"clogging" poems
Sometimes I get stuck in this state of Darkness
where my eyes can see
but it's like my head is just pitch black
and I almost wish I couldn't see anything,
like I wish I could just curl myself into a ball so tightly that I disappear from space for a while
sometimes I get stuck in this space
and I feel like my tears and my thoughts
are climbing up my esophagus and clogging my throat
blocking my airway
suffocating me from the inside
maybe I never told you I was depressed because who wants to relive that moment
that choking hazard moment of cotton ***** in my throat
maybe I never told you I was depressed because there are no words I can use to describe it that don't transform themselves into their meanings
that don't take over my mind
crawl through my head like little worms
eating away at my brain
my thoughts
my skin
have you ever thought of a traumatic experience and then felt those events happening again
felt the dark hole of life-threatening-trauma attack your mind
Shiver through your body
like it was a demon you let in through a memory-
through a word
maybe I didn't tell you I was depressed
because I wasn't strong enough
my depression fills me to the brim
fills my head and my chest
my arms and my fingers
I can feel it moving through my body
I can feel it expanding and engulfing everything inside of me
every last vein, nerve, ***** and tissue
how can you expect me to have the energy to fight
how can you expect me to have the energy to pick up the phone
to open my mouth
how can you expect me to have energy-to have the courage to utter the words of how I feel
I feel so worthless
in those moments I feel like there's this black whole inside me and it's consuming everything
it's taking everything but my skin
and it disgusts me
can you imagine the feeling,
having something so utterly repulsive on your skin you had to scrape it off immediately
It felt like you needed to be cleansed
like you needed a shower
take that feeling
now imagine it being under your skin
imagine, every muscle ***** vein nerve every cell in your body underneath your epidermis disgusts you
imagine all you wanted to do was to
GET
IT
OFF
and you can't
no matter how hard you try
you can't scrape it off
you can't claw It off
imagine you're scared of spiders
now imagine you're covered in spiders
and someone's holding down your arms
so you can't get them off
imagine them walking on your skin
in your mouth
crawling on your open eyes
in your ears
you're cringing at your own skin
You can feel them going down your throat
Their disgusting tickle in the pit of your stomach
in every crevice of your body
their tunneling under your skin
and you can't get them off
what are you supposed to do
but cry
Jul 16, 2018
Jul 16, 2018 at 11:30 PM UTC
The hints of a razor gleam
creeping up from behind
shivers begin to scream
a thought undefined.
Crystalline destruction manifests
in shards of failed dreams
circulation and cells cease
I am dumber today.
Clogging and fogging the mind
promises cheat their way into lies
when depression becomes a way of life
serenity is found at the end of the line.
Escaping the cavity
in trails of shame
in vigour and madness
incapable of sadness.
Black hole eyes
cannot see the coming despair
the next morning impairs
certainty is a lie.
Senses start to fail
iron will turns frail
the devil’s sugar and salt
must never be taken so lightly.
Subtle and methodical
killing what makes you, you
another round for old time’s sake,
and you’re stuck to it like glue.
Apr 10, 2015
Apr 10, 2015 at 5:10 AM UTC
The goddess
Of golden-faced victory
Her head brilliantly decorated with green laurels
Victoria, bestowing victory for what is named after her
Down to the red-plumed Romans with their gleaming swords
Nike, champion of the Greek gods.
Riding the chariot of victory into battle
The laurels catches the light of a mirror
It dances away, after its victorious champion
She may be a bit crazy or at least hungry
For the taste of that sweet victory
Let her be Roman; let her be Greek;
She is never weak
What one might say, she does not know
For her victory is clogging up her ears
Goddess of victory, we all want a taste of her power.
Mar 7, 2015
Mar 7, 2015 at 9:13 AM UTC
There’s a scurrying sound of something, burrowing,
Down in the depths of the dungeons, hurrying,
Skittering, pittering-pattering, scattering
When there’s a footstep, hear them chattering:
‘Here come the lords, and here comes the vassal,
Tripping their way through Cockroach Castle.’
Here come the ladies, all in their finery
Tripping and sipping the wine from the winery,
Trailing their silks, their satins and bustling,
Up in the ballroom, while the rustling
Army beneath the sounds of their razzle
Is down in the depths of Cockroach Castle.
Spilling their millions up in the glooming
Out from the flagstones, terror is looming,
Up on the awnings, hung from the ceiling
Under the swish of the skirts they’re stealing,
Dropping in hair, and burrowing faster,
Cockroach Castle is set for disaster.
Suddenly all of the room is screaming
Flapping of hands, the roaches are teeming,
Myriad hordes in the Carbonara,
Candles are tipped from the candelabra,
Choking smoke from the candles guttered,
Flames leap up from the ones that stuttered.
Clothing and flags and the awnings razing
Silks and satins flare up, and blazing,
Roaches in eyes and ears, they’re rasping
Clogging their throats, to leave them gasping,
There isn’t a lady or lord, or vassal
To come out alive from Cockroach Castle!
David Lewis Paget
Apr 3, 2014
Apr 3, 2014 at 1:08 PM UTC
letting loose old chains
you and your wry laughter
defeated by the day old machines
of life and their constant clogging
time's hands tear into spring
nail first, peeling off the light constricting canopy
twisting barbwire off delicate skin
strangling you on a couch from hell
wake up to the smell of bourbon
and dead roses - *so pretty
your lashes creating the shadows
on your gaunt cheekbones,* and your name is Soul
Mar 1, 2016
Mar 1, 2016 at 1:14 AM UTC
is it wrong
that those
in love
make me
want to *****
lying on my back?
so that the
900 calorie
barbecue cheeseburger
that i ate for dinner
kills me in a manner
other than
clogging my
already corroded arteries
once you're alone
it seems as if
everyone is together
and it makes you
wonder, who
was writing
sick, twisted
poetry
about you and
your lover,
holding hands
and staring into
each others eyes,
as if irises
hold all of the
answers and
promises
to a beautiful
life
May 6, 2011
May 6, 2011 at 10:48 PM UTC
I sat along this opened window,
wishing to escape your empty home.
Yet, you will never archive my peace,
You're clogging up my bones.
Sadly in your breath stung darkness,
I knew this house was my prison,
when this home stayed dark as night,
after the sun had risen.
You ignored my pleas for leaving,
and left a window open.
I'll escape as I've pled before,
if only I could focus.
Yet you knew what I could do,
as you stared into my past.
You closed the window with a smirk,
and said you felt a draft-
Sep 2, 2017
Sep 2, 2017 at 11:56 AM UTC
My head is spinning
My vision is blurring
My neck is paining
My whole body is aching
My fingers are numbing
My arteries are clogging
My fate... I am hating
My life is shattering
My suffering is neverending...
Am I dying?
My kidney is teasing...
My blood is aggressively pumping
My glucose is cynically laughing
My heart is still beating...
Death... am I cheating?
Tick.. Tock... Tick... Tock...
Am Still breathing...
Jan 4, 2014
Jan 4, 2014 at 10:42 AM UTC
In this, my last hour of rhyme,
with stains uncontainèd by shaking hands
Spreading like red soldiers running wartime
untempered by generals shouting commands
Then laughing like drunkards, drowning in wine
that rich purple spills out from its barrels
Then lying on bartops, eyes shine porcine
and unheard soft voices hiss curses and carols.
O, woe be on me if I speak out of time;
out-tumbling come innards, spewed from a mouth
Which whispered sad prayers in corners of grime:
hints of spring-season on trips to the south;
Watch them out-tumble, watch horri-divine
like the death of the tragic, acted but true
Yet laughing old minstrels declare it quite fine:
and friends ensure royal-men breathe not from the blue.
Hours fly past on wings of the Sun
who turns misted eyes from child-fight below
And lives lives of many, but cares not for none
not least merchant servants, throttled in the snow.
I fade and I fade: a blossom once watered
and love of the stage is clogging my throat
It changes my words: I fight it, I fought it
and hot-wet floods up with drowning and choke.
This minute, these words: I defy death.
And cold, outward slipping: my slow final breath.
Apr 25, 2014
Apr 25, 2014 at 5:14 AM UTC
It is funny to see banners wishing Happiness displayed with cinematic glamour,
the pictures and hordings of Banner heroes.
The one at Tannery Road junction was peculiar to mention.
Here it was common
The captions "Happy" used to summon names of sundry festivals-Local and national, even internstional.
What's uncommon was the bold prints
of a hero's name ARUMALAI outshining
The caption and his larger than life picture establishing the photographer's digital brushing skills.
A passer by wondered who'd be this Arumalai,
Is he so great as to be advertised in polivynil?
His glorious deeds may be what they want you to heed
Still never ever seen or heard of his manners
Anywhere than in these motley banners
Just as a function
at the Tannery road junction
Each one passed by this colossal glance attracted provoking protracted ruminance what do this expensive banners really mean?
In another occasion
the glaring glorifying picture
of ARUMALAI followed the tag
Corporator,
Below the man posing a DICTATOR.
That was a period to a period of mystery!
Banners changed with seasons
with greetings on religious occasions
Festivals of importance
Birthdays of men even
with crowded profiles of hailers
Whose unrully manners
Too clogging up the banners
Like a wanted list of jailors.
One day a strange banner
hooked by the Tannery cross over
Spooked and shocked every passer-by
There the usual banner cut out
the larger than life image blings-out
Arumalai the BBMB corporator
Posing as dictator!
There was no wish of any kind.
It was a notice startling any mind
The sad demise of ARUMALAI
The BBMB corporator
Still possed as dectator
By his living promoters.
"He was sick and the local dispensary advised a minor operation.
He was administered
the necessary treatment.
Was referred to a super-speciality
centre and was declared dead.
His sad demise was advertised, he was forty.
His chummies complained of medical negligence", was the only news summary
in major news papers...
What was the reason for the minor surgery
What're the preparations
for the corporator's operation
All are mystery for a causal itinerary
passer by crossing over the Tannery Road junction, wondering at the strange envountering with banners
that come and go
Keeping no annals
Floating on the mind for a while
Stopping at the red's knell,
Moving with the green signal
The rise and fall of heroes
As binary one and zero
The banners tell a story tertiary
Of the rise and fall of a luninary
Within a plane ofmomentary
Variation of red and green
On the Tannery road's screen.
Dec 7, 2018
Dec 7, 2018 at 5:13 AM UTC
"welcome to Hell, darling."
he mumbled
and I nodded
taking the poison
from his lips
and sticking it between mine
I was a chimney
the smoke billowed up
clogging the room
"isn't it a lovely view?"
Jun 10, 2014
Jun 10, 2014 at 4:51 PM UTC
sometimes i get
suicide bombers, rapists, killers, robbers and thieves
because their motives are visible through their actions.
but i never once in my life
bothered understanding businessmen, pastors, priests, muslims, religions, politicians,
and people whose motives in life
remain hidden
until caught red handed,
and also those people
who choose not to see the world naked for what it is.
maybe the UP activists are right
and that i shouldn't think of them as brainwashed kids or
just paid heads to do
what they do but their actions,
my thoughts and this poem
doesn't change anything.
i bet 100% of you
who are reading this would either think i'm deranged or seeking for attention.
i could go on and on writing
this **** and explain thoroughly
but the people's brain
are now wired to ex b's
hit single and yes,
mentioning that made
this a little bit funny but no.
as a ******* filipino
who should be typing this in tagalog, working overseas,
i've seen some fellow countrymen showed some pride
against their oppressors
from work but they don't get anywhere but jail.
i must've forgot,
the movie about manalo
trampled the one
about heneral luna.
see how helpless
we are in reality?
what's your photo that comes
with a bible verse got to do with others?
are you spreading
the word of God?
what does it do to you?
Sometimes I get
The New People's Army.
But I don't get Muslims
who runs businesses and the Chinese too.
Sometimes I wish
I could spread fake news
that doesn't harm others
and last but not the least,
I hope someday the world would stop not and smoke Marijuana all
at the same time
including North Korea.
I couldn't stop.
I also hope that these people,
those who has a lot of followers
use the attention properly but no, people are so ******* dumb and Salinger is right with Holden's, "People never notice anything"
and nothing's too big
if people will stop creating bigger things that'll only add up to the congestion clogging up the world.
and Allen Ginsberg is right,
we are breaking our
******* backs just to lift ******* Moloch.
**** your Mosques, your INC branches, your corporations, your religions, your borders and divisions, your trends that kills the minds of the youth.
**** your laws, about making Marijuana illegal.
**** your disguise and your intelligence.
I almost believe world cleansing is the answerbbecause the ant colonies are so much better
ruling the world.
I don't know anymore, my smartphone's ******
and I am not smarter. . .
Feb 14, 2018
Feb 14, 2018 at 10:06 PM UTC
Who here loves *******
I mean, dogs
Obviously…
Immature people.
I love ***** shows.
Seeing them all groomed to perfection, not a hair out off place
A shame some cute faces will just go to waste.
While some may whine and some may resist,
If it’s not monetised, well… does it exist?
Lined up in a row
Look at them go
Praying and hoping to win best in show, just for a itty bitty wittle headpat, while the owner gets useful things like money.
Cause a dog can’t use money, that’s just silly
Nails perfectly trimmed
Intelligence dimmed
Watch how they walk with a little trot, so proud of themselves,
its like they forgot they only have the same rights as their owners in 6 countries.
But dogs don’t need equal working rights, that’s just silly
Look its absurd
When they whine all their words
Clogging up space with their frilly likes and their silly ums that totally like inconveniences like everyone because they have to um like listen to a ***** talk for um longer than they like totally like um have to like ***
But they aren’t so bad, especially when you’ve had
A ***** that wont behave, a ***** that’s gone mad
Howling at the moon with their wandering wombs
It’s like there’s no party, only balloons.
If a ***** wears pants, do they go on all fours
Or do they get sent home for showing more than their paws.
Gasp at how they growl, protecting their hairy bodies, which, silly them, they don’t own.
They must be culled
Anger dulled
Knock in their thick skulls they are nothing but a *****
We all love ***** shows, we love the ******* even more.
So come on ladies, get down on all fours.
Feb 23, 2022
Feb 23, 2022 at 4:37 PM UTC
I crave your taste upon my tongue. Stinging my senses with the sweetest poisonous honey.
I want my demise at your hands, softly stroking my skin as my sighs fill your ears. As the tingles on your neck send thoughts to me that any father would demand we repent for.
The taste of your fingertips on my tongue, blinding me to judgement and the stories of Greek mythology that end in a demise created from carnal desire. I want you to destroy me in sweetest way.
Falling down a rabbit hole of sin, and reckless abandonment. The taste of you overwhelmingly clogging my senses, and my teeth softly attached to the skin on your neck. Taking over you with abandonment.
I want your marks upon my flesh, branding me and reminding me how long this may last. I am at your alter begging for release. Begging for you, begging to find me. Begging for your peace.
All I want is you on top of me is you free, and your heavy breathing when we send each other to the places we need to be.
Pretty thoughts tangled in ugly sheets.
Take what you need, and I'll keep the memories.
Jul 7, 2017
Jul 7, 2017 at 9:23 PM UTC
Look up Hipster!
We see who you are.
Unique!
(placing yourself neatly into a distinct group, now no one will mistake you for something your not.)
I wear flags around my belt!
And balloons!
People talk to me.
I am beautiful.
(makeup stained around my vains, clogging my pours, worrying about my un-curled hair)
And I am wearing a dress!
(portraying innocence)
But I dance like a ****
I am just the right amount of easy.
Yes!
*** for fun.
And a place to sleep,
for I am without a home.
Hello Alejandro!
I am happy to hear you miss me!
I miss you too.
And you..
Maybe tonight we will finally
make love!
(if the others don't find out that is)
I saw you acting a fool today.
Ha!
In a land of fools!
You are not crazy to me.
whatever the mass has decided.
**** them.
(They alter and sway as a release of energy cycles throughout creating a sealed force. You can feel it as you pass by. It is pulsing. Our bodies have created one.)
One.
It was Dubstep!
Hello water!
And air.
I Love you,
for you only have one way:
Perfect
and moving
like the cycle of life.
I am glad you are here
to remind us of you.
Yes!
You may be touching our skin,
but we are often blinded by your beauty.
Sorry.
(My perceptions alter and change floating between different variations of happy-)
then sad.
I worry,
then lay.
Allowing the sun to sink through me
recharging, recharging
all that I have.
I watch as the others do the same.
Floating consistently
up
then down.
We are Angles.
Apr 23, 2013
Apr 23, 2013 at 10:29 PM UTC
Under the amber sky she flows as far as the sea
her bank on the other side is shrunk as eye can see
I have seen joys rise like tide tears mingle in hers
she is Ganga the one river mother of all rivers.
On her ceaseless journey from high up to the bay
melts snow in her flow springs life from her clay
worshiped as holy mother yet spoiled by her sons
she is ravaged time again slayed by evil demons.
For ages she has nurtured life tilled green her shore
around her have sown hopes its timeless folklore
her soils have sculpted cornfields and images of goddess
she is now an ebbing tide end's shadows on her face.
Hear once her moaning waves her ripples' silent sigh
from the silts clogging her breast her beds going dry
dying groans of the mother poisoned in effluent
choked by her people's waste killed without relent.
May 26, 2014
May 26, 2014 at 12:49 PM UTC
A River
In Madurai,
city of temples and poets,
who sang of cities and temples,
every summer
a river dries to a trickle
in the sand,
baring the sand ribs,
straw and women’s hair
clogging the watergates
at the rusty bars
under the bridges with patches
of repair all over them
the wet stones glistening like sleepy
crocodiles, the dry ones
shaven water-buffaloes lounging in the sun
The poets only sang of the floods.
He was there for a day
when they had the floods.
People everywhere talked
of the inches rising,
of the precise number of cobbled steps
run over by the water, rising
on the bathing places,
and the way it carried off three village houses,
one pregnant woman
and a couple of cows
named Gopi and Brinda as usual.
The new poets still quoted
the old poets, but no one spoke
in verse
of the pregnant woman
drowned, with perhaps twins in her,
kicking at blank walls
even before birth.
He said:
the river has water enough
to be poetic
about only once a year
and then
it carries away
in the first half-hour
three village houses,
a couple of cows
named Gopi and Brinda
and one pregnant woman
expecting identical twins
with no moles on their bodies,
with different coloured diapers
to tell them apart.
~A.K.Ramanujan
Apr 28, 2013
Apr 28, 2013 at 12:57 PM UTC
Little Box talks back
With a new set of teeth
And pink gums
A fake nose and a wax mustache
She disguises her voice
To sound like Groucho
•
Little Box opens up
And cries to her psychiatrist
I don’t know why they hate me
I’m such a sweetheart
I volunteer at the zoo
And teach Mandarin
To their bratty children
•
Little Box is not happy to see you
So she closes herself up for months
Years, decades, and two millennia!
She tacks up a sign that says
Nirvana
•
Little Box is undead
She sleeps all day in a coffin
Hands over chest
At night she cruises the mall
For juicy victims
She prefers type A
But AB if she has to
What can you say
Vampires can’t be choosy
She likes your stupid brother
•
Little Box is on the psychiatry couch
Everybody hates me
Nobody loves me
Little Box lies on her side
And spills her guts
•
What’s in Little Box
A perfect orchid
A chocolate-covered strawberry
A new iPhone
With a glittery sleeve
Amber earrings from Pushkin
Keys to a new Porsche
A retro Chanel brooch
A Getty scion’s left ear
A Czar’s *****
Gifts so rare
Please don’t stare
•
What’s in Little Box
Rancid chow mein
A sliver of cold pizza
Last week’s hummus
You’re a starving orphan
From East Brooklyn
And you’ll eat it
•
So you want to **** Little Box
You want to know her secret
She won’t open up
She won’t give it up
And you are genuinely repelled
By her filthy ribbon
•
You want to DO the Little Box
You are a sorry story
You big creep
Why don’t you get off the couch and find
A real girlfriend!
•
Boss Box
White, square, and without a soul!
•
Please don’t analyze Little Box
She’s just cardboard clogging the landfill
Her mother Precious Jade Purse
Has been regifted
Jul 29, 2016
Jul 29, 2016 at 1:58 AM UTC
Biro poetry doesn’t work
It does not flow or fill the page with easy thoughts
The pen is a bulky lover, rather than the finer bodied pencil
It gives no quarter in correction, and scribbling out is just a messy affair
So it is unsatisfactory, clumsy and clogging
Oh for my pencil, where have you gone, my love?
Your fine point skating the velum,
An extension of my mind
Allowing expression beyond such coarse biro
******
Oct 6, 2011
Oct 6, 2011 at 5:26 PM UTC
a polar vortex
swirls eastward
on Siberian Tiger paws
bounding over
Appalachian Highlands
gobbling geography
gelling Great Lakes
spawning Erie blizzards
sculpting Wabash ice floes
clogging commerce all
along the Ohio River Valley
this voracious
juggernaut’s wide maw
bears icicle teeth
laughing as it swallows
Pittsburgh, Little Philly,
and a Big Apple, before
gorging itself on
generous portions
ladled into
simmering crocks
of steaming
Boston Baked Beans
growling
blue arctic
air blasts roar
bursts pipes
savages the heat
of blasting furnaces,
bubbling boilers, hot
belly stoves frantically
drinking oil, flaming gas
burning wood and
burping soot
the blistering
jet stream claws
screech a slashing
stratospheric hum
as Frigidaire blasts
swallows breath
brittles limbs
chafes cheeks
gnaws earlobes
crystallizes tears
nibbles nostrils
cubes snot
numbs toes
bites digits
diving sub zero
gradient subdues
batteries to
deaden states
delays buses
derails trains
cuts power
constricts veins
preys on
vagabonds
and animals
get the homeless
off the street!
bring the animals in
check on your
elderly neighbors
don’t get caught outside
and shut the **** door!
do you own stock
in the Public Service?
beware the polar vortex
and next months heating bill
Sonny Boy Williamson
& Otis Spann
Nine Below Zero
Oakland
1/6/14
jbm
Jan 6, 2014
Jan 6, 2014 at 2:43 PM UTC
I am what’s left of a dying breed that called life beautiful
Truly worth living and dying for
But it was your kind that fornicated, violated, and devastated the soul of a beautiful entity
Who gifted us with art, beauty, and taste for desire
Maybe it was her who corrupted us for loving us too much
Or was it our nature to have more than we are given?
Demanding more and more
Until we ****** the life out of the meaning, be grateful for what you have
I’m sick and nauseated by the false portrait of life
Sick and twisted figures painted with false smiles
True emotions hidden under heavy painted sunrises that tells a different story
Literally sweet and innocent characters erasing themselves from this reality
Just to escape the hardship of this imprisonment your people have created.
I can’t stand to see your kind preach to us, we do it for the art, for the beauty, and the taste
You cursed that meaning
You ripped the soul of a greatly spirit
You proudly preach a lecture of hypocrisy and false love
If you truly cared to love us
You’ll not be worshiped like a god
Deep down
Angels are dead
Demons are dead
The doctrine of the trinity
Is my doctrine of my divinity
I am the Father
I am the son
I am no holy ghost
I am a plague
Not from hell nor heaven, but a world that rejoiced beauty from an unbalanced reality
Of love and hate
I am not your God
I am not the Devil
Both are dead
No creator can save you
I am your deity
I am your life
I am your death
I am your escape
I am your only freedom
This profound meaning
Ascends through my heart & soul
The flower of life spreads through me
Like a wildfire
No angel or demon
Can’t stop me
Proclaim me as one in all
I am divinity!
You absorb the supplements of life
Resources are obliterated
Left & right
By tonight your life will be ended by the knife
I've awaken from an eternal slumber
Count down the numbers
You oppress Art
The beauty
You tainted the taste of absolute harmony
Your desire to have power
Has blinded you
You eat our flesh like starving vultures
You left us to be tortured
The rapture will soon be among us
Nature will take it places
To immaculate this famine land
Natural selection will have entirely new meaning
I’ll pick up where you left off
For now…
My sentiments for aesthetic judgment
Will run through every vein in your body
Clogging every end
Suffocating you in every way imaginable
The oceans will dry
This green sphere will rebuild itself
New seeds of life will cleanse
This heinous reality
Mar 8, 2013
Mar 8, 2013 at 11:57 AM UTC
Hope, whose weak Being ruin’d is,
Alike if it succeed, and if it miss;
Whom Good or Ill does equally confound,
And both the Horns of Fates Dilemma wound.
Vain shadow! which dost vanish quite,
Both at full Noon, and perfect Night!
The Stars have not a possibility
Of blessing Thee;
If things then from their End we happy call,
’Tis Hope is the most Hopeless thing of all.
Hope, thou bold Taster of Delight,
Who whilst thou shouldst but tast, devour’st it quite!
Thou bringst us an Estate, yet leav’st us Poor,
By clogging it with Legacies before!
The Joys which we entire should wed,
Come deflowr’d Virgins to our bed;
Good fortunes without gain imported be,
Such mighty Custom’s paid to Thee.
For Joy, like Wine, kept close does better tast;
If it take air before, its spirits wast.
Hope, Fortunes cheating Lottery!
Where for one prize an hundred blanks there be;
Fond Archer, Hope, who tak’st thy aim so far,
That still or short, or wide thine arrows are!
Thin, empty Cloud, which th’eye deceives
With shapes that our own Fancy gives!
A Cloud, which gilt and painted now appears,
But must drop presently in tears!
When thy false beams o’re Reasons light prevail,
By Ignes fatui for North-Stars we sail.
Brother of Fear, more gaily clad!
The merr’ier Fool o’th’ two, yet quite as Mad:
Sire of Repentance, Child of fond Desire!
That blow’st the Chymicks, and the Lovers fire!
Leading them still insensibly’on
By the strange witchcraft of Anon!
By Thee the one does changing Nature through
Her endless Labyrinths pursue,
And th’ other chases Woman, whilst She goes
More ways and turns than hunted Nature knows.
2.4k
I've never felt more than half an hour:
Insomnia trickles down until the black-tar-ridden-sap oozes onto
My partially open eyes.
And, to say I've never been in love.
Emotions rise up and retreat-
A constant heaving of the battered
Chest- saving us from finding out
How frightening life is.
Murmuring our sordid laments to Lady Death,
Beneath the murky glow of hotel room bed sheets
And fluorescent dollar store night lights,
Too vacant to summon anything more than a whimper
From our submissive minds.
Nothing ends, here.
One upon another, words flow effortlessly
Out of our cavernous mouths,
Clogging our chests with empty syllables until
We forget why we ever tried to do something more
Than care.
Depression can be felt anywhere-
The air slowly seeps from the hissing
Caracas of a worn out tire,
Or the lungs of anyone
Still enough to remember.
Mindlessly chanting Hail Mary's,
We taunt time with our penchant for immortality
And hospital lobby greeting cards,
Until Aphrodite descends to sell her soul
To the highest bidder.
Mother, I have killed the world
With a time bomb that will never detonate:
Ceaselessly ticking on and on-
A reliant backdrop for something
Too harsh to exist in silence.
Our hearts have fallen from our sleeves
And into films, romance novels,
And 3am cooking infomercials.
Land of the living:
The walking dead,
The too-afraid-to-tell-you-how-I-really-feel,
The product of a broken people
Who traded silence
For a language full of mixed intention.
Children of the night,
Blindly parade around before noon,
Trying to buy redemption
At a corner store market
For half the price
Of the pulpit.
Afraid of hearing the latent echo of
Our own pulsing hearts,
We fill our lives with white noise
And intimacy, too stagnant
To exist without our 3am spirituals.
Anxiously arranging our feeble lives
Around minutes and hours-
Slaves to false agendas,
We battle the dark, secretly,
until soon
We lose sight of the purpose
And get caught up in the motion
Of a world too drugged out on
Redemption
That we forget our own names.
Jan 29, 2014
Jan 29, 2014 at 9:07 AM UTC
*(Blackened tissue beside debris of bleachd cocktail
Power pundit in cubicle
A ship in shadow-pieces passing by, unnoticed*
smoking water.. now costs getting kickd out ur xafe
Your blood lies in a high-account and all the stampz areMelting
Crawling in a desert, accusations shave the top off my black land
Did failing the test lead to a power-packed punch in strands
No time for treagedies clogging up the freeway
Twenty watts up the waterfall and your ride is here
Befits a ceremonial decapping
Catch ur vogue latte on the way out
Come aboard by jet and then expect a red carpet, soaked dry from the spoils of erstwehile-smugglers
Let em bleed green notes till the moths all come round the flame
Wait for it… the flame grows hugher… and int it all…………poof!
That was easy.
Don’t chuckle out loud when expletives slidie down your back
Like champagne off the shoulder of your ne-xt planet’s ride
Duck in time cos the butters hard and the toast is dry
Four friends over six decades carry grudges heavey enough to pump oil to lakes
And the unexpected happens.. the one they didn’t watch, wwent missing
All eyes on the little one.. no, you didn’t catch them all.
You became immunes to the skills you advert-tarted and sqeueamish set in
you didn’t know casn host violence in a putrid-robe?
One finger pointing out, makes at least three in.. to the pointer
How can one planet swallow so wide a dichotomy in plasticky degrees?
It’s too wide this time to make that jump – we will ingest what weve been giving all along
And some end up well-funded while others simply dwell.. as frogs in a well.
sun can climb in sometimes, but for half an hour
their fingers are small for the mine, keep small the issue
don’t cry when it rains in expectorata
I think frogs can swim.
*when do I ever learn that..
I am simply a frog in a well
near craxks )*
21feb
Feb 21, 2014
Feb 21, 2014 at 6:49 AM UTC
I'm trapped
Food mapped out
No way out
Am I losing my mind?
How will I find a way out of this bind?
Out of this mess of a mind
No hope for the chains to be released
This is my way to cope with the pains, they never cease
I need a solution
Too much pollution clogging the pathways in this brain
I need a new way forward
A way to feel sane
But for now I'm trapped
no need to complain -- I did this to myself
no need to compalin -- it's time to get help and start helping myself
Nov 21, 2023
Nov 21, 2023 at 11:46 AM UTC