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John Koroko Jun 2016
It starts as a gentle hum in my lower back
Then it becomes a twitch
This is when I should stop
But my eyes are just too wide
Absorbing every word
Until my blood is boiling
It travels up my spine
A burning razor line
I write some words
Then throw them out

This infuriating thing
So I pour some whiskey on it
It always makes my head spin
Then i smoke it back on straight
Face contorts and teeth grind
And then she goes away
Lysander Gray Nov 2011
"O son, hark ye to the rainbird's call." Said father to son as the golden light spilled out the fireplace, casting their backs into darkness. "O son, hark ye to the rainbird's call, for when the rainbirds are a-comin' the times are a-changin."

Son's wide eyes soaked in the golden fireplace light and the sound of father's voice.

"O the rainbirds, they's a-comin'. They's call ain't like the call of no other bird. Yer a familiar with the warblings and the cawings and the baying's and the singing's of other birds. The rainbird, he don't sound like that. When the rainbird a comes a callin', you best be knowin' his sound. For he don't warble or caw or bay or sing, on no, he don't warble or caw or bay or sing. He's a makin' a different sound all together. O the rainbird, when he comes a callin' you'll a-know its him."

Father puffed long on a clay pipe, his voice accompanied by the sounds of a thousand night critters a-haunting the outside world with their chitin wings and nightmare fur and ebony eyes, shining through the night. O yes, father puffed long on a clay pipe.

"Son, when the rainbird calls. He drowns out the other birds, ya wont be hearin' no warbling or cawin' or bayin' or singing. When the rainbird a-opens his beak, all ye hear is a marked silence from the other birds. O they is still singing, mind you they is still singing, but that ******* the rainbird, he dun drown them out with his silent call. Son. That is how you know the rainbird's callin'."

The golden light kept a-burning, and the fire was a-crackling as the night was a runnin' over the valleys skies. And father kept a-talkin' and his pipe; he kept a-lightin'.

"Son, that is the sound of the rainbird's call. He don't call much round here in the valley, but when he does, you hear the times are a-changin'. And when the rainbird sings, o son! When the rainbird sings! He BELLOWS! And he SINGS! And the valley will shudder with his song. When he sings, the valley will shudder and the darkness will come, for he be callin' on all dem other rainbird's. And they be comin' and the sky will darken like night and they'll a come, like a cloud, they'll a come. And they's flappin' wings will a-shake and a shudder the valley, and they'll a **** lightning and his brethren, his brothers will a-light down and they be filling the valley with their rain and their **** and the times will be a changin. Oh they be a changing."

Son's ears heard the tale of the rainbird that father told him, son believed the tale father told him. He believed, for the night birds did suddenly fall silent all through the velvet darkness outside the shack, and the air was a markedly different thing from what it was before, and the fire sputtered as the rainbird called. It sputtered…it sputtered…it sputtered.
Filmore Townsend Jul 2013
scribbling through pain of
wrist and tensed forearms
brought bettered by repetition
thru peddled death of calves
and ruined bowels of pre-
cancered prostate. constant
film of excreted toxins and
another cigarette only suffo-
cates these already humid-
battered lungs. another trip
out of doors only brings
realization of the heat inside,
buried deep beneath time-
pressured skin. some heart
forcing beats even though
cells have hardened via emo-
tionally evolved polysaccha-
rides. perhaps times' gain of
addiction finds lack of release
of toxins, perhaps the devel-
opment of a superior being
detached. lies, and realized,
wholly-owned and flawed
chitin formed of prior life,
formed of shared chemicals
of plasma-like water shed.
and called abrupt ending,
and lack of self-perspective
found lead-in to ending the
reign of self. ending some
reign of I the Destroyer.
yo, Listen to the story ima tell way back wen i saw this bad chick and she casted a spell right, I was chillen with the crew yeah u now my ****** we were rocking some snapbacks and the clippers I was checking her out I saw her face yeah u now lovey lovey dovey all up in my space my boys was sayin she's a seven she a nine in my mind i thought she's a dime so i was checking her out straight up and down i notice her just noticeing me she was rocking some J's with a short mini skirt she had the Jordan symbol on a v cut shirt i pulled up right next to her we was chitin chattin for a lil bit exchange numbers told to call me in a lil bit the relationship was in full gear i just told her all that she wanted hear like she pretty and like your  hair i don't wanna come across as thirst i just wanna **** and wanted to be her first wen she ask me if already had it i lied and told her yes try to look in her eys so she won't notice i was staring at her chest every time we kiss i take a deep breath she is feeling high cause I now what to do i bite her lips i kiss her neck grab her hips her body tight tying to set that mood right u now what I'm a do tonight started from the top worked my way down took her ******* off so i can see that view told I'm a do u right and eat it to told her I'm going make her feel brand new she said take it easy you now I'm new told her me too when I do what I'm a do when i get on top of you I'm a test your vocals out and you singing ooooooooh! girl you now it's nothing baby girl I'm not fronting was not lying when i said you are my first.
ottaross Dec 2013
At the door again,
It begins as a quiet scratching
And then a thick, abrasive sliding-down
Like a heaviness upon the frame.
Then a barely perceived close-breathing
That seems to creep like dull lantern-light
Under the door,
And around the frame,
And through the keyhole.

And there is no talisman to protect him.
No bust of pallas above the door
He is no metamorphosing cockroach
Able to **** the gaps
With oily-black chitin feelers.

The darkness brings no tools but fear
Thick and impenetrable as the night
The ancient lizard-brain takes over
And leaves him waiting for the first rays
That will pierce the window like lances
And dissolve the oppressive world
That leans so heavy against his door.
"Stolen Thoughts" project:
-First line borrowed from Ernest Gone's "Doors"
James Nieves Mar 2011
I can only hold my breath so long,
Before the sirens echo around me
Yet asphyxiation seems so wrong
How can you love what you refuse to see,
Oh well, hold on to whatever will get you through, what ever makes you belong

Who do you love?
I can see through, to ya love,
Who do you love?

Do you love me?
OR just the thought of me?
I think the latter is the matter,
The problem in your skin,
Take your head, and make it spin.

Roll it off your neck
Blow the Job you do so ‘well’
I mean what the heck
**** your toes, burn in hell

Because from the bottom of your soul you’re a soiled mess
A cluster **** of paranoia and stress
Using and digging like a poor and dying *****
Seeing shadows play lamp light out across your floor.

Letting go takes a step forward,
On beaches of brighter days, sun burning your flesh
In its indifferent rays.
What puts a folded heart inside a lovers hands?
The anti-gravity that tells you to stay the hell away from me.
Depravity in your shallow soul-called-cavity makes this man
Truly understand.

Letting go takes time, a focus unlike anything.
Letting go takes love, that burns the candle of hate
TO emaciate, the marrow that creates blood for your mind so narrow.
Stung and dumb, and young and fake
You have no more love to take—
Not from me or the love locked in that position,
You and I are atomic fission

Listen,

You are my friend—you’re misunderstood
But your heart is infected with pain and to heal it should
Give up on the strings dripping poison into it’s chambers

Keep testing me,
Keep ingesting me,
Keep molesting me,

Just protect your situation
Waste that carnation
Take your mental vacation,
But as you push aside the things you don’t want
I’ll be out to war, the vanguard Avant.

I can stop a train, clocking 80miles-per-hour
But your hairs not long enough to save you from your tower.
That rises as I fall, I can’t take the speed it’s moving at,
Though honestly, for you, I’d never stop the train.

Because you need to grow into a real life,
Away from the fantasy of your ignorant head
So you can be a stay at home wife
So you can **** in bed,
And be divorced for trying so hard,
Even when your hubby went limp
And once you’re truly jarred
You’ll realize that you are just a shrimp

Headless into ****-tail,
Your chitin shell so frail
Roro Aug 2020
I orchestrate your violent butterflies
Fluttering and morphing into bees with big eyes
"Honey shed your chitin and be mine"
Your guardian angel and savior so divine

The strings of your heart as my violin
My grand concerto hypnotized you to sin
Made me your deity, my boat your place of worship
I welcomed your unholiness aboard my precious ship

Sailed through the clouds and into the stars
Set off on a light-speed expedition to Mars
When we returned to wander the Earth's seas
I found myself a slave to all your pleas

Mistress of this vessel yet so caged and lonely
When did I feed you so much power over me?
She was mine but I didn’t recognize
Tainted and defiled because of my lies

Her body and sails were painted red and blue
To much better suit and satisfy you
Irreverence to your deity, desecration to my shrine
I could only watch while you took all that was mine

A glimpse of land and gardens so close
Sparked a flame of hope in my life of shadows
I sprouted wings and the sun began beaming
Lighting up the rocks where waves were crashing

I raised her sails with one final goal
To free myself and take back my control
With cold confidence, I steadied my helm, directed my bow
Crashed her down like Dawson to Davy in the depths below.
Being worshipped and adored isn't always fun, especially when you feel responsible and in control of a relationship. Despite having that power and control, you're helpless and catering to every need of this obsessed person you now pity and despise. It takes strength and courage to accept when it's time to break it off and let them go. Pick YOU
P.S. Montague Dawson was a maritime painter and Davy references Davy Jones [locker] :)
*Read "shipwreck for the outro/part 2"*
serpentinium Dec 2017
momma said she found me
ten steps from heaven’s porch,
nestled in bloodied saw grass, flickering
fireflies circlin’ like anxious cherubs.

i forgot what i was doing out there—
waist-deep between heaven and hell,
sleeping in Shiloh where bones
rattle and beetle shells fixed with chitin
hum steadily in the dead heat.

“you too young to die,” she says to me,
face all red and sunburned and marred
with tears. sadness becomes a part of her,
alongside mother, and farmhand, and guilt,
and miracle.

my memories slip past me on copper scales,
swimming underneath the current. i am ten
again, wading in the river, pockets full of
rocks and sea glass. i am twenty and the river
has become a fragile stream. i am thirty and
there is nothing but dirt.

i feel my childhood bleeding out of me,
a mix of red crayons, red paper plates
cradling birthday cakes, red kick-*****
at recess, red tulips pressed into my
sister’s cold hands.

momma said she found me
ten steps from heaven’s porch,
just out of reach of the lamplight,
where i left my childhood.
adolescence to adulthood is a tricky thing
Julia Brennan May 2015
It is on eves like these where
confinement to my quarters is perfection.
The crushing ideal to become the butterfly
who floats ever so gracefully
in the shadows of the neon lights
with fore and hind chitin
effervescently radiating towards
the heat source greater than my own
and pollinating each and every flower
gracing this beautiful Earth:

gratuitous metamorphosis

Tonight I will be the moth,
flickering near the light
and fluffing my feathered antennas.
My "drab" wings will shield me
from predators of land and sky,
an easy rest on this heart of oak.
Navigate me stars and Moon,
my essence attracts for miles round.

*placid animation
Cymon Bailey May 2020
They call me a traveler
Come with the waves, leave with the tide
Find me where the surf breaks
Where I can wash ashore or go adrift
Find me in the seafoam walking the sand
Where I can find those gilled and scaled
Where my friends have armor of chitin
But will you follow

But will you follow me
Awash in a lonely sea

Where will you follow
Will you find friends armored in chitin
Will you find those with gills and scales
Found in the seafoam walking the sand
Where you can wash ashore or go adrift
Where the surf breaks
Will you come with the tide, leave with the waves
Will you be a traveler?
Aramusha is a Japanese word for "wave person" or a wanderer, I find myself wandering and travelling.
Gerry Sykes Oct 2024
The fly,
drawn by its addiction
to sweetness,
enters the pitcher plant.
Tired and drugged,
slipping on downward
pointing hairs
it falls into
the digestive juices
that dissolve its goodness
leaving only
its hard
chitin
skeleton.
Megan Lambert Jan 2017
Traitorous wings droop and wilt from my body,
Layers of cerulean dust shedding onto the forest floor.
Oh, what a chore -
And I’m so lazy and so hazy, so hazy and maybe I
Am falling back down with a slowness like slow-mo.
Drowning out background noise like shrieks and my energy peaked
Too long ago and I
Can’t hear it at all anymore.

I wish I could fly, even if the air is toxic and obnoxious,
If the oxygen fills my lungs with carbon and smoke,
I’ll **** it all in and,
Boy, let me fly, let me try,
But I just can’t feel the pressure of the heavy air
Against the backdrop of my melting chitin
And I can’t bother to flap or to snap out of it
This is all drowsy thoughts now but it seems
They’re all drowsy thoughts now.

Like, trusting in the world is a tiring thing,

Letting yourself go to the pressure of the Earth.
And the gas filling my throat was sending me into throes
Now I’m crumbling into the ground and sinking into the asphalt like
The breath gets ****** from between my lips and I learn to breath coal dust
And I learn that let go of my trust and my must and the way I want to just fall.

It’s hard to give it my all when my all is all I’ve got,
When...
I know I’m the one searing off my own wings,
And it burns, and it hurts,
Just let me fly, just let me soar,
Into the sun and furthermore,
Just let me burn to a crisp.

I was too close to the sun and it took
Embers to save me.
It took the flames reaching the tips of my
Wings to send me back down to the surface of
Where I needed to be and:
Now my wings are ooze but
I can’t burn anymore and
I don’t know what’s worse.
My mother’s wings would be made of thin iridescent chitin. The kind everyone notices
because they absorb black light and give off a bright blue-green glow. I am certain this glow and the spiral of her womb  are what others sought to dominate. Her inner beauty,  her pretty, her numerous adjectives that numerous men wished to fish out and keep as keepsakes to make them feel like the bigger fish. She was never a small fish in a pond she was always fluttering in the sky. Free. Wild.Winged
Jill Sep 2024
Swooping, sliding, soaring safety
When I had my wings, ribbed dragonfly sheer
Diaphanous as worldly knowledge
Veins, membranes, and spikes
Glass-smooth at eye-line
And in between all chitin clear

Comfort, cuddling, warmly wing-wrapped
When I had my wings, silk gossamer tough
Impregnable as guileless graspings
Steel, Kevlar, and gum
-- echoes at finest
No human copies quite enough

Earnest, peering through pale wing-shields
When I had my wings, light strawberry blush
Full optimist in rosy child-sight
Hope, trust, and ease
Lucent at sunrise
But sunset wipes the pearly flush

Thorny learning came at sunset
When I lost my wings, ribbed dragonfly sheer
Conspicuous in adult hindsight
Screen drawn, and lost
Sombre in umber  
World full of weeping, sweeping clear

Our organic architect leaves the stage
Her window-pane sails, in delicate rose
Better to know the world at its worth
All sad glory
In plain sorry view
Shoulders itch, remember their clothes

When I had my wings
©2024
Karina Apr 14
moon in l
moon in m
moon in mmm
moon in shhh, blue "shhh", blue stars
"innn" in "pain"
"i" in both
"t" in the end of "pain", like when you do the same spit and speed with "sweet".
with "piano" at the end of scorpion.
with "no" of piano sting.
please do "sui" with "sweet". sweetest.
"dictionary - pain" that spreaded on the wall. on walls.
to know pain or to feel?
snakes turning "pain" into "passion".
you need two snakes, in center. taking away "I" from sound.
I'm in st#bborn immersion in mercy, like snakes.
I will find it in mercy or pain?
image, pain. not the image.

black moon and grey moon
little black moon is hook
with handle in a shape of cross like ink-cross on neck.
little black moon ingrained in moon, in empty focus, in identical yours, double manifested, double sticking. in velvet glue, in well wet, in black honey, like cancer. of everything. like can'tcer. of everything. and it's happening in my hands. i have little egyptian bed in psychology of my hands.
most far moon point, her sickle sticking in ****** with one of two ejected disembodied nodes, with weeks-corridors.
they're glued like when day of first *** and day of ******* get glued. their substance cataractize the direction of catharsis.

moan innn ec-lips
between twins tonguess
in sick-red kiss, in sacred ****-red
in drying «yes»
but say not only «yes», but «you» too.
somewhere between yes and you i want to find a word.
fingerlips, lipsnails, leuco-sapphires.
loudmother?
and stick to big skissors. don't live without them.
stick fingers into skull on knees, wash the nameless bones. their voices, they whisper back.
"you are more than this", they hiss. i know they lie — i am only this, only ever this.
I want kissing more than you and you.
no feed, no feet, no free. no water, only fat. no curing, no schools, no studies, go into night like in school, only mouth, only lying
between wars and swords in words, like book that like legs splitting almost equally somewhere between "alice" and "******", "******" and "dracula". between witches and enlightenment, and light of ten men.
talk with words by next word.
ask words of that thing that they're know.
want thank you for each touch of keys.
said one word on the floor, and never stop.
swallow thin short golden chain one by one, from skirt that close to floor, swallow their shhh.
kiss empty fast circle
kiss ardra, kiss bhar, kiss rev
kiss wish, wishash
kiss cats with long crooked necks, a cat that licked raven's head.
stroke between cat's eyes with one finger.
not lips, not much.
is it better to be unkissed or to wander through the streets?
am I ardra, or not? with that through my teeth? am i written "die" or not?
cards thinned like skin, too long in the sun, old cards on belly, tarot on the white long like dress table between fish bones, tarot *****, t-angelo t-anger, and jade walls under my back - that's all I want.
and inner became double.
and three parts.
and the blood on rice on the street-soaked-butcher shop, and hands on it. each grain, each drop.
I don't want to forget the fish bones, boneless rice-worms. street with cauldrons, screams, progression of forms of black birds and animals with suddenly crystal blue membranes and thin-walled clean ***** rolling out of them. with stairs right there. bare ***** smart feet, roll over crossbar and laugh.
please let everything roll over the rocks.
the stones, the bags with ropes, the metal objects.
let the bags with ropes drag themselves into shadows.
please, a burning carriage.
please, fights by the falling waters.
please, horse's eye.
please, no obsession with wholeness.
at the same time I want the only place where I can read the letter to be the tall heated statues, on sun square with chapel, like clocks.
i trace letters with fingertips, burning myself and letter with each word, but it's all will be at statue's feet.
but if "read" could be always tied to "feet", the rest of life is doesn't matter.
and i need Bluebeard with a husband in a wife's room.
all wives are starting to stirring.
I want you like a tree.
I want you like a three.
and i want to lay on the drums. to love creatures without hands.
with what these creatures love? with teeth? with bones? with two cоcks?
I saw the drum that never harsh.
I want drums arranged in lines by mind, under skies with weight of water, I want fcking in every drop of rain that hum like these words with "hum". written in crystal and chitin. i don't wanna room in every teardrop. I don't wanna universe with tree in every drop.
I want drum, I want murd, drum on knees, drum with white fibers, drum as salivary *****, piano like drum, moon shhh and croaks through screen glass into screaming eyes and in body like in alive theater every night. skin-venereal films, nevereal. groove of magnets, loops of sticklips and little, like teeth, pieces. antithesis in backing vocal.
I want the green man and the jade man.
want movie where Hermes in dirt, in mess, want sister of twins, little black m*ss.
I miss you and only a kiss in the many years ago dead cancerous brain of horror movie director calms me down.
the cancerous brain whispers back, "kiss me again".
snakes: do you wanna let them crawling on your body or lying on them?
do you want them crawling or lying?
insomniacs singing scales between us that hum with hymns to the alphabet that tasted and unspoken.
flickered out by flickered tongues.
tongues that are used for smells.
i just want you to swallow all of my secrets, i want that sharing and that buring.
my sense of life is like a secret that has been splash out into the cooling cosmic void. this secret really like secretion, and it flickers and splits there, in the. like Emily. that was Isabelle. when she went to her room...not her room, it's hystorical hysterical slip. but in a separate room with door. It's not hysteria, it's tuberculosis historically, literally, from literature.
hundreds of snakes: were burned.
hundreds of snakes: wife that wants give and give birth to snakes.
give birth hundreds of snakes or two sons?
you ask, and ardra would commend. and would she kiss the ash? would she approve your kiss between worlds unspoken?
«crawl on me», she says, like sister of twins, or maybe, «lie beneath me».

after the skin comes world, not lips, lips comes after world.
cat is vanishes.
whole day on knees.
i lie down in glue velvet. i want touch first with hair or knees? fire unites them.
i spill things from box in the center of room into the glue.
i smear a glue across forehead.
inscription glued or blurred?
it is word "air", because I'm in helmet and I'm flying.
with other ******* my back.
although I'm standing by the dishwasher.
she's the one who flies.
or maybe just today even she's can't and lying instead rehearsals
and watching two girls fly
a children in burgundy
and I come in a circus hammock with ropes and red and aquamarine blankets, huge as ships, with yellow-orange pillows with bright blue tassels and then once his blue eye.
I cover her from above
under the children's hands.
somewhere between bells and chitin,
i lie down in glue
binding skin to different ways to write the word «moment».
I want to hold the moon with all hands here, in this degree, in the place of my tongue,
hold her like ouija tablet, but she's too alive like an animal and continues to rotate,
and I am a dead alphabet, and for every letter every night every month 100 units are pulled out of me, pinched, forced to come up with 100 words and letters for each letter, then choose only words for inanimated objects.
i lie down, i don't wanna write that moon watching me above.
where i belong – in the cut. and scream. pia no. films that sawing the light. just a movies. and almost slaving labour. and my love.
I lie down and just wait for my language to crystallize, and i find a rain in the molasses.
but I want to always hold onto "the moon in mmm", I want "innn" and "lclean" in dictionary.
and I have to bury a cat in the snows, just catch her from the fridge
Norbert Tasev Apr 16
Behind the apparent superficiality, the indifferent exhibitionist attitude, human epithelial layers are deployed as chitin armor not only on inner, more jealous emotions, but also for the rings of trust. Only tiny, almost insignificant, humble pests are continuing their work with a lovable, emphatic background noise. Halfway through the subconscious impersonality, the dramatic, silent tension is still gently overwhelmed.

The found, validation metaphor for happiness seems to be geller on the richter scaling of modern mass; Because nowadays, as a chameleon, anyone can change shapes and smooth it consciously into an increasingly worse, livelier environment. They say - at best - a spectacular amount as a peculiar unit of measurement for the purchase of the soul, and the three -step distance modification is increasingly valid.

In the capillaries, hardly visible to the eyes, doubt, sorrow, perhaps even pain; The doubt and pursuit to something noble, to the right, can give even a smaller extra incentive for cumbersome self -esteem, dignified dignity. Acceptance remains, though - no doubt - that it is not intentionally. You will be unnoticed inside and out of the outside, as the dog is not interested in what's going on inside!

We should be a liar in each case, for those who voted trust for craftsmen, just like the Mihasna, to be noble, to go to the goat cabbage?! Come on! It is covered by blind shadows, groping instead of humans, stumbling in the world!

— The End —