"cess" poems
Tech tonics and honesty following repeated offerings to beings I don't think, think that I belong anymore.
Not that it bothers me I'm used to feeding apologies to cretins who'd like to think they walk on water
I dropped the scene along with anyone I met that shed a tear or was met with fear at the thought of me in harm I think
I can't love again
And what's worse is that you couldn't care less
I'm not a monster, but you treated me just like the ones in your head, yet I told you things to doubt when you never should've
You had no business saying you loved me in the first
I fell after, I can't handle my emotions, thoughts, I've lost my confidence and I don't care enough to get it back.
Your now engaged to a guy you introduced me to. **** you.
I wish I could even hate you, but I only hate myself. WHY.
I wish for death, or destruction, or cataclysm, or flood, or plague
I'm an empty vessel, ready to become
Undone.
Hooray.
(Update I’m getting better)
May 3, 2022
May 3, 2022 at 2:13 AM UTC
It seemed that out of battle I escaped
Down some profound dull tunnel, long since scooped
Through granites which titanic wars had groined.
Yet also there encumbered sleepers groaned,
Too fast in thought or death to be bestirred.
Then ,as I probed them, one sprang up, and stared
With piteous recognition in fixed eyes,
Lifting distressful hands, as if to bless.
And by his smile, I knew that sullen hall, -
By his dead smile I knew we stood in Hell.
With a thousand pains that vision's face was grained;
Yet no blood reached there from the upper ground,
And no guns thumped, or down the flues made moan.
'Strange friend,' I said, 'here is no cause to mourn.'
'None,' said that other, 'save the undone years,
The hopelessness. Whatever hope is yours,
Was my life also; I went hunting wild
After the wildest beauty in the world,
Which lies not calm in eyes, or braided hair,
But mocks the steady running of the hour,
And if it grieves, grieves richlier than here.
For by my glee might many men have laughed,
And of my weeping something had been left,
Which must die now. I mean the truth untold,
The pity of war, the pity war distilled.
Now men will go content with what we spoiled,
Or, discontent, boil ****** and be spilled.
They will be swift with swiftness of the tigress.
None will break ranks, though nations trek from progress.
Courage was mine, and I had mystery,
Wisdom was mine, and I had mastery:
To miss the march of this retreating world
Into vain citadels that are not walled.
Then, when much blood had clogged their chariot-wheels,
I would go up and wash them from sweet wells,
Even with truths that lie too deep for taint.
I would have poured my spirit without stint
But not through wounds; not on the cess of war.
Foreheads of men have bled where no wounds were.
I am the enemy you killed, my friend.
I knew you in this dark: for so you frowned
Yesterday through me as you jabbed and killed.
I parried; but my hands were loath and cold.
Let us sleep now...'
2.7k
At the stroke of midnight,
When sleep is at its height.
A ghoulish mist engulfs the town,
Bewitching even the Gothic Parish.
Marring its beauty with sinister a frown,
Ivied gates forbidding all that is nightmarish.
Its tall angels now grotesque gargoiles,
Tis when the witches own the sky.
Hidden by moonlight, for youth they toil,
Decades of immortality, watched with sharp an eye.
The towns square, a friendly place,
Now expressionless, a face.
Rings with its blurry past, haunting,
It's residents hiding, whence the hunting.
The witches doth confess,
The town's too quiet for us to obsess.
Begs the darkest one:
"Let us recess, to that dark cess,
Whence we came from.
Tis better to live a day hungry,
Than to be denied your place in history !!"
Jan 23, 2018
Jan 23, 2018 at 3:17 AM UTC
some say im cynical
satanical
that my minds mechanical
diabolical
spoken essence erotical
detestable
jaded imagery hypnotical
unstoppable
liable to solve the unsolvable
while prodigal poets drown in their nautical modules
im a criminal
a cannibal
storming the street like an animal
shooting cannonballs
through prison walls
splattering the generals
in bathroom stalls
hostil
leave you poppin pain pills in the hospital
uncontrollable
my temper is flammable
mumbles illegible
choking you with your pentacle
leaving onlookers speckled
the abominable
mental protocols unstoppable
the unfeasible constable
shooting up the card table
willing and able
to call your fables
and smash apart a label
i raise babies in unstable cradles
let you bleed out
like cracked ladles
engorged in unholy wars
exploring
the corruption of the core
deplored
uniformed for
the clash of the double edge swords
taking control of vocal chords
a meet of the hordes
of the horned
misinformed
adorned
in sunlight
trying to shine
just 1 line
at a time
until my life signs decline
almost time
light and shadow combined
Horus and set
by hindsight blessed
yet to contest
to the rest of this mess
by melancholy caressed
as i arise unrest
from the cess
of the un confessed
blessed
Jul 9, 2012
Jul 9, 2012 at 6:14 AM UTC
Me and the crew riding around in the PT Cruiser.
Soda oozin' out the cup like the one of Biggest Loser.
Don't let the insults be spiky, like the shell of King Koopa.
Goin' back and forth : we in the movie Looper.
Be chill like the Buddha.
Dude, uh, I think you dropped your burger.
Electric surger blew up like the Time Warner merger.
The inside of our place on fire ;
The officer called us liars.
Wanted to throw us in the manor on the Cliff of Briar.
Yeah, it's an American Horror Story.
Being profiled because of ethnicity,
We're Mexican, see,
But we're not gonna steal something worth $3.50.
Looking at us like monsters of Loch Ness.
Yeah, we may come from a pool of cess
But you're simply too incredulous
To think of a time other than 1955.
You can ruin our lives
And throw us in jail in the blink of an eye.
Don't even need to find
A shred of evidence to kick our behind.
You feel like we're behind your back
Cocking our guns with a slight click-clack.
About to shoot them off with a ratatatat
While we're caressing our "gang tats".
But that's not how it is.
You think we all give weapons to kids?
Mar 14, 2015
Mar 14, 2015 at 3:09 PM UTC
Drip, drip, drip
one after the other, the build up
no sewage system in which to leak
mind becomes a cess pool
am I so bad, trifle yes
to bring down such wrath in the raindrops
drip, drip, drip
overwhelming
more depth for a fractured mind
sobs seek the drainage pipes
seep into the darkness
no tunnels here to catch the incoming flood
Jan 3, 2013
Jan 3, 2013 at 12:08 AM UTC
I was yanked from my childish day dreams,
plunged into a cess-pool of evaluation and judgement
before my 15th birthday.
I have yet to venture outside my own country's borders,
yet to feel unconditional love from eyes unseen,
I can't even cook my own dinner.
They ****** me into the hot seat,
where are you going?
how will you get there?
Where do you see yourself in ten years?
Maybe eating olives on my balcony,
crying over wasted years and broken fingers.
And they tell me
'Study hard, your future depends on it.'
as if my future revolves around
letters on a piece of paper,
teaching me that percentages
and values
define my self-worth.
Subliminal messaging.
Grades before morals.
And now I look at the scale and the digits
line up
three men to be executed
by firing squad.
And I was taught from the age of six
that these numbers represent
my life.
I am numbers
on a scale
on a report card
a g.p.a
a percentage on a test.
Society looks upon me
as a resume.
A collection of fake numbers and symbols
and they decide,
based upon this ****** little game of
calculations,
what life you deserve.
Oct 29, 2013
Oct 29, 2013 at 6:20 PM UTC
There is a cancer in our society, eating us away.
A subtle scent, reeking from years of decay.
The quiet ghost of vast centarian proportions,
Grinding through time, a product of sin's vile contortions.
We struggle to thrive then live to get by,
But when so many rise and so many die,
The scent reaches the nostril of Him the most high.
Pulling the trigger on a stomach of cess,
Trying to get buy, the few ignore the rest.
Principles have died and with them good deeds,
Sooner or later the last value standing is greed.
Jul 15, 2015
Jul 15, 2015 at 5:37 AM UTC
I went for a walk in a farmer’s field
That once was a village street,
The cobbles were buried under the weeds
And scattering ears of wheat,
I wondered what had become of them,
Had they just faded away,
And left the buildings to tumble down
In disrepair and dismay?
Here the occasional chimney stood
Its flu still blackened with soot,
That once had shone with a rosy glow
Reflected by someone’s foot.
And there the remains of a hearth still lay
Where mother had cooked the food,
And once there had been a child at play
Outside, where a swing had stood.
I found the remains of an old stone slab
Worn down by the passage of feet,
The entranceway to the Inn they had
In the days when life was sweet,
But something had come to sweep it away
To level it all to the ground,
And I was struck by the silence there,
Marked by the absence of sound.
I finally came to the cemetery
That sat alongside a wood,
A pitiful forest of standing stones
Each marked with a name, but crude,
And in the middle a pitch black stone
That sat at odds with the rest,
‘Here lie the remains of the Witch of Crone,
May she burn in Hell, Bad Cess!’
It seemed then that the villagers had
Their taste of evil ways,
Before some force had hurried along
To see each building razed,
For then I stumbled across a stone
That lay, each shattered piece,
As if it was struck by lightning there
When he was just deceased.
I began to gather the pieces
Like a puzzle in that field,
And started to put it together,
See what secrets it would yield,
‘Here lies the Village Witch Finder,’ said
The sorry tale at last,
His name, ‘Nathaniel Binder’, carved
Before that final blast.
Then once that the tale was there to tell
I could hear a distant growl,
Deep in the wooded trees nearby
Like some grim and ancient howl,
And the black stone in that cemetery
Began to glow so bright,
As smoke poured off from its surface then,
Making me weak with fright.
I never went back to that farmer’s field,
Or that vast, unholy ground,
But I passed just once the village pond,
A hole, and not to be found,
The earth had opened, swallowed it up
In a time of great despair,
And there by the edge of that ancient pond
The remains of the ducking chair.
David Lewis Paget
Mar 23, 2017
Mar 23, 2017 at 2:06 AM UTC
~~'-~~
Amaranthine grace
In this mystique place
I dance like a princess
Kissed by the rain
I stay sweet yet plain
Love is my cess
I bow and flow
You make me glow
I'll keep my word
I always bloom
With love, no gloom
Blessed by our Lord!
~~'-~~
Mar 17, 2016
Mar 17, 2016 at 9:08 PM UTC
I was having grand ole time wading about in my newly found Kiddie Pool. The water had a slight blue color against the beautiful white pool sides. My life had kind of been going down the drain lately but this seemed to be a rather fortuitous find.
I happened upon it one dark day when I was not seeing well and decided to stay awhile. I had let some things cloud my vision and dull my senses. I was so happy in my Kiddie Pool just doing my thing. Not a care in the world and I was very contented… life was easy. When all of a sudden the bottom fell out of my nifty Kiddie Pool. I soon found myself trying to stay afloat in the middle of what appeared to a vast ocean. The smell was not so great, actually it was down right awful! I was alone it seemed at first but I could hear the cries of others somewhere just beyond me.
Despair set in. I felt very broken. What happened? Life happened but why me?
Something or someone had pulled the handle on my Kiddie Pool that I so enjoyed. I had become accustomed to its “ambiance” but now I was really feeling flushed.
I discovered my Kiddie Pool was connected to a greater pool that went by the first name of Cess. The things I thought were water toys floating about me were not and they were killing me by degrees. The things of pleasure were dragging me down and my future did not look so grand any more. I cried out in the darkness hoping someone would hear me. “Oh God”, I screamed, “are you really there? I am lost. Please help me!”
I was going down for the third and final time when the Ship of Life appeared out of nowhere. I was hauled aboard by the Captain of the Ship. Rescued from the “flushing” I had endured after getting in the Kiddie Pool of Life. My feet were now on the Ship of Life. The Captain washed me clean. My head became clear and I could finally see where I had been and it was NOT pretty.
“I once was lost but now I am found.” How wonderful it is to be found.
Jul 30, 2010
Jul 30, 2010 at 8:45 PM UTC
I can clearly state
And easily enumerate
No need to exaggerate
That in the aggregate
Up until the current date
The state of our beloved state
Has chosen to populate
The majority of the electorate
With the dregs of the vulgate.
I’m stating that our congress
Has become a total mess
With the outcome being less
Pleasing than a pool of cess.
With many of ‘no’ and few of ‘yes’
I fear we have to confess
We will be forced to dress
In ***** rags and even less
Too broke for a game of chess.
We are a buckless stag nation
On less than WW2 B rations
Caught in the collaboration
Between rightist indignation
And hyper-religious damnation
Golden calf worship and adoration
Built on the dollar sign adulation
Fostered by the dissembling peroration
By the authors of American privation.
Our representatives sell out constantly
And take in our dollars steadily
Saying yes to bribery readily
Feathering their beds happily
Ignoring their promises fearlessly
Because they proceed quite protectedly
From any repercussions legally
From the almighty powers that be
That coddle and tend them carefully.
It has to be that way necessarily
In this falsely-labeled free country.
May 1, 2015
May 1, 2015 at 10:20 PM UTC
The twisting of necks,
It was a dark, dark day.
Their outlines colored neon and screeching.
And in harmony the voices tumbled out of their throats.
“It was like the marble statues could speak” she said, observing the choir of lucid figures.
“What are you talking about..” My words trailed off as useless things, lacking existence.
Then, they soared in a fountain of liquified color, spiraling towards the nothing.
Lucy’s short hair hung, and moved as if there were wind.
I felt no wind.. Was there something she could feel, and I did not?
Something she knew of? Was all of this making sense to her?
Then, it rained blue. and red. and green and purple..!
And the..tigers flew..in to bestow..a kiss upon the..lips of the..prin..cess..
The panther’s diamonds, at the flash of light, the sparkling sudden..
My sanity became obsolete.
And Lucy and I were free.
Feb 13, 2012
Feb 13, 2012 at 6:22 PM UTC
In a world of lies, with the realities of life, safely ignored
I swipe my screen, and wring my hands, saying I'm bored.
I sip my tea, blissfully aware of the common man's plight
I tell myself, it's not my fault, it's alright.
I write my blogs, I rate my world and give it a C-
As I dive right in to the cess pool of the world's finest
My mind addled with an addiction to 'things'
As the rich men slyly pull on my strings
The child within, utters a plaintive cry
Long dead his thirst, and clipped his wings
I have to get to work, and work to get by
I don't want to know, what I lost, when I gained these things.
Dec 3, 2016
Dec 3, 2016 at 5:06 AM UTC
This world's black, bloated and cold
it seems our God is now cracked
worthless and old
nothing cares, love ceases to exist
yet, within this cess-pit
we continue to persist
for the human race is stubborn
never one to give up -
surviving within the harshest of places
'til death forces our eyes shut
we live on massacre, feast upon woe
at one point we found happiness
but refused to let it grow
we **** our enemies, and ourselves
stock the deadliest weapons
upon supermarket and high-street shelves
we punish the innocent, worship the liars
pretty killers and fascists -
we lend a hand to simultaneously
reduce this civilisation to smouldering ashes
freedom fighters, ****** drugs
this sick infatuation with *** -
thanks, but no thanks
I don't wanna live 'cause no doubt I'll be next.
Jul 15, 2015
Jul 15, 2015 at 5:18 PM UTC
Say a prayer as it goes
To your brain down from your nose
When will it come to a close
"When all my demons are exposed"
Listen carefully as the wind
That sends shudders to within
Gradually begins to grin
Even though you're bathed in sin
But then the high takes a bow
You forgot to live in the now
You were only focused on the how
Listen as the profane echoes drown
You in a whirlpool of cess
Consequences of excess
You're a bleeding carcass
You're an absolute mess
So I say a prayer to you
The one I can't refuse
The one I call my muse
The one and only excuse
Mar 19, 2015
Mar 19, 2015 at 4:10 PM UTC
There is something that feeds on the evil
It finds in the well of its mind,
To bolster the work of the devil
And other bad cess it might find,
It joys in the hurt it is causing
It revels in pain it may bring
To all who once loved and adored it,
For it never loved anything.
Revenge is the one thing that drives it,
A payback to feed discontent,
But it does it in dark and in hiding,
It’s sly and it doesn’t repent,
It tries to unwrap any secrets
That may have been hidden from view,
In diaries, letters and journals,
Or letters, specific to you.
It doesn’t know shame in its spying,
That others feel only disgust,
A soul that is black and repulsive
That’s headed for Hell, as it must,
It thinks its success is so clever
And laughs when revealing its scar,
But others laugh at you, not with you,
And evil, you know who you are!
David Lewis Paget
Apr 3, 2016
Apr 3, 2016 at 7:52 PM UTC
Like hound dogs
The press
Always constricts
Their own
Crushing poet
Bones
In the
P
R
O
Cess.
Sep 12, 2015
Sep 12, 2015 at 3:22 PM UTC
Hidden deep within the grounds
of a tattered torn mess
Hissing of buried hounds
never a halted recess
blind to the fog
that encapsulates sound
silent ticks of the clock
understanding cannot be endowed
Digging deeper into the cess
feelings of helplessness and death
Lost souls under digress
enchanted under spells of nothing left
What is a stone that supplies nothing
to those who crave a deeper nothing
Sep 29, 2018
Sep 29, 2018 at 9:57 PM UTC
grey carpet, yellow wall,
brown table, yellow wall,
blue seat, yellow wall,
and a **** coloured stain on the ceiling.
_______________________
shoulders pressed inward,
hands between thighs,
hair hanging in front of
detestable grey eyes.
but details matter,
red hands must smear
a crude-drawn picture,
on strips of brown-clear.
blinding and white
burning the table,
ten pages in all,
a statement from Abel.
attempt to explain,
better yet confess,
inky black clips,
secret, sudden cess.
bottle green, cautioning;
two lives lost
to action unseen.
golden is youth,
yet blue is the feeling,
all colour gone, body reeling.
Apr 11, 2020
Apr 11, 2020 at 5:46 PM UTC