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C S Cizek Sep 2014
Our box fans inhale and puff smoke,
blanketing the couch like a carcinogenic throw.
The lung cushions decay beneath us.
We fall.
We dissipate on the sidewalk with one
thumb sweep of the filter.
Stashed luggage beneath bus seats.
Springs puncture the faux leather
like we're sitting on quills dipped
in bloodwells writing poetry by several
haphazard candles. Wicks crackling
with each lap of the flame four inches
from our faces momentarily relieved
of windburn by scrawny fingers desperately
flicking to keep the spark caught.
We're caught.
Caught in this couch wrapped up
in a carcinogenic throw burning.
Bryce Jun 2018
And when I met that girl in San Francisco
Off a dusty little pier
with rotting wood
and squawking seals
And screaming bayside wind

She caught me off-tropics
and danced with the grace
of a palm tree
lines between the quaked
concrete
off telegraph avenue
On an obscuring Sunday morning

and no
she didn't go
to church or any silly thing
like a temple or synagogue
She said those were no places
for god

God was the trees

We smoked cigarettes and got off to each other's
carcinogenic practices
oxidizing a little faster in conjunction with hopeful
Formaldehyde
Deriding the formalities
of small talk and trivialities

She liked her guitars with nickel-wound strings
I with nylon
But I couldn't play songs
that sounded any good with them
while she could
and did.

and girl did it ever sound good

She'd laugh at the contests on the radio
while we drove on a half-moon
to half-moon
full and whole of ourselves
We'd stopped in the lobby of a cheap motel
And waltzed to background
muzak
wacked out of our minds
Sniffing in deep huffs of subliminal
divinity
Understanding
loving
that mind-numbing
monotony

muzak...
ppsh.
Who ever really listened to that?

And then she left
at the end of one fine winter day
in a cloudless sky I waved
watched her plane
skip off
towards the edge of a pale blue horizon
back south
to warmer climes
to wherever she truly stayed
The tugging on my heartstrings
chimed grotesque in
precise
D minor.
Aaron McDaniel Dec 2013
Smoke is filling my bones
The carcinogenic ghosts of an irish ancestory
At war with my german temper
Fueling the fire
To a heart that beats for belonging
Keeping me in step with the frostbitten sidewalks
Of a December morning
Lips moist from french vanilla cappuccino
And your chapstick

Smoke is filling my bones
I'm rolling through my own fingertips
Losing touch with my own reality
Wondering if my knuckles are white from clenched fists
Or the grip around your palm

Smoke is filling my bones
You don't smoke
Yet you fill your lungs with my exhale
Breathe me in
I'll house myself in your capillary beds
Where I'll tuck myself in for the night
Listening to what makes your heart tick
If nostalgia beset your mind
Come to Ethiopia
A cradle of mankind!

Come to Ethiopia
With no hesitation
Ancient civilization
Will engross your attention!

Before identity quest
You smother
Come to Ethiopia 'cause
Lucy, your  great,
Great grandmother
You could watch closer!
A melting *** of
Over 80 ethnic groups,who
With cordial hospitality,
Will embrace you
Without standing to ceremony
Or formality.

Come to Ethiopia
A mosaic of culture
A true place for adventure!

If you need
An original taste of
Coffee Arabica
Come to Ethiopia
A beacon light to Africa
To freedom fighters
Up to America.

Come to Ethiopia
You will meet there
People who have to borrow
Valour from no where!


Come to Ethiopia
Triggering off no
Feelings of discomfort
Mosques churches abut.

Come to Ethiopia
In a way description that defy
A church by a Muslim name goes by!

Come to Ethiopia
An exemplary country
To deter common enemy
To spur development
In a spectacular bent
Muslims and Christians unite!

Come to Ethiopia
Whose name on the bible
Times beyond number bubble!


Come to Ethiopia
For his persecuted
Followers, the Prophet
Mohammed a high-heaven marked!

Come to Ethiopia
Now on the path of renaissance
Mutual regional growth and
A sustainable  peace
Are whose unwavering stance!

Come to Ethiopia
A country with its own
Alphabet and calendar!
Of course you will wonder
when you get
Yourself eight years younger!

Come to Ethiopia
To feast your eyes
On breathtaking water falls
Scenery and greenery
God-hand-made caves
Endemic animals and birds
Live volcanoes
Obelisks and
Rock-hewn churches.
You shall feast
Your eyes on Harar wall
For the Muslim
A holy city on row four!
You will stand a chance
For Ivangadi
A traditional spectacular dance
Also Konso's terrace.

Come to Ethiopia
Aside from adventure,
You could collect
Invincible athletes
And successful Olympians'
Signature!
Your souvenir picture
With them you may capture!
Of course
You can board 'Ethiopian'
That was there when
The horizon of aviation
History we scan.

Come to Ethiopia
The celebration of
The finding of the true cross
The pilgrimage
To Sheik Hussein Mosque
And epiphany
That have no parallels by any!

Come to Ethiopia
To see first-hand
A country
13 months sunny!

Come to Ethiopia
To enjoy
A Teff-made
Flat bread organic
Found not carcinogenic!
You will gather
Like coffee
Teff and its bread chemistry
Age-old, with it, that were there,
Are blessings
To the rest of the world
Ethiopia Proffer!

Come to Ethiopia
If you want to understand
As to what is meant
By black pride!

If you worry about class
Ethiopia today
Has countless
Hotels shining with stars!

By Alem Hailu G/Kristo
A tourist destination,peaceful coexistence,a land where Christians and Muslims unite like milk and water,a cradle land of mankind, your origin
Claire Waters Sep 2012
-

you smell the way i used to after showering at summer camp. fresh, and new. like shampoo that makes your hair very soft and the dew that pools up on leaves at dawn. it sticks to your skin, because you are an early riser.

-

i know this girl
fleeting, like cold hands
and cheap soap
but in an okay way
and this girl can ***** up every single thing
and still always be on time

for these unwanted affairs
these personal issues
being aired in a court room
and her hands are fanning the air by her knees
as she sits on a bench that feels more like a pew

the size of her fear is bigger than
a sentence
a thought
that could never express itself in words
because this girl hasn’t been writing lately
they never meet the mouth
delicate, like a glass bottle
something turned stale as it left it’s owner
something as cheesy as this poem

-

i needed him like my stomach needed nourishment, that doesn’t mean we get to have those things.
we all need a lot of things we can’t quite grasp onto
wet leaves after thunderstorms
antibiotics to cure every type of virus the catch being that the magic pills are carcinogenic
everyone is a pessimist these days
a happy ending is just an affair that turned out better than expected
they tell me to be a grown up, but when i talk secrets into his ear
i am a child
the world is a dangerous place.

-

the day it first came to life i bought white flowers
hanging plants, i put them on the balcony
and the day you explained yourself
what a mistake it all was
i watched them rot before my withered eyes
they couldn’t believe i could care for people
how can you love things that are so so so

petals red and juicy were blossoming sticky on my thigh
and i’ve attempted five billion feeble ways to die
every day i keep expiring but i don’t stop breathing
it’s chilling that i am allowed to exist in this manner
rotting incessantly never quite speaking
when you should.

-

once you’re friends with someone for long enough
you find their weaknesses
when you love someone
you learn their deepest desires
caring isn’t creepy it’s so real
i know this
i can ******* spit on his lips

beg your better judgement to steer you home
and in the car forget his name and remember
his hands like they were your own
and at night
i am see through
easy to touch
hard to love
bitter for the things felt so loudly but unsaid
stopped dead in the dark, unable to see
your love has become nothing more than an idea to me

-

she had fingers so delicate
but they let me in
love is not supposed to be a feat of lock picking closed doors
if the lights are on
i will move towards your porch
he turned them off and i rubbed my arms raw with sandpaper
so the skin would heal up thicker, and stayed away
but her door was open and her lips were tempting
so i gently crawled in.
Aaron LaLux Aug 2018
Love Your Father & Forgive His Mistakes [1]

Had to become a man,
before I learned to become a Good Son,
for your father is your father so show him some love,
& like it or not in this live you usually only get one,

I mean without your father you wouldn't even be here,
I mean without your father you wouldn't even be you,
so what part of “Love your father.” don't you understand,
& how can I get that part through to you?

See you are the fruit of His labors,
you are His seed that was sown,
& the fruit doesn’t fall far from the tree,
so learn from His mistakes & you won’t have to learn from your own,

see your Father is not perfect,
none of us ever were are or will be,
but He is indeed your Father,
so please treat him with some dignity,
please show Him some respect,
& unconditional love,
& the next time you see him,
please from me give him a hug,
because your father is your father,
& you usually only get one,
& I know he made some mistakes but he’s only human,
& the best thing you can do is love Him & forgive them,

for forgiveness heals,
& holding a grudge is carcinogenic,
so liberate yourself through forgiveness of self,
& forgiveness of all others as well for forgiveness is collective repentance,

no need to hold all that resentment in,
we’re all only imperfect humans but there's beauty in our imperfections,
& sure the Road to Hell is paved with good intentions,
but only through cardinal sin do we find true redemption,

& it’s the smudges in the paint,
that creates the masterpiece,
it’s the past & all it’s pain,
that makes us to evolve & finally attain peace,

our art is our art,
let’s not let our mistakes make us,
most of all of this is uncertain anyways & full of mistakes,
but make no mistake you & I are destined for greatness,

& always remember that the masterpiece has a life of it’s own,
it's not owned by anyone not even the one who paints it,
just like a father does not own his son,
even if He's the one that made him,

& you are a masterpiece so give a thanks & an amen,

& then,
be here as we are as human beings,
collectively having a human experience,
moving seeing hearing breathing,

see if you're always dwelling on the past,
or looking ahead to the future,
you won't find me either then or there,
because I'm right here now for sure,

& when you finally find a way to find your self presently,
it will be as amazing as awaking in a dream,

I mean it’s 2018,
what the heck do you mean,
it seems we’ve become the whole scene,
or so it would seem since wherever we're seen becomes the whole scene,

so paint me a picture of what your Soul sees,
express it in any form you choose to work with,
sure the Saints are great but Love is our Savior solely,
& our only true Father is the one that gave us Life’s gift,

use His gift wisely,
use it through music dance laughter & words,
remember random acts of kindness are to be seen,
& unconditional beauty is to be heard,

with your ears you can see,
with your eyes you can hear everything,

everywhere,

where are we let’s take some time to be,
let’s check in with each other let’s forgive past regrets,

forgive & live live & let live,
be in peace & please let us be,
see we are poets we are painters that don't wish to be disturbed,
writing words that paint pictures of what all our Souls see,

see you have to become a man,
before you can learn to become a Good Son,
for your father is your father so show him some love,
& like it or not in this live you usually only get one,

& yes I know He is scarred,
& yes I know you see your future mistakes in his past,
& yes I know sometimes when you see him,
you just wish he’d hurry up & pass,
but when he’s gone you will miss him,
this much I can promise you,
because when he’s gone you’ll have a hole in your heart,
because in some ways your Father is you,
& you can always tell someone’s character,
by the way they treat their parents,
so be as thankful to them as you are to Life itself & respect them,
because without them you wouldn’t have been born,

so please show Him some respect,
& give him unconditional love,
& the next time you see him,
please from me give him a hug...

∆ Aaron LaLux ∆

from The Holy Trilogy Vol. 2: Mandalas
available worldwide here: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1721134158
The sky is solid, gray, motionless.
Shuffling bodies with obscured shadows
Make haste for shelter
From the stark, lifeless outside
With its grass that only lives if watered,
The always leafless trees,
And the carcinogenic air.
Looking upward,
Through the smoggy haze,
One sees the neon silhouettes
Floating in the sky,
Atop the glass and steel monoliths.
They speak to those below,
Of subtle, clandestine oligarchy.
Subconsciously belittling the anonymous masses,
"We are Titans, you are rats."
Say the towers,
As the populace quietly passes over stained concrete and asphalt,
Wearing breathing masks,
Saying not a word to the thousands they pass.

We make haste in this world.
We cannot afford to help a stranger,
To make a detour with a view,
To get your child that gift they really want.
So fiercely we have been strangled
That empathy is illogical.
"What a world" we all say,
As we avoid eye contact with the hungry;
As we change the channel from the melodramatic infomercial
About starving, disease-ridden children somewhere else;
As we console ourselves with hollow entertainment and intoxication,
To keep the guilt at bay,
To keep the thoughts at bay,
"Just do what's best for you,
Don't step out of line,
Shuffle in,
Follow the queue.
That's all you can do."
Inspired by life in Chinese megacities.
Aaron LaLux Jun 2016
The slap stings more than it probably should,
scratch that like a cat’s scratch on the back of a mattress,
the slap stings more than I thought it would,
because it was a surprise that was deserved but not expected,

and as she tries to explain herself,
with tears streaming down her cheeks and loving anger in her eyes,
I begin to think what every abused person forever thinks,
maybe I deserved it…

She’s small,
petite,
physically unthreatening,
but emotionally a serious liability,
like a stealth bomber,
aeronautically beautiful,
but destructively deadly,
a suicidal **** savage,
a carcinogenic princess,

she is,
small,
petite,
as cute as she is hard headed,
stubborn trouble that’s hard to argue with,

so I don’t argue,
instead of engage I ignore,
silence can be more of an insult,
than even the worst words ever are,
when words are replaced,
with the silence of space,
all kinds of assumptions and truths can occur,

so I don’t argue,
I don’t debate or retaliate,
I just politely remove myself,
from this situation when it escalates.

See,
I’ve been in abusive relationships in the past,
and the bones of the skeletons in my closet,
barely rest buried just below the surface,

and that slap,

that fckn slap,
almost awoke the demons,
so loud it almost disturbed the devil,
it almost brought about a most unholy resurrection,

that slap,

was like a shovel digging into the dirt in a graveyard,
almost uncovering the sinful skeleton bones buried just below the surface…

But I refuse,
to let this hysterically temperamental gorgeous Gravedigger,
unearth a past that's sentimentally painful and totally traumatic,
and even though I’m unnerved by the slap because that slap hurt,
I refuse to give in to her drama and become all melodramatically dramatic.

See,

she’s sweet as Halloween treats,
at the same time still bitingly bitter and distasteful,
so instead of engaging in here arguments,
I remove myself and my emotions from her Self that’s so ungrateful,
she calls me a player and a **** but I find that her labels are mislabeled,
so no I don’t give in to her taunts I refuse to engage in something so shameful,

instead of engaging,
I leave her alone with her tears,
I exit out the balcony,
and make my way down the stairs,
I take myself to the ocean,
walking barefooted along the path,
I am not responsible for her heart,
so I refuse to endure her wrath,

see,

domestic abuse hurst both,
the abuser and the abused,
especially when the two are in love,
and they are all out of options to choose,

there’s a very thin line between love and hate,
and those dividing lines can sometimes fade,
mistakes can be made good intentions misplaced,
a kiss on the check and a held hand can turn into a slap in the face!

The slap stings more than it probably should,
scratch that like a cat’s scratch on the back of a mattress,
the slap stings more than I thought it would,
because it was a surprise that was deserved but not expected,

feeling rejected,
and disconnected,
feeling both affected,
and disaffected,

I exit,

I exit the bungalow,
and ascend down the winding staircase,
I get outside and get away from there,
staring out into star lit space,

I breathe,
and think,
fresh air is so underrated,
I see my favorite star,
thanking me because I made it,
twinkling vibrantly she has me sedated,
not the girl,
but the star,
she is such a seductress,
shining in such radiant hues of electric light,
she twinkles vibrantly and violently,
she does not go gently into that good night,
she is the good in a good night,
twinkling vibrantly as other stars shoot across the Night's sky,

she rages against the dying light,
and I give thanks that I am still alive.

I walk,

barefoot and bare chested,
down to the beach,
where the dry desert sands of southern Baja,
meet the wet ocean waters of the Pacific,

bottle of wine in one hand,
book and pen in the other,

I marvel at the stars,
and remember that I am never really alone,
for as long as I can see the sky,
I’ll always see the way to get back home.

The constellations are stellar interpretations,
maps to guide us home to our final destination.


I arrive,
at the beach,
several shooting stars later,
and wash away the ache on my face and in my heart,
with waves on my feet and wine in my throat,
I record some more emotions on this paper,
because poetry is my form of emotional art,

and by the light of the full moon,
I write for as long as I can write,
my pains won’t be in vain,
and everything will be worth it even what happened tonight,

I will take all of our collective abuses,
and place them on these papers,
transforming them from form to thought,
then from thought to words on these papers,

I will take all of our collective abuses,
process and translate them into messages to be read,
I will take all of our collective abuses,
and process them through the headaches in my head,
so hopefully these messages,
will help others who have been or are being abused stand strong,
and hopefully these messages,
will help others who abuse or have abused realize that they are wrong,
because at the end of the day what we can say to relate,
is it’s all about love and hate it’s not all about right and wrong.

And just as I lose hope,
and ethereal angel appears,
wearing a white linen robe,
looking like a ghost holding laughter and tears,

she sits next to me,
here on the sands,
and takes the warm bottle of wine,
from my cold still writing hands,

she observes as I finish,
writing these last few lines,
she watches me with interest,
as if she can read my mind,

and she smiles even though it’s a painful world,
because she knows we’re both survivors so we will survive,
and she knows we’re both riders so we’re always ready to ride,
and we both shine way too bright to ever be able to hide,

and then we make love,
our passions rising along with the tide,
and maybe that’s why the girl back at the bungalow slapped me,
because she was mixed up with hurt feelings and hurt pride,
she was frustrated that she loved me but that here love was not enough,
but what am I to do I can not control how my heart feels or even control myself.

I hurt her,
so she slapped me,
and I guess that’s fair,
though maybe not exactly,
either way I care too much to care,
and either way that **** slap kinda stings,

even when I know it’s deserved…

The slap stings more than it probably should,
scratch that like a cat’s scratch on the back of a mattress,
the slap stings more than I thought it would,
because it was a surprise that was deserved but not expected…

– ∆  Aaron La Lux ∆ –

'The City of Fallen Angels'; available worldwide 7/7/16


ouch! I probably deserved it...
bobby burns Jan 2014
if i were to bread my tongue
with rocoto and cornmeal
and twist to reach the andean soil
my tastebuds long for so many nights
out of the year
olfaction and your left-sinus blockage
would stay cradled
in broken-baguette bread-crust baskets,
a trebuchet's missile,
naïve to the horn of the world,
and brittled to a carcinogenic crisp
caped in my earthenblood geysers
en el humo, en la tierra del fuego
in(fierno)

i recount by the tally marks of black felt
resorted to in the puddling of spilt tea,
(like broken china, you never missed
a beat to correct potential error

and my memory),
i count them to remember
the epiphanies standing over a red faucet
a gallon water jug, whistling snail-trickle,
wishing away the cracks in the grout
or the grout itself,
wishing away the cracks in the pottery
or porcelain facade of which
you're so fond and grace with singing cuticles

the fingers of a pianist
lacking the wherewithal
and solid brick gall
to answer the ivory's summons

i am not a piece of clay,
i respond poorly to your sculpture of my surface,
covered in oxides and baked in
hell's oven, your mountain fire
scathes me as it does cedar resin
and i am similarly embittered,
pooling sap & draining smoke
in the embers and dead charcoal
of your embrace

avant le corps, sans l'âme
sans le corps, avant l'âme
Sal Gelles Mar 2013
out here, on the roads, we're redemption awaiting our realization.
in here, i'm dead, lost out on the highway, bleeding immensely.
there's a life to be had driving these days and nights,
but i'm here, sitting, watching them all pass by and dreaming.
hardly sleeping, hardly breathing, carcinogenic life,
before a carcinogenic death; nobody wants my organs, they're cancerous.
i'm dreaming, again; in here, i create reality, and after all, isn't it a creation of our minds?
out there, there's people passing, clashing, and making their ways.
in here, i'm working, dreading the deadline i've set for myself;
working from home, working alone, all on a dream we're dying to dream again.
wearing down the weary mind i've got to make your dreams another reality.
like i've said, it's a creation we're all working on
so why am i the only one doing the work for the reality you're dreaming of?
*i'm dying, again; out there, i'm nothing but a dot on a map, drawn out to be a lead in some play.
Ryan O'Leary Jan 2019
Ireland is riddled with
cancer.

Pesticides, herbicides,
fungicides-

Are obviously, not the
answer.

Dairygold® have got
it right. Surprisingly!

Organic pastureland,
green grass, happy cows!
            
   "Golden Valleys,
Growing Naturally" ?

         ("Logo ™")
without the question
            mark.

              <>

In the event of Corporate
Punishment, IE, finding a
herd of hungry Friesians
in my front lawn, or my
next organic pizza happens
to be a Crispy Cow Pat with
lashings of Mozzarella, I am
hereby declaring that Silent
Spring lady, Rachel Carson,
was bumped off for making
metaphorical accusations, such
as could be interpreted by those
who are currently involved in
the depopulation process by
way of poisoning the people
via consumer products, that
are known to contain harmful
carcinogenic compounds veiled
by misleading advertising.


natural
adjective
1. her policy of using fresh, natural produce: unprocessed, organic, pure, wholesome, unrefined, pesticide-free, chemical-free, additive-free, unbleached, unmixed, real, plain, ******, crude, raw. ANTONYMS  artificial, refined.

2. a natural occurrence: normal, ordinary, everyday, usual, regular, common, commonplace, typical, routine, standard, established, customary, accustomed, habitual, run-of-the-mill, stock, unexceptional. ANTONYMS abnormal, unnatural, exceptional.
Joshua Haines May 2014
Carcinogenic gasps
between photogenic thighs
create esoteric muscle movement
that moves me inside.
Your parents are therapists,
and mine choose not to be alive;
the words they say
don't work for moments we hide.

Jesus Christ before the sunset rust,
if I'm so alive
then why do I lust
absence.

There's a place
where I'd like to drown
every Saturday.
The water's warm
and thick in my lungs
and I'm no longer afraid.

Colliding with epinephrine,
your neck thrusts forward;
you kiss the steering wheel.
"Do you know
how much
you mean to me?"
Your eyes meet mine  
before disappearing in the glass mist.
I love you.
Walking is the king of exercises

It suits different age groups

And is useful for both genders

Its results are unbelievable wonders



Walk for five kilometers a day

And keeps the doctor away

You need not run like a race

But can walk at your own pace



Walking relieves your hypertension

And keeps your heart in good condition

It is a must for a diabetic

And is possible for a paralytic



It improves your vitality

And enhances your longevity

You can walk preferably in the morning

Or at least in the evening



Walking removes your bad cholesterol

And saves the consumption of petrol

Why do you eat carcinogenic fast foods in a pub?

Why don’t you join  a walkers’ club?
Hurble B Burble Apr 2016
Vim and vinegar.
Lushously loose and lulling a ligation of love.
A pretense of pompous pretentiousness priming a primal powderkeg.
Destructive dictation diseased the dowry daunting a demons debate.
Imagine an image irrigating an interesting irritation.
A common citizen creating a carcinogenic cacophony.
verdnt Jun 2013
I wrote this a few months ago on a flight across the country. Not my best, but it healed me a bit

Thinking about you doesn't get any easier and even at 30,000 feet in the air the feeling you left with me somehow manages to suffocate me, through twenty different layers of clouds and pressurized cabins. The lady sitting next to me has a sad look in her eyes. Maybe she is suffering through some kind of heartbreak herself, just like me. She orders her coffee black. I want to reach out to her and hold her hand, but it's probably too cold, and she might **** away from my touch, the same way you did that day when you left. She smells like cheap perfume and the lies of lovers she has tried too hard to forget.
I wonder about jumping right out this plane right now. I wonder if I'd land with a *splat
and if a nice young man would arrive with a broom and pan, sweep me up, and discard me into the nearest trash can, like they do in the carnivals. Would I regret it the moment my feet left the edge of the plane? Would I get the same feeling in my stomach on the way down as I did when we were together? I think I'd only jump if I were holding your hand.
I wrote “I miss you” in a too big sharpie across the front of my notebook on Tuesday. Colored it in blue because there’s not enough green to feel much else when you're not around. Two hours to go and my entire life is falling down around me. (Leave me be leave me be leave me be.) I want to be the space that water fills between your toes and hidden among the things that keeps your rusty heart beating. But I can't be the oil that makes your wheels keep spinning. At best I'm the hot hot steam that keeps your hands from burning and bleeding. You don't want me and you never fell in love with me. You fell in love with words I learned to recite and looks I knew when to give and this carcinogenic smile.
Apologies don't sound as true as they should and I never really say what I mean. I'm just as ****** up as you. And these are words carved into walls of abandoned asylums and painted on canvases with blood in lieu of paint and this is the only way I know how to say that I know what you're going through and what you've been through and how sorry I am that I can't be everything you expected of me.
Isabella Rossi Sep 2016
I do not want to talk

You turned me into an ash tray

One that is smaller than you,

But has been put to more use

I am overflowing with carcinogenic filth



However,

Now I see you are more,

Far more than an ash tray

You’re the whole apothecary



While you drown your worries

Mine fill me up

Just another tap from another’s cigarette

The ash piles up

Onto the mountain, without a fuss



I have lost the desire to dine

And whine

With you

Oh sweet and true apothecary, I worry about you
ZS Dec 2023
When dawn descends into dusk
I am caught in moonlight clutches
claws digging deep into ever
so suggestible flesh —
like the werewolves I see
while sitting on my porch
basking in the days
last puffs of smoke.

I similarly am going up in
plumes of carcinogenic
madness, brain ravaged with
thoughts of aliens
coming to steal me away —
thieves in the night.

Such is this twisted tango danced,
with the familiarity of lovers
interwoven in my brain —
tarnished neurons,
friendly fire dopamine,
spilling over into visions —
but not the kinds of sugar plums.
no, this fruit is rotten;
bearing gnashing teeth,
breathing fire.

But this phoenix will rise from ash
from the remains of deluded thought
of broken tongue words
misplaced and slithering
figures in peripheral vision
with their monochromatic hue
I will be rainbow reborn,
the full spectrum anew, because
every storm will pass —
and I
will not
be beaten.
bobby burns May 2013
i've started marking my cigarettes
before i tuck them into my brown bag lunch,
with the names of all those whom i've loved,
to remind me that loving them [was     ]
                                                                      (is) better
than writing a carcinogenic suicide note
every day to replace the peanut butter and jelly
                                           on my sourdough.
Pearson Bolt Mar 2014
strange
isn’t it

how
memories
pique our moods like
mountains

bursting
through the
stratosphere
only to be sent
plummeting to the
depths of an

abyss
darker
and
deeper
than Marianas Trench
at the flip of a

switch

subtle triggers
found in the way
someone laughs
or when a co-worker
grins
out of the corner of
his or her
mouth

i see you
in the characters of the
literature and
films we used to critique
over coffee
hiding in the vestiges
of Daenerys Targaryen
or
Mélanie Laurent

you are France
an entire country
unto yourself

the smell of the sea
clings to your skin cells
in ways i
only wish
i could

you are in every
solitary
letter of Helvetica
whispering
softly
of things that
were
of things that
are
and of some things that
have not yet come to pass

you float
in the carcinogenic smoke
of cigarettes
a silhouette
corporeal particles
i exorcise
with equal parts
relief
and
regret

every night that i
paint the town
in neon colors
of vibrant life
i write your name
when i
vandalize
and fantasize
that you are
somehow with me
maybe floating happily
in the molecules
of aerosol
spreading across the
concrete

you’re in every song
by Brand New
like the residue of
dew drying on
the leaves
in the
mid-morning
light
lingering
even as
the sun calls you

home
the way i lingered
on your doorstep
to make sure that
you made it safely
back inside your
home

i’ve come to find that
i am equal parts
melancholy
and
blithe
and
i think that i
can finally say
i’m getting better

but
to borrow
a page
from Vonnegut
i’d be lying if
i said i didn’t still
catch
myself feeling
sorry
about the things that
no longer
matter
Glenn McCrary Feb 2012
Swayed I am by your sound taste



Amongst a sea of recluses



Against the hands of time we race



To stifle ignorance with nooses





Oh, how you stroke my rib cage



Laughter shaping countless voids



Revamping happiness for the age



Before they gambled ertswhile ploys





A heap of debris I'd be



Swept by carcinogenic draughts



Without you assured I'd seethe



A **** not given be it daft
Chiara M Oct 2012
Stuck within grief's gripping claws
for a dead mother
and a dormant love.
I may as well curb this anxiety
for the impending carcinogenic
destruction of *******
with that of my lungs.
He avoided my gaze -
I saw his iced eyes
melt - and he
apologised, apologised.
Speechless, cigarette hindering words,
and stark sunlight blinding vision
I suddenly felt sleepy.
As though I could melt
into the earth,
return to my mother,
and forget this perpetual
malaise.
Before today, I’d never bite the cigarette
You dangled in front of my lips;
But the smoke is the scent of ‘regret’
All over you and our relationship.
The smoke is dense, greying with each puff;
It is poisonous and carcinogenic.
I’ll accept your tease today
Because perhaps our memories with each other will fade away
As the smoke does once it is inhaled and released,
Lifted with the winds.
Bruh
Anonymity Apr 2013
The evening breeze lingers.
The limbs of the tree branches point out like fingers.
The sun begins to warm and peak about the horizon
And Birds start to sing their sweet friendly tune
Serenading the flowers, tempting them to make their bloom.
The smell of nature fills my lungs with purity and truth.
It frees me from the bonds of society
It's seizes the whole of me, glazing my mind over with serinity and sobriety.

It is genuine and authentic.
Never asking for anything in return.
We have become blind and carcinogenic
We burn, abuse, and spurn.

The morning that I am breathing in today
Is the same morning I wish my son to see.
Sitting amongst the angelic ballet of nature upon display
Taking peace in the morning beneath a wonderful willow tree.
Dean Eastmond Jan 2015
Head tilted upwardly opened. Eyes closed.
Ceiling desired and lulled.
He is the silhouette of a dream,
Ashes and dust,
Smoke and smoke and smoke,
Carcinogenic and mine.
He opens his mouth to speak,
Smoke,
Shrouded in carbon and yearning.
He is the reason I drift,
He is forgetting who's air I am breathing
and remembering the flames I used to be.
richie dagger Jul 2011
there's a place up the road where the **** of this town meet
The city, is so *****, you catch infections from the street
The creatures congregate, their motives cloak and dagger
Occasionally, i can be found, drunk i  stumble and stagger

I can't breathe, suffocating in this poison town
A terminal social cancer from a carcinogenic crowd
Suffering melted skin from the acid rain,
Fried nerves from bullet burns shot through my brain

And you're polluting my eardrums
With your toxic verbal sludge
And your tarnished silver tongue
Is lapping up my blood
07/09,06/11
Evan Ponter Aug 2014
Fast.
Matter-less.

Moving through the city like photons.

She's never there like the stars...
muted gracelessly by carcinogenic light pollution.

Dark.
Empty.

Like a landfill where every day it's sunny.
Heart break is always tough. It's even tougher to go through in Hollyweird. The city scape is just as desperate and depressed as I feel. I bask in it. It's like salt in my wounds and I've always been one for pain.
Chicanery, mendacity, an enigmatic virtue
It's in my nature, azure allure like verdure
Pseudo-sagacity, arid and automatic
Sybaritic audacity, be pragmatic
Gimme some clemency, I blame the sediment
It's evident there's something in the medicine not heaven-sent
I'm not eloquent, verbal carcinogenic
Contours contort and distort like hallucinogenic
Clindballe Feb 2016
Under the stars I feel so insignificant while amongst human I feel so unbelievably lonely. The words only come through in the evening when I overwrite the everyday hardships with a permanent marker and inhale the cold night alone in the twilight. I look trough fake lit windows in my childhood home. The light has never been my friend because it only shows the outer mask and the inner desire. I ***** in the light, blinded by the carcinogenic sunlight and increasing the process with my daily dose of cigarets. The smoke reaches for the stars, I sink to the ground with a curved back. The whole universe feels bigger and I smaller. I get more insignificant by every sigh and every burden thrown upon my shoulders. We all die alone but we must live together as fake friends till the dark do us part.
Written: February 28. - 2016

Dansk:

Natte kræft
Under stjernerne føler jeg mig så ubetydelig mens jeg er blandt mennesker føler mig uforståeligt ensom. Ordene kommer kun frem om aftenen når jeg streger hverdagens strabadser over med en sprittusch og inhalere nattens kulde alene i tusmørket. Jeg ser ind gennem falskbelyste vinduer i mit barndomshjem. Lyset har aldrig været min ven for der ser man kun den ydre maske og ikke det indre begær. Jeg famler rundt i lyset, blændet af solens kræftfremkaldende stråler og forøger processen min daglige dosis smøger. Røgen søger mod stjernerne, jeg synker mod jorden med krum ryg. Hele universitet føles større og jeg mindre. Jeg bliver mere betydningsløs for hvert suk og hver byrde der kastes over mine skuldre. At dø ensom gør vi alle men vi må leve sammen som falske venner til mørket os skiller.
Dean Eastmond Oct 2014
tell them how I felt like a car crash,
be broken glassed, be splintered,
whisper how you trod on my intention
and felt your metatarsals scream my name,
be tibia, be fibula, be fracture, be cast,
be recovery and deterioration,
remission and the carcinogenic,
**** me, **** me, **** me,
until my initials rot
in your bone marrow.
Harry J Baxter Jan 2014
Whether you know it or not
you are armed and dangerous
your voice is far more powerful
than the droning of propaganda
being churned out of the register machine
take a roll call of the injustices
spit in the face of men masked in good intentions
take personal gain and **** it
drag its corpse behind you through ***** and Gomorrah
be the vesuvius ready to blow
the secret which they don’t want us to know
is that we hold far more power than they
we are the future of our universe
and that’s worth more than a luxury lexus
be loud
do not allow silence to fall over you like snow
tainted black with the carcinogenic second hand smoke
of what they would call progress
be politically incorrect
take risks
walk along the edge and create something which brings us closer to the divine
we need your voice
because one voice on its own is easily drowned out
but together we form a thunderous monstrosity
capable of bringing destructive earthquakes
to the temple of the holy dollar worshippers
this life has no goal
no end point
life is not a video game
equipped with linear objectives
graduation completed
move on to the family life dream
drilled into your head with vicious screams
of all of those who dared leave the pack and path
and fell short
mutilated by forced silence
they tell you
you are free to do exactly what we tell you
I say
they are only as free to destroy
as we allow them
do not mock the solitary raised fist
we all have fists
brothers and sisters clinging to each other
against an unholy rip tide
you are right
even when you are wrong
Life is a blank canvas
filled with wonders and walking waking nightmares
life is simply just
whatever you choose to make of it
will you survive through fear and cowardly silence
or will your voice rise above the rest
a blinding phoenix which dares to contest the sun
for the center of the universe?
Maniacal Escape Jun 2020
Sipping daydreams, guzzling emptiness
Poison licks its carcinogenic tongue
Bitter
Sour
Stains the buds that long for sweet
Sweet they taste
Forced sugar and sprinkled honey
Sweetness is sweet
The tongue tastes malice. And venom
Smooth toxicity glass half empty
Infected throat, glass half full
But always the glass empty’s
Self replenishment
Dani Oct 2018
Absolutely beautiful carcinogenic
Debating, echoing, fetching
Gathering handfuls, intoxicating
Jigsaw kindness lacking memory
Nothing operating properly!
Questioning reasons sincerely
Testing universal visions
Why x-ray yesterday's zeal?
26 letters, 26 words...
Kenn Rushworth Jan 2017
Drunk on depression
Tired tabernacles
Seeking solemnity
Breathing through tubes
Fed at night
In the cage of the borough
Lost leaders
On ******* soliloquies
Driving on the right
Speaking in tongues
Crashing through the wall
Of absolute certainty
In doubt and mascara
Butchered red
Meat cleaver hands
Post-manifesto
Bargaining for the soul
Carcinogenic television
Cacophonous libraries
Care giver corridors
Closed

Open to infection
Untreated city
Treaty of wherever
196 flags
Good for Kerosene
Live on paper
Minimum wage
Retirement age
DWP death sentence
Closed border
Cancer of the bone
Mouth to mouth
Of the drinking classes
Flecks of ****
On the **** of distraction
Pay gap mentality
On dead meat and banter
Liposuction of conscience
Free market *** attack
Fit to print
Fine to hate
For now
September Apr 2013
That's why the sun
makes you cry
When you stare him
in the eye.

Overload—
Love: authentic.
Benefits: carcinogenic.

— The End —