"asphyxiated" poems
could it be a ********
like cotton buds
from the ***** flower
a witched river
under dark clouds
of brooms that don't fly anymore
maybe in need of an upgrade
perhaps a spell of weaponized winds
with insinuated floating ghouls
shaking their lopsided claws
under blood orchards
and diagrams of grief
as they follow their noses
looking for *****
******* the scent of vivacious
zyzzyva
loving oozing laughter
thirsty skin
needles too
**** heroine stuck on toe picket fences
mimicry of ducks blood butter
like a crime scene of kisses that went to far
eggs and runny yokes left puddled on a thigh
the ****** burps Pans milkshake
*** legacy legs
lookin for love
auto asphyxiated in a closet fringy and hanging with a hardon
lost eyes and drool
somewhere in Thailand
after spicy noodle soup
and a Tsingtao
hurt me
hurt you
i'm an evil boweval
a Zyzzyva come to love you
Jun 14, 2019
Jun 14, 2019 at 4:34 PM UTC
I wear the letters NYU sprawled across my chest as my individuality is asphyxiated.
Lungs choke under the weight of the added pressure.
The thought of college plus my complexion,
Equals complexed looks that ponder my intellectually-heightened direction.
Will you think a little bit more of me, with my conformity?
Attempts to better myself meet enough ignorance to even cloud the vision of God.
Segregation and alienation cause mental spasms the strength of lightening rods.
I guess you're just a product of the environment to which you were exposed.
But I'm always trying to fight the stereotype that black people are ultimately foes.
I am the ant and the kids of rich parents are magnifying glasses.
Cremating me with the solar power of son's who were taught that their existence was worth more than mine.
I lay motionless, in bottomless quick sand pits, itching to alleviate my stomach stitch, engulfed by set standards that could not be met.
I am tired of trying to be what you'd like to see.
Astute, respectable, young black man-just so you can approve of me and hopefully think that we are not all "up to no good."
Say it loud,
I'm black
And I'm,
Not going to lie,
The proud part is kinda hard to say.
Because I walk down the street and see my face in the homeless everyday.
I fill the prisons and I'm famous when the news reports crime.
And when I show up early to interviews,
they look confused to see that I,
Don’t run on Colored People's Time.
I don't hate black but I hate the fact that black means that sometimes I have to find alternate routes to success.
While other people's roads are already paved, I suffer from all the stress.
I try my best but I'm always categorized as less, then a man.
And I'm trying to change perceptions but I still feel like a visitor on American land
And the poor are physically trapped so I relate mentally.
We both suffer from the oppression and accept the hatred like it was meant to be.
Society has led you to believe that blacks are not worthy of equality
But take a long, hard look into my eyes and tell me that you don’t see my humanity.
May 17, 2013
May 17, 2013 at 1:42 PM UTC
I once professed my love to the wind...
I had professed that I admired the way
it had caressed my face.
The way it cupped my cheeks
and combed through
my tousled hair.
I once professed my love to the wind...
I had professed that I was infinitely enamoured
with its playful but gentle ways.
The way it would upset
the serenity of my clothes.
The way it would engulf me cool
on a hot sunny day.
I once professed my love to the wind...
I had professed that I get addicted to the way
it would reach into my lungs
and abscond with my breath.
Leaving me asphyxiated for a brief moment
before mischievously
introducing new air;
hale and fresh.
I still profess my love to the wind...
I'd profess my adoration for the way
she fills my sails full
and my heart full of hope.
For I am a lone sailor
in a crowded ocean.
Sailing in a vessel bound for nowhere...
Traversing time and space
with my love, my breeze...
my air.
.
Feb 22, 2016
Feb 22, 2016 at 11:28 AM UTC
Pompeii stood proud near Naples.
Close to Herculaneum.
When in August of AD 79.
Volcano magnificent erupted.
Without nonchalance.
A buried city born.
Complete with frescoes of erotica.
Were subject to ancient censorship.
City modern with flowing water.
Trendy port.
Gymnasium.
Modernist by all accounts.
Population 20 000.
Mostly perished in brimstone's evacuation.
From the deepest depths of hell.
Suffocated nearly all.
Asphyxiated on vile fumes.
Eruption cataclysmic.
City buried far underground.
By written description.
'Tis believed that hell on earth unleashed.
The day following magical celebrations.
Worshiping Vulcanalia the Roman God of Fire.
Ironic tragedy procured.
Few survived the tragedy.
Those that did ran free
Anarchy, starvation.
Mainly petty larceny.
Landscape near destroyed.
Pliny the Younger wrote in a letter.
Vivid description of images seen as Pliny the Elder tried to rescue a few.
Felt perhaps had a duty to do.
Was admiral proud of the Roman fleet.
His life taken in forfeit as citizens from the ash world perished.
Pax Romana followed tragedy.
Dealt such a wicked card.
Embalmed in ash citizens lay.
Locked forever on the spot as they ran away!
By ladylivvi1
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Sep 22, 2013
Sep 22, 2013 at 6:35 AM UTC
There is a Cheshire cat with a nefarious nose ring
Who lashes berating riddles, and vernacular that’ll make you cringe
He slithers through abandoned shadows
On dilapidated gravel, and bears a deathly sickle grin
Enticing as he may be, he only wishes to deceive
So be wary of his beguiles, they are hidden underneath his symmetrical smile
Nor give in to the plastic prophecies he preaches
Nothing he teaches will stitch meaning into your ambiguities
For he enslaves your sorrows and siphons your dreams
Leaving you asphyxiated in catatonic screams
Apr 1, 2010
Apr 1, 2010 at 11:26 PM UTC
I have stared into the abyss
And it has stared back at me
Know that God was not there.
Instead, I hath walked the land of the suicides,
Asphyxiated in the blood which flowed from my open chest,
Languished in the agony of my consciousness,
And cried mercy to the divine, only to find the void -
Howling in a gnawing silence back at me
It was not “nothingness” which I hath found in the pit
For the abyss I found
Was an abundance of mirrors
May 11, 2022
May 11, 2022 at 6:07 PM UTC
the marrow in my bones has begun to liquify
hot molten lava bubbling like
a thick *** of boiling chocolate on the stove
the stars are expiring
rotten milk leaking from the clouds
and accumulating in-between wrinkles
that paint your face like picasso
But when I peer into the darkness
all i can make out is you ripping off
your fingernails
exhaust pipes jammed down your throat
i have to shower four times a day
letting the soap drip into my eyes
to distract myself from your face
scrubbing my skin raw and red
rug burns up and down my arms
carve the bruises out of my legs
from the stains you shamelessly left
13 birthday candles left lit,
melting onto the frosting
wax dried and cracked over your lips
asphyxiated, blue, frayed ropes
tied around the wings of the vultures
who desperately try to peck away
at my rotting flesh
but I have yet to die
So can't you see how it is slightly ironic
Cement plastered bodies all dressed up
for a black tie affair
cigars in their pockets
and money crammed up their *** cracks
1:44 am and I cough up all those 'little white lies'
you pre chewed
and force fed me
glazed eyes
and the phosphorescent glow
from the street lamps below
is the only ******* hope I have left
for humanity
Apr 4, 2013
Apr 4, 2013 at 1:48 AM UTC
Strong vibrato
Mezzopiano
Your crescendo has me
Wavered
A rabbit in your headlights
Staccato
Fixated on vinyl love
(Asphyxiated)
So lucid your lips
Treble clef
Tremble clef
Tenor rumbles
Eyes/river overflow
Incessant whine
Of heartbeat(bass)
Languid pretty song.
Mar 24, 2013
Mar 24, 2013 at 11:26 PM UTC
i took it in, you see
basked myself in its glory
now i feel trapped
suffocated
asphyxiated
am i to die
with this curiosity
killing me
May 28, 2014
May 28, 2014 at 2:02 PM UTC
frozen in time he was quite the spectacle
thick rimmed frames traced rigid lines
projected from kaleidoscope eyes
sharp with the corners of unknown dimensions
caught hot handed
both in expectation and reminisce
so awkwardly present
most nights
he spins fairytales
double-dipping moons in molten watches
skewered with his arms
these wooden poles
stirring the coals buried in ashes
he steps lightly.stomps
dances with the rings of saturn
then rolls like thunder
chasing Zeus's sore words
zig-zagging down to earth
ooohhhh…..
he may not melt hearts with that shoodoop
that bebop
but they break for his habit of
making promises
he who holds time in the cave below his tongue
which now juts left off the reef of his lip
slip into
trip - - - skip
fall.into.this.
go mad for the pitch of his sweat
glaring at the spotlight
Dalí
painting worlds in the moments
between your ears and soul
he is god to their populations
and their hymns excite
rhythms ignite
visions of hard candy
tumbling your teeth smooth as river stones
he does not belong in a gallery
no high tipping wine sipping city slicker big wig
should ever feel comfortable in his blast radius
he makes bombs from tribal instruments
wigwam concoctions
set to test resting souls for pulses
paradiddle defibrillator
triplet stent for arteries
he is tall
and now thin
pressed against the wall as if under interrogation
splitting breath from its carbon
asphyxiated by the frame
he spells his words with motion
I find him
mute
Apr 11, 2013
Apr 11, 2013 at 11:27 PM UTC
Listen to me...
Listen to me, when my voice no longer travels with sound..
When the language of my body is telling you, I can no longer breathe.
Listen to me...
When the words cannot manage to escape, but the tears have no problem running away.
Listen to me, when my smile is lying to you, and the sparkles on my eyes are telling you "there is no reason why you should let Heaven and Hell get in the way because, we are living in the now...
and it's all worth it in the end."
Life, is beautiful!
Full of enchanted mysteries and tragedies, and learn that you can't have one without the other!
They merely coexist.
Maybe an oxymoron, but maybe you're a ***** if you think a fist-full of Oxycontin will turn you into anything more than rotten.
No! You don't need a hand up your stockings to prove to yourself that "Maybe this time, I won't be forgotten..."
Listen to me...
When my heart is drowning in quicksand, going down, dipping under, asphyxiated. But, I know that trying to listen for a sinking soul is tough because those are the times we decide to "hold, mute" rather than "turn up."
Listen...
to the beauty in the wind, the beauty of the wind because most of the time we are too caught up in why it turns twenty degree weather into ten below.
EMBRACE the wind, it will be there to sweep you off your feet when prince charming is "stuck in traffic."
When he is not around you will always have the skies to serenade you and the trees breathing love and hope into your life.
Listen...
to the pride in mans' voice
Don't judge.
Maybe, he is just wanting to make his daddy, proud.
Listen...
to the rejection in womans' voice
don't become angry with her.
Maybe, she has had her heart broken too many times and doesn't know how to disinfect her wounds.
Listen...
to the rumors, but don't spread them.
Find a way to make them beautiful!
Smile at the old man in the supermarket walking with nothing but a basket full of microwavable foods in his hand.
He is too afraid to turn the stove on.
Maybe, he lost everything in the fire
Maybe, he lost Her in the fire.
And no matter how crooked your teeth are, there is something magical in the crescent shape on your face that means forever!
Hug your mom and dad as often as you can, because one day they won't be there to hug you back... or you won't be there to hug them back.
Dance! in the moon light, because it's the only time you'll experience the sun and the moon in the same place.
Listen, in math class.
And I mean listen...
Because, you're going to need to add and subtract people from your life.
And most of the time you won't find x, but x is what we live to find.
So whatever you do,
KEEP UP THE DETERMINATION
Apr 19, 2015
Apr 19, 2015 at 2:05 PM UTC
Falling into the sink hole brimmed with pretty flowers,
to distract your naive eyes
from the aphotic subterrane
just past the things that sparkle.
We put pretty bows on vulnerability,
and call it 'love'
pretending that it will chase the monsters away,
when it really just creates them.
I fell into your calloused hands,
yearning for them to cleanse me
of my murky insecurities,
instead they scrutinized my character,
and I saw my confidence leave me
in pretty ribbons of melted gold.
I once saw the sunrise from the back of a Toyota pickup,
by a creek with cold water and sour memories,
but there was more light in my head then,
because that was long before I started to see my father in your scarred face,
and before you asphyxiated both me and my hopes in you.
I swallowed pain and brushed off distress,
through stale promises and pretty jewels.
You told me it's better to let things go,
and I'm still not sure
why I believed in you so ******* much.
You lived by the motto 'no worries'
and so you were reckless,
and stupid,
and all wrong for the girl
who wraps caution tape over every decision she ever makes.
Things fall apart,
and people fall apart,
and ideas of someone that have been built up in your head for five years
can crumble from just one sleep deprived night,
when you 'calmed me down'
the same way my father used to.
And with bitter content,
and finally no more regret,
I hope Hakuna Matata works out for you,
and I hope she never drinks as much of your poison as I did,
because stains on the heart,
do not come out from swallowing bleach.
Jun 10, 2013
Jun 10, 2013 at 1:13 PM UTC
The mornings spent running?
I hardly remember them
The afternoons, asphyxiated?
No
What I see are the absence of clouds
Between the clouds
When all earth is shattered
And the moments of happiness
Consumed
It is momentous
It is stupendous
It is callous, and hardened and reproachable
I hate thee, and thy silver charms
Mrs. So I told you so
Mrs. Goodbye forever
I hate you
And I hate this evening
Whither, whither to whom?
Goodbye
Oct 18, 2010
Oct 18, 2010 at 11:34 PM UTC
frozen ass’s *****
their frozen assets
assimilating accountants
asphyxiated by Asperger’s
arranging orangutans
assuaging appetites
all the while
alone
Mar 26, 2015
Mar 26, 2015 at 1:48 PM UTC
will my hands ever forget the habit of clawing my own wounds for warmth? i lay my vulnerably human skin on sun-dried poems written to breathe, breathe, breathe in — breathe through january's oppressive cold.
i breathe out a mouthful of asphyxiated flowers
Jan 5, 2022
Jan 5, 2022 at 1:23 AM UTC
Alone I sit, downtrodden
Oh **** this stupid sight
You were waving goodbye
I walked into the night
I came to a bench
The cold resonated
I gasped through my lips
Asphyxiated
What a calm fright
The moon, by clouds overtaken
An enchanting darkness
Don’t dare to stir me
A million nights I sit here now
Puzzled by the blank distance
But really, all I’m searching for
Is sitting on this creaky bench
Jul 31, 2010
Jul 31, 2010 at 8:20 AM UTC
To sleep -- perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
For once your life's candle is but a nub
Your fate has been decided and you cannot run
And you wonder what happened to bulletproof weeks
In your arms, just building sky-castles of words
And as you open your mouth, the raven first speaks
Telling of cabbages and kings, and gentle demon birds
Playing an asphyxiated song of angel's wings
Leaving me intoxicated and feathered with silver crowns
And as the breath from my lungs makes rings
Of vapor in the air, the mist settling on ancient frowns
The future runs through me now to capture
Absolutely clawed leviathans, found in rapture.
May 18, 2013
May 18, 2013 at 12:44 AM UTC
What were once dreams
Unveiled to be nightmares
I can still hear their screams
I can still feel you there
Beyond the reverie
I asphyxiated
In the deep cold sea
That I created
Jul 22, 2021
Jul 22, 2021 at 6:52 PM UTC
The last drop of fuel
has vanquished within the fog
of vacuous steam,
and the words are asphyxiated
by the author's incompetence
before his toes even tap
upon the starting line.
It's even a hassle
scribing these simple words
without grinding my teeth,
headbutting defeat,
and fixing the channel
with which I once could
transform the bulging of veins
into the unraveling of stanzas.
With a pitter-patter here
and a tick and tock there,
the hourglass spins itself towards nausea
and still no denouement
from a muse that replaced burning passion
with a scalding charcoal mind.
How could I let them get to me?
How could I let them make mockery
and triviality of the art
held with the greatest sincerity,
leaving me a pigpen
of unanswered questions
tinged with urgent frustration?
Did I really just end this with a question?
Apr 29, 2010
Apr 29, 2010 at 10:48 AM UTC
Skyscrapers are leaving no holes
skydrapers are leaving no holes
like asphyxiated moles we would die
gasping for a piece of sky!
Jul 6, 2013
Jul 6, 2013 at 9:15 AM UTC
Death, I've seen through my mother's shallow breaths
The whisper of sadness moving into my head
That thing pushing and pulling inside my chest is skipping
Jumping and leaping at an irregular pace
The balloon of air is full but I feel asphyxiated by the pain
Numbing legs crawling to my head, every second seems like a century at haste
Death is for those who live, and sip the morning sun
Or for those who walk and feel the wind in their palm
I'm a diabetic walking on a candy store
With you as a tootsie roll
I can look and leer holes through your soul
But I cant taste let my lips drown into your
Wishing a chance to feel your warmth and the sweetness you have wrapped
A different kind of death I feel when you're around
The kind that kills me and bring me to life at the same time
The kind that creates a memory for me to smile to and frail at the same time
Stopping this borderline obsession, there is no chance
You've cut my legs down so I cant run, and hide from your charms
In my blood you slowly dine , leaving me no choice but to wait and die
Nov 30, 2013
Nov 30, 2013 at 2:06 PM UTC
Around my white vinyl house
Is scattered an assortment of mills:
Motley brick bones
With salted ****** cement cartilage
And cracked, uninhabited eyes
Staring down apathy and progress.
Pillars that once asphyxiated the sky
With black and grey
Now sigh dust into the breeze;
The dust of men and machines
Long-silent and long-still.
Poisonous paint peels off of memories
As cancerous flakes lazily snow from the ceiling.
Snake skins of creeping ruddy corrosion climb pistons
And embrace wheels.
Vines strangle arteries and musty furniture.
Trees breach the foundation
And claw open the rotted eaves,
Eager to drink the sticky August heat.
A crow grips a window-frame
Which has long outlived its purpose
And casts a numb eye over her domain.
A breath of moisture in the air:
A nor'easter approaches.
May 8, 2015
May 8, 2015 at 7:56 AM UTC
i know
that it is easy
to feel mediocre
and alone.
but at 30,000 feet
the world is so small
that you can count
the waves of the ocean on your fingers.
do you know
that it is hard
to let you see
what i've found?
breathing is easy
when you are above the clouds.
our love is trapped in the clutches of time-
seized in a moment,
lost in my windpipes,
i am busy catching your breath.
we can cut through the atmosphere.
meet me by the moon
to listen to the morning murmur.
i can only offer you so many escapes.
it's too hard to fix you.
why shouldn't i hide
if i am the bad guy?
and all you want to do
is say goodbye.
i etched eternity into your cracked skin.
i traced familiarity into your bruised bones.
but i am not a savior
nor an angel, it was
merely good timing.
atlas did nothing to deserve this.
even the divine must suffer
even the divine must fall
under the weight of the world.
all we have is each other.
asphyxiated and astringent,
each kiss is an exchanging exhale,
and our lungs convicts.
we'll dig our way out together.
i have only hurt you in secret.
i have only hurt myself in stupor.
but i tried, at least i tried.
i am trying.
Mar 10, 2013
Mar 10, 2013 at 7:51 AM UTC