moon I was just hoping it was a phase that would pass and she would return without a trace of the past but this hope was as empty as these bottles These feeling so corrupted These words so unheard Like a wolf howling only to be answered by a vacant night And it doesn't matter how much I beg and fight She tightens her grip on her defenses like the band on her arm But still leaving her defenseless to her emotions That might as well be where she is 6 feet under a pile of broken dreams and wondering beams of support that holds up her house of sanity with a vanity of broken images of who she hates the most. She's caught between a lake of fire and limbo, on a tipping scale one once from destruction I know I can't bring the sun back but maybe I can find a new light in this darkness. Because she was something I always wanted more of I twitch when I wasn't around her I would get the shakes from just one kiss I would get drunk off her smile and high off her words We both overdosed on something Because this love .... was never labeled a drug.
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Apr 25, 2015
Apr 25, 2015 at 1:56 AM UTC
Overdosed Love
Her deep brown eyes were now achromic I craved her love but she was bent on straight needles. Constantly needing reminders that she's still human and can feel, still putting up barriers between her and her evils. Seeing the man up on the steeple she knows her attempts are feeble Constantly misguided by the Christian belief that acceptance was key to the question of "am I worth it" We use to talk but now you're aphasic She was in a dreamland where voices were something to be tasted she was so anesthetized from these pills that were prescribed to help her dream but nothing could be prescribed to help her wake It was like seeing the sun go away but not being replaced by the moon I was just hoping it was a phase that would pass and she would return without a trace of the past but this hope was as empty as these bottles These feeling so corrupted These words so unheard Like a wolf howling only to be answered by a vacant night And it doesn't matter how much I beg and fight She tightens her grip on her defenses like the band on her arm But still leaving her defenseless to her emotions That might as well be where she is 6 feet under a pile of broken dreams and wondering beams of support that holds up her house of sanity with a vanity of broken images of who she hates the most. She's caught between a lake of fire and limbo, on a tipping scale one once from destruction I know I can't bring the sun back but maybe I can find a new light in this darkness. Because she was something I always wanted more of I twitch when I wasn't around her I would get the shakes from just one kiss I would get drunk off her smile and high off her words We both overdosed on something Because this love .... was never labeled a drug.
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You carried the scent of a heavy summer rainfall with you everywhere you went, dropping hurricanes from your pockets for strangers who have only known spring showers. I didn’t know it was possible to fall in love with a storm. Every time your cloudless eyes met mine I felt a swell in the back of my throat, as if I had drank too much seawater and you just kept staring until I began to cough up the entire Pacific Ocean. You told me that this is what it meant to be with you, to be with a nihilist. You held other worlds on your fingertips and slipped them under my tongue, my blood becoming bellicose within it’s own veins. The parabola of my pupils stretched until they became quasars, I had never known energy like this before. Your lips twitched into a most complacent grin at my lack of self-possession as I writhed in the rapacious wake of the river. Everything around me shimmered with the light of 1,000 stars and I heard centuries of music in your laughter. I was a foreigner in a different world. That night we made love with the intensity of 50 lightning bolts striking an erupting volcano and it was the first time you told me you loved me. It was the only time you meant it. We anesthetized each other so much that you became insusceptible while I became hypersensitive. You carved kisses into my skin and they were wonderful but I was starting to bleed out. But you couldn’t even feel my nails as I tried to dig my way into your heart. I had never wanted to live inside a person so badly, but you can’t make homes out of people. You can’t make homes out of addicts.
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Feb 26, 2015
Feb 26, 2015 at 10:46 PM UTC
a four month trip to the bottom of the ocean
You carried the scent of a heavy summer rainfall with you everywhere you went, dropping hurricanes from your pockets for strangers who have only known spring showers. I didn’t know it was possible to fall in love with a storm. Every time your cloudless eyes met mine I felt a swell in the back of my throat, as if I had drank too much seawater and you just kept staring until I began to cough up the entire Pacific Ocean. You told me that this is what it meant to be with you, to be with a nihilist. You held other worlds on your fingertips and slipped them under my tongue, my blood becoming bellicose within it’s own veins. The parabola of my pupils stretched until they became quasars, I had never known energy like this before. Your lips twitched into a most complacent grin at my lack of self-possession as I writhed in the rapacious wake of the river. Everything around me shimmered with the light of 1,000 stars and I heard centuries of music in your laughter. I was a foreigner in a different world. That night we made love with the intensity of 50 lightning bolts striking an erupting volcano and it was the first time you told me you loved me. It was the only time you meant it. We anesthetized each other so much that you became insusceptible while I became hypersensitive. You carved kisses into my skin and they were wonderful but I was starting to bleed out. But you couldn’t even feel my nails as I tried to dig my way into your heart. I had never wanted to live inside a person so badly, but you can’t make homes out of people. You can’t make homes out of addicts.
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She lay there, features frozen Telling a story She was at rest, eyes wide open, the moment glazed in time Terror, Fear, Death, Was a release, but never left whole Always missing a part But desecrated, as blooded words unfold Love,   Doesn't, Live, Here, Anymore, The heart missing, Life was cut out Her heart no longer beats here anymore What goes through a mind Twisted, Depraved, Cold. I am the Heart Breaker Hear my story, as it must be told I have never loved, Feelings of Tenderness, Yearning, Love, Have never touched my heart, It beats But nothing is heard back So I must take What others Possess, I look for those with love I look for those Hand In Hand When they next wake In my sanctuary Unclothed White covers, all except where Love beats strong, For I must Devour,   Consume, Be Fulfilled, She must breath till I consume For a body that is cold No love will survive, Anesthetized So I cut deep Bone-Saw, Scalpel, Flesh, Falls to the floor Her larynx also muted, Noise I could be without, I cut gently rib is sawed And there is what I need , my eyes gleam Excitement, Emotion, Hysteria, As I quickly hold it as it beats And finally I   Gorge Consume, Satisfy, The feeling of warmth That enters me I feel my heart beat not like before This moment I feel love As it courses through me Then lost as Blood goes cold Now we are both with out what we need most, I have your heart inside me Like others before, I must consume others love so that I feel whole.
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Sep 3, 2014
Sep 3, 2014 at 6:03 PM UTC
Heart Breaker
Oh, cynic- All those years of abridging the files left for you- And whittling away at your own tusks- To annex wild nerve and stove-top instinctivity- Extemporising on an instrument that you actually did invent- And then using it to pry open the kitchen window- Asking the neighbor for a sword of keratin straight to the belt- “It would show that I am, literally, made of (fitfully) lifeless halves.” Anyway- There’s that old-dresser where you stored plans of- Delineating a white-white city for you to call home- and then instructions to call it anesthetized due to it’s lack of horses- Destroy it and all matter within a one-hundred mile radius of your current location. I’m aware the end-product has cradled you since the first day you were alive- but, it doesn’t anymore- I do- and I will not let my arms grow soar without affording them your recognition.
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Dec 14, 2011
Dec 14, 2011 at 4:19 AM UTC
setter.
The wound though old and hence looked closed, the pain it caused was quite obtrusive, even after all those years, were somehow left behind, oblivious of the misery it created. Couldn't leave it like that, insistent pain made to decide at last, when it was opened again memories sprayed out copiously, like dark, coagulated blood, never before seen. Then, fresh blood started to ooze as if reluctant to close the wound, unable to forget emotions that are made to sleep anesthetized.
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Dec 9, 2015
Dec 9, 2015 at 1:40 PM UTC
A wound in the emotional plane
An encounter that shook the stars made them shoot across the sky, urging lovers to throw wishes here and there with no hope in mind She time-traveled at  his "hello" he shook at her reply what happened to the cosmos? could they have re-arranged? what magical power took over the Earth to make gravity none-existent? She felt weightless but heavy with her past he sweat out all his mistakes or was his body too close to her sun that he melted at her sight He wanted to speak almanacs of his years past but choked at the dense night sky his lungs shrunk in capacity his mind forgot the ability to verbalize vocalize, his mind forgot all sense of language except that of none-verbal nature She wanted to strangle him with the chains that left marks on her heart the wounds that she turned to beautiful tattoos the pickled emotions she had left on that shelf in a desolate basement She wanted to give him a taste of what "hurt" felt like back then and how it morphed her into a beautiful thick skinned creature, fearless of rollercoasters who's highs are intoxicating and who's lows are deadly But.. He... Her... Hell visited Earth that day all its fires burned all sense of logic turned emotions to ashes it anesthetized what drives the heart into overdrive The universe confused its laws of physics gravity lost, oxygen reduced, weightlessness ruled everyone was high Something was wrong it didn't feel like it was happening She had her taste of inception a dream within a dream within a mind diluted with nothing but sobriety how could this be? He was speaking in intervals cut with silences that caused earthquakes in meaning intercepted with glares that burned the wildest of wild fires   Life you threw one hell of a curveball that changed the orbit of her being Turning her the other way slowing down time or so it felt What the hell is happening She has this under control When her schizophrenic selves came out to play they failed miserably She gawked at his jittery hands eyes dilated with confusion glazed with hesitation filled with questions surreal ethereal not happening pinch me Please
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Jul 20, 2016
Jul 20, 2016 at 3:43 AM UTC
Pinch Me
An encounter that shook the stars made them shoot across the sky, urging lovers to throw wishes here and there with no hope in mind She time-traveled at  his "hello" he shook at her reply what happened to the cosmos? could they have re-arranged? what magical power took over the Earth to make gravity none-existent? She felt weightless but heavy with her past he sweat out all his mistakes or was his body too close to her sun that he melted at her sight He wanted to speak almanacs of his years past but choked at the dense night sky his lungs shrunk in capacity his mind forgot the ability to verbalize vocalize, his mind forgot all sense of language except that of none-verbal nature She wanted to strangle him with the chains that left marks on her heart the wounds that she turned to beautiful tattoos the pickled emotions she had left on that shelf in a desolate basement She wanted to give him a taste of what "hurt" felt like back then and how it morphed her into a beautiful thick skinned creature, fearless of rollercoasters who's highs are intoxicating and who's lows are deadly But.. He... Her... Hell visited Earth that day all its fires burned all sense of logic turned emotions to ashes it anesthetized what drives the heart into overdrive The universe confused its laws of physics gravity lost, oxygen reduced, weightlessness ruled everyone was high Something was wrong it didn't feel like it was happening She had her taste of inception a dream within a dream within a mind diluted with nothing but sobriety how could this be? He was speaking in intervals cut with silences that caused earthquakes in meaning intercepted with glares that burned the wildest of wild fires   Life you threw one hell of a curveball that changed the orbit of her being Turning her the other way slowing down time or so it felt What the hell is happening She has this under control When her schizophrenic selves came out to play they failed miserably She gawked at his jittery hands eyes dilated with confusion glazed with hesitation filled with questions surreal ethereal not happening pinch me Please
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"...we have to stop being shocked and amazed....when men who are conquerors by nature also chase women....we as a society have got to become a little more anesthetized to this." Donny Deutsch **Anesthetize your daughters, oh Mighty Men, novocaine their conquered ***** Man guided penises are upon their proverbial hunts! They seek out your females; chase them from your arms All at the damnable fault of their ineffable charms Cast aside the garments you dress your girls within Then forget the ravages of every single sin And spread their arms to the world and let them hug it tight While Weiners of every kind **** with all their might Puritans are the trouble, religion the rapist’s friend Bend your daughters over, they’ll get it in the end. And Natalie, when you are finally through With this unsavory interview Lift up your dress and spread your knees And maybe, just maybe, we will ask you please.** 'and if you were caught with your pants down literally and figuratively, come clean.' upon the face of every woman you have ever seen. http://newsbusters.org/blogs/kyle-drennen/2011/06/09/nbc-puritanical-americans-must-become-anesthetized-sex-scandals
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Feb 5, 2014
Feb 5, 2014 at 9:59 AM UTC
Anesthetize your daughters
I’ve been watching for some time From afar the deep and low valley Watching the leaves fall Of what hope they can rally For not ray nor beam Nor excitement I seek Only the bejeweled recluse with the golden hair The blue eyes and tongue abounding, yet meek A beauty not to sever From the mountains of my youth Against all attempt My failed past endeavor To bring those impartial arms closer to my own But, alas, she proved far too clever And escaped, perpetually I bemoan And where you took leave Still spurns the suture Dark blood freshly drawn I bleed for another, though soul turned to pewter And I stumble weakly like invalid fawn The gauze did atone Anesthetized my brooding Until the reclaimed throne Did sanctify its queen Too little, too late A penance not paid Impatience could at surface readily sate And showed me in acetic recollection My folly not to wait But, escaped your grace, my grubby hands though groped And words did not flow forth as I had hoped Simple gesture; a wave or two And the separation broadened again, same as the first time I left you But, I’ve been watching for some time The creeks and the crags Knowing the leaves will always return And the fawn thus wanes to mighty stag In hopes for a band of our own from the pitch of time discerned I fashioned this life for you And encircled you in my mind That what persona I do beget I was just hoping for you to find A poor choice for but one of many An ill-conceived and hasty plan All done for you, my beauty Planning for a future Before it even began And now, after I’ve waited for what feels like millennia These clipped wings refuse to span And this valley wracks me with mania Spirits sink with the sun Ink drips from the vein Turn to verse written in vain, Smears through the valleys Like eloquent stains An escape from memory, dazzling and dun But the valley vast, maw is wide Too far, too unwilling to outrun The Beautiful, the flitting Inescapable Morgan.
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Sep 11, 2013
Sep 11, 2013 at 7:27 PM UTC
I've been watching for some time.
I’ve been watching for some time From afar the deep and low valley Watching the leaves fall Of what hope they can rally For not ray nor beam Nor excitement I seek Only the bejeweled recluse with the golden hair The blue eyes and tongue abounding, yet meek A beauty not to sever From the mountains of my youth Against all attempt My failed past endeavor To bring those impartial arms closer to my own But, alas, she proved far too clever And escaped, perpetually I bemoan And where you took leave Still spurns the suture Dark blood freshly drawn I bleed for another, though soul turned to pewter And I stumble weakly like invalid fawn The gauze did atone Anesthetized my brooding Until the reclaimed throne Did sanctify its queen Too little, too late A penance not paid Impatience could at surface readily sate And showed me in acetic recollection My folly not to wait But, escaped your grace, my grubby hands though groped And words did not flow forth as I had hoped Simple gesture; a wave or two And the separation broadened again, same as the first time I left you But, I’ve been watching for some time The creeks and the crags Knowing the leaves will always return And the fawn thus wanes to mighty stag In hopes for a band of our own from the pitch of time discerned I fashioned this life for you And encircled you in my mind That what persona I do beget I was just hoping for you to find A poor choice for but one of many An ill-conceived and hasty plan All done for you, my beauty Planning for a future Before it even began And now, after I’ve waited for what feels like millennia These clipped wings refuse to span And this valley wracks me with mania Spirits sink with the sun Ink drips from the vein Turn to verse written in vain, Smears through the valleys Like eloquent stains An escape from memory, dazzling and dun But the valley vast, maw is wide Too far, too unwilling to outrun The Beautiful, the flitting Inescapable Morgan.
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Anesthetized and scoured clean, my mind reflects these halls Of almost-forgotten ***** spills and madness within these walls. Artificial sleep, Restless, blood-shot pits; Reflections, dark and hollow, Echo visions in raving fits. This place is said to heal - return sanity from whom it's fled: Ammend the twisted, save the wretch, cauterize what's bled.
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Oct 3, 2016
Oct 3, 2016 at 3:06 AM UTC
Psych