"clots" poems
Gangsta
I'm the gangsta who can rap,
give me **** and on your face I'll crap.
I'm the gangsta who is white,
you all know my rhymes are tight.
I'm the gangsta who calls the shots,
inside my head are tiny blood clots.
I'm the gangsta who will kick your ***
show me respect, or I'll take you to class.
I'm the gangsta who does no wrong,
only the good stuff, goes into my big ****
I'm the gangsta who needs no gun,
carrying a pen is much more fun.
I'm the gangsta loved by all,
black people call me the chosen cue ball.
I'm the gangsta who needs no posse,
hating people who are to **** bossy.
I'm the gangsta who poses no threat,
always broke and knee deep in debt.
I'm the gangsta who likes living,
never forgets, but sometimes forgiving.
I'm the gangsta who doesn't care,
walking around in my stained underwear.
I'm the gangsta who can't sing,
but if I bite, it will sting.
I'm the gangsta like no other,
if you don't believe, just ask my mother.
Nov 16, 2013
Nov 16, 2013 at 12:49 AM UTC
Split Personality
You wanna know what goes on in my head,
if you only knew, you would drop dead.
Anger, depression and suicidal thoughts,
maybe its all those little brain clots.
Conceited, vain and very egotistical,
confused, shocking and very mystical.
I'm eccentric, bizarre, and always unconventional,
my vision is always three dimensional.
I take the path that's less traveled,
things I do leave people baffled.
Even I don't know what I'm doing,
but trust me, I always got something brewing.
I practice in the art of deception,
I'm admired by my depth of perception.
I don't know wrong from right,
I see everything in black and white.
I'm a man you don't wanna meet,
I lie, steal and always cheat.
I'm flirty, ***** and very perverted,
if we're alone, I will leave you deserted.
I'm **** hot and always aroused,
every girl I have slowly browsed.
I love assault, ****** and ****
but I only write it for an escape.
Inside my head is torture and pain,
I'm certified and clinically insane.
Sometimes I take my medication,
when I don't, I'm on a permanent vacation.
I'd do anything to become famous,
even **** Donald Trump in his ****
I've crossed over to the dark side,
to hell, I've already applied.
There is no help for me now,
before I go please give me a bow.
I'll accept a standing ovation,
sick and tired of all the aggravation.
I used to be so nice and kind,
into heaven, I got denied.
Don't pay attention to the things you read,
I entertain you til my fingers bleed.
Ask anybody, I really a great guy,
just like REO Speedwagon, its time for me to fly.
Sep 27, 2013
Sep 27, 2013 at 2:18 PM UTC
Gangsta
I'm the gangsta who can rap,
give me **** and on your face I'll crap.
I'm the gangsta who is white,
you all know my rhymes are tight.
I'm the gangsta who calls the shots,
inside my head are tiny blood clots.
I'm the gangsta who will kick your ***
show me respect, or I'll take you to class.
I'm the gangsta who does no wrong,
only the good stuff, goes into my big ****
I'm the gangsta who needs no gun,
carrying a pen is much more fun.
I'm the gangsta loved by all,
black people call me the chosen cue ball.
I'm the gangsta who needs no posse,
hating people who are to **** bossy.
I'm the gangsta who poses no threat,
always broke and knee deep in debt.
I'm the gangsta who likes living,
never forgets, but sometimes forgiving.
I'm the gangsta who doesn't care,
walking around in my stained underwear.
I'm the gangsta who can't sing,
but if I bite, it will sting.
I'm the gangsta like no other,
if you don't believe, just ask my mother.
Nov 16, 2013
Nov 16, 2013 at 12:49 AM UTC
it was raining on the sun.
it was raining on the sun
this sun had 13 moons
it was raining on the sun
at 3 am.
the sun had lost it's way
only to find it's Madness
13 moons. 13 oceans
13 oceans of god knows what ?
13 dead gods on 13 dead lawns
the sky had gone where skys get very, very lost
where dead worlds sing
in the sick pink ***********
of a host of slaughtered angels
typhoons of awful
like clots of mindless rage
fed only violence and dominion
only sacred cows and baby teeth
and darkling blasphemy
come from the ruptured lungs
of Agony and Thorns
Only you.
only you would.
Only You
could.
**** a Unicorn.
Jun 7, 2012
Jun 7, 2012 at 2:29 PM UTC
**
In a sweet nibble of mine;
A cold blood- drop clots
on your red lips.
In a sweat hug of mine;
A strong thread enters
into the hole of your heart;
To stitch our bodies into
one cloth for a
life better together....
**
BY
WILLIAMSJI MAVELI
[email protected]
www.williamsji.com
www.williamsgeorge.com
Jun 3, 2013
Jun 3, 2013 at 12:11 AM UTC
sometimes she daydreams about life the way i do about death. it's ironic, i know: black and white aren't meant to be grey and the rumbling hum of expletives digging into mauve lips pass through like desaturated light to translucent statures. it makes everything seem sweeter than it looks. she thinks the ache feels lukewarm, just like those half-hearted smiles she gives out like presents on a holiday, and she may be right. pain is not cold, it covers your entire heart with microwaved fingers, leaving burn marks that leave chars and ashes. snaps the purple heartstrings and clumsily tries to mend it.
(i love you because you're corporeal, she murmurs, you keep me sane)
she's spider-webbed, sung gossamer and silk while her bar lines drip with ink. and she seems moonstruck—because of me she says and blooms throughout my epiphanies. fancies herself a ghost, a wisp, something ethereal that lingers on my lips like a kiss. and she lingers, oh she does. toppling from the skies and collapsing into my rib-cage, she stays, blushing rose-like and thriving. velvet and constellations of blood clots patter against her skin. it blooms like she blooms, a paint splattered canvas meant for all to see.
Jul 28, 2018
Jul 28, 2018 at 2:50 AM UTC
with fangs prepared
we wait
by stepping out cavern of blue thoughts
and into
night sky
lit by glow of stick-end
night sky
carried on the back of an ant
night sky
begs remorse's end
night sky
brings out unsuspecting fools
to dither aimless
to seek nocturnal sweets
yet hunger dangles in ropy clots
undissolved
only to find acrid wind.
May 5, 2013
May 5, 2013 at 3:57 AM UTC
MY LONG TREK ON WRONG LEGS, BEG DYNAMITE FROM HUSH DUDS
DAMP CANNONS BILLOW IN THE EAST WIND, LIKE FLACCID DRAGONS
GAGGING ON IRON APPLES
I SURGE IMPOTENT IN MY WRATH, SUNBATHING BY AFTERGLOW
HEROICALLY CONTAINED.
DISMANTLED...
I CRAFT THE WITHERING OF MY FURY
WITH A STEADY HAND; AND A JADED HEART
STARK BLIGHT, DRAINS MY CUP OF THUNDER, WHERE MY LIGHTNING CLOTS
WHERE SOLID DARK
HARKENS
MY YELLOW SUN HARDENS; LIKE AN UNSTRUCK COIN
BLANK IN MY POCKET
SHARDS OF DULL ACHE... UNSHARPEN
MY RED SEA
DEPARTS
MY KELP BEDS
DISMAYED.
Jun 24, 2013
Jun 24, 2013 at 7:03 PM UTC
i want you to beat me up
real bad
please please let me bleed completely
before infancy clots at the back of my mind
don't wait for me to be tired
break me all at once
grind my feelings into a powdery mess
so that when someone enters our bedroom they slip on the floor and see a stretch mark-ed ceiling
to not know pain but just how ironical numbness is
and then hug me
like you would a voodoo soft toy
with the scratched leather wings
of a bewitched witch who has seen it all sober
but still can't tell a sheep's wool from snakeskin
caress my dilapidated knees
without once telling me to stand up on my own or for myself
all i want from you is
to **** me at dawn
i'll know that i was loved
enough or.... at least.
Aug 19, 2018
Aug 19, 2018 at 9:17 AM UTC
eating the sludgy contents
of your beautiful mind's conscience
and dreaming in your thoughts
while choking on blood clots
slurping up tangled tendons
drowning in remembrance
tales of your history
have now become a meal for me
digested in your calculations
I am finally free of my frustration.
Dec 2, 2014
Dec 2, 2014 at 9:36 PM UTC
I spend my love on you
like pennies tossed into empty fountains of youth -
like loose change loyally saved,
built up in a piggy bank,
a compilation of broken promises you never made
becoming blood clots in my lungs.
I would say they're in my heart
but I can't breathe when I see her.
Tax season is over and my savings continue
to drain -
they sit at your doorstep
waiting to be cashed in
for what I thought was an investment
but has become a liquidation of my entire being.
Empty wallets haven't caught wind of my addiction,
but the pennies on the ground talk.
Found heads down, I give them a voice,
and they, too, drown with the rest.
May 2, 2016
May 2, 2016 at 9:01 PM UTC
Let me continue the story about a guy named Akshant,
Who belonged to Mathura in India, once the city of Krishna.
Akshant rejoined college and scored acceptably well this time,
He had realized his mistakes while he was to stay at home.
Repentance on committing mistakes intentionally was ripe,
He barely controlled the regret from flowing through his eyes.
Anamika was the only friend who was by his side in this time,
Giving him relief from loneliness which rang as the door chime.
Akshant had a poor memory so not much could stay on his mind,
Stressing his memory too much would only make his brain to grind.
Akshant then studied cautiously holding onto Anamika's hand,
Cautious he was not to crush it as he had formerly done to others.
He brightened up his professional life along with the romantic life,
And he scored brilliantly given his mental health was really affected.
The dried clots inside his brain were still an issue two years later,
But he controlled himself to not harm others from his anger.
The clots used to come out through as tears and ear wax,
Almost all was physically well after three more years.
Akshant went Kodaikanal after his bachelor's degree college,
He was an eligible bachelor when he had a job confirmation.
This happened when he was drifting away in the Kodai lake,
Anamika who sat next to him in the boat congratulated him.
Now Anamika confessed her feelings for Akshant in the boat,
Akshant couldn't find any words & found himself quite quiet.
This made Anamika challenge and taunt about his manliness,
Which caused Akshant get enraged & kiss his reply on her lips.
The boat swayed terribly in the star-shaped lake's still waters,
Anamika ogled & felt her hair get wet & this made her ****** Akshant.
She started kissing him back now & her eyes were coming back to normal,
These had been wide ogling when Akshant had started kissing hard and so it was.
Apr 17, 2013
Apr 17, 2013 at 2:23 AM UTC
Your left claims my right’s rest—
knuckles hum, sweat salts the air.
Sharps snag—a tangle—undressed,
metronome skips our heart’s fanfare.
Breath clots where sighs arrest,
heel hooks what the pedal bare.
Skin maps chords upon our *******
Teeth script scores we swear.
May 6, 2025
May 6, 2025 at 9:30 AM UTC
Mummy used to buy me hair grease,
for my hair was a seismic wave of crease.
The scalp crying sweat,
the tantrums were the onset.
Wide tooth comb have mercy on the nots,
nests of lies and cheeky clots.
The flurries of dandruff deposit,
the skeletons in the closet.
Mummy brought out the blue magic,
the long strands thirsty to become ethic.
Such a wave of moisture,
like the silkiness of an oyster.
A perfect layer of braided Cornrows,
blended amongst the tropical mangoes.
Mummy says to me you’re a woman now,
be prepared and ready to plough,
the knotty hairs of your little ones.
Go and buy the same hair grease,
to ensure their naughty traits mature into peace.
Justine Louisy
Copyright ©Justine Louisy 2016
All Rights Reserved
Jul 9, 2020
Jul 9, 2020 at 1:38 AM UTC
Crystal white, ice cold,
I'm blood hot
Running bold
Mistress sweet calls once again
To quench the fire within my brain
Crystal white, vice hold
My Blood forgot
Ice cold
Mistress heats the only pain
That builds the fire within my brain
Kissed the night, twice old
Blood clots
The cards fold
Mistress cheat pulls on the chain
The funeral pyre within my brain
Pistol fight, price told
Bloodied shot
running cold
terror street screams once again
The voice of ghosts of Mistress slain.
Nov 19, 2015
Nov 19, 2015 at 5:53 PM UTC
from nerves, I cannibalise my fingers
my blood clots, and dries out
crusty and painful
yet I keep on pressing, biting
because it gives me focus
a sick type of satisfaction,
a sense of control.
I whine tears leak out, my eyelids stuttering,
Tired
my fingers bit, bone exposed and ******
my fingernails and fingerprints
all gone,
remains lay in my stomach
acid consuming the scraps of skin
this is what I call my very own cannibalism.
Dec 12, 2019
Dec 12, 2019 at 4:22 PM UTC
**Scattered Thunderstorms
The radar shows a band of multi-green storms,
Parallel running to the East Coast,
Stretching from So. Florida to Falmouth, Rhode Island.
Path-dependent, the edges skirt my present location,
Instrumented, but not weather resistant,
Water teases, invites me to a head clearing session.
Breezy gusts of overcast, caramel salty bay waters,
(weirdly calm),
Spray sprites whisper, scattered thunderstorms, starboard side
I am the only boat out, especially,
The only one going for sure aimlessly,
Radar non-discriminatory, stupidity legal,
So fools like me go out alone.
Scattered Thunderstorms,
Unavoidable, summer's favored annoyance of choice.
The melancholic platelets budding off my bone's marrow,
Forming wondrous clots of sadness,
Running strong in the currents of my veins,
Downtempo'd, there is no relief for
Inside of my radar scanned brain, the scattered thunderstorms,
Have arrived much earlier today.
What sourced this elegiac distich,
Too many poets, fully disclosing their downbeat, aroma of defeat?
The world is in a **** mood, not one of us, got nothing
Good to say, seems that love storms ripping hearts
With no trace of mercy, the radio has elected nonstop
Taylor Swift and Jonas Bro's
Just to make the point!
It is so easy to feel ******
When the sun is unshining, elegant distich, **** me.
Thinking back, getting a good idea,
Found some long necked Corona overlooked,
Turn on the tv, pretend I'm a real cowboy,
And for god's sake, shut down poetry,
Good Bye Poetry, for the rest of the day
Value you more than me, but you've worn me down
My blood streams your anguished distress,
I cannot survive these scattered revolver-repeating
Anguish-Cries-For-Relief from the Thunderstorms,
That now having reached, breached,
That now, having infected my heart which started
This day brow beaten,
First poem of the day, already shell-shellacked,
Now, I must shut me, batten me, down.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The average lifespan of a platelet is normally just 5 to 9 days. Platelets are a natural source of growth factors. They circulate in the blood of mammals and are involved in hemostasis, leading to the formation of blood clots.
Jun 30, 2013
Jun 30, 2013 at 2:26 PM UTC
hours drip slowly
onto a taunting empty page
the soul’s depictions brushed simply
a palette of whispered words
dry as if it were thoughts painted
onto a tightly stretched canvas
it's been said so many times before
similes,...
form clots at the tip of the quill
words,...
finally surrendering to gravity’s flow
as the ink scribes the paltry ruminations;
flooding the same stifled notions
another way into another moment
metaphorical sleights of hand
incarnate onto the absolving
sheet of parchment;
traces of past now’s ensconced
in considered words
miles of silent reverie,
spun,...
like a spider reprocessing,
carefully savoring
each fine silk thread of web,
spinning the womb of time...
© H.A. Rivers 2012 … All Rights Reserved
Aug 4, 2016
Aug 4, 2016 at 1:01 PM UTC
I wish the blur of brightened days
Would stop and let me smell the flowers
But dragged away and forced to rush
The Human race sees nothing.
Our race, our race
We rush around
A flowing, endless rush of Us
Just us, just us,
We see nothing else
And no one stops to smell the flowers
So here I am, caught in the race,
Wishing I could stop a second
But if I did, I'd lose the herd,
And take up my life with the one that follows.
But still, at least, I could stop
Stop and stoop and smell the flowers
Sit and sing to cloudless skies
And watch the herds go flashing by.
We're a vein the runs throughout the Earth
That clots to watch the horrors of life.
But only those that affect us
Because we see nothing.
Nothing, nothing
Is what is left
Once our rush has rushed around
And if we could only stop,
Stop and smell the flowers
Regardless of the herd
Maybe, maybe
It will get better.
Apr 27, 2013
Apr 27, 2013 at 9:25 AM UTC
Gauze and gargle,
clots and codeine.
No straws!
No scotch!
Where wounds heal,
craters remain.
Months pass,
violence fills the void.
A call,
a message,
a beacon of hope.
A crown for the headless king,
asleep in the depths of his saliva slicked cave.
Clasping and grasping,
an imposter of the highest caliber.
Dec 10, 2013
Dec 10, 2013 at 9:56 PM UTC
cervical cancer
ovarian cyst
open your mouth
here's my fist
stomach ulcer
an inflammation disease
got pneumonia
from just a sneeze
inflamed pelvis
stomach cancer
shut the **** up
you don't know the answer
heart attack
blood clots
watch me as
my insides rot
my brain thinks
I've had every disease
but its funny
i've never had any of these
Dec 18, 2010
Dec 18, 2010 at 7:02 PM UTC
I can't say that I know what it's like
To lose someone
And it's not because I have never experienced death
My Great Aunt died of lung cancer
Though she never smoked
And was the nicest lady
With what I assumed
Was a New York accent
To ever be convinced that I loved
Her Spinach Frittata
And who indirectly
Made jokes about my insatiable desire
To consume the apple pie
She died on the tenth of october in the year two-thousand ten
(10/10/10)
And I remember my father calling me to the kitchen
To tell me the news
I cried a little
And went back to my room to write angry poetry
But ultimately I was just tired
And went to sleep
Without really adressing anything
At her funeral, I remember my cousin telling me
The story of how her (then) long-term boyfriend
Used wire cutters to remove his braces
A week before they were due to come off
They called me over to put a shovelful of dirt
Into the grave
And I did
Then ran back, jumping as I did (jumping as I did),
To my cousin
Because her candid attitude let me know that it was ok
Not to be somber
My dad's friend had a stroke which dislodged blood clots and sent him
Into a coma for a long time
And while we posed with him for Christmas pictures
(I hated posing, I hated the picture-taking, I hated smiling, it all felt wrong)
And my father promised that hypnosis was going to work
My dad's friend died
In a hospital bed
In his home
In a historical region of uptown Whittier
My dad lost his friend
My mom lost hers as well
When she stopped talking to his wife
Who had been her friend first
The cousin who was talking to me at the funeral
Lost her (then) boyfriend
When she woke up one morning
To find him dead with her
In bed
So I can't say that I know what it's like
Because I have lost people
I've seen death
And I dislike it
I dislike the thought that all my
Teachers will die before me
And I am sad thinking about those days
That I will be in the crowd
One of the Touched
I dislike that I don't know what it's like
Because I don't see it like the others
I try to remember beauty in their life
Beauty that they shared with me
Beauty that I will keep alive
Like the energy cell
The Doctor blew life into
To power the TARDIS
But if I can't find it
If there was nothing we shared
If there is nothing to tie me to them
I feel bad that someone else feels bad
I dislike their pain and
I wish I could give them a hug
And that the hug would fix everything
But it won't
And all I can do is think about
How much I ****
At comforting grievers
And how much I wish
I could be a better comforter
But I'm not
Because I don't do well with death
Sep 4, 2013
Sep 4, 2013 at 12:37 AM UTC
I look up to see seagulls in the sky.
Darting through the blue like dolphins through tides.
Saling round my head
Like blood clots in my eyes.
Aug 21, 2018
Aug 21, 2018 at 4:36 PM UTC
Red drips from my chin where I have been eating.
Not all the blood, nowhere near all, is wiped off my mouth.
Clots of red mess my hair
And the tiger, the buffalo, know how.
I was a killer.
Yes, I am a killer.
I come from killing.
I go to more.
I drive red joy ahead of me from killing.
Red gluts and red hungers run in the smears and juices
of my inside bones:
The child cries for a **** mother and I cry for war.
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