"bloodshot" poems
She was only seventeen
In a town called Mexicali
Purple lipstick, hair dyed green
Wouldn't let her leave without me
And she liked things obscene
That I won't talk about here
But her **** you wouldn't believe,
So I had to keep her around...
**My marijuana girl, my marijuana girl
Her eyes lit up
When I lit up
My marijuana girl
My marijuana girl, my marijuana girl
Smoky dreams
and tequila screams...**
...My Marijuana Girl...
She was a wild thing indeed
Life carried by the wind
A little wink is all she needs
To drive a holy man to sin
My bloodshot eyes were hypnotized
My head started to spin
She can blow you up or calm your heart
Like nitroglycerine
**My marijuana girl, my marijuana girl
Her eyes lit up
When I lit up
My marijuana girl
My marijuana girl, my marijuana girl
Smoky dreams
and tequila screams...**
...My Marijuana Girl...
*Mi chica marijuana
My marijuana girl*
May 27, 2015
May 27, 2015 at 8:33 PM UTC
Your seething tides churn in my mind
As my shaky hands subside
And though love can be caustic,
You are sweet-tempered.
Your voice could calm even the roughest storms.
I wish I had enough time in the day to tell you of how many times you've kept my heart beating
Or of all of the times you've interrupted the steady streams of woe escaping my bloodshot eyes
All without even trying.
I wish I could thank you for holding my hand while I puked up roses, and drying my eyes when I choked on the thorns.
Feb 27, 2018
Feb 27, 2018 at 8:55 PM UTC
maybe all i need to stop this pain is a little motrin.
maybe all i need to stop this bleeding is a band-aid.
maybe all i need to stop this screaming are some ear plugs.
maybe all i need to stop this drowning is a life raft.
maybe all i need to stop this agony is a little numbness.
numbness...
it wears off, doesn't stop the pain only holds back the flood gates
of sleepless nights and screaming hearts, bloodshot eyes and rejections knife.
just long enough for me to catch a glimmer of hope, a mirage
in the Sahara, so beautiful yet so cruel.
just as i get close enough to taste
a sweet tomorrow,
the desert sun sets.
and i'm still bleeding,
and you're still
gone.
maybe all i need to stop this searching is a little less hope.
Jul 11, 2015
Jul 11, 2015 at 10:50 PM UTC
Faded clothes,
Burnt face,
Sticky hair,
Filthy palms,
Bloodshot eyes,
Sweaty arms.
Dried throat,
Painful thighs,
Sore feet,
Divided crowd,
Pitiful players,
Swollen knuckles.
Torn hope,
Crumpled chance,
Sunned court,
Tumbling scores,
Coughing points,
Silver lining.
Feb 20, 2015
Feb 20, 2015 at 8:58 AM UTC
Who Am I?
Well,
I must be
that ******
the one
in the black hoodie
***** sweatpants
and an uncombed eye,
that's always wooly
scratchy,
bloodshot
with searching for
my stash spot,
that ******
in your peripherals
that you keep your eye on
because he's
not
in a polo
looking nice,
talking
"well-spoken"
and
not
a threat
to your beautiful
lily-white daughter.
Because I grew up
fixing myself
ramen noodles
and
lifting the welcome mat
after school,
I must also be
that ******
whose father wasn't
in the same house
until he was age 13,
and when I tell you that,
you weren't expecting it
because "you're not a racist."
but
you weren't surprised.
You see,
I must be
that ******
a stand-in
for all other *******
I must be that ******
who represents
all *******
not because you are racist,
but because I'm the only
******
you've met
who doesn't talk like
dis, y'know whatmsayin,
and i talk like
this, do you know what I'm saying?
I must be that ******
In order for you
to feel okay
being around me
I must be that ******
who goes to college
does the right
thing
the white thing
and gets a job
a nice little house,
a nice black wife
with a nice
new england
clear
dialect,
(what I was
trying to get at
earlier
is that ****** dialects,
by their mere intonation,
denote stupidity,
right?)
and doesn't say a word
when his white friends
make ****** jokes
or talk in a ****** dialect
mocking some Aunt Jemima
they heard at Walmart.
But,
I also must be that ******
who doesn't step out of line
and say
"WHY IS IT
THAT IN EVERY SINGLE
ENGLISH CLASS
WE READ
ONLY
TWO
BLACK AUTHORS
A SEMESTER,
AND THAT'S
ENOUGH,
JUST ENOUGH
TO KEEP THE
****** PARENTS
HAPPY."
And If I happen to be a ******
I,
by all means,
must not be that ******
who had a white girlfriend,
and
this girlfriend
after dating
a ******
tried to date a white guy
she liked,
and when she told him
that she had dated,
loved,
and yes,
******
a ******
he had said back:
"I can't believe
you ****** a ******
Then again,
I must be that ******
with the big swinging ****
able to destroy
a white girl's ******
with its pulverizing
power.
And,
please,
If I am going to be a ******
don't be the one
who writes a poem
about
having to be
that ******
because those
kinds of *******
are being
over-sensitive,
those dashiki-wearing-motherfuckers
who think
"Da white man dis."
and "Da white man dat."
Because
I am not one of those *******
descended from the first people on earth,
your brother,
not in the ****** way,
but the familial,
species way.
Why am I even writing
this, ****** isn't a main operative
word anymore.
Search and find ******
and
replace with
"Black Guy." That way it becomes
a joke.
Nov 30, 2011
Nov 30, 2011 at 7:22 AM UTC
Try not to think about it
Shove it down ....way down
Don't show it
Its bubbling up, it wants to escape
I don't know how long I can hold it
I'm not that strong
I want control over it
But it consumes me
I am it
And it is me
I wasn't always this way with it
I never would shove it down
Until one day I was mocked for showing it
I was told I was weak
Because everyone has it ... and they can control it
Its all in your head , your a cry baby
I believed it
Why couldn't I control it ?
Next time I'll try my best
But I feel it again....its about to escape
I can't let it
I try shoving it down ....way down
But that doesn't stop it
Now its flowing out of me like water
I need to stop it
I run to my room , lock the door,shut off my phone
So no one can see it
I look in the mirror
Puffy face and bloodshot eyes are the result of it
I sit in front of my fan
The cool air dries it
I sit until all the evidence is gone
Until I can walk out of my room and deny it
I have to ... I'm not a cry baby
I can do this
I am it
And it is me
Sep 20, 2018
Sep 20, 2018 at 1:09 PM UTC
when a boy shows you his hands
bare except for the dust
he’s begging you to look past
take them in yours.
squeeze them once.
twice.
say without speaking
that you understand that the valleys
in his palms were meant to cradle
shooting star wishes
that he’s allowed to still hope for.
when a boy shows you his eyes
of milk and crimson and melanin
a bloodshot vein for every night he can’t sleep
let him shut his eyelids.
say without speaking
that you understand that the black hole pinpricks
of his irises hold more than the universe
should allow.
when a boy shows you his soul
shivering but still working toward friction
iced over but still working toward melting
let him come to rest next to yours.
say without speaking
that you understand that he is lonely
and that his silence speaks volumes
and that you kept his treasure close
because you love him.
when a boy shows you his hands
show him your hands.
when a boy shows you his eyes
show him your eyes.
when a boy shows you his soul
show him that
this is a comfortable place to rest it.
when a boy shows you the hardness that shaped him
show him the softness
that you have in store.
Nov 21, 2017
Nov 21, 2017 at 12:33 AM UTC
When clocks strike twelve and trainings end
— lurk not, they say, in school at night.
Age-old stories tell of how there’re
things that throng in fluorescent light.
In toilets silence screeches loud,
for when school’s empty, they arise:
Ghosts of pregnant girls lie wailing,
with cleaner-uncle poltergeists.
For now I sit on chilling white,
resounding prayers in my mind;
my heart racing with dire wish
a friend of Casper’s I won’t find —
Then eeeeeeek!
Is that a door creaking?
Perhaps it stemmed from my own mind,
Hinges sing as they fly open!
Thou who entered, oh be my kind!
A thud thud thud as shoes traverse
across the glinting marble floor;
and louder,
louder as they get
much nearer to my sacred door!
THEN SILENCE
or so I wish!
But a loud knock takes my breath away.
The unlatched bolt lies there lazing
HOW’D I FORGET TO LOCK TODAY?
A hand thrusts in so hard and swift,
door’s open ‘fore I can react!
I’m facing now a girl my age,
She bawls at me with little tact —
Eyes bloodshot and tummy bloated,
“YOU DISGUSTING PIG! HOW DARE YE?!”
I dash out of the girls’ toilet
before she tries to castrate me.
Sep 6, 2014
Sep 6, 2014 at 12:19 PM UTC
In your vision you are the only thing with bloodshot eyes.
You always wear a robe
that speaks seven languages... and a bank of fog is at your feet
nipping at your naked heel.
In your vision you remember how your arms feel in sunshine.
It is intense.
Your can-opener is hissing an etude
that alludes to wise men...
who bathe in miracles
and roam the world,
untarnished in Poverty.
Your can-opener whispers in hush tones
about barbarians at the gate. And they say
' they've come for the Linen ! '
You are not deceived.
In your vision you are the only thing that can backward engineer
a Universe.
On your way back to the homeland of your algebra
you hesitate. “ you may have left your keys in your Other Robe...”
The Robe that hallucinates constantly~ Carrying on about
' The dire consequences of leaving terrycloth alone with the keys '
and, afflicted with Prophesy Tourettes
the piteous tide of doom ' sayeth the robe '
you must suffer.
In your vision, you are the only one
looking for the keys.
Oct 16, 2012
Oct 16, 2012 at 5:09 PM UTC
i felt like talking that night
reciting poetry to your big blue eyes
and raw pink mouth smiling
high as a wind whipped kite
discussing
art, ontology, and existentialism
sitting like lotus
at the
Cafe Figaro on McDougall st
in the west village
belly of a ghost
lost in a vagrant memory
afterwards
we went to a
little one bedroom flat in the east village
haunted by the vapors of its history
a slight stench of ****
and dingo tongue
dripping toilet
all peeling walls
intimating births, cheer and squalor
after a hot bath
of lathered torsos
we followrd each other naked
winding around a table
into a swaying bed
that beckoned
**** here my darlings
and i licked and drank out of your drenched
rose red blossom for hours
it licking back
I salvaged the loneliness
of my soul between your thighs
like a desolate dog whimpering
thanking God with every graze and ******
of your all supple shifting limbs
your company
your company
your sweet droplets
of company
in moon rise
summer balm
we looked in the mirror
reflecting on my glistening face
all red raspberry
my lips like blood hydras
laughing our ***** off at how artsy we looked
smeared
with your rouge painted thighs
appearing as if half eaten
you growled swallowed and
licked big butter piggy
till your nose ran like the Ganges
gagging
eyes bloodshot pools of fire
cooing and oowing
driving me maniacal
with every ****** of your wild flicking tongue
we poured our selves into each other
viscous creels gushing
coursing like slime silver
radiating
and finally used to the marrow
we found ourselves drooping sails
our eyelids leaden
the night mist fell upon us
muttering shadows
and our *** shriveled
like cast-off umbilici
and we fell to sleep
steep steep
buoyant
like two buttermilk clouds
adrift
your company
your company
your sweet droplets
of company
in moon rise
summer balm
Nov 28, 2017
Nov 28, 2017 at 1:50 PM UTC
You're hurting. You're hurting bad.
I can see it in your bloodshot eyes
And how you shy away from smiles
Directed at you. Now your once-had
Gleaming spirit dwindles as it tries
To cut its pain with bleak exile.
But blood is pumping through your veins -
Don't change its course with nails or steel.
Our love for you will never fade, though
You ask me what I'd do if somone else took hold your reins
And replaced you, thinking that would make us feel
Happier - without you? Never. No.
I feel anger and frustration because I'm only human,
But nothing on this planet makes me happy like you can.
I love you, you know that. Believe that in yourself.
So stay with me - you'll be with me,
a heart within myself.
Jun 11, 2018
Jun 11, 2018 at 11:02 AM UTC
A musical trance seance under control by the hand of a shadow
A "Du hast" to a "Loco" To a "beautiful people"
A fraction of symphony, Sent by the gods of rock
Spiderweb rooms an corridor covered with the entrance to darkness set in place with danger light's, Strobe lights, an a fog machine set on auto
A haunted feel to a shack left cold an abandoned.
Equipped with superior beings and extended solo's of 6 string guitar's along with drum's and distorted bass guitar, setting the rhythm for our soul's,Feeding threw 4 large kickers.
This shadow was me
Venom
Decorated in crow face paint, Along with black attire to match my attitude
People came and went and came again
Supporting my and there craving for sublime sound
But one, the one, my goddess, my angel of death came to my dwelling, she came with a message
To indulge in my love
But also to give me a message of misery
To break me free of this chaotic world i was fixed in, with a bite to my fingertip the purified pressure was on
She wore the same colors as I
Only more dragged inline's
More pain, More beauty than she could see
I stared into her crystal corroded bloodshot eyes
I seen deep within herself
I saw pain, I saw hate for her fire, I saw hate from others
I had seen everything and nothing
I arose from my slumber to meet her in the darkness or mothers sleep
To give mother a great vision, a great dream and it was this
My angel of death, Meeting face to face, Eye to misery, Cure to disease, Beauty to ugly.
The words rolled off her tongue like the greatest embrace to a lover
Her words were sweet and seductive
Sprinkled with tears of a suicidal mind and a scarred wrist.
Then in a perfect moment are perfect tender love met with crying eyes and black lipstick.
Within that moment i ingested her misery
I took it and gave her what she deserved
Beauty
After the release of this lover's choice
We met vision and from there i seen the truth
I could never release her from this insanity
Only pamper or even embrace it
This timeless motion of misery will never stop ticking in my heart
Not till it expires!
Oct 14, 2014
Oct 14, 2014 at 10:33 AM UTC
The mind of that girl is a pain sanctuary
whose aching decreases due to a world that's imaginary.
From home she goes out to get away,
and all those nights in stranges she relies.
The soft morning breeze
tenderly dries the tears in her cheeks,
and childishly it peeks
through her bloodshot eyes looking for a trace of peace.
Nobody could really tell
if she, bones and flesh, is still alive
or if she's just a wanderer ghost.
Probably the only one of her kind.
The dark circles under her eyes
are a proof of the restless crying nights.
The tangled auburn messed up hair
tells she didn't sleep at home, but no one cares.
Picking up flowers on the way back home,
humming songs that once made her feel whole.
She rests for a few hours and once awake she grabs a pen,
she writes down a poem before she gets drunk again.
Somehow she finds calm
in the simple things of life,
and she tries not to think
about the coldness in her eyes.
Barely getting through, day by day,
trying not to be absorbed by all the grey.
Amassing countless heartbeats
to the final point where life she quits.
Mar 25, 2018
Mar 25, 2018 at 10:17 PM UTC
A tired old man groans
As he hand you some
Asian culture cuisine.
Riddled with spices
It tickles the little thing in the back of your throat
As you swallow the substance.
Face now flushed
Like a cluster of fire ants crawling on the hill
Calling it their home.
Home?
Where was it?
Your memory slips.
Glee storms the man’s face
As he studies your expression.
“Seems like you can’t handle such a simple thing."
Clouding your judgement, you bite your tongue
In desperate attempt to knock back the sense
That gone up and left.
However
It fails.
Numb as the lightbulbs turn into bottle-cap suns
Concealing sight
With the light that it shares.
Count as your heart stops
With eyes bloodshot
His crafted words echo
In your failing ears.
Jun 23, 2015
Jun 23, 2015 at 2:33 PM UTC
I walk down a broken street in search of my Promised Land,
I'm on a mission from God and my God's name is ******
In the distance I can hear the gunfire,
I'm in a holy war, my sergeant’s named desire.
I walk past other junkies nodding out against a wall,
We're fighting the same cause, fighting against withdrawal.
I reach my destination, I talk with the man,
I hand him twenty dollars, he puts my God in my hand.
****** you must be God for everything I do is for you,
I'd crawl ten miles on broken glass for you.
I'd sell my soul, my family and friends for you,
If you asked me to sell myself, I'd do that too,
You can see I'm truly nothing, nothing without you.
But if you’re really God, you leave me confused,
At times I feel like I've really been used.
You leave me shivering when it's not really cold,
Unable to walk and I'm not even old.
You leave me penniless when I'm not even poor,
You leave me feeling beaten, aching and sore.
You take away my pride, my looks and my health,
Make me lie to my family, my friends and myself.
Although for you I have dedicated my life,
What have you done for me except stabbed me with a knife?
I look in the mirror at my own bloodshot eyes,
I stare at a man whose world is all lies.
I think about my past and start to realize,
You’re not a God at all, but the Devil in disguise.
Nov 27, 2011
Nov 27, 2011 at 3:46 PM UTC
this is where i sit like stone,
knowing soon it shall be over,
all balled up and all alone,
wreathed in sickly crimson clover;
in a corner cold and stark,
where the pressure chokes my chest,
my mind's eye fizzles into dark,
i cannot eat nor find sweet rest.
i no longer see the pathways,
where i have strolled past fields of pain,
cloaked in shadowed sunless days,
walking weary in the chilling rains;
of torrid teardrops that always fail to fall,
stuck inside behind my bloodshot eyes,
between sight and dreams i scarce recall,
haunted by the sounds of ghostly cries.
i no longer feel the passions,
i had once did cling,
for there no longer comes a need to rise,
or open my mouth to sing.
____
I sit:
http://beautyineverything.com/175543419
Oct 17, 2010
Oct 17, 2010 at 7:23 PM UTC
some are hidden
by long sleeves
and baggy sweatshirts,
behind bloodshot eyes
and stale breath
written in light graphite
on crinkled sheets
in shoeboxes,
therapy sessions
and 2am text messages
May 10, 2013
May 10, 2013 at 6:35 PM UTC
October 8, 2014:
Blood moon as red as my
Bloodshot eyes
Blurry through the tears
But I can still see through your lies
Blood moon as red as my
Bleeding lips
From biting them in fear
Of you slipping from my fingertips
Blood moon as red as the
Marks etched on my arms
You said you'd protect me from myself
And yet I was harmed
Blood moon now fading into pale gray
Now the night has turned to day
And the last tear drips away
As the feeling disintegrates
Oct 8, 2014
Oct 8, 2014 at 10:34 AM UTC
From padded window seat inside café
cup of tea warms my hands
cold winds shuffle sidewalk leaves
Two tables away sit two men
one in October years
the other May
Soiled clothes, old scuffed shoes, beat up weathered
faces, bloodshot eyes, ***** hair disheveled
The older begins reading to the younger
from newspaper wrinkled by other hands
“Rain and wind coming in tonight from the west,
tomorrow - clearing, with temps in high 30s
toward evening - dropping to low 30s
Saturday, sunny, high 30s”
The young man’s grizzled chiseled face
seemingly stoic
flinched stiff with the words
“Sunday, low 20s, snow mixed with sleet”
Jan 15, 2015
Jan 15, 2015 at 5:21 AM UTC
Lipstick cigarettes and the empty soul of modern rock n' roll
laid in ruin amongst my collection of black soul addictions and sultry benedictions.
MIDI saxophones and an ex-girlfriend on the telephone
directing me to find my home, to rebuild the comb, to banish the bartender and the Reverend ******
Alamo idiot stand and a neon Jesus
waving newcomers into the whitewashed port town known as "Cuba North".
At the Caged Gorilla, Linda, the waitress,
laughs through yellowed teeth, while my bloodshot eyes crawl up her red gums.
Binge'd and my brain keeps parallel with the ceiling fan
while a plain clothes cop tries to give me the reprimand for nostalgic mischiefs.
Handcuffed and looking for that old fiend, Freedom,
while Miranda spews on the back of my skull, slides down my shoulders, dots the cement.
Out the door and tourists with cameras looking for evil behind my irises,
but I can assure my handshakes feel the same, I'm front pew tame, and I blend with the parade.
Jan 12, 2012
Jan 12, 2012 at 7:13 PM UTC
Life through bloodshot eyes
where lovers and needles
intertwine
into railway veins on tile floors
where hands curl around the glass
swan necks
of everlasting empty bottles,
victims of
a red wine lullaby
Feb 22, 2015
Feb 22, 2015 at 11:27 AM UTC
Don't You Dare Speak,
Your Words Trying To Make Blue Streaks,
On The Monalisa Of My Soul,
Black Graffiti Stains My Wishes,
And Teeth Bare At My Well Being,
Am I Daft?
Or Sane?
My Head Pounding With Lyrics,
About How Cruel Life Can Utterly Be,
Sharpie Crossing Out My Faith,
Paint Vandalizing My Mended Heart,
Rust Dressing The Hinges Of My Heartbeat Itself,
And Golden Irises Reset,
Back To Seaweed Green,
Resting On A Bloodshot Background,
Crayons Scribbling On The Coloring Book,
Of My Dreams,
Making It A Midnight Sky Mask,
Flecked With Miserable Maroon Tears,
Slang Covers My Intellect,
Making It Foggy And Usless,
You Can Thank Society,
For Sculpting My Strength,
From A Slab Of Clay,
Burning It In A Kiln,
To The Foundation Of Life,
I Am Art,
Sculpted From The Earth's Face,
Yet I Sit On A Shelf,
Collecting Dust,
And All Of The Arrogent People,
Doodle On My Shell,
Colors Make An Ugly Mix,
On My Bodies Skeleton,
And What Is Making Me Special,
Is Slowly Drowning,
Underneath A Sea Of Graffiti
Nov 3, 2012
Nov 3, 2012 at 4:05 PM UTC
The left of center
are in north bound throes of a dupe
and can't begin to forecast this wonder of polluted marvel,
in the morrow
my optics discharged in a catastrophic traversal
While whimsy and accidental feels like I've taken pills
a power rain this sobbing has spilled
No longer to be contained based on sheer will
Attacked by neurotic transcending
While sifting through files and photo stacks
Came across multiples of your smiling face
From when I shot you, a couple hundred miles back
No one would dare debase the abundance of your emitted grace
Bloodshot mist eyed and blind from tears
control lost during transport steer
Drips off my cheek pouring down my chest
Could make great sense to don a life vest
Filling up floorboards like a spraying firehose
Shattering cascades diamondize the windows
A single glance at an image turns farmland into rural seaquake
If they interview my lifeless corpse what a headline this will make,
turning tragedy into a foolish mistake
people will curse and laugh
Paved over roads now films unseen
when dusk fuse night from the weep my eyes dispensed
Elements effected by incidents
Rising waves climb over to decimate interstate 65
All over a tiny tear drop and her sweet smiling photograph
Oct 20, 2018
Oct 20, 2018 at 8:01 PM UTC
A fierce growl shattered the vampire's coffin
The wood cracks and the monster is awake
Hurry! Dig a pit for the creature to hide
Burn it before the sunrise
Oh do not let the world encounter this chaos
No one should see the vile mien
of a ferocious blood ******* entity
That thrusts its teeth deep into the delicate skin
and schemes for barbaric damages.
Look!
The naive creature stands with utter dainty
A revolting smirk sleeps on its face
Pale skin and a bloodshot gaze
An evil snicker revealed the fangs
See how the eyes move with hostility
Like a venom injected in the name of brutality
Sharp nails and clenched fists
Searching for a throat to slit.
The air now breathes a vengeful sigh
Like a wild beast craves to die
Dark shadows lurk behind the curtains
Silent whispers yodel about a burden
The creature stone eyed, stares back
I breathe quietly under the horrid impact
There!
It is coming my way
I can feel the intruding fear of a feeble prey in my veins
Finally, as if the monster made its mind
It opened the mouth in a solemn cry
A shrill voice so piercing, it shattered my facade
I fell on the ground like a broken glass
It was no monster or a Dracula that howled
Ah yes, my own reflection scared my soul
Years of self hate and agony prevailed
And I have been ******* on my veins in despair
My corrupt heart no longer beats
Darkness dwells in its core; so deep
Now watch the results of constant infight
I am nothing more than a mere parasite
A ray of sun touching me toes,
The toxic memories fading with the tick tock
Once again, I repair my coffin
And slither into a sound slumber on the symphony
Of a robin.
Jul 24, 2018
Jul 24, 2018 at 1:31 PM UTC