"bedbugs" poems
In the burning right hand of the bald city,
denizens frame calories and count instagram blessings
while beacons of hope refund inspiration in USADA *** cups.
Abyssinian maids wail over yesterday lovers
who wore Ginsberg’s skirt with less pizzazz
and watched bedbugs **** blood off knee caps
wondering, what if Jesus Christ drove a Nissan?
As bullets of paragraphs fall Vietnamese pesticides on my head,
The dusts off my breath sing homilies
With letters of broken leather whiskey,
For even in the most dishonest jest,
clandestine toothbrushes are overrated
and every first false lie is the only truth.
Jun 27, 2013
Jun 27, 2013 at 8:02 PM UTC
Roses fall, silent;
In moonlight, like pouring rain.
On the leaves, dew hangs
Apr 18, 2024
Apr 18, 2024 at 11:16 AM UTC
He catches rats for a living
The fine young, jolly young man
Says if you can't get rid of them
Call me, because I can
I'll trap 'em, drown 'em, poison 'em,
Hit 'em on the head
Failing that I'll fire some shot;
Fill 'em up with lead
Bedbugs, fleas, ants, pigeons in the loft
Squirrels being troublesome
Tell me, I'll stop the lot
Then he handed me a business card
Said this is me as well
So if you fancy tasty burgers
Just give me a bell
Feb 15, 2013
Feb 15, 2013 at 2:20 PM UTC
Can't save a cowboy
When he's made of solid sin
Can't save the planet
Even faster now we spin
Can't save the homeless
They keep shittin' with their grins
Can't be afraid of it
A cowboy just takes aim at it
So I'll smile an easy smile
Smile, smile, smile
an easy smile
Temperature yesterday, chili after ten
There is way too much blue rain falling in the ocean
Too much elbow rubbing, bedbugs and disease
I want to clear my mind, I put it at ease
And I'll smile an easy smile
Smile, smile, smile
an easy smile
I loved it all so glad you came to visit
Just wish the springs will work if you can come in
It's anything to please you, won't you please now bring your own stool
If you want to come in to sit
And split an easy smile
Smile, smile, smile
an easy smile
Sep 2, 2015
Sep 2, 2015 at 2:43 PM UTC
*“Do I sense
some resistance -
a sense of injustice?”*
whispers Life
folding me cold
in her ample python-coil
and she sings me her song
*“The flowers bloom
in the fields, sweet love
to be gathered for your bier
Time lingers in the wings
to pull you off stage
at the moment
opportune in its Clasped Book
The worms wait patient
if you choose a burial;
if cremation’s your choice
the fires wait in quiet potential
The musicians practise
to be employed
by the survivors
to deliver you a dirge
And so my sweet love -
Live well
Night night, sleep tight,
don’t let the bedbugs bite"*
Jan 9, 2013
Jan 9, 2013 at 3:11 AM UTC
Lullaby and goodnight
and sleep you sound my love
May angels keep you safe in sleep
as they watch from up above
Lullaby and sweet dreams
and slumber well this night
Soft, sweet sighs as you close your eyes
Don't let the bedbugs bite
Lullaby and don't you cry
the sun returns at dawn
Now to sleep, and do not weep
just listen to my song
Aug 28, 2012
Aug 28, 2012 at 5:46 PM UTC
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gKPEOfybQak&feature;=related
*Remember his name when you look at the night sky.
- the Toe-cutter*
You are the Night Rider,
a fuel-injected suicide machine,
a rocker, a roller,
a no-controller,
yer a cop killer,
the mighty weird hand of vengeance
come to smite the un-roadworthy.
You, Night Rider,
clearly unaffected
by the state’s urgings
to “yield” and, perhaps,
“soft shoulder”.
You are the Night Rider,
sleeping in on a Tuesday,
performing your masculinity
in unshowered, unshaved machissmo.
Night Rider,
won’t you come to your senses?
Nobody enjoys maniacal laughter
anymore.
It makes us think of ****
covered in fleas, bedbugs,
whiskey ****
or Janis,
and the last moments of an American Saigon.
Ahh… Night Rider,
we share your machine lust,
your fetish,
your hard-on for the muscle-bitch,
the suped-up hot rod,
the last of the V-8 Interceptors
(1973 Australian Ford XB Falcon GT).
We, too, like a nitrous kit,
a roof and tail spoiler,
we likes our flat black:
………....................our murderous speed
………..........................has driven daddy to drinkin’.
We ride!
Night Rider, we understand.
We get the lurid infatuation,
but, **** yer a hick-weed,
all these roads lead to jail
–how have you not grasped this simple truth?
The highway is not freedom,
but a circular slave song.
Oh, rider of the night,
why all the re-runs of Seinfeld?
And cheese bread?
You’ve grown a belly, N.R.,
and while it might be glam
to be young, dumb
and full of ***
or all muscle
in butt-less chaps at 21,
you’re 45, Night Rider,
and no-one cares anymore
about your straight-line revolution,
about your road to freedom,
about it,
about what kind of future
you and Floosie would’a made.
The kids are alright
but
they ain’t never heard
of you
nor your last,
wild-eyed flight.
As the Lord Humungous has indicated,
no one
gets out
alive.
Jun 22, 2012
Jun 22, 2012 at 3:09 PM UTC
If bedbugs become pets~ is there a possibility~someone is spending to much time in the sack~and not stepping out into what the Real World~ "Offers Up"~even tho the Bedbugs seem more friendly..... If you Cry over White onions~why cry over the Red one ? ? Turkeys Trot to a dance taught by man~Pretending to be foxes~always close to the tail . A Truly honest man~Would~Not be believed~if it weren't for the Falsehoods that Truly exist ! ! Staples when firmly pressed~Usually hold things together~SO___What makes these staples unworthy of being served up at dinner ? Ever think about yard sticks? ~ and How Come your neighbors don't have any sticking up~ and your the only one that meets the measure. . . POE only hinted at the torment of Modern man~Stories in Stupors don't find the center of the heart~ Unless they are really experienced . . It's sorta like being poured into a Landfill~But like a Good Cork~You can't seem to sink all the way~Your head just bobbing above~and continually being that ready target~as additional waste'PILES AROUND ! ! It's like walking into a familiar room~But as you turn on the light switch~you discover~that you are now the "Stranger"~in a strange place. . Life is like a Trampoline~casting ones thoughts up and down for review~NOT considering that some may be actually measuring the values presented. . *The *Broken heart of a man'who loves the woman who opened that door~ May Never be receptive to repair~NOT ENOUGH PARTS LEFT ! ! As the Lights "Come-On"~ it's like being at the Helm of the 'TITANIC" ~ assured that all others are off safely~__AND~ the Shaking of Life Begins .......
Aug 7, 2012
Aug 7, 2012 at 4:43 PM UTC
Mosquitoes
Pesky little pests
Mosquitoes
Bastard's of ******
Mosquitoes
Sucketh out mine blood
Mosquitoes
I'll smacketh them in their Butt's
Mosquitoes
Cometh by the swarm
Mosquitoes
Thine wings art mine, tonight they shalt be torn
Mosquitoes
I hate noone but thee
Mosquitoes
Like bedbugs, roaches, and flea's
Mosquitoes
Taketh all the cruor thou canst tonight
Mosquitoes
Thou hath lived for a few days
Tonight's thy last night
MOSQUITOES!!!!!!!
Die thou little blood ******* devils!!!!!!
Jun 25, 2015
Jun 25, 2015 at 9:53 PM UTC
My lounges burn.
My body shakes.
My eyes are
*F
A
L
L
I
N
G.*
**But no longers do my eyes sting from salty tears.
Say goodbye to trembling from neverending nightmares.
Sweet dreams. Sleep tight. Don't let the bedbugs bite.**
Jun 18, 2013
Jun 18, 2013 at 3:15 AM UTC
Well, I'm the real thing, baby
I'm the talk of the town
and I'm the one that you taste
when her tongue's in your mouth
and I'm the dirt on your hands
that will never come clean
I'm the bleach that you drink
I'm the stains on your sheets
Well, I'm the blisters screaming
every time that you touch
and I'm the ache that keeps you up at night
the sick you stomach
caught in your throat, you can smell me
I'm the plaque on your teeth
you know there's something in the way you gag
that says you love me
And I'm your bedbugs, baby
I'm that itch that you scratch
you get me caught under your fingernails
I spread to your mask
I'm your disease now, sugar
sickly sweet on your breath
so sweat me out
I'm the fever that you'll never forget
Well, I'm the real thing, baby
I'm that crutch that you lust
and I'm the limp and the cramp
when you're trying to run
I'm your infection, honey
your point-oh-eight percent
you see, I go down easy
and you won't feel regret
And I'm your fleas now, sugar
crawling under your skin
you watch me hatch, I'm starving
baby, feed me again
I'm the body writhing
in antibiotic
swallow me whole, my darling
take it slow, I'll act quick
I'm the rash on your skin
I'm the dust in your eye
I'm the hole in the ground
you tried to crawl back inside
I'm the womb, I'm the host
a parasite with a twist
I'm the maggots crawling in the wound you cut
I'm the stitch
And I'm the ashes burning
on the soles of your feet
I'm the sliver stuck under your skin
you tried to lick clean
I'm the scars on your back
the needle mark on your vein
I'm every thought you'll ever have
I hope you'll have me again
'Cause I'm your bedbugs, baby
I'm that itch that you scratch
I'm caught up underneath your fingernails
and under your mask
I'm your disease, you chose me
muttered under your breath
so sweat me out
I'm the fever that you'd love to forget
Nov 24, 2012
Nov 24, 2012 at 7:22 PM UTC
Ashen hair encircles her head,
And a face that could do with a wash.
Yet above the chipped teeth and the grimy brown hands,
Sits, throned, a crown of gold.
A waltzing skirt, trimmed with ribbons of dust,
A bruise of an amethyst hue,
She mutters the stories to ***** grey walls,
The girl with a crown of gold.
The peasants awake, splitting heads, withered throats,
From their bedbugs and blankets and beer.
The princess stands firm, she will not be moved
From her crack-mirrored bathroom seat.
*The peasants are worse than usual this morn,
But you have to expect that from them.*
The mirror reflects, in its own shattered way
The torn, crushed crown of gold.
There once was a prince, in this faery land.
A baby too brave for his good,
A trip away, up the silent back stairs.
-
They can't batter his new crown of gold.
The streets try to drag her back into the world,
But she only sees carpets of red.
In a fairytale land where no evil is seen,
Sometimes paper's more precious than gold.
Nov 5, 2014
Nov 5, 2014 at 2:45 AM UTC
Weekends fly
Like clouds that float
Across the windy skies.
Tonight I'll bite
The bedbugs back,
Then close my tired eyes.
Come Monday I
May choose to fret
That my own time is spent.
But it is worth
A week of work:
Weekend's Heaven Sent.
Apr 27, 2014
Apr 27, 2014 at 6:07 PM UTC
you’re a snuggler
a tangler
a logistical link of limbs
that end up intertwining with mine
you kick me over some of the duvet
in the gentlest of gestures
and fester in the filth of your little sister’s linen
as the full moon sheds shame on our backsides.
but as the sun scowls through the window
that frames the four post
you wrap yourself in the sheets
like a sushi roll of biscuited bitterness
you natter to the bedbugs
the only ones who’ll listen to your curses
whilst me?
I’m basking in the warmth of a Sunday scandal.
Dec 6, 2016
Dec 6, 2016 at 2:41 PM UTC
Every morning
I wake up in a city
that feels a little more familiar
each time my eyelids bloom daffodils
on a fire escape horizon.
Maybe I’m in love with a Newness
that begins to feel like Home.
Maybe I dream dumpsters
in Flatbush
or shoot Harlem
into my forearms.
Use telephone wires as tourniquets.
Maybe this girl I’ve been seeing has traces
of Paradise in her bloodstream.
And then I have to remember this city is home to
Pizza Rat, and bedbugs in the metro benches,
and **** Holly Golightly,
she never had to take the F train.
But maybe
she and I can share some unspoken reality,
and I’ll walk down 5th Ave. one day
holding my lover’s hand
as the sun turns sidewalks silver
and we’ll decide to grab a
croissant.
Jan 14, 2016
Jan 14, 2016 at 11:44 AM UTC
I've shot a hundred rabbits
Made of a gun of dodgy habits
Saw the sky and couldn't grab it
Made a net and tried to catch it
But like a soaring eagle,
Beauty only wants to be free
So I'll just head on home,
Lay down in my bedroom and sleep
Bed bugs and butterflies
Been stuck inside my eyes
Can't seem to see just why
I haven't learnt to fly
Guess I've just learnt to sleep with
Little creatures blocking my view
Rain droplets drizzle down,
Whilst I still dream of you
I dream of rainy mornings,
Cool clouds and daylight dawning,
Sweet sounds of robins calling
Tip-taps of raindrops falling
I know it's somewhere out there
Like its been waiting for me
I see it in my window,
I see it in the trees
May 21, 2016
May 21, 2016 at 11:22 PM UTC
I’ve made sure the windows are painted
That was step one
I have to open my metal door to see
The world, the dying summer
Because it can’t leak into here
I am so broken I make myself believe this
And that
Love conquers the weak too
Step two is ignoring the bony girl and her crystal ball eyes holding
The pit-bull with the
Bleeding leg
And I believe, because my soul
Has been left in some purse or backseat
That the dog doesn’t know anything about pain
Step three is admitting that I’ve set fire to sunflowers
Because I thought, I knew, they could take it
Step four is putting God inside of an air-seal jar
For 3 to 6 weeks on my bedside table
While I tear into thin laughs
Step five is pretending to know
Pretending there was life in the dead leaves
Burnt orange and burnt red
Step six is climbing from under the bed trying
To be oh so quiet
Because it’s midnight and that
Glass-cut boy you’re ******* on
Isn’t making any noise
Step seven is collecting dust
Step eight is sharing a pillow half-heartedly
Reading about bedbugs at night
Trying to chase the visions of your bare neck
Glowing
Stirring her awake
And go south to fight off winter
Step ten is spitting pesticide on the spring dandelions
They (you) are flowers, they (you) are sycophants
They (you) are beautiful, they (you) are weeds
Step eleven is burning the bridge
Where I had to pull off
your dress to
Keep myself on
Step twelve I’m half-awake
In a puddle of my own fake blood, in everyone’s blood
Calling the doctor for blue-black sleeping pills
You won’t come looking for me
You’re busy
Sleepwalking away from misery
Mar 27, 2011
Mar 27, 2011 at 10:01 AM UTC
Wrecked on the couch,
my victims asked me who I was
or who I thought I was
or who I was trying to be.
I resented them, like most people
who play into my empathy for
some luxury or to **** out a sucker.
I live on a seat of noise.
Everything is deafeningly loud.
Sinking in screams
like a stale mattress
full of bedbugs,
but you need a place to sleep
for at least another night.
I fly on a deranged bird
that knows one word,
and that word is made-up.
Fictional.
I fly by inches, crawl in the sky
crawl towards death with my
head tilted backwards.
I don't even bother asking
many questions anymore,
especially about people.
I'm not so upset that nobody
particularly cares.
Oct 14, 2014
Oct 14, 2014 at 1:28 AM UTC
T'was the night before Christmas and all through the shack, not a present to be found, because dad was on crack. ***** socks in the corner, nasty stench on the air, with hopes that the dope man would soon be there.
The children were all rolling in their old beds, because of bedbugs chewing on their heads. And mama with her syringe, and daddy smoking crack. They were too strung out to lay down for a nap.
When out in the street there rose such a clatter. Dad sprung to his feet to see what was the matter. When away from the window he flew in a flash. "holy **** They're after my stash!"
Nov 24, 2014
Nov 24, 2014 at 10:24 AM UTC
I hunger for your love, my love
But yet you feed me rocks
And other cold hard facts.
I thirst for your affirmation
Yet suffer the tyranny of
Mouthfulls of biast statements
Contradicting my hopes
I want to kiss you and,
Crawl into your bed at night
Listen to your euphoric shrieks
Because like your childhood bedbugs
I also sometime playfully bite.
But your scientific mind is
Veining over my beutiful
Dreams Of guns and roses
And other lucid stimulus.
I love you, okay
Three words not even your
Verbose tongue could complicate.
Maybe that's why.
Maybe love is a concept your
Rational mind feels threatened by
And thus conceals all pulsating
Emotion
By diction and intelectual ***********
I hate you for that.
For killing my cat.
For raising my suspicion.
I hate you for not loving me.
And not acting normally.
Always being formally
... cold and undefined
Apr 29, 2014
Apr 29, 2014 at 6:27 PM UTC
a thick clown living in his square meal life
painted his smile on his face quite early in life
sheds the years like skin but the smile remains
watches the grass grow
thinks how its like dreams grow into plastic flowers
if he only knew which priest of pestilence to follow
they all begin to sound like cheap warehouse salesmen after awhile
if he could just decipher the writing on the cave wall
spray painted faces and names like pictographs of
some mysterious civilization hiding out behind the 7-11
a robust man of leisure he fries his skittles on the front lawn
candy for the man with no other pleasures
but a sweet girly girl comes by and gives him hugs
in exchange for bedbugs
if we all could live a life of such luxury
the world would be a better place
the thick clown is getting thinner as he leaves behind
all his broken record memories
time for some brand new fresh from the factory hopes
time for a laxative for his mind
that'll flush all the bull away
Feb 26, 2016
Feb 26, 2016 at 7:32 PM UTC
There are bedbugs in my head
And they are singin your song.
I don't know if we're dead
So for now I'll sing along.
Jul 20, 2019
Jul 20, 2019 at 6:06 PM UTC
I never thought I would feel so alone
lying right next you.
I never thought you would complain and moan,
If I tried to kiss you.
I never pictured I'd feel so much pain,
While you are lying RIGHT there.
I never believed I would go insane,
because you wont hold me after I had a nightmare.
Late at night,
When the stars come out,
I get a huge fright,
Because I suddenly begin to doubt.
It is like I don't know you anymore.
You turn your back on me.
It hurts, it is so **** sore,
Becoming more and more unsteady.
If you think the cold night is dark,
just wait till you see inside.
You lie and break my heart.
Making me want to cry and hide.
Then when morning comes,
I put on a fake smile,
I watch you drive after the sun.
I try to maintain my denial.
But every night, oh so late,
the only thing keeping me company
is the demons I create,
and I let them live with me,
because when I'm scared
I don't feel the pain.
As long as the demons are there,
I never have to be alone again.
Jul 12, 2017
Jul 12, 2017 at 4:21 PM UTC
if i were the drinking kind
i'd fill my body with enough poison i might slip into a deep slumber and not wake until the pain disappeared
my poison of choice
is music
melodies strung and sung so sweetly my heart aches until it numbs
when tears slither their way out of my dry, cracking face i try to convince myself i'm just rehydrating the dead cells that mask my tired bones
pay no attention to the hysterical grin, the Gucci bags under my eyes, and the hair that's wearing Thin and Matted like designer names on B-list celebrities
every night i cut the ambien into pieces, working my way up from halfsies to wholesies so i don't have to listen to the conversations i have with the walls in my room
it all hurts so ******* much, you know?
you don't numb this kind of pain expecting it to go away
you listen to it and coddle it and sit back as it consumes you because **** it looked so innocent
at first
when 10 am finally comes
hashbrowns with too much salt, a mug of cold tea, and a couple Prozac can remedy even the worst of depression's hangovers
sleep tight
don't let the bedbugs bite.
-
-rgp
Apr 9, 2017
Apr 9, 2017 at 6:30 PM UTC