"cauterize" poems
Sing songs of parsley vivacious ***** jazz.
Dance that moon hoodoo rattlesnake tango.
Play ancient games like enter the mysterious iridescent doorway.
Smoke your poetry books.
Remember to forget your cell phone in the shower drain.
Cauterize your family pictures onto magazines and newspapers.
Sail across the ghost waters of unforgiven memories.
Throw yourself into your heartstrings.
String yourself onto your nirvana sphere.
Lick the soul.
Burn square enclosures.
Paint with your mind's mouth instead of the hands.
Live and ******
Nov 17, 2014
Nov 17, 2014 at 9:49 PM UTC
here’s the damnedest thing about “hopeless romantics”:
they’ll splinter their own bones into kindling
to build the fire that warms you,
as if putting a match to their insides
might cauterize the wounds
left behind by the greedy lovers and too-rough hands
that set their hearts to bleeding in the first place
you see, the poets spared no pains when they dubbed
the especially romantic “the hopeless”
they are hopelessly betrothed to the warfare,
the burning insanity
of a soul madly in love with love—
the way the heart rages against the brain.
Oct 27, 2017
Oct 27, 2017 at 11:43 PM UTC
We are laughing while passing a bottle back and forth between the two of us
Our breath reeks of nicotine vapor and the remnants of marijuana mixed with whisky
I down half a bottle of Maker’s Mark and you ask how it is I am able to do so with such ease
I tell you it isn’t difficult and it isn’t
I want to add that swallowing bitterness is much more pleasant on one's own terms but I do not say this part aloud
Instead I act like my insensitivity to alcohol is a skill not relevant to a family history of addiction
Built from uncles and fathers using liquid as a method to cauterize open flesh
A mechanism of numbing that has been passed down for years as casually as a recipe
We keep our secrets tacked onto hard labels and the inner caps of beer bottles
We antique our inheritance with the reminder that it has always been this way
This ability to drown myself under the weight of high content is nothing more than expectation
I make wine to water the moment it reaches my tongue
I convert drunken slurs to a language understood
I know sour breath more than I do mild
I didn’t learn drinking from beer pong and taking shots
I didn’t learn how to from games at parties and competition
I didn’t learn it as an activity or an outlet, I learned it as a habit turned routine
I was introduced to liquor with the same hand that walked me to school everyday
With the same lips that kissed me goodnight
This comprehension for the intoxicated soul is as engrained as my predisposition to become one
The only thing impressive about this relationship with alcohol will be how I choose to survive it,
Not all of us have.
Feb 16, 2015
Feb 16, 2015 at 5:55 PM UTC
Poets, like doctors, know the anatomy of suffering... tearing the paper with rusty carving knives...
We see scarlet scratches and eggplant colored bruises on every square inch of foolscap... we open scars with words... stainless steel scalpels which we never sanitize...
We perform open heart surgery with blunt instruments... We cauterize the wounds with coals of Fire...
We are civil war sawbones, removing the gangrenous leg to save the body... Carrying out our task with whiskey bottle anaesthesia.
So have a care... The Doctor Is In.
SoulSurvivor
(C) 5/30/2016
May 30, 2016
May 30, 2016 at 11:43 PM UTC
I still deny the rules and social ties of citizen spies
that i televise by shouting chanted anthems into the sky
yet to comply with the codes of conduct i defy
as you synthesize the number and size
i am careful not to compromise the lost light within my eyes
my cold gaze reflective of your demise
and i
scrutinize them until they realize they're being penalized for the lies
until maggots monopolize your corpse through your cries
until pulled away by the hissing of shadowed flies that fly into the lost light in my eyes
until my pupils cauterize
locking you inside
institutionalised
and i
am imprisoned in a prism of realism
as anti social collisions have me pulling my soul through verbal incisions
seeping radioactive emissions
from the legions of religions
from the season of rhyme without reason
failure to pay darkened tuitions is now treason
as catastrophic cataclysms lock me away in my primal visions
my verbal inflictions as though holy missions to infuse friction
smashing through my divided contradictions and feeding my addictions
good riddance
Jul 5, 2012
Jul 5, 2012 at 10:45 PM UTC
you need not ask me who i am fighting for
my dear, we know the outcome.
i transformed from victim to victor
and still, you see me wounded.
Bleeding from seemingly self-inflicted injury,
it was you who held the knife all along.
Cuts will cauterize,
scars will form and hide behind my sleeves
the same way you mask yourself in alcohol
and kiss anyone you see.
Nov 22, 2013
Nov 22, 2013 at 2:19 AM UTC
We are Americans, confident and condescending, never pretending. Pretentious with a fictitious flare. Apologize? Cauterize our past
We will always be and forever last.
Past the hatred that spewed from our bowles. ******* and ***** disliked but grow. A show of force divorce from the norm.
A new norm. A storm from the top to dismember the bottom. Mathematic and Systematic relief of liberty. Care from elite, delete, delete.
Depopulated with information. Education dedication a lie.
Down the rabbit hole of darker days. We stay,
Unblinded by the pictures they wave.
A flag.
The towers.
the showers of bullets
turrets from afar.
A star.
This is America
We are Americans.
Aug 6, 2012
Aug 6, 2012 at 5:11 PM UTC
Twisted corpses
Of loves long gone
Call from across the room
As I stare
And stare
Until my heart breaks in two
Unable to glance away;
Unable to meet your gaze.
You're such a shapeless shell
Of days since past,
Having lost your substance to time
And belittled feelings
As I stand
Motionless,
Petrified.
I am but a pair of eyes now,
a shattered soul-
Still hoping,
Still wondering
If all I ever loved was a lie,
A cruel farce you'd never admit.
I cannot bear your cutting words,
Your effervescent laughter,
As you live a life renewed;
As I linger,
Wistful,
In your wake.
I'm bleeding inside,
These wounds too fresh to cauterize,
Your vision too much to bear
In the aftermath of our destruction,
The clanging bells of calamity
Still ringing in my shellshocked ears-
I struggle to find meaning
In the caustic remnants
you left me to puzzle over;
The scattered pieces of reasoning
That will never add up to a whole picture,
A sane answer.
Scorched and hollowed,
I can't bear this sight any longer,
As my heart smolders with hatred
And thoughts of revenge,
Consuming me
As though I were tied to the stake
That you deserve to burn on instead.
Come now,
Let's end this-
This dance of charades,
This play of puppets and toys-
I'm not your plaything anymore,
And I deserve the happiness
That you sought to steal for yourself.
Come now,
Let's accept it,
These sad monuments that you've erected
From upon your mighty throne,
The confusion you bestowed
When you left me all alone.
After all,
Fate had no say in this,
No approval to grant,
To this end-
You and I both know
You only have yourself to blame.
Jan 21, 2017
Jan 21, 2017 at 4:03 AM UTC
“Let it go,” he said.
So I release it all slowly,
like those 99 red balloons that saved
our little misled souls on bad teenage days.
Release it, and watch it float up and away
in 99 different directions,
in 99 different shades of ruthless red.
Let it go, and instruct yourself
to set fire to any and everything
it’s ever touched.
Burn the bridges, scorch the paths,
cauterize the arteries that
pumped warm blood for its purpose.
Set the fires, and let the light
from the florid flames
illuminate the corners
of your newfound smile
as you watch the embers
dance themselves
into white, meaningless ash
above your head.
Mar 7, 2016
Mar 7, 2016 at 10:17 AM UTC
"plan a" was to be cordial:
you said, "coexist."
we toasted with our cappuccinos,
"to coexisting," before replacing our masks.
smile. wave. be polite.
I suppose some dozen missteps by me rendered this plan
useless.
"plan b" is much harder.
put your hand on the table.
the knife comes down, quick,
press the hot metal to the wound.
amputate. cauterize.
use your friends as a tourniquet,
like the one I've been twisting you into for the last year
and a half.
Apr 3, 2014
Apr 3, 2014 at 11:21 PM UTC
She’s swinging from a different home plate
Our dictionaries don’t have enough words for her
She needs more
But not from here
Cause she’s not from here
She’s from everywhere we’re not
And when she writes
We are well aware of it
She spears me through the heart with her lines
But the last word never fails to politely cauterize
So her poetry leaves a mark
Fascia tattoos from Planet M
Messages sinking deeper in
Underneath everything human
Into the soul’s skin
That’s the reach of her pen
(Down below the circus of our understanding)
She lives down there, and sends postcards up
In the form of poetry
Dear so and so,
“there is a hole in your belly.
this is where those precious things fall that you drop”
Dear Mariah,
I know, I know
But I can’t seem to keep my hands dry
Knowing she will just sigh
And keep writing her poetry post cards
Postmarked “upstairs”
As the circus bustles and bangs above
I am sure she takes breaks
And comes up
For cotton candy
(blue/orange - yellow/purple)
of course
Aug 8, 2012
Aug 8, 2012 at 9:11 PM UTC
I never wished for my feathers
To catch fire
Unsure of who made me
This way
Losing my brilliance was never
My desire
My finale was
Excruciating
Someone once told me
That fire heals wounds
"To cauterize is to
Stop the bleeding"
This new discovery
Completely consumed.
Becoming anew
Was intriguing
The time then came
For the heat and the haze
These moments both petrifying
And exhilarating
I touched the dark
Before I embarked
Forming from embers while I
Remembered
I am reborn
Apr 5, 2016
Apr 5, 2016 at 5:41 PM UTC
*Silent Killer,
A Predator’s Smile,
A Guise Engulfed In Disguise,
A Child of Immaculate Torment,
Her Diamond Lies, Insidiously Advent.
Lost In Her Radiations,
Trapped In Her Demented Seductions,
Fenced By Her Hype,
Immersed In Her Gripe.
As The Clicker Goes Down,
The Ideals Start To Facedown,
As I Cauterize In Her Suicides,
Ashes Divide,
Weeping For Absolution,
Filled With Consternation,
Her Angel Eye’s Smirk, As I Charred Alive,
Screams Slowly Vanishing In Void,
Devoid Dismantled,
Lured By Her Lust,
Transcending To Dust....
- 03:07AM*
Mar 7, 2017
Mar 7, 2017 at 4:37 PM UTC
I feel more alive with every breath that you take
I searched for a hero
And then you saved me
Your kisses are priceless
And I know it's true
You're changing me for the good
Breathe me in so deep
For I am your's always to keep
I was born to tell you that "I love you"
When we are so close, flesh to flesh
Every breath brings my deepest hopes to life again
Tell me all the things you've never said
Tell me all your dreams
All the things you fear
Always take me with you and I'll always keep you near
I will love you now and forever
This world no longer matters to me
Because your smile makes me see clearer
than I have ever seen
We are drawn together with all the perfect words
like a painters brush strokes
I'll forever remain by your side
Because beating hearts grow they don't ever die
I don't know how but
You took away the pain of being me
You soothe my soul and caress my heart
You've ended the fear of all the bad memories
I think of no one else
I never believed in much until now and
I believe in this
I'm incomplete without you
I'd suffer without your kiss
I'll cauterize your every wound
After all the pain has cut right through
I will kiss every scar and show you the place
inside my heart that beats for you and no one else
I'll give you wings when you need to fly
Looking in your eyes I see all that I need
Sharing these moments I know we are meant to be
I've searched for a meaning
And now you're my everything
I will carry you when your heart is weak
I have faith in you because there are things
I have seen and don't believe
I'll never let you go and I mean it
I love you more than any words that were ever
written
Jun 23, 2014
Jun 23, 2014 at 3:49 PM UTC
I cleansed the knife
you stabbed in my back
and cauterized
my bleeding wounds
with it.
Jan 23, 2021
Jan 23, 2021 at 11:39 PM UTC
He wasn't always this way
A life of smoke and ash.
He's A burned house
Only ash remains.
" He wasn't always this way"
I declare.
Not knowing his past.
But knowing no one starts like ashes.
No one starts like the ruins of his old home
Which was burned down
While his mother was still inside
No one starts like his mother ended.
He wasn't always this way.
Now he lives in ashes.
He lives for smolder. Lives for smoke.
Lives for ashes.
With every cigarette he has
Every drug he sells.
He lives in smoke.
Smoke and cinder.
His teenage lungs up in smoke.
His brain fiery addicted.
He said he didn't care.
A life in smoke.
A young life... tossed before the flames
Consumed
They lick up his soul
Relieved
He is.
Cindering, smoking
Smoldering.
Burned.
Cauterize the wound.
Obtain life again from the ashes
That were the death of you and your mother.
Like a Phoenix be reborn from the rubble
Smoldering and roaring
You are a beautiful flame.
Obtain beautiful flame.
Not searing flame
So I then I won't have to say
He wasn't always this way.
Nov 22, 2014
Nov 22, 2014 at 9:25 AM UTC
toothpicks
won't pick
the ****
from out beneath your gums
nor will
denial
cauterize the memories
off your nerve endings
Feb 26, 2012
Feb 26, 2012 at 9:16 PM UTC
Push away, push away,
I'm just residue of cosmic rays.
Aurora leaks through magnetic cracks,
riding backs of solar winds.
Poke holes in the cellophane,
**** in the sunny dust;
universe can fill me up
but it's never quite enough.
My skin is bored and leaves me,
my insides throb without their shell
my mind's a traitor and defeats me
dressed like a heart, grey matter swells.
Plasma swimming, again
aimless, still seeking; charging
pent-up venom, radiation
singes the surface as my fingers explore.
If I can't feel your magnetic field
pressed against me, like the moon
I will bury pieces below your surface,
little pockets of cancer,
warm and unflinching.
Then I'm gone again,
gone to lay dormant
in the interplanetary medium:
undulating electricity,
sparks of stars to cauterize me to you.
Sep 14, 2012
Sep 14, 2012 at 6:34 PM UTC
mime,give me flowers in the dark
paint me a picture of gods
make me someone holy
when im dead i hope you cauterize the hole in your chest
sorry about the mess we left,sorry about the apple tree,sorry about the taste in your mouth
i hope its not too bitter for you
is this the part where i apologize for ripped sheets on a bed that never belonged to me in the first place?
sorry,sweetheart,sorry that i wasnt the right narcissistic ***** for you
is this the part where you mutilate a french love song?i hope it all works out for you
i hope you find an ax buried in the coffin underneath the apple tree
i hope you use it to demolish my house,i hope you find my corpse
and i hope you cauterize the hole in your chest
Oct 16, 2014
Oct 16, 2014 at 5:53 PM UTC
Bleeding eclipse splatters anguish, scorching frozen terrain
Reservoir transmits despair, vaporizing humid remains
Noxious fumes plague ventilation, incinerating methane mutilates
Inhumane detonations ignite smog, dismembering shrapnel decimates
Bombardments stimulate hallucinations, assailants discharge magazines
Incendiaries barrage trenches, vulnerability flourishes disease
Artilleries eject carnage, atrocious quarantine impedes retreat
Projectiles massacre infantry, heinous airstrike parries deceit
Howitzer impersonates tempest, kamikaze technique revealed
Nautical battleships converge, perilous adversaries concealed
Submarines launch torpedoes, oblivious warships sealed doom
Submersed submersibles clash, claustrophobic vessels entomb
Drowning agony crushes depths, forsaken lagoon transforms necropolis
Aquatic daemons consume decrepit, infernal torment surrenders providence
Condemned mortals cauterize compassion, genocide exterminates consciousness
Snorkeling corpses mound topside, eradicated infestation forfeited holocaust
May 11, 2017
May 11, 2017 at 8:26 PM UTC
every 28 days,
the human skin replenishes itself.
my hands are tired of building new homes
on top of old eviction letters.
I am aching for a body
that treats me like a cure,
and not the disease that needs it.
I live as a counterfeit version of myself;
I am a kleptomaniac who steals the breath
from people that would have found a use for it.
tell me how to refund
what I didn't buy.
my veins are a breeding ground for despondency,
my bones a shelter for malaise.
to try to be kind to myself
is to cauterize a wound
after the infection has already spread.
Jun 16, 2016
Jun 16, 2016 at 3:54 AM UTC
exhaust pipe dreams, gas encrusted
diamond rings
"maybe you're just taking it too personally"
words sharper than the knives
the edges perforated and willing
how can i not take something personally
when you are talking to only me
I understand that you don't know
who you are
but that is no excuse
to treat me
like a speeding ticket
you forgot to pay
i locked you away in my filing cabinet
after today
because not only did you
cauterize your fingerprints
but you erased your
name from my skin
it's like
you weren't here at all
finally we are no one
i am sitting in a room
plastered with
humans
yet
i
feel
so
alone
singular atom
one strand of DNA
not enough to
make anything
do anything
be anything
you made me feel everything
do something
and i did one thing
and it achieved nothing
second hand
counting backwards
cranking it's hours
until there is
only minutes
but even then
it's still 60 seconds
and each tick is a bomb
that has yet to detonate
if you leave
i will detonate
but you can't stay
or I will tie my body
to yours
and throw us both
into the water
letting the sharks
dissemble us like
an assembly line caught
in the VHS tape rewinder
film strung by branches
that I used to call home
shopping carts are the
planters to these trees
and sometimes in the
dirt I find reasons to leave
but you stomp them
out and they
starve
empty
and you look at me
but there is no remorse in your eyes
May 5, 2013
May 5, 2013 at 8:33 PM UTC
People are like chocolate.
We're all essentially the same but we have some differences.
Some are dark chocolate, white chocolate, or milk chocolate;
And no I don't mean your skin.
Some may have peanuts, caramel, cherries, or peanut butter inside.
We all have different experiences, thoughts, ideas, and personalities.
We all share most of the same ingredients and feelings,
But understanding something you've never experienced is always hard for humans.
Many people suffer from the addiction of adrenaline,
Those who love that fire that erupts from their skin when punctured.
This is one of the hardest experiences for others to understand.
The chocolate is a symbol of our sweetness - our happiness.
Those who are free come in lovely boxes with pretty designs.
They're decorated and packaged gently in a little bed.
But others, come wrapped in sharp and painful foil.
The foil represents our pain, depression, anxiety;
Anything that could lead to those ugly lacerations.
We hit ourselves, split skin, and burn ourselves to **** away the sorrow.
We cauterize the outer layer that engulfs ourselves to reveal our happiness.
But that happiness only lasts for a little while.
When a wrapper comes off a bit, you find a way to cover the whole.
And our melancholic shields cover that bit of joy up.
What some may not realize is that depression really is like wrapped chocolate.
If you try to slice the wrapping off, you will cut the treat.
If you burn the wrapper, the sweetness will melt away.
If you hit the foil, you've destroyed the beauty inside.
This is what happens to us when we give in to our despair.
We think it's helping.
But all it's doing is killing the beautiful person inside, who we are.
Destroying our outer skin pulls us deeper into a coma like state.
Where we're forced to drown in our mental wounds while painting pictures on our skin.
All you need to do is reach out a hand.
It might take a while for someone to notice you.
But someday, someone will reach back and intertwine their fingers with yours.
You just have to be willing to not put your hand down.
Find something that will keep you going.
Your pet whom you love.
A younger sibling or nephew or niece who look up to you.
A passion or dream you want to chase after.
The best thing to do in your darkest hour, is to look ahead and find something worth seeing.
Whether it's something so simple as having your favorite food on the weekend.
Or something as big as saving the world.
You don't need to do any of this on your own.
Just like with different chocolates; not everyone will like you.
But you will always have people close to you who love you.
And they are all that matter.
So don't damage yourself.
Don't try to peel the sadness off with a knife or fire.
Find that someone or something that makes you happy.
And the sorrow ridden foil will fall off all on it's own.
Or that someone will pull it off for you.
It will be okay. I promise.
May 8, 2016
May 8, 2016 at 7:19 PM UTC
Maybe if I just stop trying
I'd finally do
All the things I've said I've done
All the promises I've made to you
Maybe if I just stop thinking
I will realize
Too Much thought lays waste to words
And true intention cauterize
Maybe if I just start beleiveing
In something less
I will find peace inside
And live without the stress
But what if I just stopped breathing?
Doesn't that sound great?
I couldn't even question why
There would be no debate
Dec 14, 2014
Dec 14, 2014 at 7:56 PM UTC
762
The Whole of it came not at once—
’Twas ****** by degrees—
A Thrust—and then for Life a chance—
The Bliss to cauterize—
The Cat reprieves the Mouse
She eases from her teeth
Just long enough for Hope to tease—
Then mashes it to death—
’Tis Life’s award—to die—
Contenteder if once—
Than dying half—then rallying
For consciouser Eclipse—
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