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Mike T Minehan Oct 2012
The reason there aren't so many vampyres
around these days is they don't like TV hype
and the intrusions of TV news crews. It transpires
that vampyres prefer late hours and like low light levels
because they're egregarious and don't like to be seen inebrious
in the middle of their heinous, intravenous revels.
Also, unfavorable reviews about transfusions
and the confusion caused by AIDS, at this juncture,
has definitely reduced the appeal of being seduced
by some crazed and gurgling Transylvanian
bloodsucker lusting to puncture the jugular,
or any other available vein again,
especially when you don't know if they've disinfected their fangs
or only licked them after draining their last victim.

After all, vampyres were brought up in castles
when there weren't antiseptics for gargles
and they haven't been taught prophylactic criteria
against such apocalyptic viral bacteria.
And if you've ever seen vampyres with condoms
on their teeth, you'll know what I mean.  
It's a scream. Everyone finds them hilarious. It'd be easier
to die laughing than to go down with anemia.
Also, like everyone else, vampyres hate ridicule.
No-one likes being seen as the fool.
  
And the other reason vampyres are scarce now
is that there are so many genuine muggers, hoods, crims,
druggies, financial leeches, homicidal maniacs,
psychopathic liars and genocidal tendencies to conjure up real fears
out there, that there's not much room left for quaint old-fashioned vampyres, poor dears.  

But do you know something? Even though they were naughty,
I miss their occasional ****. I know it was gory,
but those kisses, oh boy. We got into the femoral artery inside the thigh. It was *****. But when AIDs came along,
that was it.  Definitely bye-bye. Nobody wanted to die.  
These are the facts.  
So these vampyres were starving and they reverted to bats.  
Did a midnight flit,
and that's the end of my story.
It's like when you have the stomach flu,
and the first thing you toss up is your favorite,
homemade, blueberry muffins. How after that,
even though you've eaten them for 19 years,
just the thought of violet-speckled, baked goods
makes you want to hunch over the nearest toilet.

I don't remember when I stopped being able
to stomach irony.

All I know is I spend every morning gargling
minty antiseptics, trying to rid my mouth from
the aftertaste of dreams, but still its ghost lingers
in the back of my throat. I try to wash it down with the
taste of his ****, and the smell of his cologne. Thinking,
I guess, that one day I'll be able to love him like he deserves.

As opposed to wondering what happened between us.

Your catchphrase was," There's nothing to say."
It wasn't until now that I understood.  I wanted so
badly to find the right words. Wanted so bad to mend
what was  irreparably broken.  But you knew that every
time you opened your mouth, you were in danger
of coughing out your heart. Of spewing out a ******
mess of feelings that I didn't yet understand.

Now, as you come to me with olive branches, all I can
do is choke on my own aorta. So understand when I sound
like your broken record, that I'm just trying to hold it together.
I'd love to know what you think!
Especially about the last sentence of the last stanza.
Brandon Nov 2011
Rucksack – Duffle bag – Backpack
                       Packed
Note books – Journal books – Poetry books
                    Book books
Tin cans – Pots and pans
         First aid – Survival kit
Complete with fishhooks, fishing line,
            Lighter, matches
  of the waterproof kind
                 Even a sewing kit
                                        Equipped
With extra sewing needles,
                       black thread, safety pins,
          Buttons,
                         Band-aids, gauze,
                antiseptics,
                        Burn cream
Just in case
                  it's ever needed
      Bucket hat Stuffed
              down somewhere deep
A handkerchief –
                          bandana too
      Flannels and sweater
                                       For cool weather
Tennis shoes
          For when hiking boots
     Get too hot
               A few days worth of food
     Vegetarian – salmon jerky – chocolate protein bars
                            Sleeping bag rolled tightly
            All slung heavily over my shoulder

One fast move or I’m gone
           Kerouac once said
   As he tried to run away from
     Crashing waves of stardom
        I just want to get away
      From crashing city noise
            And live life like a
              Dharma ***
Panic Theater Sep 2015
barely living things
wrapped in bandages
and doused in antiseptics
kept alive by food tubes
and oxygen pumped through heaving lungs

almost cadavers, broken dreams
shattered hopes and in-betweens
unanswered phone calls to heaven
and a hundred not yets
Catherine Paige May 2010
I trusted you,
Took you as unknowing of your faults.
Thought I could believe you,
Confide in you my thoughts.

My heart still clings to you,
All of your aesthetic charms.
My mind and soul are hot coals,
Burning with anger and wanting vengeance.

All this time I thought you had seen me,
You had looked forward through a window.
You are truly a man of mirrors though,
Seen because I stood behind you,
No matter how much I wanted to be beside you.
Even now you can't see past yourself,
Oblivious to the fires burning around you,
You'll remain like this until it's you they consume.

Broken again,
I hate you for this.
I wanted you because you were a cure.
Now I'm left to the old antiseptics,
Music, movies and sympathetic friends.
They dull pain until I can find time to stand in the rain,
Find the time to confront this pain and banish these demons.

All my "thank you"s become regrets,
All the electricity grounded and gone.
This was written on January 29, 2009.
Sometimes we don't realize a bond until it's gone.
Sometimes we don't seek healing until a wound becomes a scar
Like when a cut runs deep
And then it closes but wasn't treated properly when it was open.
The bodies natural reaction is to create infection
Effects that alert the body, its need for antiseptics
Antibiotics cannot disguise the pain
Feelings are shown on one's  face
And cannot be duplicated no matter the advancements in robotics
So let the tears flood
Tucks overflow like a kid filling up a tub
That forgot to turn it off
We all inhale life and exhale time
We're all a bunch of watches under the sun.
A moment of eclipse and then we turn off
Death no matter how it's sliced, given or served
It's a dish that's hard to stomach
But God endowed all of us with enough strength so in grief we don't plummet
With enough grace so when death surrounds we learn from it
Learn to love greater
Love can fill voids the size of canyons
Learn to love our neighbors
A conversation can provide food for thought when souls are  famished
Learn love through the  lens  of scripture
Because there's no pain we've went through that Jesus cannot  fathom
For us he hung on a cross like a fixture
Died so when can live
Then rose to bring life and it abundantly
Learn from death to live life with purpose
Not coast through like tumbleweeds
Live life.
We all should live life on purpose
April Oct 2017
you lie in the hospital bed
antiseptics and hospital food waver in the air
as if, asking for permission to linger

and you see her tense, knowing she wants to scream
because how ironic it is-
you can barely speak

every few minutes the bed beneath you shakes
the only bit of movement your body sees

the ticking of the clock
is a constant reminder
you're never going to escape

soon she must go,
you find the darkness behind your eyelids
is easier to bare
when your so alone

later in time
you think of her
and then you think of mini her

once again you have no control
a tear slides down your cheek,
you're never going to watch her grow

your little daughter,
is going to live without a father
because cancer,
took away your life

and with no strength
how could you ever grasp
meaning in your last few days

— The End —