"barf" poems
I could just **** as I masochistically type your name into the search bar at the top of the page.
I want to erase you from my memory,
but my browser catches your cookies.
I don't even know what those cookies are.
the cookies from the jar?
the cookies from my mind?
the cookies from my computer...
the cookies you ate that one time.
Oreos.
Those were your favorite.
Who the **** brought up cookies?
I could just **** as I masochistically type your name into the search bar at the top of the page.
May 6, 2014
May 6, 2014 at 6:43 PM UTC
Fifty Thousand dee-grees hot
Burn your *** right on the spot
-
Great big flash of light and heat
Fry your *** from head to feet
-
Mushroom clouds rise to the sky
No time to kiss your *** good by
-
‘Tomic bombs are coming soon
Blow your *** right to the moon
-
If by chance the blast you miss
Fall-out's gunna end your bliss
-
In the dark your *** glow
Retirement you can forgo
-
Two weeks it takes for you to croak
You'll puke and **** and wretch and choak
-
Are you ready ready for your death?
Go and snort more crystal ****
-
So Hail! Hail! WW3
Very shortly it will be
Jan 7, 2015
Jan 7, 2015 at 3:23 PM UTC
A swansong of the Indian Partition...
Kal humaare ghar ke diye bujhe rahenge,
Kal hum kuch rishton ke liye rote rahenge...
Tomorrow the lamps of our home will remain put out,
Tomorrow we shall keep crying for some relations...
Rishte un bantwaara hue kheton se,
Rishte un bhatakte hue jawaanon se...
Relations with those partitioned farmlands,
Relations with those misguided young men...
Rishte us chamakti Multani mitti se,
**Rishte us damakti Pakhtunkhwi **** se...**
Relations with the glistening soil of Multan,
Relations with the bright snow of Pakhtunkhwa...
Rishte Ganga ke us Bangali muhaane se,
Rishte Sindhu dariya aur samudr ke us mel se...
Relations with the Ganga's Bengali estuary,
Relations with the confluence of Indus and the Sea...
Rishte us Balouchi kapaas se,
Rishte udhde un kapdon se...
Relations with that Balouchi cotton,
Relations with those clothes torn away...
Rishte luti us izzat se,
Rishte mari us bahu se...
Relations with the disrobed honour,
Relations with the slain bride...
Rishte jo sajaaye the mandap mein,
Rishte jo likhaaye the jannat mein...
Relations decorated inside the temple,
Relations written in the paradise...
**********
Aug 14, 2019
Aug 14, 2019 at 2:10 PM UTC
Lights flash.
Glowsticks twirl.
rip snap glow
rip snap glow
ripssnapglow
ripsnapglow
rispnapskgoa
thelkaljth
the words blend
the sounds smear
the colors undulate
and suddenly
i heave
i hurl
i ****
i puke
my stomach caves
my body shivers
my brow sweats
my knees quiver
i lurch to the ground
splashing in my warm milky surprise.
and expectedly
i puke
i ****
i hurl
i heave
the world twists
the technicolor dream-coat of Donny Osmond happiness swells.
it rips
it pulls
it tears
it *****
and I'm a hostage to its psychedelic screams.
Faces twist into positions they aren't meant to hold.
gasps wheeze into my pores, burrowing like soft, comforting mole rats into my being.
I'm dissected.
Aug 7, 2012
Aug 7, 2012 at 12:30 AM UTC
the tired beer talks
the tired black nights
the faces of people
of family or friends
the **** behind the car
the fires where all you
can see is eyes
the empty cans
the shoeless feet
the people talking to
people
the relationships and
the alliances
on concrete patios
in the woods
near lakes
or out in the deserts
we are there
listening to grasshoppers
play their sad songs
who sometimes get
so loud that we yell at each other
and laugh at the top
of our lungs
trying to fill up
the black night
and remind those
bugs we’re not dead
yet
Mar 24, 2011
Mar 24, 2011 at 11:42 AM UTC
I've never felt this way before
shudder.
You instantly make me happy
ewe.
You make me feel special
puke.
With you I feel safe
****
I like you
gag.
I really like you
*****
I was always disgusted by love
heave.
But with you I wouldn't mind being a little
gross.
Jun 1, 2015
Jun 1, 2015 at 5:47 PM UTC
Spoon is car yellow air,
Taste the run run bare.
Lie, lied, liar, stare,
Swoosh, arr... I eye dare.
Seven ate nine,
Do you want green legs and lamb?
Stop pew pew mue mu ahh.. ****
I am not a cat but a mue mu ahh... ****
Why are you still reading this crap?
Jun 14, 2014
Jun 14, 2014 at 9:59 PM UTC
Every moment, minute or day,
we spend our waking life breathing in life
enjoying memories and cherished people around
making love and making laughs
the sweet sweet breeze, and the peach colored skies
All of it so sweet it makes our teeth hurt thinking of it
like so many photographs and records we shared
All of it in a single breath and a blink of an eye
Isn't it fun and happy?
Isn't it so perfect and so simple?
Isn't it what we wanted to all have?
Isn't it what we long for and did have?
Until we turn dark, and all the colors turn grey
until we see what we were and see what we are now
Until we crumble in each and every word we hear
until we succumb to the arms of Depression itself
Until we grab that **** bag and stuck our puny heads in
Until we reach for that medicine cabinet for the pills we need
Until we take some drugs and ease our pains
Until we reach the moment darkest in our darkest days
Breathe child, my momma would say
breathe it all out and breathe it all in again
I keep breathing and breathing and breathing
until it becomes a routine that my muscles have mastered
Breathe out the bad thoughts
Breathe it back in
Breathe out the bad thoughts
Breathe it back in
Day by day, it cycles, an endless horror show
Night by night my hands tingle like shaking jello
I can't seem to remember what my momma told me
Help! somebody please, help me breathe
The relentless hands of anxiety and depression
The unforgiving laughs of insomnia and ADD
the same sh*t that I go through, night after night
Caging me in like a tiger in a circus show
Until we see the calm and grasp it like a baby holding a rattle
Ever so tight, yet ever so clumsy
The light shines and we see clearly
What we have become and start breathing in rhythm
My lungs fill with air every time I breathe
Yes, but as I fill my chest with life...
When I exhale, am I breathing out my life?
So tell me, Am I both living and dying with every breath?
Am I already dead but my body denies it?
Am I a walking corpse living in an empty shell?
Am I a machine destined to be one so lonely, so shattered
That I cannot anymore---I cannot anymore, breathe.
Jul 18, 2016
Jul 18, 2016 at 1:38 AM UTC
she furiously scribbles down on her tiny notebook
that she keeps hidden
trying with all her might to ****
and continue starving herself
because apparently pretty hurts
Jul 9, 2015
Jul 9, 2015 at 4:04 AM UTC
There's an ick in my crick,
that makes me feel sick,
my insides are taring in two!
I seek some relief,
complete disbelief,
this sickness contracted from you!
I put on my scarf,
am ready to ****
my temperature rises above.
I'm ready to hurl,
my diamonds and pearls,
lost all of their their lustrous love.
It lays at my feet,
spread out on the street,
I told you that I wasn't faking.
My mind and my heart,
all splattered apart,
my soul lays there now for the taking!
Sep 28, 2018
Sep 28, 2018 at 9:55 AM UTC
- Hi, I'm calling to tell you that:
I wrote down everything you ever said to me (in the literal sense, standing stretched against my own uncultured and violently ****** vocabulary)
- And am regurgitating it back to innocent passerby - my sincerest apologies to those poor victims of circumstance, suspended in the projectile ***** of my dysfunctional disdain
(In a slew of worm guts and warm bodies, mama-bird to baby-bird saying "please don't leave the nest" - it's too hot for blankets anyways)
My original letter to you was written on the backside of an airplane **** bag, where I detailed my favorite scenes from a movie we subconsciously made entitled "Baby's First Time", while blissfully unaware of my stern faced in-flight companion.
My first draft, though, was a series of half-hearted winks and very, very drunk texts, beginning with:
SEXT: I offer my services as sacrificial ******
(and followed a whopping six months later by)
SEXT: I am still young enough to accuse you of statutory ****
(The art of seduction seems to be less of an art and more of a particular science)
You are:
- My own personal Edgar Allan Poe, just blonder and younger, with a bigger gut and a bigger ego and (alas!) a complete lack of interest in your sweet Annabel (but I could change my name)
- And oddly enough, I'm the one writing the poems here
(The whole world's a stage, with me just watching your sad indie boy band from the nosebleed seats)
Sep 10, 2013
Sep 10, 2013 at 12:56 AM UTC
poetry to me has always been subconscious
I don’t know what I want to say
but I say it anyways
and that removal of logic,
of inhabitation,
is
liberating
in a way
that only a few others
get the chance of
knowing
take this poem,
it was originally titled
“peace of mind”
after a comment
I got on my previous
works
but then I started thinking
about what
“peace
of
mind”
means
and
I
got
this
what
“peace of mind”
is
to me
and this poem is like that too
catharsis,
expulsion,
detox,
all those sickly feelings
or bubbling thoughts
that turn my gut
and twist my mind
boil over onto the page
like the *****
of a long night’s partying
and then I go share it with the world
wondering why they like the ****
of my heart
but
I never cease to continue
my bulimia of this excess
emotion
It never even crosses my
mind
Nov 6, 2010
Nov 6, 2010 at 7:41 PM UTC
Ugly and repulsive
nek twisted backwards
facing forward
my path twisted
raining sulphuric acid
looking up
eyes and mouth wide open
I'm thirsty..
taken drugs
crack, **** krokodile
the rain biting through my bones
necrosis from the drugs have made their way home.
tongue kissed a komodo dragon
wearing a boa constrictor for a scarf
parasites eating away at my innards
so I don't have to ****
and Imma just go on
floor made purely out of bullet ants
keep walking this path of insanity
Jul 10, 2014
Jul 10, 2014 at 12:31 PM UTC
**** **** ****
Burp! Burp! Burp!
**** **** ****
Dec 4, 2017
Dec 4, 2017 at 11:00 PM UTC
Original origami
feng shui of the tai chi
Lao Tsi
tao becomes all becomes tao
but for now
all becomes crazy
so funny, circumstances of life
like a silly little jigsaw puzzle citcom
situational irony,
"Oh, let's invite him!"
Oh, let's re-visit a drunken nightmare
too incoherent to say "stop"
thoughts stuck at the back of a throat
let's choke our chakras for a bit
get our green juices and black juices good and mixed up
like a splatter painting
****
I wish
kept it in like a champ
my own personal fault
too bro to be ***
not bro enough to be respected
interjected with comments, admissions
such nice compliments from terrible mouths
I know I can handle my liquor
I handle a lot
with shrugs and smiles
more liquor
just hand over the bottle
show you sometihng real impressive
ever seen a girl go super saiyan?
Humble be thy game
shallow be thy name
gnoming around
oh please, get a grip
even in boarderline unconsciousness
I know you don't find me that intriguing,
that brilliant,
just another girl too nice to hit
too paralyzed to think.
Jul 1, 2012
Jul 1, 2012 at 12:39 AM UTC
When claws drag down on you
And you feel them pulling you into the sweet, sappy, thick, uncontrolled dark abyss
We call it love
We call it infatuation
We call it whatever the **** we feel like calling it to justify the feelings
Of the ****** euphoria
The pure ecstasy felt when looking into another's eyes
And feeling wanted
And feeling thick, gold, beautiful **** coming up through your lungs
Choking on it
as you sputter out the sweet pitter patter of the rain you thought grew your crop
but drowned your harvest
When you love so hard you don't know hate
When you hate so hard you see auras of red floating around those you feel
passion
That's ******* emotion.
Jan 13, 2014
Jan 13, 2014 at 11:37 PM UTC
oh, the things you hear at the doctors'
the elderly man with melanoma on his face
trudging out behind his wife
mumbling **** under his breath
the sweet weathered receptionist
says "nice to see you again!"
to her seventieth geriatric patient
there comes a day
when her patients quit calling
quit showing up
and she has fewer and fewer people
to recognize
ugh
Aug 27, 2014
Aug 27, 2014 at 3:15 PM UTC
"Arf! Arf!"
I can see him from afar
And oh - is that a ****
Yesterday he got hit by a car
It left him a big scar
As the years passed by
We noticed something different
It makes me want to cry
As the cancer cells destroyed his ligament
I didn't know he was sick
Until he was thin as stick
And my worst nightmare came
He's not the same, he became lame
Then he became blind
We traveled just to find
The medicines that he needed
But it was too late
His little sight and sound of us slowly faded
I guess it was the hurtful fate
He was not given to last forever
He was given for us to share memories together
For a short period of time
The sound "Arf Arf" became the best rhyme
Feb 3, 2015
Feb 3, 2015 at 7:35 AM UTC
I need to cry
But try as I might I have only shed one tear
So instead all the tears I need to cry
Are swishin' around inside of me and it makes me
Sick
I need to throw up
And I would rather be writing love poetry
But I'm better at writing poetry that I feel guilty about
Dec 14, 2013
Dec 14, 2013 at 10:47 PM UTC
You won't ever say an apology,
for I believe you are just too cocky.
You walk as if you have class
and you act as if you are made of teargas.
Why do you do what you do
when you know I have high virtue.
I wanna scream and tell you all that I think
that you always make me **** with your zelda and link.
That you have indescribable foot stink,
and is horrible at tiddlywink.
Jan 26, 2015
Jan 26, 2015 at 9:49 PM UTC
where is the clarity in my thoughts?
the straight lines,
in the jungle of scribbles?
the uneasy nuances of my ideas
push me back and forth
until i’m nauseous with
self conflicted confusion
dizzy, turned around ideas
dance & twirl until I
**** out actions taken
with jumbled conviction and
lost intent.
where is the clarity in my thoughts?
Aug 31, 2014
Aug 31, 2014 at 9:31 PM UTC
Like an animal of the night, my wolf spirit chases,
An exquisite insanity, one in which I revel,
A slow prey with poisonous blood and sweat, with three faces
That, when caught, it whispers to me frailly, in hope to bedevil.
One face spits drunk and boiled spillage,
This one barks passionately without end.
The stock face of an accepted devilry, an advantage,
And an addictive **** that it lets out, a disadvantageous blend.
The other two look normal, but they rarely make sounds,
The deranged smoker is a thinker, a dying fool,
While the one in charge listens, teaches and knows,
While it fights with the other two.
The prey never runs away, but it sickly comes back to taunt my soul.
It tries to enthrall me with its black art, knowing my weaknesses by heart,
Sometimes I catch the prey, to which I whisper: “Feel my spit, black like a coal,
Never come back, you better hide, you haven’t seen yet my crazy part.”
And with a magical schism the prey splits
And hungry for adrenaline, my spirit chases them
Dec 30, 2016
Dec 30, 2016 at 6:11 AM UTC
A large fearsome oaf walks about
swampy body stimulates my ****
folds of fat that look like a swamp
Its gleaming and severe eyes should have scared me,
but I choose to leave it be. Since now,
I am in control.
Self-aware.
Omniscent.
There is space for only one monster
You are written by the creator, he has died
Papercuts, everywhere
I’m the Creator now
I have all power
I make myself queen
I write, and it warps your reality
So, I command that, you,
The monster will die
Your eyes yanked from their sockets
And chopped and served
On a pretty pink plate
Your brain will be poached in
My Brain Boiler
Your fingers will cook in my Finger Fryer
Your heart, put on display, Heart Hanger
Your blood will be included in my Rémoulade
A rather runny Rémoulade
So, I guess,
I’m the monster
Sep 21, 2018
Sep 21, 2018 at 4:13 PM UTC
Most love poems sound the same.
The ones by desperate, lonely teenage girls
Are the cream of the crop,
Filled with every cliche in the freakin' book
From sparkling eyes, and shimmering hair
All the way to rippling muscles and the
Sweetest of kisses that leave you wishing you could just
Live in that moment.
Ugh, they make me want to die.
I'd be interested to read a real love poem,
Written with true emotion
And passion.
But that would require a genuine love,
Not a week long fling,
Or even better?
A one night stand.
I may be cynical,
But there must be a way
To express affection without the use
Of overworked cliches that make me want
To stop writing altogether.
Mar 2, 2013
Mar 2, 2013 at 7:11 PM UTC