"antibacterial" poems
She hides in pockets of flesh in my gums
I can taste her in the morning when I spit
at night I can feel her swimming in an ocean of mouthwash
In sleep she oozes onto my pillow
moistening the dusty fabric under my cheek
When shes really playful
she will wiggle herself into my cerebellum
and dance furiously with my dreams
or gently sing lullabies when my heart wont let me sleep
when the world and its filth have commandeered my hope
she is there to brush away the dirt with untarnished hands
she is my religion she is my ******
without her I am sick
a smoldering heat of black matter and fungi
she is antibacterial soap on my soul
Lysol wipes to my tarred lungs
with one whiff I am cleansed of debris
she saturates the oxygen in my blood
she resides in my abdomen
I can feel her in my kidneys.
Oct 8, 2011
Oct 8, 2011 at 5:08 PM UTC
A wave of people who all suffer from depression's undercurrent leans over me until gravity pushes the water over my head and I drown in the depressive maelstrom of lost, distraught family members with the same weak psyche which I suffer from. Only the dollhouse owners can live a picture-perfect life where everything is antibacterial and anti-depressant while we get jammed between the walls until we can no longer scream for help and tears become our only weapon. The moisture from the rivers that sourced in our eyes penetrates into the walls and seeps into the floor, then mold and mildew infects this otherwise perfect dollhouse. I'd rather drown in depression than live in this false cardboard house with drawers and cabins filled with pills and where no one knows who takes what and why there is constantly bought more and more even when the pills tumble out of all the doors. I'm waiting for a tsunami, which can split the dollhouse that I call my home, hoping the walls detaches and the pills flush away.
Feb 12, 2017
Feb 12, 2017 at 4:26 PM UTC
Turns out,
I’m an idiot
who knows nothing and does no good.
I watch the moon go down
every couple months
to readjust my calendar
and pour my non-organic coffee from
glass pots made in emerging markets.
You may say we’re losing the world
or that the Earth should be preserved—
Fine.
I **** at the feet of your bourgeois children and their plastic, antibacterial lunchboxes.
For me there is no world to lose.
Apr 19, 2011
Apr 19, 2011 at 9:41 PM UTC
We sailed counter-clockwise
Through black water and pumpkin sprees,
Dangling footnotes of bookend conversations
The closest thing to clarity in speech--
But we understood the solar flares and the sunspots
And when our bodies sank into dank swampy muck,
There we were in cold moonlight
Naked and shivering and sweet, the whole balance
Of cosmic radiation flung skyward, like
It was all right then, it was all right now, everything is
Like in that movie we watched apart but
Somehow also didn’t, like how the time I tripped
On that drug you were on, my friends and I burnt our fingers
Making stupid fortune cookies
All so contrived, but the morning before the pumpkin sprees
I found a fortune on the ground that didn’t even come from my cookie
So, like it asked me to, I took a chance
And discovered that it wasn’t just my chance to take, cuz
There we were scrubbing our legs in bathroom sinks and showers
Trying to clear the muck away from skin and hair but the dirt
Was so persistent, and the persistence
Was so telling… Regardless
Of how many green globules of antibacterial soap
We squirted onto our legs, the world just wasn’t going to get clean, I mean
The world just lends itself to filth, and sometimes
You have to set the soap down and cry, or walk outside
To see the sunrise
Over the distant hazy hills,
The sunspots and solar flares
All suddenly laughable
Despite their previous profundity.
And even if it wasn’t just my chance to take,
Still,
I’m glad I picked that fortune up off the street and
Read it quietly to myself, standing there with countless
People passing by.
Nov 9, 2014
Nov 9, 2014 at 8:46 PM UTC
he asked me to stay with him overnight,
at the hospital,
numerous times, i was selfish.
i refused each time.
i just wanted sleep, without the antibacterial smell,
without the beeping of machines, without the whispers of death.
without the constant reminder that i was going to lose him forever.
Mar 27, 2015
Mar 27, 2015 at 10:53 PM UTC
i still *** every
time a thought of
you comes across
my mind but the
*** comes from my tear
ducts instead of my genitalia
and they’re just antibacterial
enzymes: water ·
salts ·
antibodies
and lysozomes;
the day you left
all spermatozoa left
my being it was like
the hole you left
in the air was a black
hole shaped exactly like
you, a vacuum eternally
thirsty for my ****** fluids;
every pore on my body
became a weighty abyss
it’s just the tears
you never find
as pleasing
offerings
so you took your suitcase
and everything i am
in a bag out the door ·
that moment
reminded me
when you’d take
out the trash
and thereafter would
be spending the night
trying to put
up with how little
space i left on the
bed
that moment ·
you were gone
· you were done
but you were
also there still ·
forever remaining ·
all at once ·
that was a really nice
trick you never had
the time to teach me
and so
· that moment
with your back turned ·
every step
you took was like
lightning
in slow motion
and then there was just
the door so i let the electric
company put my lights
out and spent all our meant-to-be
life savings on candles,
lit them all up ·
had some champagne ·
stepped in the tub with my clothes
on after i filled
it with gasoline,
googled good lakes
and lit a cigarette.
Jul 13, 2013
Jul 13, 2013 at 9:38 AM UTC
I took a deep breath.
Following the mystery of a simple smell.
A familiar place taken deep within my lungs.
A perfume light scented but sweet.
She'd dab it around the rounds of her neck.
Twice on her wrists.
The wind spreading her essence to my nose.
Following a glare then a smile.
Just when I thought there was nothing left to share.
She'd bathe in dial antibacterial.
Cleasing her neck of a smell that I remember so vividly.
A perfume light scented but sweet.
The smile and bite of a quivering bottom lip.
Just when I thought that nothing else could be shared.
Someone walked passed with a familiar scent.
Taking me back to a familiar feeling that I only felt when I was around you
Jun 20, 2017
Jun 20, 2017 at 2:10 AM UTC
Difficult
The way I see myself now
The way my life's changed
What some see as lonely
May be right
Maybe I need to be free
Free
To quote my own verses
Instead of taking film
From underneath someone
Else's tongue
Using hearts
As sleeves
Is my old fashion
May be I need a gun
So this amunition is aimed
At the right coffin
Instead of my own
The need
The drive
Where the hell
Do I come up
With those
When i've been
Feed through
My own antibacterial pasts
That I can't scrub off
This time
What happens when
Your life gets stuck?
Mar 20, 2018
Mar 20, 2018 at 4:32 PM UTC
Maybe we feel lifeless
because we strive to be sterile.
Aug 29, 2014
Aug 29, 2014 at 7:37 AM UTC
Making your bed while the moon is awake, slowly but quickly depriving arguments with you.
I have prolonged self pity, constantly rendering speechless moments with you.
The keypad begs to be touched.
Galloping through Nebraska summer cornfields.
Drinking natural crisp unsweetened tea.
Childhood reeks of off-brand gold antibacterial hand soap.
Mead Canary Legal Pads kept my father stagnant.
They keypad begs
The moon awakens slowly while
You argue and I pity the moments
We washed over cornfields in Nebraska
With sweat glazing our foreheads
And the scent gold Dial soap in the distance.
A canary pad,
A tan leather jacket,
A tray of amber glass,
A bunch of sour grapes
Mar 27, 2020
Mar 27, 2020 at 2:01 AM UTC
The Moon has abandoned us
We are but blades of grass in a shielded blow
We are merely stones in a river's roll
One day we will be no longer.
We are desperate to cling to
some semblance of reason
but what good does the morrow bring worth breathing today for??
What good is so good that I should stay awake?
We are trying so hard to pretend that sharing our crazy is the least crazy thing
We cling so hard to this notion that we forget to look in the mirror while exchanging pictures of each other instead of reflecting on who we are,
But then, what's the point of reflecting on who we are when all we're capable of is our own life? Literally, the most powerful thing we can do is end ourselves. We aren't so special. We're just bodies with artificial flavors. No semblance of natural beauty; it's all been placed there by our self-serving pursuit of purpose. It's so much easier to believe we suffer for a reason. We don't.
A sad, frail calamity
A ship on endless ocean
Misery loves company, and that's why we've outlawed suicide, because really
You can't tell me you really believe we will be punished for ending our own durations, given to us without permissions,
You can choose your destiny as long as you stay alive. Death is not an option, until it is, and then what?
You're so glad that I'm expressing myself, but you wish i'd say some different things
So glad to see me creative again, but so against the things i say again and again and again and again and I just want somebody to make it all better like when you're 5 and don't know what existence ******* is but you get a cut on your finger and now you exist, but then your momma comes and sticks a band-aid on your finger and the pain of existence is gone. i want that feeling again.
But my mom's antibacterial powers have subsided as the ills have built resistances; they're now resisting penicillin and we don't own anything else right now. I open up my medicine cabinet, anyway. There's Tylenol. At least it'll help to ease the pain.
I take one. I take another. It isn't working. I take some more. Do these have a limit? I think they do. But I can't read at this point. I take another. I take another. I'd be counting but i can't do that, either. I keep taking the pills. I never stop. For all of eternity I take additional Tylenols, until a sad, frail calamity comes home from work and sees a sunken fleshy ship at the end of its ****** and final voyage.
Nov 15, 2018
Nov 15, 2018 at 12:07 PM UTC