"concussion" poems
Mason substaining an undisclosed injury
concussion against pittsburg
less time to think
Mason gets hit
Stunned
head buzzing
comeback produced
he wanted so bad since he was a kid
he wanted to play in the stanly cup playoffs
concussion
Apr 30, 2014
Apr 30, 2014 at 8:31 AM UTC
Mason substaining an undisclosed injury
concussion against pittsburg
less time to think
Mason gets hit
Stunned
head buzzing
comeback produced
he wanted so bad since he was a kid
he wanted to play in the stanly cup playoffs
when he trys to stand
he cant legs like jelly
concussion
Sep 24, 2014
Sep 24, 2014 at 12:09 PM UTC
my wrists still hurt more from your rough hands
pinning me to the floor,
than anything I've ever done to them before.
my head still aches more from screaming,
rather than by an old concussion lingering.
my eyes still cry and leak over,
but I'm not sure why anymore.
But as long as it's don't ask, don't tell,
I'll be fine.
Jan 19, 2015
Jan 19, 2015 at 5:42 PM UTC
With narrowed eyes
I glare out the window
Ridiculed
by the harsh beams of light
that glare back at me.
My ankles fidget
Shoulders lean forward
to see the unknowing plane
fly innocently overhead
and my bike
leaning unforgotten
against the rotting fence.
I stumble back
Spinning
In a whirring machine
that screeches and shudders
and thumps on the door
Can I come in?
Worried eyes flit my way
Take it easy
Like a fragile possession
Teetering on the edge
Crowds gather to catch
My faults
With walls binding me
I take comfort in darkness
It soothes my body
and warms my tears
but nourishes my fears
Aug 4, 2014
Aug 4, 2014 at 12:34 AM UTC
Touch me, I am fragile but I know I will not break. If you look at me long enough your eyes will start to water based on the saltiness of my skin because of the sea's I've swam to get to the place I'm in now. Open, closed, I've ran back and forth a hundred times, I am the weakest link and the leader of the group. If you sawed me in half you'd see three things: my barely pumping heart, a toxic amount of love, and a will to survive.
Touch me, but be gentle, because although I learnt to withstand even the deadliest of summer heat your cold heart isn't something my body is used too. Close your eyes, count to ten, am I on your mind? No. Throw me into the ocean. I'm no use to you then. It's cloudy but it doesn't rain, mid 70's but no humidity, my heart is sore, but I'm breathing. Oh god, I don't know how, but I will continue.
Touch me, be rough, ***** make it a melody and prove to me all I'm missing out on by not being enough for you. Afterward, I want a list of ten things I can change so that I will be enough for you. Make it a hundred if you have too, I just want to be enough for you. Staple it to my forehead, toss me in the ocean. I'm not here for your approval, only my own, and I don't think I'll be content in who I am until I'm something you think is worthwhile. Push me on the ground and kick me as hard as you can, make this pale skin your canvas, I want bruises and blood, six broken bones and a concussion to match. Make me hate you. Babe, all I've got is love.
Touch me, one last time, but don't let go until the end of this lifetime. This love became a competition long ago, and boy do I love to win. Tonight the universe spoke to me and it told me here is where I need to be, and I think it wants me to fight. Put on your armor, give me some weapons, I'm here for the long haul and I'm taking every prisoner I can. Touch me because I am weak and I need to learn to be strong so I can withstand this, 'cause baby this love feels like seeing a doctor coming towards you with a needle the size of your head, "oh don't worry sweetie this will only hurt a tad", ******** I still felt it a week after. But this one, **** I'll be lucky if it doesn't still sting in a year...
Touch me, please. I'm begging you. I need to feel alive, but you've been suffocating me and my heavy heart. How am I supposed to survive when loving you feels like death?
Nov 8, 2014
Nov 8, 2014 at 4:01 AM UTC
I'm a fan of Vontaze Burfict
Though he may not be perfect
For he gives players concussions
To continue the daily discussions
Of the power of his percussion
To receive a hall of fame induction
That is where his value is derived
So what do these penalties imply?
That the referees have a preconceived notion of him
And are preemptively looking to treat him grim
Which gives his team a lesser chance to win
Which makes the biased referees grin
We are a country that idolizes quarterbacks
Every other position we're quick to attack
We only care about who has the ball
And laughing at others when they fall
We worship that which is shiny
And view everything else as grimy
Quarterbacks become celebrities incredulously
While everyone else is treated impetuously
The NFL is like America
Politics makes it harder to watch
The Patriots are boring and plain
They win constantly
The Bengals are entertaining and rough around the edges
They show promise and potential that is never realized
In a nation
Of provocation
I'd rather proudly call myself a bengal
I know that seems an idealistic angle
But Cincinnati provides no coziness or protection
You must always avoid discriminate detection
Of those that call themselves patriots
That drive blue and white chariots
And penalize players unnecessarily
For African Americanning
We really fumbled the ball
Because of the ref's call
That treats us unequally
How they have fun evilly
They can arbitrarily treat whoever however
But a concussion will make them less clever
Nov 12, 2017
Nov 12, 2017 at 5:31 PM UTC
the other night,
i had a dream;
usually,
i don’t remember
my dreams—
those unconscious
musings
of my mind—
but this night
was different;
maybe it had
something to do
with the fact
that i had fallen
in the shower
half an hour
before laying it
down on the
pillow...
...a trickle of
blood running
down my forehead,
transforming quite
alarmingly into
a babbling brook
consisting entirely
of chocolate milk;
my raft bobbed
up and down,
the demon who
haunts my nightmares
now clad in a
tuxedo—
a nice change
from the bright
pink trench coat
he usually wears...
...the demon’s
strong hands
propel the
craft forward
with a rather
Huckleberry Finn-like
affectation;
i turn my
attention from
my oldest friend
to the shore,
sparkling with
broken glass,
thumbtacks,
and mathematical
equations;
there,
i glimpse my classmates
doing burpees...
...suddenly,
a car crash
occurs;
the chocolate milk
becomes a very
narrow,
winding road,
the end of which
is obscured by
an angsty cloud
of disappointment;
the elevator
plummets horizontally toward
the 3rd sub-basement
of the shower;
my friend in
the tuxedo offers me
a steaming
cup of hot chocolate...
...which burned
my tongue,
causing me to cackle
wildly
and toss the
mug into the
abyss;
**** you cup!”
i scream,
utilizing my
full lung capacity
as i begin to
fall again,
down,
down,
down;
and then i was awake,
sweating, bleeding;
i may have a concussion...
Dec 13, 2018
Dec 13, 2018 at 3:37 PM UTC
Psychopath, questioned and played with, complex mind games with
Paper fortune tellers and crystal ***** utilized by con artists.
Chrome decorated room filled with trippy, grippy, grabby men
With blue cats swimming around their head. Coherent words do not exist to them.
Sucrose breaks you down, sweet creature, and thieves the antimatter in your empty scull.
Your favorite song no longer passes through your hollow ears.
Notes and the beats... A heartbeat. The thrum of a low piano key in a house supposed
To be isolated and abandoned. You are not alone here, child.
The demons summoned her because of the lettered board between a mattress
And box spring. The springs are broken from too much activity,
Don't jump on the soiled mattress. That's how you receive punishment.
But one without two does not match the storybook your mother read to you.
The nauseating tale of role,play and ********** Everyone knows the story, seen the Disney.
You can run, but you can't hide from the memories of horrible visions
Given to you by the gods. Hold on, child. You will grow to be a man one day
Despite the nightmare of being a wolf child who clawed his way out of his mothers womb.
Jolt and sweat, forgotten top bunk , and a concussion;
The dreams are back. The recurring realities of a twin long lost, but somehow inside.
Dream catchers don't make the callback list, can't act for the life of them, but
They are beautiful against the scenery.
A porcelain doll holds the demon that hacked my system and took controll of my history,
And once again, she takes my place, fooling everyone into thinking I am here
When, in reality, I am buried six feet under.
Blood dribbles from the letters chilled into my stone, I curl and let them add more letters into
My back to symbolize the life I led. The collection of poems I wrote about you are the ones they
Cut into the skin on my legs, permanent reminders of what I have felt.
"What have you felt?"
Dec 17, 2013
Dec 17, 2013 at 10:13 AM UTC
I never had many friends
I was always late to school
Ate lunch alone
Maintained grades pretty well
Graduated
Lived at the same place
Moved schools to a 3 year middle time
Became captain on a basketball team
Maintained grades pretty well
Heart Broken
They took my dreams
They threw them down
Past my knees and below my feet
No school no school no school
Good grades and school dreams shot down
From there even after some injuries
I went downhill
Like I did when I gained a concussion
I fell and smacked the floor
Point blank like a gun at a shooting range
High school in black and white
No friends and only anxiety attacks
No more sports teams or good grades
Skipping class my attendance was doomed
Moving along as if hurdles were in my way
Hospitalized twice and almost once before
Scarred waist and black decay
Tear stains throughout the night
When I could only lay awake
Words trapped inside, my mouth a cage
Summer smoking gone by now in 10th grade
Two attempts
Sleeping day and night
No attendance period throughout the day
Grades and mind slain
Semesters slipping away like life
Passed one regents of which previously I failed
Grades go in I start trying again
I attend full fledged new meds
Passing grades like a miracle
Slowly falling behind
Broken thoughts along the night
Slipping away like the shadows in the light
Stopped going to school again
But why? I feel no pain
No grades nor attendance
No improvement no getting out of bed
The meds aren't helping
I only feel, there are no thoughts in my head
Ruining my future must repeat 10th grade
Getting worse no emotions
Going back to the way I was before
No friends no trust
Regret fills my veins people are going away
They must know that I'm not immune to all pain
May 27, 2015
May 27, 2015 at 9:31 PM UTC
The drums' pounding sounds
echo deep in my chest
rattling my rib cage
a new heart beat is found.
I surge with the crowd
dealing with the push and pull
like it was the ocean.
Well we were on Ocean Avenue
So it sort of was.
People are being held above the surging waters
like boats floating on treacherous seas.
One boat emerges from the depths behind me
One that I did not see.
The next thing I knew
the head of the boat had hit me
connecting with the back of my head.
I turned around quickly
and pushed the boat along,
but by then the damage was already done.
I sang and danced to every song
Unaware until later of my new concussion.
Aug 5, 2018
Aug 5, 2018 at 4:39 PM UTC
My father was not good to his body when he was younger.
The smoking and drinking and snorting and fighting and drinking and crashes and drinking were not good for him.
My father was not good to his body when he was younger.
One summer, when he was 16, everyday he would take a bottle of wine from his mother's liquor cabinet, buy a pack of cigarettes at the corner store, meet up with his friend Mario, who also stole a bottle of wine, and together they would ride down to the river and smoke and drink and swim. Everyday, for a full 1970's summer they did this.
And now he tells me, that at the time they were having fun and they were not worried about money or addictions or the future.
They were just having fun.
My father was not good to his body when he was younger.
One day, in the dead of fall 1981, he and his friends Mario, Mark, ****** and John all got together at Mark's apartment on the corner of 51st and Diablo boulevard. They hit the town, drank, snuck into movie theatres, harassed girls and had a good time. They returned to Mark's apartment at 2 am and thought it a good idea to steal Mark's mom's new car. They decided to go to Reno.
Driving, as my dad put it, well above the speed limit on Highway 49, they collided head on with a big rig. There were no fatalities but my dad broke his shoulder and suffered a minor concussion. Mark's mom chose to not press charges nor did the driver of the big rig. The next day my father was back at work, refusing to adhere to the doctor's orders of taking it easy and wearing a soft cast, entrapping his left arm against his chest, climbing under cars, changing oil, and repairing engines.
My father was not good to his body when he was younger.
One cold winter's day, in December of '82, my father's ever faithful companion, Mario, picked my father and his dog, Wimpy, up and they drove over to a small burger joint named Big A's. My father ordered two bacon cheeseburgers and a large rootbeer. Mario got the same, only with a single bacon cheeseburger. My father father gave his second bacon cheeseburger to his pitbull Wimpy.
My father was better to his dog than he was to his own body.
Now, my father coughs himself to sleep every night, and has chronic bronchitis. His liver and kidneys are shot and he plans to not live passed sixty. He will be turning fifty in two weeks.
My father was not good to his body when he was younger.
Feb 27, 2013
Feb 27, 2013 at 12:04 AM UTC
Never have i felt
So much pain
Explosion after explosion
Of pain
My head feels too heavy
For my weary neck
My stomach churns
And i cant eat
or sleep
I cant think
without my mind hurting
Every light now
even at its dmmest
Is too bright
And it hurts
and noise now
Kills me inside
Theres just too much noise
Im so scatter brained
Nothing makes sense
I cant remember anything
And it scares me
I cant do anything
And i hate it
I cant move
Or ill hurt
But i hurt
If i dont move
Torture pure torture
Thats what this is
God help me please
I just dont know
How i will get through this
If im alone
Laying in the darkness and silence
That has become
My only friend
Nov 1, 2012
Nov 1, 2012 at 3:00 PM UTC
People seem to say, "Oh, it's totally fake!"
"Why would you believe anything you see them do?"
"It's all acting."
And that isn't entirely true, at all, but many people won't believe me.
Now, don't tell me I'm wrong, because this is my opinion.
I won't say you're right or wrong in thinking wrestling is fake.
All I'll say is, if you think it's completely fake, then I disagree.
And here's why.
I always ask those I talk to about this the same question.
I ask, "If wrestling is fake, then why do people actually get hurt?"
Then I say, "If wrestling wasn't real, then people would never get injuries that either cost them a few months, or force them to retire."
The reason why I always say this, is because wrestling isn't a joke.
I see people actually get hurt because they botch a move, or land wrong.
I've seen punches and kicks actually connect, and cause someone to get a concussion.
I've seen people get dislocations and broken bones, and wonder how long they'll be out for.
Sure, there are things that can be overexaggerated.
And I won't doubt that injuries can be purely storyline driven.
But, when the person is actually hurt, and needs surgery, how can you call that fake?
How is it fake if the injury causes someone to have to hang up their boots for a while, and go into physical therapy to recover?
How is it fake if it can cost people their careers, or their lives?
Remember what happened to Owen Hart?
He was supposed to come down from the ceiling, but the thing broke, and he fell all the way down to the ring.
People didn't know whether it was real or not, but he ended up dying from injuries sustained from that fall that same night.
Wrestling isn't fake, but it is scripted.
The storylines are scripted, I don't doubt that for a minute.
There are many wrestlers who have feuds on camera, but are friends behind the scenes.
There are people who act like heels, but are the nicest people you'll ever meet, or the other way around.
Mistakes are real, and the bumps they take will actually hurt.
There are things you can fake, and it does take acting in order to portray the right emotion.
But when someone breaks something while wrestling, and is out for a long period of time due to surgery and recovery, then it's hard for me to believe for a second that it's completely fake.
I prefer scripted, so that's what I call it.
Raw is on tonight, so I had this thought in my head, and decided to get it out.
Okay, that's my library post of the day.
I'll talk about something else tomorrow, or the same thing, I don't know.
I just write whatever I feel like, and I thought about this, so I wrote it.
See you tomorrow, bye!
Oct 1, 2018
Oct 1, 2018 at 1:25 PM UTC
stay
fight
cataclysm
summary
resistant
eyebrow
crackle
dinner
fishhook
blunt
tribute
margarine
widow
****
scar
glory
elephant
planet
swallow
forget
blanket
fear
smooth
black
vent
curvy
translation
smooth
warrant
concussion
fluid
red
airway
postmark
testament
carpet
denial
flex
touch
real
married
armchair
sink
ebb
soft
touché
foam
stone
float
torn
away
see
tremor
marrow
bright
side
god
deep
hurry
inject
wither
moon
noun
full
stop
wild
year
done
everyone
enough
disco
skin
same
dream
chest
roses
proof
tacit
dire
soul
posit
wide
shy
city
run
Mar 19, 2013
Mar 19, 2013 at 11:52 AM UTC
i tried to **** myself
and two days later i got a concussion from a car accident
everybody asked me "how's your head?"
and i said "fine"
but i thought about how no one normally asked me about the state of my head
because i was not fine
i was not fine
concussions aren't the only things that can be wrong with your brain
but why does nobody ask you about them?
Feb 2, 2015
Feb 2, 2015 at 10:55 PM UTC
*It's been going on three years now,
It gets worse and I talk about it less.
Three years of swimming upstream
In a river of cognitive stress.
I don't recall what it's like
To feel rested after a restful night.
I don't remember not feeling high
Simply because all of the lights are too bright.
Friends presume that all is well
But it hinders me every day.
It is a dim room with stagnant air.
Grey clouds that never change.
I can't keep up anymore,
It's far too much of a strain,
Ever since the incident long ago
That bludgeoned and blunted my brain.
I trudge through every day
Shoes weighted with lead.
It feels like a dream
Because it's all in my head.*
Aug 12, 2016
Aug 12, 2016 at 6:58 PM UTC
Nobody ever talks about how the rain turns soil into mud;
how precaution tangoes
on the soles of your rain boots and
one misstep could lead to a concussion;
damage,
or a little scrape on the knee.
Nobody ever talks about
how caged birds sometimes forget
how to fly.
Mundane gestures marinated
as “special”
instead of something one ought to do.
He’s forgotten how to make her laugh.
When he says “baby”,
she could almost hear the anchor
pulling down the sincerity
in his voice box
along with the word “sorry”
and “sweetie, im never gonna hurt you again”
where his voice begin to crack
like tectonic plates that supported his
ego—
when he says “i love you”
nobody ever talks about the barriers
on beds and ******* and fetishes
to which the extent
of the phrase lies—
His i love yous were starting
to sound like a beg for ***
and his i love yous fade out
when he gets what he wants.
He gets what he wants.
Jun 20, 2018
Jun 20, 2018 at 2:31 PM UTC
Life is not easy like almost everyone thinks it is. My mom always told me that life isn’t easy, kids just have it easy. I didn’t believe her, I fought with her all the time, and sometimes it got physical. I hated living with my mom, and I wanted to have my own rules, like almost every teenager. So I started leaving and going with my friends, and running the streets all day and all night, not going to school, not even caring what I was missing, I just knew I was free. I had no rules, no consequences, and nothing going for myself.
I was a goody-goody, I did the right things, I went to school, I didn’t do anything to harm myself. I remember those days, and I thrived for a do-over. I've heard things, that I wouldn't dream of repeating to my mother. I've seen things that no other person should have to see. I've seen people doing things that I prayed every night, that I wouldn't get caught up in. I worried that I would make all the wrong choices, and mess my entire life up, beyond return. I thought I knew what I was doing, but I guess my mom was right. School had no value to me anymore. I didn't want to be in this town I'm supposed to call "home”. I didn't want to be anywhere. I bluntly admitted to my mother that I was contemplating suicide.
My mother made me move with my dad in Buckfield, and I went. I went back to my moms for the balloon festival. But, two days before the festival, my dad made me come back to his house. I told my dad that I was going back to my moms, him and his girlfriend freaked out. They started restraining me from leaving, by grabbing the collar of my shirt, and therefore choking me. My dad pushed me to the floor, sat on top of me, shoving my face into the floor, and was screaming “What kind of drugs are you on?” I’m going to be 100% honest, I have been verbally, emotionally, physically, and sexually abused. I’ve been slapped across the face by my mom’s ex-husband, on multiple occasions. He’s almost given me a concussion, from shoving me against the wall. Like I have said, life is not easy… Life is not fair. But, had I not been through everything that I have been through, I wouldn’t be the way I am. I may have gone through hard times, a lot of them at that, but it’s made me strong and independent. I’ve had some really good friends who support and love me, I have had really good family friends that have helped me be who I am today. I am now really close to my mom, I am home all the time, I go to school all day everyday. In the past couple months, I turned my life around. Don’t make the same mistakes I did. Life is not easy that way, you need school, you need friends and family. As much as you may think you don’t need family, you do. It’s is what helps you get through your everyday struggle.
Jun 9, 2015
Jun 9, 2015 at 8:17 AM UTC
My temples pummel out
A throbbing skull
Drumming on my edges
Cracked bruises
Hidden underneath my hair
No one sees my pain
Feeling dismissed by perceived delusions
Neglect brings forth intensified loneliness
A mystery unable to solve
Potential brain damage
Resting in purgatory
Along the coastline of denial
Where I appear all right
Until another concussion
Drags me to this tide
Wanting to end my life
As I drown to the chilly depth
Wondering why my husband
Hasn't thrown me a life jacket
He tires of my imperfections
As do I….
Severity thrown under
The boat of exaggeration
No one understands my head's sensitivity
Not even me
The judgements of being weak
Of not being careful
Arguments against enjoying life
I am brought to a surplus of cries
Aching sobs swim
In my damaged head
I'm confused and lines are blurred
I'm scared and can't remember
Noises storm
Inside my ears transmitting corruption
Comatose movements
Ambushed by swelling spastic vibrations
Blinding light
Striking serrated razors between my eyes
Weighted head
Seeks detachment from its guardian
How I wish people saw this concussion for what it is
© Jl 2016
Feb 26, 2016
Feb 26, 2016 at 1:46 PM UTC
6 months
23 different treatments
15 different medicines
nothing, nada, nope, no results.
The pain in my head
is not one I'd ever wish on anyone,
not even my worst enemy.
A migraine
every second
of
every day
even while sleeping
is something no one should endure
I dream about headaches... is that weird?
ouch. agh. ugh.
it's been 6 months, non-stop of people saying:
"time is the best medicine"
"don't lose hope"
"you're young, young minds heal fast."
but my favorite:
"Laila, I promise, you'll be better in a week"
Well doc, it's been 23 weeks, what's up?
honestly,
it's now a joking matter.
one of which I laugh with my friends about
I laugh at the fact that I don't remember 95% of the last 6 months
Not because I find it humorous
but because I've been given 23 different "Laila, I'm telling you this "insert treatment here" will work! It works for 99% of the people that do it."
I am the 1%
ha.
actually, I'm in the .25% of teens still experiencing concussion- related symptoms after 6 months of the hit.
Yay for minorities!
and now,
get this,
my treatment
after spending thousands on hyperbaric chambers, freaky boulderite "healing gods", gag-worthy chinese herbs
is yoga.
Apr 10, 2014
Apr 10, 2014 at 11:31 AM UTC
Epileptic light,
A hundred voices,
One song,
Unenthusiastic dance,
Upon rolling, heaving floor,
Chemical powered wonder,
Takes me away from myself,
Piling pleasure on shame,
No sound through ringing ears,
Only the silence
Of too many people.
Apr 7, 2013
Apr 7, 2013 at 7:11 PM UTC
I can’t stop
Another day I starve myself
I can’t stop
Another day I abuse my body
I can’t stop
Another day I tear pieces of my flesh away with nails and teeth
I can’t stop
Another day I lose myself to my voices
I can’t stop
Another day I won’t let myself rest
I can’t stop
Another day I inhale toxic gases
I can’t stop
Another day I write a poem because no one would listen
I can’t stop
Another day I cry and break down, all alone
I can’t stop
Another day I can’t bear my own reflection
I can’t stop
Another day I realise that I’m all Daddy has
I can’t stop
Another day I think about his death
I can’t stop
Another day I claim to be fine
I can’t stop
Another day I sacrifice my being for someone who’s not me
I can’t stop
Another day I scold me for my imperfections
I can’t stop
Another day I give myself the things I deserve
I can’t stop
Another day I feel drawn to a knife’s sharp edge
I can’t stop
Another day I think of falling off a cliff
I can’t stop
Another day I think of the inevitable
I can’t stop
Another day I collapse due to physical and mental exhaustion
I can’t stop
Another day I overwork myself because of expectations
I can’t stop
Another day I wake up to find I’m still alive
I can’t stop
Another day I believe my delusions
I can’t stop
Another day my train of taught halts
I can’t stop
Another day I think of how disappointing I am
I can’t stop
Another day I feel out-of-place
I can’t stop
Another day I wish I wasn’t born
I can’t stop
Another day I try to put you out your misery
I can’t stop
Another day I scare myself
I can’t stop
Another day I use my fists and a wall to inflict damage to my skull
I can’t stop
Another day I enjoy peace in my concussion
I can’t stop
Another day I have an existential crisis
I can’t stop
Another day I wait for my healing
I can’t stop
Another day I wish my heart wasn’t beating
I can’t stop
Because it never stops
Feb 18, 2019
Feb 18, 2019 at 6:31 PM UTC
My brain seems to get more damaged each day
These unstoppable rays of sunshine leave me in a haze
I'm amazed that I'm able to function
I'm stuck in between an unthinkable junction
That makes me wonder if life is all its cracked up to be
I sit in darkness with my hands over my forehead
And let the pain and my brain duke it out
I pass out from exhaustion never to find out who wins
Great battles happen between my eyes
And believe me
These explosions look better in movies
My vision goes in and out like when you blink rapidly
Clear
Blurry
Distorted
I don't even know what I'm looking at anymore
They say when you fall you should get back up
Believe me if my body remembered gravity I would stand on my own two feet
Without questioning the laws of physics
I could just stand without thinking the world was wobbly
Brain damage will hopefully damage the memories that I hold
Because a little memory loss might do my heart some good
This concussion does not play around
Each day makes me lose ground
My emotions plummet and then sore to the sky
Light and noise make it so my thoughts freeze and my heart skips a beat
Whatever is going on in my head
Won't let me sleep
Writing this was a struggle
My writing is becoming painful
Jun 27, 2014
Jun 27, 2014 at 10:29 PM UTC
I have long sought quiet.
And please, let me be clear: quiet.
Not the quietus Hamlet desired,
No “consummation devoutly to be wished” for me.
No, with or without a bare bayonet,
UNBEINGNESS is hardly what I seek.
It is not the predicament of death,
But the quiet spectacle of the grave I envy.
Originally a city mouse,
I am familiar with the urban soundscape.
I know city noise, amped up in decibels.
Noise-induced stress, shrill and enervating,
Add to the mix a working-class neighborhood,
Where someone is always hammering,
Using a power tool of some kind,
Repairing, improving an older, somewhat decrepit home;
But a steal as the realtors say.
Or vehicles, like Old Havana relics,
Held together by secular prayer,
And thriving underground Cuban capitalism.
Then just for fun: *"Let’s send the son of a ***** to war."*
Tympanic membranes be wary and be ******
Stretched and perforated,
Compressed and torn,
Shredded like wheat.
Pummeled by shock wave.
I was Lear wandering the heath,
Your ass-cheeks cracked:
*“Cataracts and hurricanes . . .
Oak-cleaving thunderbolts . . .
Sulphurour and thought-executing fires . . .
Singe my white head!”*
Cue Cabaret music (Cabaret (1972) - IMDb www.imdb.com/title/tt0068327): “Willkommen, bienvenue, welcome . . . to Indochine,”
First a Weimar-Saigon suckee-fuckee,
Then out to *The ****
Mind-numbing concussion,
Reek of jellied gasoline,
Charred meat,
Assorted red entrails,
Obliteration of thought complete.
Jun 27, 2015
Jun 27, 2015 at 8:48 PM UTC