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The Willow Dec 2015
away we go
to the Comatose Bay
where the Dead come alive
but in the modern way

where the eyes once masked
by hellish Fiends
have lost their leashes
and now they are seen

by the Comatose Bay
they have tea stands, their mugs
are soaked with the leaves
of the motherless hugs

and the Culprits, they couldn't
know what they had done
there's a sting in their touch
for the Motherless Ones

come one come all
to the Comatose Bay
where the Saints come to die
and the Atheists pray
where Visionaries shrivel
and the Dreamers decay

Come, come if you must,
but don't you dare stay;
for the Comatose Bay
is dear Death's cabernet.
This was written in one of my darkest moments of depression,
a moment where you sincerely believe
there's no point in living.
Wack Tastic Nov 2012
Not just a passing fancy,
What I really long for,
Right now and once in a hot and heavy while,
Is to be left in warm comatose,
Next to a breathing and living form,
Grateful to feel a comfort pleasure,
A heart heavy desire fulfilled,
Satisfied in yet wanting more,
Left there in warm comatose,
Stroking with a finger the brilliant cherry skin,
The lotus of sensuality spilling over the brim,
Cascading down in defiant decadence,
Leaving me in warm comatose,
My mouth would search and explore,
Discovering each new second with every sensation,
Realizing that each dawn is witnessed two fold
And that the only ones left are we,
Carelessly left in warm comatose.
Cunning Linguist Nov 2013
Hella business
Got hella *******
Poppin double bottles
With a couple of mistresses
Stellar mistreatment
Here's the key
Lock em in the cellar
Forever their memory lies
But a troubling mystery

Hysteria erupting
Like waves gushing
From the tip of my *****
My genius is better
I'm the King here's my scepter
Now watch the teeth
You worthless Queen
Or I'll stifle them screams

I **** ******* on trampolines
Motion sickness?
Overdose on Dramamine

Slave to the magnitude
Of my impressive **** munching
Exploring deplorable nether-regions galore;
Can't touch me you got nothing
Broke *******
Grind your brain like morning coffee beans

Shame is a word just outside the boundaries
of my fabulous vocabulary

Oh, am I contrite?
How trifling
Check my charm I'm enlightening
Enigmatic and igniting sporadically like lightning
Magically radical voyaging down
                                                           down
                                                  down the rabbit's hole
Inciting excited riots to light fires spark fuses and chew on live wires
You do not frighten me.
Delivering excruciating asphyxiation to every pwn'd n00b
Is my modus operandi
And this is my magnum opus

I have Tourette's

Conceive these merriments of abhorrent mental abortions
Precisely concise and incisive concocting incoherent comatose monstrosities to flatten your lifelines
Conduct these ensembles of debauchery and narcotics -
I'm fascinating;
Crippling your mind like a lobotomy and tripping the light fantastic through bombarding planes of consciousness
I'm on acid thraxXx'd the **** OUT and faded
Levitating fading and oscillating in time while inflating my ego

But lets be realistic
the caliber of my linguistics is intrinsically aesthetic
but none too altruistic
Untrue!
Be reasonable lest I demand be-headings on grounds of treason
Its not hard for me -
It's profound, the sound of suffering;
I'll swallow your soul
'Tis the season!

Inference for instance -
****-hand upturned to oceans of incessant peasants
Pestering to ****** and fluster your festering ****-hole
Exact my revenge; begin phase mayhem
initiating total brain annihilation
interring bodies posthaste with skilled persistence
And sporting in poor taste
RESISTANCE IS FUTILE

You who peers through eye of the pyramid-
Would you be so kind as to interpret my footprint at face-value?
Do you take me for a fool yet seek prophets reaping profits?
Listen to them sleep, baaah-ing away like flocks of little sheep
My hearts not on my sleeve but I have a trick or two up there;

Now bow before my marvelous flow
As I behold my throne whilst throwing bows and exposing hoes.
Elizabeth Thorn Dec 2013
There you stand
Putrefying
Clarifying
Denying

There you go
Distantly
Achingly
Blatantly

Can't you see I've fallen?
Plunging
Plummeting
Ending

No one hears me
Silently
Softly
Regretfully

I'm no longer in that body
I'm no longer with that mind
I'm no longer in that bed
I'm now what you can't find

Comatose
Brain dead
Comatose
Tears shed

Yet my spirit lingers
Holding onto you
My eyes, they stare ahead
They only see right through

Let me go
Let the pulse fade
Let me go from here
The deal is made

Comatose
Dying
You won't stop
Trying
SøułSurvivør May 2015
~~~

Is zero a number?
Is numb a feeling?
Is comatose slumber?
Is sleep now healing?

Is why a question?
Is try a verb?
When you can't shake
The ***** and herb?

Is static music?
Is silence screaming?
Is nighttime cursed...

is daytime dreaming?


SoulSurvivor
Rewrite (c) 5/12/2015
Written 2014
For those battling addiction...

It's not something you "give up"
It's something you LET GO.

~~~
Baylee Sep 2015
Walking around
Miniature pharmacy,
Too many pills to count,
No one understands,
No one can relate,
To the type of life,
The type of hate
She has for herself.

This one every 12 hours,
That one every eight,
Six puffs of an inhaler,
It's her body that she hates.
Walking down the road,
Her bag rattles from all the drugs,
She pops some more here and there,
Then it's nyquil that she chugs.

Why isn't she normal?
Why does she have to do this?
No one her age is worried
About missing their next dose,
But if she misses
A single medication,
She might as well
Admit herself into a hospital
Coma-tose.
The Noose Apr 2015
Violent effort lay waste
To writhe in distress
Body and spirit
Passion in my paint
Fading like cigarette smoke

The overlap of lines
Suffering or hardwork
The familiar bother

Visions of brand new skies
Over the hill
The slither
Into the portal
Of false hope
Fabricated gaiety
Broken glasses
Never half full
Golden gates sealed by fate

The thick mist
Of pessimism drenches
The aftermath
Of trampled dreams gone cold
And the ones
That ran away like children
Leave me comatose
In the hibernaculum
The wings of mirth
Never wanted me.
Julian Jul 2016
Hip Service
By Julian Malek

The zeal of cobblestone tolerance arrayed in fashionable hues masquerading as crimson secrecy, elevates the tide of man but some boats leak in their foundations. Therefore a cork to every exuberance and a triumphant torch for every sorrow lives onward in collective time. Larks that abound because prescience and PUGET sound, that brown has become the new orange which in turn prowls as a concealed swarthy black. To antagonize the willful and frenetic pace, a prodrome of lasting but memorialized disgrace. Should I move to a state by first or last name, or is the final appellation worthy of much more lasting fame. I scurry down the aisles, bemused by shimmering tiles and the beguiled audiences who see much in my limitation but doubt little about my debited elation. Ringmaster Barnum, how much horticulture is needed for assured superstardom, how many cloisters must we evacuate from the incendiary plumes of a metaphorical Harlem..  But know that no virtual reality can supplant the reality that does truly exist, or at least our time is too infernal and purblind to resist. Carrey the tops of mountains in the humor of wellsprings and fountains, we engage a menagerie of egos lilting of an etiolated pragmatic concern. Evicted from paradise, littered with say-cheese demise ensnaring three blind mice eaten alive by snake-eyed vice. To feel good without incorporated tyranny, we must see blue and red as alternatives to the same destiny. A world that reckons with the futilitarianism of pacified malcontent and astroturf monikers that lead the impressionable into a slaughter shed. Established or not, any enchantment under the sea must include fishes once a pastiche of me, but to them I avoid their courtesy flush and never even faintly blush as my egalitarian statements are lavish thrush.

Five TO Won baby one in 99, everyone here aboard the titanic stays alive, you got your boat baby and I got mine, gonna make it with babies numbered in surreal primes. Halt the slots game the nines, a stitch in time is going to turn out to be Mine. Flanger goals, girded piles, liminal like an aborted Harry Styles, we climb mountains we issue tithes, and the turmoil is etched into 45-notched bludgeons and two-tucked knives. Excuse you, where have you been all day, have you been sauntering in a gentle rain or a genteel pain, have you wallowed beyond the mires of doubt and ranked above David Blaine. I hope you tell me of your magic tricks, rather than your other flicks endeared I stand to fight an ineradicable itch. But if not, you placid pond dented by so many rocks and so many ripples give your heart over to me, before I clinch the special Olympics *******, we ran, we span the homespun garments of your left and right hand, but death is a specter that ghoulishly carouses along the carousel terminal disease we call life. I beseech your deepest affection and want to console you for your deepest struggle, to be there every time wed with time rather than a throttled scuttle. Moons make you guarded but maroons leave me desiccated, don’t ever let that wilted flower die, always water it with a rich but gentle ties and widened deck for all to at once marvel and pry.  Monsters of Mars Attacks once flanked my bed, as though the **** brain scared every gooseflesh and restrained every frisson of mystery. I lampoon myself for those cold Dark Knights and the protection ended by the plight of the poor mattering nothing to the deliberately internecine rich. I struck gold in a valley somewhere, an oxymoron of paradox that now you have the privilege to dock, to stay aboard to be a vessel of peace less widely deplored. Even if we don’t sprout wings, we garner the exactitude of measured things and our glass elevator though easily shattered by the glower of enslavement is actually our vista to heaven or listening to brethren tingles for rich mans trinkets and other things. For humanity deserves a legend and a princess, a regimented desuetude and a flanged lust but in our mistakes wildly flouted in momentary moments we become purified by the temptations of an alabaster palace.

***** the left-field wisdom of a pragmatic paragon ellipsis in prison, slip between the cracks and let my suburban muse become your urban ruse. To enchant a caged world beyond a reality delicately and deliberately unfurled. Squirming toads on highways enchanted but dead, are graves for the blue becoming purple in every dignified red. Gainsay assaults me with platitude, a repeated hitter quit on the first bunted ball into foul-line territory. Those gripes are swiped right in all circumstance no matter the plight. The pronged hearing of a trident sensitive to ambient collection, and suddenly we are all in the mad house even though the house of profaned pain is much worse. Glimpses of gambits that gambol for nickels in transit as occult grenades and known dice waddle through without artifice or device, and the laughter and slaughter that trains collegiate minds, differs no more than the tropes of a glamorous violence articled in sordid rhymes. This surfing movie means so much more than Surf Wax America pristine in limited but sacrilege nirvana. Teen spirits smell muskier than 90s pop dreams, the grasp and grunge of gouged eyes becomes a mummified staid, a scarecrow to those who disobey. Childhood flashes with blinding light, and new sight illuminates darkening blight, A blight eradicated only by two magazines and including one that houses the bullets that ***** themselves between death and comatose dreams both within astral sight. Littoral harbor on a seaside town, a shanty with a brackish gown that glides the gourmand to the cosmopolitan eatery on the outskirts of lost & found. But forever lost in embonpoint and forever gained in chavish that exonerates the gaunt, the etiolated prince in heart becomes irrefutable marrow in minded souls.

If I am a spy you are an ESPY, and if I cry than you are a baby,but since neither are the case my wiseacres will cultivate lava lamp dreams for a new generation and suddenly Boston bets on Harvard, but who knows of this piped blather squirming for relevance rather than voguish but temporary chatter. My regatta knows how to swim, my life now knows how to cringe and yet still win and in stilted plays of bungled sincerity the God of peace reminds us of our transcendent personalities. That we in sincerity top the barnacles of invention a novelty but a rarity. But the guillotine quill of emboldened unscripted parvenus ruthless in their eager dues, outdate and outlive the sued swayed blues that indemnify Clinton and make the atomic dog an amazing Winston hill a church often in sheltered disuse. Imps and urchins sting the sentiment, cloy the alimony of repentant betterment, but neither touches the gilded skies of pleonasm striving for raspy disguise as to dissuade further diatribe investigation. Lurking in those scared days of youth, the gore of unalloyed horror scourged me with a limp, that compassion itself could ever become a gimp. Now years later athletics better and scoring goals making the mildew sweat and the years wetter, not a global warming that can be alarmed by global mourning. Take peace at heart if distanced spears of separation make Idiocracy as a pastiche look exceedingly smart. And spar only with the true antagonists bridging malevolence with expedience. Killjoys sure, will joy even more sure, but still boys fluttered heart stopping dead at a stop-watched alarm the worst tragedy of our sordid sort. Give an African Child a real home rather than a spatial roam, a palatial desiccation of momentary Jonas Brothers snapping back at captives with sexualized foam.

Narrative blinds shuttered in an Island among mountains hardly ever wiser to sanitize the sanitarium among the wasps of stung power. Police crumple their uniforms as they prowl down the avenues, looking for misfits and widened platitudes. Somehow that the vigilance of those corrupted by their very career choice, look even worse when megalomania of private is the limelight of public, to their defense few turrets I can muster but castles in the sky will be the apartheid judge. Those that cling to virtue to eradicate Porsche-driven faked or real deaths at the most breakneck speed, that Fast & Furious operation if disclosed completely would turn the Shire of the ring into the hatred curtailed by a song in Sing-Sing. Immunity must not Yoda implore, that livery Liverpool marooned on islands can also to deplore the R.E.D. and still whet the sharpened stead and the fly-by-night Manchester United alights like militant peer pressure for wranglers in tights. But beating the Beatles at a game of Walruses and egg-shelled eyeful towers likely impedes rinkside hockey from anything over bellicose ballyhoo…it exists as a transient fixated glower. But who knows about soccer speculation when love is the transcendent temptation, when nest-egg hens rather than neglecting rig Bens of clockwork and clocked words designed arise better for their token ken. Do I must repeat the subtext of submarines, yellowed as though ugly unused as though unseen, as though the quixotic earthquakes of tintinnabulations Avatar dreams. Wafted souls console the disheartened thoughts of a dashed dream that Berlin hates more than a Furor’s unbridled and useless scream.
Demotic clips slinging from the bedridden silence of a token moon and its token friends, swimming in a shore of ambiguity whether history mellows or whether its furor melts away momentary doubts. I want to avoid the sting rays exorcised by due providence and become the amalgamated talents gentry and of course the upstart swagger of Jack Dawson. But with the psy-op going on, the people manipulated on all sides of a gray picket fence will the relationship bloom without muttered dissent or pretended smiles. Will we take upon the shuffled shuttle and dig with shovels deep-rooted Christmas trees and toast our lives to Dos Equis. We may never go out of style, but the treacle of illuminated imagery when divorced from sentiment bristle shows a swagger that prioritizes rather than amalgamates all love. I love being brash and brazen and honest because when she finally ditches the grandstand of delayed frenemies fandoms of other tinsel decorations without any substance beyond meretricious thrill. You want a roller coaster on some days, but most often you want the nutcracker to elope to secret hiding places. Swim with adventure not just in love, not just in affection with the starlight now matter how luminous, sixpence all the richer is no centuries any poorer and we could be that gilded couple of star and screen and if we ever have to scream, let our screams unite us in passion, rather than a milquetoast deference to pedestaled beauty. but of course the end times don’t laugh at your crumpled wizened relapse. Not out of convenience wed by a discriminating genetic harvest moon but a deeper engagement that flatters when stylish and bristles when romantic but never defiled, never riled of specious pretense. Promise me that you will always remember me in my flaws and my faults, in my scause factory destructions and the penults of PEN-ULTIMATE wisdom that comes before the grace of God in the annihilation of passion for eroded omission. If your goal is to be remembered, check that out…but the most admirable goal is as the propinquities of souls dusted in the wind returning to a spring equinox of passion and if you find in yourselves reservations do not depart from sacred land, and never jilt me because of a boisterous and menacing friend. You are everything to me right now, and I Hope this persists despite the vicissitudes of star-favored afflictions mixed with utter benediction without the pontification of stilted Benedictines  or rather the hyped ludic effrontery of termagants being made of younger and younger women. Leave it at this ,32 leaves the royal secret in royal hands and the Knights Templar and us we altogether hold hands, if only a prelude for a masquerade ball. But the stilted embarrassment of crestfallen time, let that be relegated and emphatically lets embrace what is like to not ever need a real white horse to get back into your favor, because we never go out of style we can brandish the best elements and reject the sentiments of the too newfangled and the too stodgy. We in our crenellated pleonasm can eager ride the lightning to another tomorrow and another yesterday and if even not that, we virtually make an indelible impression of embroidered love not too distant in ivory towers and not to vulgary( catering to popular sentiments) to become a trash glam movement. We soar, others deplore but let their purblind doubts render them blind to our burgeoning love.

Forget the brisk trees dangled in the wind on winding paths through haunted forest or remember them because of ghoulish fortress but with our apotropaic lamp we can avert most evil and call the rest fun and gains and shun but fames never profaned, never inalterable a destiny to magical to be some whimpered catcall. Or we could linger beneath lambent street lights disguised as though wilted garb, attrition of circumstance waiting patiently for the matinee and the vintner to escort us beyond the garb of pretense in a city so abundant with it that it deserves castigation. But I digress, a beachside cliff overlooking tepid waters tumultuous in their power but august in their noises, the cadence of love will sing a half-moon bay on full-moon nights and we will frisk each other like grasping at straws of permanent tracks trammeled of the elite and a sidetracked basque bet. Trim those antlers and instead grow metaphorical wings, to us we all sing but few can match your elegance and everyone would be crazy not to see your ennobled age and together thrilling songs to emulate thriller in sales we will collaboratively sing.
Haughty sneers from lifeless lycanthropy straggling furtively along the pastiched sidewalks of grime, livid because they can’t share the lingering limelight, with as many guarded perks of privacy clambering like a hive of snarky sharks. Lets ditch the big town dreams in terms of posh and stature if only for a caressed moment beneath the unadulterated stars and if you find spars **** to the extent they are amiable than I say guess what my name is Lars! Or wait a second, paused in the big city spotlight our stenciled hearts will guide whatever progeny is yours or mine or ours together we will sing the most comforting lullaby, and caves no longer must we abide. Yearn and earn every inch, as I gripe with my delicate saddened pinch but I think the innuendo speaks . Ripen with our trips to Napa, long afternoon sunsets swim in our hearts as we taste the vanguard’s toast on elegant wine.I console with entreaty to disavow the omen of that San Franciscan church October 2008, the doom implied by Einstein, the raillery of a world grinding down the endless decadence of a railed future inalterable in destiny or partialy amenable to widespread coquetry.

Forget those rumbles in your past that made you feel partial to insecurity and learning the ropes you transcended all and live in all eternity. Thimble and brook, tolerant of all those tokes I took your rebellious side flattens the yeast of Exodus raspy in its begrudged clapping. But the Pharaoh of the modern world sheltered me under his prickly thorns, shielded me from the sickly things that life adorns. We have the numbers on our side, the weight of destiny on our shoulders, dedicate yourself to yourself and I will preen the most vibrant wisdom and love will leap like Apollo across all borders not for camel-****** hoarders. We are culminated destiny in the wings of the best daydream
Life, Love and No Mathematics to God and Gain
Chris Thomas Sep 2017
Don't color me comatose
If there is breath still in these lungs
Don't fade to black just yet
If there are songs left to be sung

I want a romance that crashes
Like the moon into the ocean
I want a history that archaeologists
Dig up to set in motion

Don't drown me in sorrows
If there's a smile creasing my face
Don't chain a ball to my blistered feet
If there are still rainbows left to chase

I want an epiphany that explodes
Like stars gasping their final breath
I want a heartbeat that is loud enough
To pierce both the eardrums of death

Don't color me comatose
If there's a blink still in my eyes
Don't forget me when I take my leave
There's still a chorus left to reprise
Rapunzoll Apr 2016
this is not a death-wish
this is a resurrection.
on nights, you grow
weary of the sound of
your own breathing,
there is a fierce sun
burning inside you,
you must use it to grow,
not to scorch all you have.
you have tender hands,
why do you use them
to peel away your
conscious?
there is a thunder in
that insipid heart of yours,
go, forage it out.
For a friend.
© copyright
OldManAtHeart Apr 2014
Today I don't want to think.
So I'm going to drink.
I'm fed up of life.
I'm going to drink.

I'm going to drink, drink drink
Until I'm comatose
And hopefully then
To death I'll be close.

Yes, I shall drink
And I don't care what people think
This epitomises the worst attitude
I can have; I'm on the brink
Of dying by the drink.
And I don't give a ****
If I have the worst attitude....
I DON'T WANT TO THINK!

OK!?
IS THAT SO BAD?
Dear, alcohol, CAN'T I AT LEAST HAVE THAT!?

Who the **** rhymes drink with think?
This is so debilitating; I need a drink.

I've lost it. I've lost the plot, if I ever had one.
Almost certainly lost the plot of this poem
But who cares? I can't.

I want to hide, see no-one and die.

I need to hide, see no-one and die.

So I'm just going to drink.
K G May 2017
The basin drains her polluted blood as wine envelopes morose
Every minute is a memory, onset of her blanketed comatose
Vying in a fog of icons and myths, words always fail them
From every misread evil that is disposed of improperly
From every neighbor or friend eternally mute again
From every gilded pattern that leaves a cuff for the eyes
From every fetching barroom, where all such nadir lies
KG
Classy J Jan 2016
Overdosed on my sin, got myself all twisted up in idiosyncrasies, what happened to that boy who sang in the choir’s musical symphony?  Don’t understand it, I try to move forward but I can’t move, stuck in my ill prison, used to get vision, but now I am apart of a knew subdivision. Falling angel, why was it wrong to question this universe, now religion treats me like I’m Lucifer. Testing my niceness, can’t they see that I just want to be left alone; offended offenders just can’t let it go that I just want to go at life on my own. I always used to ****** analyze my friends to improve their self health, even though I was a ****** that just couldn’t analyze himself. Comatose patient there is no escaping this life that may just have an eternity to go, sorry but I don’t know if ok with that amigo.  Inconclusive theory’s saying that they are factual, searching for facts in a world full of extortion in a system run by cannabis animals. Ticking away the time doth go on with or without me, to be or not to be in this desert wasteland we call reality. Really why should I bother being politically correct, ***** those formality’s, with my fiery vengeance just like scorpion; fatality. Complicated overrated everyday living got me feeling dizzy that I’m starting to fade out, just checked out of my self conscious because I’m just so burned out. To early to late, heart vs. the mind, darkness vs. light, comatose feel like a ghost that has just lost hope with its current host.
PJ Poesy Apr 2016
He stands solidly still, a malformation
Rush hour commuters about him whirl
Arrival or departure in subway station?
Intrans intelligence, subconscious swirl
Isolated, his mind in  most violent hurl

Facing whole extent of impertinent data
Comatose commuter suffers info slow-mode
Wife, boss, kids all part in sub-matter
Too much for one brain to devour, decode
Cell phones, microchips, transistor’s overload

Components lack tactile connection
Wavelengths of broadcasts, meltdown occurs
Keeping too connected, causing mind ejection
No app for that on tablet to refer
Now stuck in commuter rut with no transfers
Are you a comatose commuter?
MickeyP Aug 2015
Allow me to steer you from this endless road of monotony
to a luminous land
where you will be bathed in an effervescent afterglow
Created by a realm of invisible possibilities
spun into the iridescent colorwheel of hope
Ataxia
Melt into my embracing arms
as I lead you through a state of comatose
I will guide you to the kaleidescape
And you will
Understand
How encaged you have been
by the life presented
By the fearful and the small
So enraptured by the mundane
So afraid to rearrange
I understand the temptation .
Believe me
I understand
But allow me to explain how the ultimate risk you take
Is when your fear of not knowing
is why it all remains the same

mp
patty m Nov 2015
Disconsolate futile gesture,

urgent imploring,

plaintive cry,

and yet the parade of seasons

turns blue skies wintry gray,

Listen to the wind as tree limbs flail  

her desultory song soars then degenerates

into mumbling as if trying to pray,

but the words waver, distorting over time.

Sojourner

the cold white moon above
spreads luminous ghostly light.  
In the grasslands all is cold wet penetrating drizzle,
stark anguish, loneliness and fissions of fear.  

Step into darkness, the frayed contradiction
never expires, but crouches low in ambush..
Sorrow is a constant as lifetimes erode away,
there is no sweet spot in winter's contralto,
sung icily in ancient tongue.

Love, Life, and Death become a
fluid trine to otherworldly;
some sweet aspects tumble forth
one by one, only to be
followed by brash reality,
as lofty dreams come tumbling down.

One tries to avoid surrender
the jarring awareness of fears too frightening to fathom,
yet in the narrow confines hiding,
a cocklebur dislodged, lacerates bleeding;
liquid wraiths swirl to the surface
mulling mindfully how skin now ultrasensitive,
sears with vulnerability, craving touch.

Beware the parading alternatives
the reckless exhilaration,  
lest you'll be handcuffed beneath the frost

until the spring thaw brings warmth and golden light

and hope reappears.
neko Jan 2014
i sexually identify as the 28 degree january breeze sneaking through your cracked window at 5am

one time a school of fish said to me, "everything will be fine. we promise. just hang around longer."

it was mid-june, i believed them

one time i tweeted, "you have so much undiscovered depth. you are an ocean,"
referring to my gay friend who is known for being sassy and, well, gay
and not for what he really is
or what he's worth

anyway, someone replied to it
"you're a cork in the ocean"
and to this day i still think about what the **** that even means
but its poetic sounding and i like it
i guess

we are all the **** of a great cosmic joke
and i am not me anymore
i'm a hurricane aftermath
it swept away all the worth i had left
and here i am,
incompletely resolute

my favourite shade of orange is the one leaves turn before they commit suicide and if that doesn't say something about my personality then i don't know what does

all i'm trying to say is that
the grass is green for a reason and it turns brown and ugly sometimes but it always goes back to how it was before and i need you to promise me that you'll hold on
Gutter Grimer Oct 2018
I wake up smelling of you
And it's all I can do
Not to slip inside that dream again
The one where warm honey flows
Between our lips, our hips
Pressed together in time
Justified in every motion
Sweat pools between torsos
As a glimmer bounces
Surfaces in your cold room
The moon is long gone
And we radiate as we share stares
Intense like the day that has just begun
Although my sunshine has been
Beside me all along
Ugo Jul 2012
The beauty of comatose can only be seen through
the eyes of a wizard in a blizzard
strutting in garlic slippers,

or Christ with knees bent at the tabernacle
peeling bananas and kicking prayers
farther than eternity with each gapping second,

or like Basquiat slumped back to the wall,
with ounces of speedball dancing through his veins,
eating 80’s free-based fried chicken *******  

as his eyelids paints beautiful nightmares of lemon flowers
and Bacchus bacon over a glycopyrrolate desert
of flagrant cuckold buffoonery.

Or like leprechauns burning chocolate ******* candles
on the mantle of Zion, sipping oatmeal sprinkled
with Staten Island malt liquor bacon.

or like Tupac reading the thoughts of Mother Shipton
through the daze of California cannabis
and hearing the ominous voice of Plutarch sing death assignments

from heaven to Assassins on horsebacks goggling ***** water
to wet the dry bones of their throats as they prepare to fulfill
the gospel of self-fulfilling prophecies of being fell by ***** bullets.

Or like sophisticated wallets of spice and kitchen characters in a bald head
cooking chemical kisses and 18 February nights under Moloch’s skin,
where constitutions are written in charcoal diaries with Egyptian ciphers and razors.

“I had rain sowed into the pockets of my sneakers and composed 1310 eulogies
at the basement of king David’s tower,” said the Kraftwerkian caricature,
as he dangles cigarettes in remembrance of Klaus Nomi and philosophizes on the proliferation
of poetic vandalism at urinals where modernism failed under the phosphorescence of coloration at the avenue of no trees where Picasso's "Guernica" **** Lies All.
http://www.amazon.com/OLAF-Nothing-Above-Fiction-ebook/dp/B009XZ9OVY/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid;=1353822133&sr;=8-1&keywords;=olaf+last+king+of+nothing
Jordan Rains Apr 2018
[Him]

I was napping
Woke up all of a sudden  
Don't know why I feel like
Something bad is gonna happen
Now I need to find my pen

Been battling anxiety & depression for few years
And there's more that you probably don't wanna hear

No one knows how much pain I bear
All they see are the fake smiles I wear

Somedays all I want is someone near
Sitting next to me and I hope they would say
Don't worry! Everything is going to be okay
Today is not the end, tomorrow is another day

You know, when **** happens
I am not able to find what I had once

Both good and bad moments I had tons
Now it's just darkness

And that's why I write
To bring the light into my life so I can fight
my enemies who are hiding in the darkness of the night

And one day I might run out of ink
And when it does, I don't think
there will be much left of me
And the leftovers will be swept off to the sea
of bipolar depression, mania, and anxiety
Man! I don't want that for me

Truth is, I just wanna be me
Like this, on a writing spree
So, I can stay forever free
And rest under the shades of poetry

So here I am
At 3 in the morning
Awake as night, trying to fight
All the demons inside my head
So, I can move ahead
And leave my enemies mourning and trembling, in dread
And end this chapter once and for all- dropdead!

I know it's easy to say
But the reality is somewhat different
There's only one way
And when I look ahead, I only see the end
I simply pretend to be happy all the time
The only time you get to see the real me is when I rhyme

At nights, anxiety and I are a team
For me, sleeping is like a dream
You know what I mean- that **** never happens
Because racing thoughts never slacken
And when my days blacken
Uninvited thoughts come to my mind
They pull up the roller blinds
Letting darkness enter my mind
I close my eyes but they make me blind
And when they hit rewind
I go back to my past to find what I left behind
And what I always find is more thoughts intertwined

I always find it hard to fall asleep
I even tried counting sheep
But **** it! It never worked, I just keep
thinking about things that I don't wanna think
I told all of this to my shrink
Because of this ****
I'm not able to keep my life in order
Even he doesn't know why I developed this disorder

Somedays I can do many things
Somedays I cannot do anything
Somedays I feel like a king
Somedays I feel like I'm nothing
Somedays I cannot even do the simplest thing
Feels like I'm always on the brink
Slowly shrinking to nothing

Anxiety hoodwinked me into thinking
That I'm a distraught soul
And my life stands for nothing
but pain, stress and worrying thoughts


I know I worry a lot
Even about the fraught relationships I've got
I'm not able to hold all these thoughts

I'm slowly slipping off like a broken rope
I'm tired, I tied a million knots
but there are novemdecillion thoughts
So, a couple of pills I pop
Still no hope, I'm an undying mope

It doesn't matter how many battles I've fought
This time I lost, I'm not a dreadnought
Don't know how many more rhymes I need to jot
down to stop my mind from getting trapped in nomadic thoughts

I'm cutting my veins on both my arms
Death clouds on top of my head- my blood flows
There are blood spots on my bed top
Wait a minute!
What the heck am I writing?
Is this a death note?

Next morning, the dead wakes
With ******* headaches
My mind and heart are having a debate
I hate me when I can't think straight

My mind is a prison and I'm the inmate
I don't wanna repeat my mistakes
I doubled the pills I usually take


While making decisions, I contemplate
Every possible outcome I calculate
But I'm extremely anxious, I change lanes
Followed by the unknown, no nameplates
They tailgate, I'm in a dire strait

Au fait with this mess but I conflate
Everything I've got, I don't take things the way they are
But I have to go very far
Oh, wait! I think I'm carrying too much weight
Need to stop hauling freight
Before I break down, I need to hit the brakes

Somehow I reach my office but I'm late
It's like a disaster waits for me at the front gate
And as I step in, I'm gifted with more
I slowly open the door
Feels like this day I've lived before

I'm shambling towards a dangling bait
All I can do is keep on rambling. Wait!
Have no idea what's written on my fate
I don't know why my heart is beating at a faster rate
I'm not able to concentrate
Even the simplest thing I complicate
I hope there's someone who can relate
to all the tales I narrate

So, here I go again
I sent a text to my friend 15 minutes ago
Why didn't I receive a reply yet?

Maybe the network is slow or maybe the text didn't go
I should check my phone now; Oh no!
It has been marked as read 10 minutes ago

Did I say something wrong? I don't know
Maybe I did or maybe I didn't
I check my phone hoping new notifications it will show
But it didn't; I think something's wrong

Should I text a hello?
So I sent a few texts in a row
My mind's in overdrive as more thoughts start to flow

Maybe the phone's battery's low
And like this, I go, there is no stop
Oh god! What should I do?
Feels like everything is falling apart

This feeling is not new
Still, I'm worried to go through
I wish there was a how-to guide
to peacefully & happily live your life

I just wanna be carefree and happy
But I know, it's never happening
Maybe the day I die will be
The happiest day in my life


[Her]

My mind is on overdrive.
I can't let go of this anxiety clouding my mind.

Incessant worry all the time.
People telling me "it's okay, you'll be fine."
They don't understand how anxiety affects my mind, my body.
My whole life.
Most of the time I just want to crawl in a corner and hide.

Irritable and restless, my mind begins to race.
I can't concentrate.
My breath runs short and I feel like I can't breathe.

Peace and quiet is what I need.
But the world keeps spinning around me.

My face turns red.
Inside, I feel a sense of dread.
I tell myself to quit while I'm ahead.

Just let my worries go.
I wish it were that simple.

Every day is a battle
when you are fighting against yourself.

I have an inner struggle
buried deep inside but hide it well.

I bury it so deep,
no one can tell.

I am in a brawl with my demons all the time.
No matter how hard I try,
I can't escape the darkness of my own mind.

I feel trapped.
I feel alone.
I feel like no one can hear my screams.
Too often I get lost in vanishing hopes and unreachable dreams.

Happiness dangles in front of me like bait
dangling in front of a fish.
I wonder if I will ever experience true bliss.
Or if it will always be hit and miss.

Happiness likes to tease me.
I try my best to live freely and be happy.
Anxiety and depression take over every time.

My mind is never pleased.
I can never fully be at ease.

My brain is self-destructive.
Always beating itself up.
I just want to tell it to shut up.


I wish there were a switch I could flip
to turn off the anxiety in my mind.
If only shutting off my anxiety was as simple
as hitting a light switch.

We can't all get what we wish for.
I accept my anxiety as part of me.
I manage it, I live it every day.
There are days where I really struggle.
Others where I'm okay.

If you're okay, take a walk in my shoes
Let me tell you a secret, only a few people knew.
Now it feels like a lifetime ago.
It started because of my depression and anxiety.
When I was a teen I used to cut myself.

I never told my parents,
that I used to take a razor to my wrist.
It was a feeling I couldn't resist.

The razor called out my name.
Every bad thing that happened in my life,
I was to blame.
Cutting myself was a way to escape
To a temporary place where only I could go.

I could give myself the pain I deserved
for everything that I did wrong and those
that I hurt.


Cutting myself gave me temporary relief
from all the pain I harbored inside.
From time to time, I took the razor to my arm.
I was already ******* up I didn’t think it would anymore harm.
I hide it well, covered my arm in long-sleeve shirts. So, one could see a trace of my hidden pain.
I wanted to keep it tame.
Under wraps, so my life wouldn’t continue to collapse.

My whole life was a charade, one big lie.
I faked smiles and happiness.
Yet deep inside, I wondered how long I would have to go on like that.
I eventually stopped because I realized I was only adding to the chaos of my own personal hell.

And on a night where I was dark and depressed.
At my bitter end.
I downed a bottle of prescription pills.
Luckily there were only five left.

I felt the pills lurch deep within my body, begin to leave side effects.
I was on edge and wondered what would happen next.

Taking five times more than my recommended dose.
Almost left me comatose.
I learned my lesson.
I will never do that again.

Sometimes I tell myself anxiety is the price
I must pay for all the mistakes I have made.

I know that isn't true.
The thought fades.
But my anxiety remains, locked in place.

Anxiety is like having a demonic voice
In the back of my head.
It fills me with worry and self-doubt.
Tells me I am better off dead.

I get so frustrated.
I don't know if I want to cry or shout.
Sometimes I do both.

I vent to others and let it all out.
Yet I don't feel like they truly understand
unless they have experienced mental
Illness themselves.

Anxiety is an illness, but it is not like the cold or flu.
Medication can help it, but it will never truly go away.

I don't want to be dependent on pills.
My whole life I have tried to handle
depression and anxiety myself.

This might be the time to ask for help.
To realize I'm not alone
Mental illness is a solitary battle but there is hope.
Lucas Lowman Apr 2014
Waking up in a hazy fog
Regular Sunday Morning
It is Sunday right?

Bits and pieces of last night rushing to the forefront of my mind
but a feeling that there's a missing piece of vital information

aaaaaaand there's a stranger next to me
she's so still!
she's alive
God I hope she's alive
My jeans are still on so we obviously didn't do anything
wait why are my jeans ripped?
Did they come this way?
No they didn't
did they?
my shoes are still on too
well at least one is anyway
where the hell is my other shoe
how does somebody lose one shoe
losing a pair is actually more understandable

I should probably go wash the glitter off my hands
wait why do I have glitter on my hands?

aaaaand I have a black eye
who did I fight?
probably got my *** handed to me
or maybe I beat up an *******!
no probably the former
I can't fight for ****

My head is killing me
part hangover
part concussion

I should probably call somebody
help fill me on what the hell happened last night
Aw **** where the hell is my phone?
wait where the hell is my wallet?!

Well ****... ****** memory, comatose stranger in my bed, ripped jeans (although I'm 73 percent sure they came this way), missing a shoe, glitter hands, black eye, sore head, no phone, and no wallet

I ******* love saturday nights
Jonny Angel Mar 2014
You told me you were crazy,
liked to smoke
mountains of cigarettes.

You told me you craved
massive amounts of whiskey,
you could gulp it all day &
follow with lots of Oxys,
said they took your edge off.

You said you were a crazed *** addict,
loved to do just about anything.

But first, you said
you wanted to be comatose,
had to be numb
before anything started,
'cause that was the only way
you could feel anything.

You said it was payback
for the damage
they'd done to your soul,
for being
forever thirsty
on phony love.
Äŧül Sep 2014
Please read till the end please or do not **** your time reading this.

The online poetry community is invited to read the eBook which also has some English poems apart from few Hindi poems (translated in brackets to English too).

I had had met with a really serious accident on the 7th of May in the year 2010. It had put me into a 23-day long comatose state. Of that I couldn't breathe by myself for around 17 days because of which I had to be put on artificial respiratory system. I came out of the comatose state after 23 days only for waking up to the real pain of physiotherapy.

I was prescribed rest at home, break from college for one complete year. Lonely afternoons started to get the better of me. My mother suggested me to recount sincerely whatever wrongs, or rights I was ashamed of, or proud of in my life.

Paying heed to my mother's suggestion and to keep myself occupied, I started writing (typing on my laptop) a self-account of whatever I had had experienced in my life as an Indian teenager with a global outlook. I then transformed it into a fiction titled '7 Seconds: Typical Guy, Not So Typical Life'.

First 10 copies of my novel's eBook have been sold in India and the United States put together.

You never actually grow up, and there is a youthful cringe always hidden inside you.
This story prods on the same youthful cringe in your mind which never actually died out even if you are no longer a young adult.

This novel contains poetry both in English & Hindi (in Roman script). It also has decorative inputs in languages other than English, namely Hindi (again in Roman Script), German, French, Punjabi (the language of Punjab in India again in Roman Script), Kannada (a South Indian language, also put in Roman script) with English translations of all such non-English inputs mentioned in the following dialogues.

The story follows Akshant in first person for most of the part as a mysterious female narrator named Satyaa recounts most of it all just as he had told her on e-mails.

The story takes him to the Old Fort at Delhi where he encounters a Franco-German tourist party and acts as a friendly guide for them.

Later, he is involved in a fight against the terrorist hijackers in a flight to Hamburg where he is off to a biodiesel convention by the fictional Deutsch Biodiesel.

This eBook is available on Amazon and is up for the taking on the internet.

It's absolute reading pleasure at an economical price.

The links from where you can buy this eBook from are given below:

USA:
http://www.amazon.com/gp/aw/d/B00MYY0DMA/

India:
http://www.amazon.in/gp/aw/d/B00MYY0DMA/

UK:
http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/aw/d/B00MYY0DMA/

German:
http://www.amazon.de/gp/aw/d/B00MYY0DMA/

French:
http://www.amazon.fr/gp/aw/d/B00MYY0DMA/

Spain:
http://www.amazon.es/gp/aw/d/B00MYY0DMA/

Italy:
http://www.amazon.it/gp/aw/d/B00MYY0DMA/

Japan:
http://www.amazon.co.jp/gp/aw/d/B00MYY0DMA/

Brazil:
http://www.amazon.com.br/gp/aw/d/B00MYY0DMA/

Canada:
http://www.amazon.ca/gp/aw/d/B00MYY0DMA/

Mexico:
http://www.amazon.com.mx/gp/aw/d/B00MYY0DMA/

Australia:
http://www.amazon.com.au/gp/aw/d/B00MYY0DMA/

A request: Don't just heart this poem. Get the ebook from relevant link and write a review as well please.
Please forgive me that I am not posting many poems lately.
I've been busy in promoting my novel's eBook available on Amazon.
I hope that this story gets many readers.

Please spread the message far and wide even if you are not intending to buy it for it might be helpful to me.

A promotional post.
©Atul Kaushal
Skyla Jun 2019
Unplug me from my life support
I don’t wanna do this anymore
Attached to noisy machines
That drown out all my screams
Living in a silent movie screen

Living in a nightmare with happy comatose dreams
I can almost taste strawberry cake and cotton candy ice cream

Poke me with needles and fill me with sugar water until I swell like a heavy balloon

Deflate me (berate me) and then medicate me until I’m drowsy and I see the stars and the moon

Am I a beauty queen yet, looking nearly dead, in this hospital bed?

I’m just a coma baby with a sick little head
pulling out the tubes because I feel better off dead

IV fluids and feeding tubes and colourful pills of purple and blue

One for the monsters inside my head, and the other helps me keep a safe distance from death

Failing organs, slow digestion, purple bruises cuts with infections

With my blue fingertips, dipped in frost, I feel like a snow queen from a fairytale

I let all of winter rage through my body chilling me to the bone

Like a violent storm surging through my bloodstream, I sit on my icicle throne  

All these defibrillators make my heart run faster and the electricity makes me feel more alive than I’ve ever felt

All I have are nurses and ghosts here to comfort me and lull me to sleep

Digging my own grave with a scalpel on these hospital grounds so I can rot in the place I was trapped in

I dream of flatlining and giving my heart a break from beating for a body that doesn’t want to live

I dream of the sun outside of the fluorescent lights of this hospital room

All my ghosts are dying and their corpses will leave my head soon

I don’t know how to live without my ghosts, I don’t know who to love the most, now.

One step at a time, one bite will do just fine, humming nursery rhymes, I’m running out of time.

Maybe coffins aren’t for me, maybe I’m not ready to be layed to rest

Maybe I’m not meant to die this hideous death, all I’ve got is to try my best.
A poem I wrote while in treatment for anorexia and other mental illnesses.
Jordan Frances Jan 2014
Inhale, feel, lets the flavors collide.
**** it down if you can
Every taste from your poisonous gauntlet
Reminds me of me your kiss.

Passionate, I keep sipping.
I love you more than I love myself.
You have become the reason I breathe,
And you will prove to be the reason I die.

My skin under my eyes loses color.
It is tired from the things you have thrown at it.
Trying to combat you is a lost cause.

In those moments,
I look into your brown eyes
And try to find something weak
Something human.
Your blank stare frightens me
As it is comparable to a demon, the devil
Devoid of remorse, or guilt, or sorrow.

Your words cut deeper.
They are the IV in my veins
They penetrate my skin
And invade my bloodstream
Yet, I continue to hook their machines
Up to my comatose body.

I have gone from having a bright smile
To wearing a perpetual look of anguish.
You have aged me ten years.

I stare down at my hands as they tremble.
My eyeballs have sunken into my head
I am a ruin of anything lifelike.

It is a defective disposition
But can it be cured?
An addiction is a pleasure is a curse
That grows as you feed it.

I must cut myself off from you, my lifeline,
Completely.
Aaron McDaniel Oct 2012
I’ve been labeled with a term that begins with P and ends with oet
But I owe it to to those listening to explain the steps I’ve taken
225 days of mistaken tippy toes and battles fought arresting a demon to keep him caged thirsty
He stays thirsty
Drips of thick liquid that bring cure to others make his body sick but his mind goes at ease
The random shocks of pain that jolt throughout my body telling me to get more is a reminder that this struggled battle will never be over
This devil on my shoulder is whispering terms of endearment while the angel is tirelessly hanging off my biceps trying to whisper his words of truth
There’s no other way around it
I live by the standard ‘once an addict always an addict’
I am an addict
Before that fact jumps down your throat to join the heart that jumped up in it, let me explain
Addicts like me work long *** days breaking their back to break bread and emerge victorious in their ocean of mistakes
Instead of treading H20, it’s theraflu and pepto,
I used to be drowning but now I’m only waist deep
Slowly, day by day, the drain taking it away makes the level of pepto low
Soon, maybe I’ll be able to say I’m in a puddle getting my tippy toes wet in OTC’s
Then it’ll dry
My tongue shall stay dry
Like that of the demon that stays
Caged
Thirsty
Waiting for a day that my mentality meets frustration so great that I’m attempted to sling that syrup down my throat so suddenly that my stomach acid is left in wonder
Silently slipping into a comatose state that no soul may recover from
To prevent this, I’ll pin praying hands to my nose and speak to a God that I’m not even sure is listening
As I apologize from straying away from the path he’s set for me, I’ll look forward and realize that the hurting is gone
Indeed, more will come
But there is no fear in these eyes
My mother’s soft touch on my shoulder
Friends cementing their hands to my spine to make sure I stay standing
I feel safe and secure to stand on a cliffs edge while the oceans muddy water rushes at it’s walls
I will not fall
Because I just showered
And I intend on staying clean…
CK Baker Aug 2017
Manning up in Texas
Geldof overdose
needles at the bed stand
starlet comatose

California dreaming
killer meets demise
hurling in a taxi
puke fee on the rise

Fighting in the Gaza
Jordan's holy war
rebels on a mission
Jihad underscore

The North Korean riddle
pales in grand design
crisis on the border
planes fall from the sky

Cooking on a deadline
tempting tapenades
herbs are in the spotlight
wines that give a nod

Google maps the body
DOW at record highs
Uber comes to market
corn is on the rise

Apple on its earnings
Caterpillar dead
European sanctions
banks have **** the bed

Clippers threaten boycott
Longhorns follow purge
Lynch is out of training camp
James is on the verge

Leinart taking *** shots
coughing up a lung
lions take a licking
fans are throwing dung

Another day in Vegas
Primm from A-Z
rolling out an ankle
a flying SUV

Quiet tempting spaces
made better by design
multi color pea coat
silence fuels the mind

Stabbing in the subway
goat caught in a well
apes are selling tickets
(but leave behind a smell)

Puberty on trial
a man without a head
teachers feel alone
lets take them to the shed!

Jonah's tomb destroyed
wreckage in Mumbai
Sugar Daddy sites
Freedom 85

The immigrant debate
Russia's mounting toll
unions on a mission
heads are gonna roll

Beaches for the nudists
hotels on the cheap
the best generic brands
a list you have to keep!

Planning your estate
questions from the camp
a mansion up for sale
where once they filmed The Champ

Midwives threaten action
aboriginal act
truckers want concessions
that train has left the track

Sharks are found in Fundy
a prized but perilous catch
food we love to hate the most
an irrefutable batch

A family on the brink
I want my kids to fail!
politicians drains all hope
a ban on Israel

Follow out each headline
let the columns be your guide
all these things did happen
the day that Newhouse died
James Hodge Feb 2013
Once I had thought that wizards existed
and I was king of Persia.
I drew with chalk on the ground
and sang to the birds, thinking I could speak their tongue.
(In my mind...)
I could fly, far to distant lands.
I could morph into animals and warriors,
defending the Queen Grandma from the evil villain Grandpa.
(In my mind...)
Long ago, those dream were real.
There was no difference.
(In my mind...)
I was invincible.
(In my mind....)
Then life hit me.
(In my mind...)
Grandma and grandpa could no longer play horsey
and aged to a ripe old age.
I morphed into an adult, with bearded chin and hairy chest.
My wings were clipped and I was forever grounded.
(In my mind...)
The birds tweeted, and my chalk broke.
My crown was tossed into the bin with my childhood.
(In my mind...)
Wizards only exist in books. Persia is long gone.
Where did life go?
Give me my wings back.
Crown me again.
Let me fly high, let me be king again.
All of this, in my mind.
Death-throws May 2015
Dream me comatose
I am abandoned In my mind,
Spirits dance around  mans soul
bringing fire to his eyes.
And yet I dream here,
Comatose
With not a diamond in my eye,

Floating away from here
Comatose
with not a thought apon my mind,
I was told I was to hold my post
but apon the sword I  shall die,

Take my mind from here,
Like an albatross
Floating through the skies
Dont let me die here,
Comatose
alone with all but my mind
Brain dead is a hell of a way to go
Sofia Von Jul 2014
Cigarette smoke
Wheels no spokes
Board rollin down alleys
Late night skate
Let me escape
The life I never planned

Never on time
You best lower your expectations

Snortin molly in the bathroom
Chuggin ***** in the hall
I could be anywhere at all
But I’d still crawl
back to the clutches of dependence
I forfeited life's race in the first lap
Yet I'm still trapped
Coughing up blood
I strive for nothing

I don't want to feel
I long to be free
From society
Our culture has maxed out
So now everyone wants to shout
for help because what the world wants
Is unrealistic
We try to overdose
And become comatose
To drop all worries of material success
Those
Stacks on stacks on stacks
Racks on racks on racks
We forget
its just paper
Not what defines us

The rest is up to the people
To rise about the atmosphere
Of atoms and mold supportive molecules from the elements we're presented
Not corrected like a sent typo
To your mom
Or boss
Control
Is unattainable
Fathom the slack of a slacker
Loosen your ropes
And walk the plank
With no hopes of disaster nor triumph
Determined
To just be
I wouldn't say this is old but it's from a good set of months ago.
pascal Oct 2012
one day you'll pick the shortest straw in the stack
and this time i wont be there
i hate the way you have me on this string
like a spider spinning a lonely web
i'm waiting for you to have me for your dinner
but you just keep on keeping on with the others
i can't wait anymore countless years
opportunities pass me by
opportunities pass my eyes
though time flies
i can't get past this hurtle of you
i can't wait anymore years for you to decide to cover my body in your love
like a spider on a string
lost in your comatose
lost in your sunken vegetated eyes
too comfortable in her arms
your name rings in my head like an alarm clock that wont shut off
i have never accepted so much unintentional mental abuse
yet i still find myself at your side everytime
opportunities pass me by
opportunities pass my eyes
though time flies
i can't get past this hurtle of you
i can't wait anymore years for you to decide to cover my body in your love
like a spider on a string
lost in your comatose
lost in your sunken vegetated eyes
too comfortable in her arms
Andrew Rueter May 2017
Gather 'round children
To hear the story of
Obsessionman
Our extremely watchful protector

Bitten by a radioactive trumpeter at a young age
He obtained the super power
Of constantly thinking about the moment he was bitten
His power only grew stronger with time
When people told him his power was ****
His power grew
When people mentioned the toxicity of his radioactive waste
His power grew
And when he encountered his arch nemesis; the trumpeter
Everything grew

You should've seen how fast he flew
He soared quicker than
All the ******* he had once considered important
But when flying at such high velocities
Civilians become interlopers
And interlopers become super villains
Which is no laughing matter
Aquaman went comatose
And Comaman got aqua toes
Sacrifices we were willing to make
But then God intervened
And Obsessionman ***** Him
Which we all agreed was kind of ****** up
Decidedly so...

I mean...
What can you say about your hero when he ***** God?
But that's the beauty of Obsessionman
All he requires from us
Is our disgust, indifference, and hatred
To feed his strength
Until the day he is powerful enough
To fulfill his destiny
And face his arch nemesis
The trumpeter
Äŧül Sep 2013
I have known this much talked about search for true love for over 10 years and I am aged 22 years now. There was this unforgiving loneliness till I was 17 years of age given that I am the only child of my parents who lives with them in a lonely campus of a research institute away from the small city.

A tumultuous relationship filled with resentment to the brim about my parents keeping me their only 'issue' was brought to the hilt and I was weary of being their arguably most beloved 'machine' who was supposed to live sticking to the 'guidelines' laid by them as the ideal only son.

We aren't from a landlord's family and have limited resources, so I was supposed to suffice in my parents' love and affection, studying at a fairly consistent dedication to bring forth the results worthwhile landing me a good job.

But who has been able to control a Romeo-in-the-making?

Answer: Nobody!

But my Juliet wasn't yet on the horizon till age 17, when I mistakenly took my first girlfriend who was my classmate till class 7, to be my last love. Period. Then for the first time I was introduced to the idea of 'love' by this sweet girl whom I dub "G3" over 11 months elder to me. I had proposed her, but it was not a pre-emptive proposal.

Our period of courtship had started over Orkut which was the most popular social website at that time. It was just friendship initially until I had unsuccessfully proposed two bimbets other than my first girlfriend. One of those two unsuccessful attempts was with her best-friend-once-upon-a-time.

I had told her about them both, she had even tried apparently helping me propose her best friend when I had told her that I had even written a song for my childhood crush over the years I had been away from my old school.

Her first reaction was, "I would die for having such a boyfriend! Wish it was I for whom the song was composed."

Then when I proposed my childhood crush, G1, I couldn't even mention about the song and she rejected my proposal. Period. I was distraught, I was broken & I was amazed at how easily she could've undermined my liking for her from the past 7 years.

To take my attention off the disappointment posed by my first rejection. I proposed a different girl, G2, non-seriously, knowing that another rejection was lurking behind the curtains of time.

Rejection 2 successfully diverted my mind away from the mess created. Anyways, I did have a girlfriend for myself. After all, people love guys who sing melodiously and can play guitar apart from having decent appearance, and believe me- I used to look this chocolatey young guy until I was 19 years of age.

The girl who later went on to have the place vacated by my first crush was her same best-friend-once-upon-a-time 'G3'. She went on varied lengths in narrating her own break-up story with the guy she was with. I got a second-hand  piece as my first girlfriend. It was no issues, at least till she was bickering about how he had broken her 'heart-of-a-self-proclaimed-princess' and we started having arguments and serious tiffs over what had been happening in her life.

We broke-up. I had enough of the hardships brought by myself upon her. She had taken to crying harshly over phone. I resented myself. I failed to identify that it was not true love indeed but only a mirage of the idea.

I next concentrated in studies and this time I prevailed over the hurdles offered by examinations and a second girlfriend, 'G4', who refused to openly accept she was going about with me was attracted to me. She'd go see the Taj Mahal at Agra and the Hawa Mahal at Jaipur with me apart from spending the night in the same hotel room but would still reckon me with my pending reappear supplementary exams and wouldn't openly accept a failure as her man. I was frustrated by her autocratic behaviour and opted for a different girl, 'G5'.

G5 was the prettiest of my first 3 GF's as far as looks were considered. We romanced around Delhi's historical places and malls; holding hands around cinemas and Old Fort walls in New Delhi. But still I was as ****** as I was when I was born.

May 7, 2010 was a scorching hot day with the sun ablaze overhead and me going on the busiest highway of India. I was going back to my home and met with a serious road accident en route that kicked me out of my senses into a frozen comatose state.

I somehow survived the life-threatening coma and was moving around in 52 long weeks, limping heavily all thanks to my parents and the kind physiotherapist. Thanks to a poor memory, I initially performed extremely below average at college.

Then I was all prepared to attack at all future examinations and nothing could stop me. I breezed past another girl 'G6', this was my last failure. She was confused between me and a different guy. Neither me nor any other guy with a high self-prestige would entertain the idea of being weighed as an option. I again moved on.

Then comes the continuing story of my true love. True love is the one that lasts forever successfully. She is incidentally my 7th chance upon the love pathway and last. I am sure this is her- my soul-mate.

She is my gateway to the 7th heaven, I find her presence in every aspect of my life. She is 6 years and 9 months younger to me and her descent in my life has been the best thing in my life. I celebrate and rejoice each day in her presence. Our tastes are so similar that we feel merely our X- & Y-chromosomes are different.

We patiently wait for time to last till the day till we perish after blessing our grandchildren. We live 250 kilometres away from each other and have only known each other through voices and photos. We are yet to meet. Till then I wait for the day my master degree gets over and she gets into a medical college.

Now I will end this post by saying that there's no end of love and no beginning of it - you just have to wait, identify and hold on to your truest love.
http://www.relationshiptalk.net/in-search-of-the-truest-love-3677.html

Self-Note (Not to be forgotten): This was the last time you wrote about your past. But what's passed is past now and is meant to be forgotten. I really hope she reads the second-last paragraph duly and gives it due thought. 143 Creeps!
Keep breathing
keep breathing
keep breathing
keep breathing

birds flying over
a mountain
full of clovers
one red in a field of greens

wake up
wake up
wake up

hallucinations filling
imagine feeling
comatose
forget the life you chose
this is
an eternal comatose
eternal
coma
coma

keep breathing
zebra Mar 2018
my step mom comes over to my office intermittently
turns on the computer and opens the emails
in the dark of night
making all cheery bright and lighted for my mourning arrival

so kind of her
making sure things are ready to go
she always the epitome of efficiency

did i mention
she's been dead now for over 20 years

did i mention we are lovers
sadly never in the flesh
always an unspoken ache during the living years
when we where near
a relentless unrequited love still burning
like fire licks and scorching lips
trussed thighs spread wide
twisting swarms of wet tongues lapping
in each others bellies
and lungs
her feet in my mouth

so now free from others
the dead do what they **** well please
and on the slippery side of life
so do i
its about time!

did i mention her soft kisses
her dancimg *******
and soft round belly

didn't mean to get carried away again
or
the scent of her **** that veiled wet jewel
as she walked passed me
demon smiling innocence
sending me into a swoon
as she floated across a foot worn floor
with her beautiful pink angular toe
**** ticklers

am i repeating myself?

how sad i am that i never got on my knees
to brush my lips against her drool
to see her widen her haunches
inviting me; glaring madness
out the sides of her eyes

to work my way up
to her lurid dark fruit
hot ****  butter

your dead mom
but your here now
turning on the computer
and watching **** with me
dressed up for a hot blood
star spangled glitter ****
staring into my soul like only the dead can
taking positions the living could never imagine
oh my pretzel girl

we kiss reckless raw naked
all furious *** toys smushing raw mouths
and eat each other like hot apple bend over

yes mom so dark the things we do
that the living dare not ever think
blood suckers
yes my beloved
even die for each other sweetly
over and over again
lat minute kisses for the thin air road

dead and dead
in love in bed

that's how the breathless ****
all tender kisses
till hell breaks lose
till bloods **** pulse eschews
till all is lucid comatose ****
we enter heaven
stooping to hell for pleasures sake
letting go to
******'s purge
like waves from the cities of our guts
the sacred sin of the flesh

no taboos for ******* ghouls

and you once again turn hollow
a transparency
falling through my embrace like dust

will you come back tomorrow
turn on the computer
or better yet
maybe visit in a night dream of tangled caresses?

or
a day haunt
dancing leg show
in a smooth white pearl bath tub
stained with spider webs of coos
wild naked mouth
brooding slippery dark *******
and feral tongued kisses
red as wild cherry  blood
mouth to **** to **** to *** to *****
to cries and silver whispers
to be possessed?

sometimes love
never dies.
GS White Jan 2011
ONE
man sits in a pristine state of loneliness
his one heart in perfect singularity
waiting
to be found
not bothering to search
waiting to find himself
as a part
of
TWO
hands held
with two beats, the quiet
lub-dub of each of the
two hearts
slightly out of synchronization
overlapping
just a touch
so the two double beats
become a beat
of
THREE
perfect circles in descending sizes
in each of their
eyes
of which there are
FOUR
lip touches to say goodbye
because the first
would’ve been the last without the second,
the second wasn’t sufficient
and the third wasn’t enough  
and the fourth
would lead to kiss
number
FIVE
fingers locked
around
five
fingers
on the small of her back
and five fingers wrapped up in
his hair
he wishes he had more fingers to make the
hold stronger
he wishes
he had
SIX
syllables spoken between them
the same three words repeated
so they know
that
their hearts beat
a little bit closer
the veins and arteries
wrapping around the other
pulling it in
pulling the beats together
making them a little less
disjointed
but she’s all the nearer comatose,
her slow beats
in this minute
barely reached
SEVEN
sounds
that he counts
in every
minute
that he stands there
unable
to sit
his legs locked, shut
like her eyes
that he wants to stare into
he shakes
she does not stir
even as the sun climbs higher in the morning sky
she does not stir
he counts more sounds
every minute
he counts as they
go from
seven
to
EIGHT
arms and legs
wrapped like tentacles
wrapped so tight
never wanting to release
and show the red
suction marks
from each of their fingers
on the other’s
skin
like an octopus
their eight limbs
holding together
their one heart
it’s dull
lub-dub beat
in perfect synchronization
with itself
in the perfect opposite
of a pristine
state of loneliness
(c) GS White 2010
I gave her
My mind
To fill
I gave her
My heart
To drain,
I gave her
My love
To take take take,
And she took took took,
It was an
All she could take
Buffet
And I let her
As I gave gave gave
Never questioning
Never expecting
Never tabulating
A bill,
Even if she'll never
Ask for the check,
I'll never kick her out
I'll let her
Have her fill
Over and over
Maybe maybe
She'll find it all
Too delicious
And she'll sit there
Comatose
Never finishing her dessert
And she'll never walk out...
APAD13 - 066 © okpoet
apart at the seams
apart
        at the

yes

me split
ting

stretch of whatever
   wet
blobs     leave
a st     ain

break
ing
cra ck ing

a clay *** in a kiln

pieces of myself
fraz
     zled
myself

coarse
          to touch

making beetroot
   pentagons on thumbs

these rag ged
moments
    
   they cannot be undone
I have not won

they only go
   on
Written: September 2015.
Explanation: A poem written in my own time. All feedback welcome of course. A link to my Facebook writing page can be found on my HP home page.
NOTE: Many of my older pieces will be removed from HP in the coming months.

— The End —