"castrate" poems
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
Yes, your childhood now a fable of fountains. - Jorge Guillén
Yes, your childhood now a fable of fountains.
The train and the woman filling the sky.
Your shy solitude in the hotels
and your pure mask of another sign.
It is the sea's childhood and your silence
where the wise windows were breaking.
It is your stiff ignorance where
my torso was limited by fire.
I gave you the norm of love, man of Apollo,
the lament of a crazed nightingale,
but, pasture of ruin, you sharpened yourself
for brief, indecisive dreams.
Thought head on, light of yesterday,
indices and signs of what may be.
Your waist of restless sand
follows only trails that never rise.
But without you your warm soul
fails to understand. I must search
the corners of a halted Apollo
that I've used to break the mask you wear.
There, lion, fury of heaven,
I will let you graze on my cheeks;
there, blue horse of my madness,
pulse of nebula and minute hand,
I must search for scorpion stones
and your mother's childhood clothes,
midnight lament and torn cloth
that wiped the moon from the dead man's temple.
Yes, your childhood now a fable of fountains.
Strange soul of the space in my veins,
I must search for you, small and rootless.
Love of always, love of never!
Oh, yes! I want. Love. Let me be.
Don't cover my mouth, you
who search for Saturn's seed in the snow
or castrate animals in the sky,
clinic and jungle of anatomy.
Love, love. Childhood of the sea.
Without you your warm soul fails to understand you.
Love, a doe's flight
through the endless breast of whiteness.
And your childhood, love, and childhood.
The train and the woman filling the sky.
Not you, not I, not air, not leaves.
Yes, your childhood now a fable of fountains.
7.2k
Web caught trembling prey, blistering sadness in a shallow grave
Repulsive, rotten ***** stench, locked box of putrid sorrow
Blood clot hidden trench, vile secretion burrow
Wolf-dressed goblin ***** muttering incantations
Teetering on a broken fence, seething hatred regurgitation
Greedy, evil, spineless, ***** Cunning, patient, *****
One head desire, two face succubus
Speech craft, forked tongue. Slithering witch, foul gargoyle
Rebuke the venomous. Castrate the young. Stoke the funeral pyre
Incubate the serpent fetus. Demon, devil, liar
Nevermore, sinister toil. Bone-covered soil
I smite her without a flicker of remorse
Death to the succubus. Death to Venus
Jul 6, 2013
Jul 6, 2013 at 6:20 AM UTC
I work for the machine
that bashes bastardized beauty
into the face of the masses
The status quo
of oppressing the Goddess
to some golden ratio
of ***** perfection
"We set the standards, baby"
An arrogance of man,
A battle born in blood
objectifying some sacred symbol,
The cosmic ****
we all crawled out of
as star dust
The holy hole
to heaven on Earth
Gaia taken advantage of
Rejecting the gift of consciousness
We'll de-evolve
like past-life regressions
like we're so self-entitled to
come back around
Among the cosmos
cradled in the crescent
Deny yourself the mystique of the feminine
The clashing of the anima and animus
The syzergy of
the sun
the moon
and us
Call on your angels
And submit to the psychosis
My brothers,
These are our
sisters and mothers
They don't want to castrate
The ******* symbol
Destroy the alpha male
And the omega oppression
The beginning and the end of
**** shaming
I worked for the
misogyny machinery of Moloch
My heart no longer beats here
It just bleeds for her.
Sep 24, 2014
Sep 24, 2014 at 9:13 AM UTC
Face of MADNESS , gather your twisted strength
Stench like sadness? (Do)n't confuse, its greatness
Sway through the fractures and disjointedness
Disembodied manifestation, useless phenomenon
S(cul)p(ture)s hammered into DisFuRme/nt
Castrate salient pieces of that body
Spew inhuman lexicon insinuating i-n/co\here/nce
Slaughter the (harm)ony within cadence
Screech! H o w l! Growl!
Rel(easing) murderous miseries within infected entr[ails]
R A G E, count{less} bullets turning fl{ashes} of sanity to CAD(AVE)R(S)
De[generate] ripping throat of conscio(us)ness
Feb 24, 2013
Feb 24, 2013 at 12:31 AM UTC
They say we exist in rivers of fate
Predetermine pathways we are imprisoned in
Positions we were born for
And to disturb or ignore such strings
Would undermine the order of those things
I say we are free form individuals
With endless paths before and between us
That the reason they want to bind us to fate
Is because they want to blind us
To the weight of our own power
To makes us wait for divine intervention
Instead of having us pay attention
To our intentions and the intention of others
The wealthy and religious classes
Want to politically castrate men and women
Till we are to impotent with diffidence
Unable to make any sort of difference
But that framework doesn’t fit this
World that we seven billion strong have been gifted with
We have more power then we know
And it only grows when we explode
And show it to everyone else
Jul 17, 2015
Jul 17, 2015 at 6:27 AM UTC
What is love?
Murasaki would say it was an obligation,
a sort of duty
where the rules
say to bury one’s emotions
and succumb to the overpowering ***
Mian Mian embraces the sexuality
of her culture. Arguing that love
is the force behind drugs and emotion.
It is not the government’s obligation
to dictate the author’s form of rules
on writing a novel that serves its own duty.
How does Black Jade feel about her duty?
Despite her lover’s sexuality
and his matriarch’s ruling
of marrying well even if he does love
her, the family cares more of their obligation
then of their prized sons emotions.
Coco lived by her emotions.
The sickness of Tian not her duty
as it would have been in the old days. Lui’s obligation
to turn in Shiba overruled by rough ***
and her quest for painful love
in a time that disregards all form of rule.
Peony was one who broke the rules
but was rewarded for it. Unless it’s Peony #2 because her emotions
got the best of her when she fell in love
at the wrong time. It was not her duty
to see the play nor feel anything ******
in the Three Wives Commentary; this, her obligation.
Was it Abe Sada’s obligation
to castrate her lover and make her own rules?
Madame Mao too knew all about ***
and succumbed to her emotions
when her duty
was no longer to love.
From emotional red chambers with rules
on obligatory *** the cycle of East Asian
love patterns has yet to fulfill its duty.
Dec 14, 2010
Dec 14, 2010 at 5:16 AM UTC
unsheathe your ****
& swing away
slice the scars between
every leg
tears and blood
& latex rubber
get on your knees and bow
my 'lover'
-you are mine
i am i
rip and ride and
leave you dry
wipe those tears
from your face
open your mouth
as i fire away
swallow down we need not waste
(the system that we breed in is perpetuated by PHALLISCY ! CASTRATE THOSE WHO OPPRESS YOU!)
Aug 10, 2010
Aug 10, 2010 at 11:18 AM UTC
A dream you told me of:
Defusing a time-bomb embedded in the womb of your dead mother.
I don’t know if you were smart enough to flip the failsafe
Or if you indiscriminately yanked wires out, like your dangerous thoughts.
A dream I told you of:
at the midpoint of their parents’ anniversaries, by the ruins of every immortalized
kingdom, she is wearing her mother’s dress and he is too.
“father wanted to castrate or **** me,” he said, conversationally.
they have so much in common. they live the tragedy of armchair **** fantasies,
tend to ****** their own genitals when lost in thoughts of the obstruction of
their desires. (which, really, is pointless
because they don’t desire anything besides fondling their own genitals.)
Blinded Oedipus does not notice
Electra’s concealed ******* dagger. A thousand years between them, yet they’re still children conceived of
Mitigated **** and blood sacrifice for the sake of sailing, and
Defined by deficit from the beginning; her crippled mind sang
to his hollowed eyes. Kinslayers becoming kin,
Entranced by the illusions of the other but really
Loving only the unmistakable reflections of their own sins.
May 14, 2014
May 14, 2014 at 11:45 AM UTC
Before the Dawn Of Agriculture men like ME where slapped into the shadow of ****** shame but now who needs muscles or chiseled chins, great size or strength, a lover’s passion or a manly countenance ‘cause for ten thousandyears now I can persecute any female for infidelity towards ME and hold paternity privilege over MY biological children because we exceptional farmers invented marriage to destroy human sexuality by enslaving women with MY property for *** so I no longer need to share or compete or settle for an alpha males’ sloppy seconds within foraging groups that are forced to share what they carry with them instead of our enforced legal couplings that takes the innocent, primal pleasure and mystery out of *** by connectingshtooping to birth thanks to dirt MY dirt MY very own thousand acres of seeded soil littered with pens full of MY trapped sheep, cattle, goats and pigs which means I can pork any female I fancy and destroy any man who thwarts MY desire as simply as the bulls I castrate into submission to easily herd into MY slaughterhouses that feed all the inferior people no longerdependent on their hunting and gathering skills but on ME to stay alive so not only am I not considered a sociopath by hoarding food but am praised at harvest time like a ********* Babe Ruth hero because I have legally claimed and legally ***** those precious few life giving inches of topsoil with rotating crops and extended grasslands that exhausts and shrinks the earth, MY earth MY reign of forcing agricultural workers to bend over in the fields, stupidly exposing hairless backs to sun poisoning instead of their protective hunters’ heads of hair harvesting MY food that shrinks the testicles of everyone who is forced to feed on the cheap calories of MY industrialized plants and animals that lowers fertility, but who needs big ***** anymore when you don’t have to **** larger animals in order to survive or attract females with your superior physical attributes proving I am the social parasite Sultan of Swat who grows fat on the food I’ve seized by stealingPaleo land in the name of government protected ownership.
Feb 28, 2017
Feb 28, 2017 at 8:43 AM UTC
Godless men wearing back
sit within blistering sun.
As they carrying their sacred book
soaked in an evil not from any GOD.
And they some how get
**** **** ****
**** for God.
As they ironically tell the
world that it is
blaspheming.
Come and join us
or be buried alive.
Yes come and join us
Let us brutalize and castrate
your daughter your child.
And give your son a gun while
we go cut of some heads.
As we rip out your heart
with blood and violence.
And ask you to spit on all
love and humanity.
As you stand within your shaking bodies
you look into the eyes of your
wife and only see terror in
her heart.
You know that you must
RUN
Thousands of you are swept
like the dirt into the sea.
Mothers and Fathers crying as
children are lost and drowning.
Someones baby washed up like
drift wood or a log.
Cut all with razor wire
climbing caged out fences.
As a heart cry's I only want a
new family home I will polish
your shoes wash all your loos.
Please they scream we are only
human
Sorry I don't think anyone
is listening.
Westerners wake up lounging
on their sofa belly's spilling
over their trouser.
Stomachs extended inflated
from just a little to much
extra seconds.
Looking on disconnected
at those who traveled risked
their lives even walked
a thousand miles.
And some how spill out with
their lager down their cheek
thieves ****** and
lazy freeloaders.
And those who succeed to
find a new home some how
elegantly find a dignity
in being unwanted.
And those who failed their
perilous path trust in God
has left them homeless
As they find the west
also Godless.
As we with a cool glare tell
them go back to your guns
bombs your not welcome
here.
Stone face matter of fact
immigration explained
take your children back.
As we try to through them
back like babies into a dog
or snake pit.
SHAME ON US
for this frosty reception
and cloudy perception
I hold out hope for a
better conclusion.
Sep 8, 2015
Sep 8, 2015 at 4:53 AM UTC
Somewhere between going
and gone,
I left a piece of me.
Somewhere between going
and gone
I sang between two keys.
Never quite this way
or that.
Never reaching high enough,
or sinking low enough.
I would vacillate
and it left me prostrate -
lying face down
somewhere between going
and gone.
Somewhere between going
and gone
he seduced me.
Somewhere between going
and gone
I sang between two keys
never quite his key
or yours.
Never giving quite enough
but taking far too much.
So I would castrate
and underestimate
that your love for me was
somewhere between going
and gone.
Jul 11, 2011
Jul 11, 2011 at 4:52 PM UTC
Your anonymous blog
To my face you are kindness itself:
cheerful, always upbeat,
but in your anonymous blog
you rip me apart.
You press your thumb and forefinger on each side,
hold, pull and rend,
and rupture my very innards.
You focus on me,
my life, my words, my actions and my body
like you are a Celestron Telescope
searching for every single crater and irregularity.
With an Ultima Barlow lens
and your Leica M9 18MP
You grab each natural image
and then rearrange reality with
your precious, perversely pesuasive, periscopic Photoshop technique.
poetic liberty has leased you a license to assassinate,
humiliate,
decimate,
invalidate,
severely lambaste,
and mockingly castrate
everything that I identify as me.
literary freedom allows you to liberally fabricate,
mutilate,
denigrate,
incriminate,
scathingly castigate,
and maliciously urinate
on what others think of me.
To my face you are kind beyond selflessness,
but on your online beat,
your anonymous malevolence
sets you apart
from all the others
that have ever wanted
to write me up,
put me down,
and publish me out.
– Zumwalt (2011) (copied from www.zumpoems.com)
Aug 22, 2011
Aug 22, 2011 at 8:53 AM UTC
there is
there is
no literature in this
the core of my barrenss stiched between the somber of your lips
there is not enough anarchy in the mass to hold this
to speak of the almond eyes that I innocently miss
blue and full, the shadowy veins on your lips
the hands I once
---
--
-
kissed
There is no literature in this
the pretty pictures
I dismiss
I delay my thoughts
the sound of passions gunshots
the inky fluid corpse that my mind blots
In the late night I take my shots
I lay there on my wooden dusty floor
mirroring the internal rot
my eyes are sore
and I implore
you
to behave like you did that one day we were
saying goodbye at your door
please
please
just kiss me
once
more
Ill keep the hinges tight this time
this is the last time
I swore
to myself
my words they are cracking the wood on your shelf
to my poetry I scream for help
to my lamp I simmer in tears
in my pillow I drown your fears
and increase mine
your senses
I feel them
in my
spine
your jawline
all that was once you
and all that was once mine
so small and feline
you to my audience I will ******
before define
my tongue has ran out of words for you
...
..
.
my thoughts are too lonely to empansipate
my hands too empty to castrate
my mind too blane to hate
my eyes
too
numb
to
elate
I hold the heaviness of this weight
in my perched fingers
crawling to the steps of anything
but home
can I remind myself
of the sullen moments
covered in tatterted cloth filled with open wounds
leaking the blood of all your fluttering objetcs
taunting me
singing to me
everyday
there is
there is
no literature in this
the capitol punishment
of my frail little
princess
Aug 10, 2011
Aug 10, 2011 at 5:59 AM UTC
*I don't like him
He is a nuisance
I don't like him
I'd fond his death
I don't like him
I'd share nothing with him
I don't like him
I would like to gouge his eyes out
Until they pop.
Until blood-tears scream down
His ******* face
I form mucous to
Spit in his ******* snake face
I want to see bits of his skull torn out
I do not like him
I want to squeeze through my hands in the decapitated
Head and grab out his ******* brain,
Bits of his skull
I would like that.
Gone he'd be
I would like that
I would like to hurt him
I don't like him
I want to see all his ******* blood
Pour majestically out of every
******* opening, every hole
I see of his, I want his greedy black heart
Suffocated with cyanide
I want his poisoned soul *******
Burned until I smell
His burning, searing flesh
That screams with help
I would to do all of this and laugh and laugh
I wish he would realize how much he has gained
Then,
I will excrete on his ugly ******* red car.
I dream morbid, I dream morbid lovely thoughts to leave his
Lifeless whore-self in the ugly ******* red car
For him to rot he shall as a male-slag
A **** of degenerate foolery
Unjust as unwise, he froths degradation
A form of devolution,
As treacherous cliffs weakened
from sun and water
Treachery engrossed with black thoughts
As he falls he will bring all,
who he can find to fall with him
Drenched with whoreness
A ******* thought enriches degenerate
I would dream to castrate him
Destroy his club, **** the ******* worm
Turn unto ****
**Turn unto ****
Turn unto platter of wet sponges
Turn him into a casket of bleeding organs
I do,
I do not like him,
No I do not.
Filthy Male-Whore, ****
His corpse shall forever mold with self-hatred
Disgusting waste of gluttonous entity.
Biological waste universal waste
I do not like him
Blood chunks pool over out of his skull
I do not like him, All his filth-blood
Dried out, I do not like him
Tongue pulled out, neck snapped
Brain matter scooped out, the ******* worm
Thief, Cheat, Male-Whore. I do not like him
But I do not hate him.*
Dec 29, 2013
Dec 29, 2013 at 11:25 PM UTC
.*a viable compensation... males ought to stop being such ***** romantics... how my father plays the Chamberlain to my mother ****** me... and a woman? please... let's just get it over with, castrate me... i have no existential imperative... i am,. the sort of fascist you're supposed t fear... i actually endorse their ideology... i can't sway the opinions of western women... **** 'em... to be honest, the most ****** eruptions i've felt were for Kenyan ivory beauties... ivory? the teeth... skin like molten chocolate... rare for a white man to desire black women...never experienced the Asian fetish... first time in Africa and i recognized in her eyes: we weren't a pair of the ugly people... while shy smoked marijuana on the stealth... god... liquorice in caramel... coconut oil smeared all over her... my one time in Kenya... and i'm looking for a shade... and i also fall in love... and i recognize the eyes that fall love... and everywhere i go... i fall in love... but never stay... a death, the blues, and what comes after: the everyday noose... just prior... come sleep.*
********** i too, am,
bewildered at not
finding my ego...
or rather... pretending
to leave with a hard-on...
what's wrong with me?
or... rather...
what's wrong with you?
blame games can
only go so far....
i can only pretend to
give a ****
having listened to
enough chris isaak songs...
after a while...
i'm "thinking"....
if this doesn't have rooney
mara to compensate with...
**** you...
i'll eat the cauliflower...
point break ***** of the 21st century...
i'll scratch my beard
and pretend to shave... o.k.?!
hard-on, no ego...
ego, no hard-on...
i guess thinking's
side-effect is that that...
thinking... sometimes paralyzes....
good to know-ro-ro-robot-good-to-go.
Nov 10, 2018
Nov 10, 2018 at 11:11 PM UTC
I am a reason to why
I am a treason to you & I
I am the grey in the sky
I am the very reason you deny
I am complicated
I am simplified
I am ridiculed
I am ridiculous
I am hideous
I am insidious
I am blunt like obvious
I am nothing of this
I am everything to dis
I am not but everything
I am the cause of because
The accused of excuse
The present of the past
The taunt in your haunting
The mad behind your madness
I am sad, thus I only bring you sadness
The miss in your miss me
I am the reason you miss me
The stress in your distress
A mistress, except to you
A denial when its not true
I do nothing for you
This time I am telling you
I am stone cold, ten fold
I con to pro
I am oh so inconsiderate
I am probably illiterate
My illustrations don't straighten ****
My demonstration is constrained
Disorderly, ashamed
Late like last night
Ahead during daylight
I am fine like irate
Chump change like castrate
I am last rate
I am vacuumed enough
I am in innovative
Therefore
I am freezing this..
Jan 22, 2014
Jan 22, 2014 at 7:37 PM UTC
I grew up between bookends
with the holy word held between
one fell off the shelf with no amends
now the shelf is filled with words unseen
So I read of other options
now I question the thread
of these fairy tale adoptions
which have been so deeply embedded
Christian school, weekly church, prayers before bed
my childhood filled with these epic tales
of a guy who died and then rose from the dead
and if you don't believe, well, see you in hell
They are good stories, some even great
but that's all they really are
to live by them is to live a life castrate
burning bush and a man inside a whale, a little bizarre
I am not mad I grew up this way,
but now I live a life of questioning
of what's beyond the pearly gates
without all of the one sided lecturing
Sep 17, 2018
Sep 17, 2018 at 9:59 AM UTC
She is who she is,
a classy sassy woman.
She drives a tractor with the best of them.
She can use an emasculator,
hog tie a calf, castrate a boor,
Knock some sense into a 500lb steer,
give a rooster the what fore.
She is the Queen of her domain.
And
She wants an extraordinary, mad love,
full of passion anything else is a waste of her time.
She lives wild and works hard.
She doesn’t have time for midcore,
life is full of midcore and she’s had enough.
She wants a life full of flavor, color, texture,
good food, good whiskey, and passion.
But
Her mouth, woo she has the vocabulary,
of a poorly-educated sailor.
and
She can tell you where to go,
then make you look forward to the trip.
She’s easy to underestimate,
you know that harmless girl next door look,
a little nerdy funny is a sarcastic sort of way.
She’s been over looked often, and shakes it off,
until she walks away never to look back.
That’s when you realize what you lost.
And what a loss,
No one will love you like she did.
Apr 24, 2020
Apr 24, 2020 at 9:58 PM UTC
Dear Husband,
i did not mean to scare you
when you came out the shower naked
and i said
if there were a ****** in the house
i would handcuff him to the radiator
castrate him
take out the blender
have him watch me
turn on the switch
pinch his nose
make him drink himself
Feb 24, 2014
Feb 24, 2014 at 11:42 PM UTC
Baby, you’re shaking, Tremors in your hands, your heart.
The rate of your heart is desperately flourishing
I know you’re scared. I feel your fear.
I need you to know that my hands shake as well
And I’ll never forgive if I castrate an artery
Oh, your beautiful blank arms
“Once won’t hurt.”
But soon your arms become a practice
For the doctors will look and think to themselves.
“How did she get like this?”
You think the track marks will mask the cuts!
But your just trading one addiction for another
Your arms are the definition of unzipped
In every possible way, they cry
They scream for help
They screech for more, more, more!
Convulsing, your pulse is barley thumping
Against my fingers; I cannot feel it
I’ve let this disease dominate you
I hooked a rope to your veins, a rope connecting straight to a coal from
Hell
And the manifestation
Oh, how it’s progressed. We both are consumed
Wishes for destruction. The weeping starts command.
My mother once told me to never smoke Mary
Or pop Molly
Or dance with the devil.
I suppose those warnings have been forgotten amidst the tar stuck to my brain
I want to lie with you, I want to feel your heart
I need to know you’re breathing
Sinner, Sinner.
We are going to burn.
We need to stop the heat
It possesses the angel and comforts the devil
I realize I’m not alone
But in this room under the moonlight, clutching a bottle of whiskey and
A needle blazing under my skin
I’ve never felt so lonely.
Are you in Heaven baby?
Or do you meet with Diablo in Hell?
All I know is that right now, I want to be with you
I want my affair with the fire to be real
I want the burning to be more than a sensation
Because you’re on fire
And I know it’s ****** but I don’t wish to put you out.
I will hold your hand and turn to ash,
I got you hooked; You overdosed.
I take the blame
Please forgive.
Nov 9, 2013
Nov 9, 2013 at 9:34 PM UTC
Yeah!
The ****** Good-For-Nothings!
The Undue Weight On Society!
They Are Not Men!
They Don't Deserve To Be Men!
Castrate The ****** Rapists!
Yeah!!
The ****** Good-For-Nothings!!
The Junk Material Of Society!!
They Put Their Hands On Others' Sisters!!
They Need To Be Satisfied Forever!!
So Castrate The ****** Rapists!!
Yeah!!!
The Only Solution That Is!!!
The Permanent Extinguishing Of Their Thirst!!!
They Need Their Hands Cut Off!!!
They Invite The Final Solution!!!
Just Castrate The ****** Rapists!!!
Dec 26, 2012
Dec 26, 2012 at 5:48 AM UTC
This is poison,
"Statistics show
that one out of every
three black men
will spend time in prison
in his lifetime."
This is the remedy,
"I sit alone in my room drinking."
I feel like
society has tried to castrate black men,
because our *****
are so harmful,
especially to white women.
We break them,
make them unfit for society
right?
Statistics make us inhuman.
My skin color
has to be more than a distinction,
**** this ********
Imma move to Alaska
and forget the girls I loved
and the ones that loved me
even though it was detrimental to them.
Jan 28, 2012
Jan 28, 2012 at 9:59 PM UTC
I want to write your name 1,000,000 times
on a chalkboard and then erase it and bang
the erasers and breath in the cloud and
suffocate ok?
actually I want to curbstomp you and lick
your blood off the cement and collect as many
of your teeth as I can and make a bracelet
(I want to be your love, I want to make you cry)
actually I want to kiss every inch of your body kiss I mean bite
I want to tear you to shreds
actually I want to cut your chest open and crawl inside and
vibrate with your heartbeat and force you to hold me
(I want you inside of me)
actually I want to call you out on a white lie in front of all your friends
(I want to be your only friend)
actually I want to read you conspiracy theories right before you go to sleep
and fill your dreams with paranoia
(I want to kiss your eyelids)
actually I want to cut the brakes in your car and I want to be the one driving us
100 mph towards a cliff
actually I want to put bleach in your morning coffee and I want to force
you to drink it
actually I want to empty your bank account and live out my days alone
somewhere warm, alone
actually I want to give you all the pleasure in the world, all the pleasure a
human man could experience and then I want to castrate you
actually I want to tell you elaborate lies about my childhood
actually I want to write you books
actually I want to make you feel adored
actually I want to make up my mind about you
actually I want to paint your nails and cut your hands off
and use your fingers to display my ring collection
actually I want you to notice me (please)
Nov 21, 2013
Nov 21, 2013 at 8:18 PM UTC
Don't push me.
I am a force to be reckoned with.
My words can castrate you,
decapitate you,
depreciate you.
Don't push me.
My words are a hurricane
that will rip down the house
you've built on your righteous soul.
My words are a tsunami
that will sink the ship
you sail across your radical sea.
My words are a tornado
that will tear you straight
from your solid ground.
Don't push me.
I weave tales of anger and woe
that force themselves into your mind,
that break you from the inside,
tales that take you past
your comfort zone.
Don't push me.
I can make you fall with this poem.
I can make you cry with my story.
I can make you scream with a few words.
Don't push me.
I am a force to be reckoned with.
Mar 19, 2012
Mar 19, 2012 at 10:09 PM UTC