"consecutively" poems
I play with fire
And I dance with Death
A twirl and a spin and a blade swings recklessly.
"Do you not care about others ", they ask consecutively.
"Do you think before you act", they ask disrespectfully.
My own reality an asylum
My mind makes liberal
My words can change you or me
"Your words are absent " , they'll disagree
"You make no sense", they'll only see
To much to handle like a crushing bridge
Bounds break like broken ribs
Without either things cease to exist
I walked upon a borderline path
I can't decipher , am I a Psychopath
Aug 16, 2015
Aug 16, 2015 at 3:30 AM UTC
*The day I stop dreaming
is when I started my progress…
I never really understood to why, oh why
do we have to start a living?
In the city of progress, I became the mindless puppet
Of what we call ‘the clichés of society’
FOR NOW - I’m totally blind in all five senses
to where my love should be place in…
From a specific today, I am robbed for my silence
Totally alone never wanted nor even needed
Conceivably A misplaced person in a ‘crazy world’
- or it is just me who thinks this way.
Sometimes I would think no one would ever really captured
- ‘the essence of my heart’
Or probably it was just me, who never did take noticed.
Guessing I am too
- Perverse to feel anything within the walls of my five senses.
Despite everything else, I understood how Society lives by.
The imaginable ways it burdens and pleasure in
–> Giving –> Receiving –> Showing –> US
how life works with their walls.
I could never blame how our world becomes a harsh place,
Yet I could took the blame on US
or our humanity is too faulty consecutively.
Too many Securities from any Insecurities.
Walls upon Wall of their Owning Glory,
Almost nothing is free.
So I stand chained from cultural responsibilities,
for we were made to think this way.
Ashamed of what I discovered
So I hide in the covers of my pen
To write, just write,
A Written voice for the fallen..
*
Jun 15, 2015
Jun 15, 2015 at 2:27 AM UTC
Everything is happening so quickly
so many negatives surpassing the
insignificant glimpse of positives
that never seem to suffice,
there’s always this light at the
end of the tunnel that everyone
speaks of, yet i continue to see darkness;
a journey down this long tunnel brings
no illumination but only a continuance
of nihility, the damp walls
seem to bring the chill humidity
closer and closer with each step,
the droplets echo the narrowing,
flickering lights dissipate at passing,
the gag sparking stench of sewage
and ***** make the voyage to
light even more unbearable than the
previous hesitant inching towards
the so called spoken about bearability of life,
sudden scintillations of light bring sight
of russet, worn doors, consecutively placed,
discoloured of crimson roadkill,
I open the first door and see a woman
tied and bound, gag in throat,
beads of sweat turning the white gag
to watered milk,
the dirt beneath her nails entwines with skin
and blood dredged by her own fingertips,
to front is a tray of what seems like
torture tools
*intrigued, I slam the door
and avoid a kiss
from Judas*
The next door, I open and see a man
sitting facing the corner,
wrapped in a flickering fan,
staring at a wall of carvings of ticks and dashes,
to see arms of cuts and gashes,
with a tray next to him
comprised of razors and knives
he sits picking at skin of bruises and hives,
tempted to grab the tool and corrode self,
with the reflection of whats within, I slam the door
and avoid
Finally the third door
eagerly stares to
me with anticipation boiling veins,
I press my ear to foreshadow,
I hear a cries; a man of hatred
and a woman of pain
I open the door and find a bottle of whiskey
I take a swig and feel as if Judas kissed me,
Within the third door; walls
with peepholes to confirm the calls
on the left I see the sliding knife
over-panting roadmaps of russet to
the neck of the bound woman,
the screams are deafening,
they present a vibration,
stuttering thoughts, and releasing the fixation,
prompting the admiration
to view the second door,
I see myself, in door 2
tremors and convulsions
seeing blood expel every vein
as the verticals
halt oxygen to the brain
Departure brings me
to the abysmal realm of society
where the burden of negativity
proves to provide no proof towards what
differs between the endless, narrow
tunnel-visioned cesspool of bone marrow
and psychosis driven visions and the
narrow pathed voyage of life.
Oct 25, 2015
Oct 25, 2015 at 1:37 PM UTC
when you left me
I felt lost
I drove myself crazy
I called you 27 times consecutively knowing that each time you were going to send me to voicemail
I had to move on by myself
with no closure at all
It hurt every single day
there was not a night that would go by that I wouldn't think about you and just cry
for a very long time, it was that way
then I finally found a light
I wasn't sad anymore
at least not over you
but now you're back
pleading
saying sorry
"sorry I made you fall with no intention of catching you.."
but what am I suppose to say?
It's okay?
Because it is not okay
you made me sad for a very long time
I did think about you from time to time
but those days are over
now it's your turn
It's your turn to cry
Jan 5, 2016
Jan 5, 2016 at 4:55 PM UTC
That was the night I took eighty pills-
consecutively.
The next morning I was late for college, and missed the train.
There was a lump in my throat from where the pills still seemed to be.
My stomach was full of pills, so I had black coffee for breakfast.
I looked at the train tracks and sought it would have been less painful to be lying there than sitting with these pills in me.
That was the day there was a solar eclipse,
and I couldn't care less.
But nor could anyone else,
about the way I felt.
Or didn't at all.
That day I sat in class and the boy I pretended to have a crush on,
heightened my anxiety.
I left the room and my teacher never did the task she had set again,
She thought it triggered my anxiety.
The boy didn't notice when I left.
That was the day my mum drove me home, an hour from college,
and I slept in the car.
It was the day my new job rang me about my first shift.
I spent the day on the sofa, thinking:
About the boy in my class;
the pills in my stomach;
If he would find out I was drawn to him;
and if anyone would find out about the pills.
A week later my friend found out, and told me to go to the hospital.
But I didn't.
The boy never found out,
because I never said a word,
and never felt a thing.
Nov 15, 2015
Nov 15, 2015 at 12:26 PM UTC
it's odd
when you've been best friends with someone consecutively for the past three years
or so
and then someone else
to whom which you'd never thought you'd expect
starts making their way up in the "ranks"
not saying that I "rank" my friends
I'm not that much of a ****
but saying that
there's someone
who for some reason continues to take time
out of their precious day
just to make you smile.
and oddly enough it doesn't feel intrusive whatsoever
but it just feels
sweet.
i don't know.
maybe I'm too soft.
or maybe I'm finally recognizing what I need.
Jun 19, 2015
Jun 19, 2015 at 10:14 PM UTC
How to make friends over a beer
How to make any modest room beautiful with fairy lights
How to consecutively loose three university ID cards, replace them and then simultaneously find all three misplaced cards in the bottom of the same bag.
How to blag your way onto the university bus without ID
How to make a family out of your friends
When to give constructive criticism.
When to hit the cafeteria for discounted lunch items
When to let house mates off for making the kitchen a **** tip
When to realise that the reason your soreen cake keeps going missing from you food cupboard is not in fact because there are some soreen cake loving mice, it is in fact just your house mate who “just thought you weren’t going to eat it”
When to plant an onion in hopes of an onion tree.
Where to kick a corrugated door for a taxi
Where to get the best tray of jalapeños
Where to get a magic tenner
Where to sit in the lecture hall so you could only be partially seen
Where to find your confidence
Knowing I’ll never be able to pay off my university debt
But knowing it was priceless
Feb 24, 2021
Feb 24, 2021 at 5:05 AM UTC
2 drops of tear
Travel down her side eye
Flowing consecutively on a loop
Yet falling into oblivion
Breaking free from her once ethereal sockets
As the icy sideline waves ravage her mind
Consuming every evidence of hope she once embodied
Trapped she is beneath layers of ice
Ice so thick to break through
Yet clear enough so you know she is there.
2 drops of tear
(O once upon a time they were)
Fall not from his side eye
Deposit instead in the reservoir of him
Quietly wearing away the gypsum norms on which he stands
Like the Mosul Dam o he knows
Still his paintbrush daily he holds
Laminating his façade in fifty shades of hegemony blue.
©Belema.S.Ekine
Apr 7, 2017
Apr 7, 2017 at 12:01 PM UTC
he is five in one
she is consecutively
one two three
changing
pitch
treble
pressure
intensity
to fit perfectly
in his one
composing time
one divides to
all the replaceable and irreplaceable
limit approaches to infinity
parabolic ends stretch
at both ends
of all planes
at all frequencies
while
delivery
these two
shall not see
or hear
which of which
they themselves
be
their love making
the lance of
the invincible shape
bends the universe
to embody
the immutable verse
the supreme sound
where
none is
the undefined bearer
of the material
of love
of one
where
lovers
sacrifice themselves
for each other
within each other
become
a material of generations
to be activated by
a conscious flash
just a Joker!
reborn
from a hum
and
Alas!
the cycle of time.
Jan 4, 2015
Jan 4, 2015 at 12:00 PM UTC
I’ve manifested
an after midnight symphony,
looping mp3’s of my own eulogies
and consecutively callousing
and shaking hands with death,
the feeling brings a paradox of
finding warmth in cold palms
and it cuts between relation and
addiction to a palpable misery,
shot glasses of blood trying to make
home in my throat
drawing *****
and neglecting to force
warmth back inside,
left cold
and red hands ramble
abstract frigidness
on a livid mess mimicking
a sorry excuse for a heartbeat,
and all i’ve been doing is
touching myself
and each fingertip friction
formalizes an addiction to
a wintry contagious
Sep 27, 2016
Sep 27, 2016 at 12:42 AM UTC
I’d always less than half a sense;
To my detriment, often doubling-down,
Ordering the same sorts of poison –
Warm beer, cold women, back alley-ed eyes
And other late night snacks simmered atop the oil
Salvaged the streets come previously devoured.
Bottled and poured, again and consecutively through me,
An anomaly now evolves average;
Cured only an alchemy wrought, "baijiu," (rice wine),
Crowd summed solitude’s paradox and hazy Chinese moons.
So when in Rome, do as the Romans do
And die as Romans die;
A slighter justification for what’d later trumpet –
Salivation’s sip, salvation’s second,
A tickle atop tongue, sour in stomach
And cancerous come the lesser years,
Deep, nether and beyond the once upon a time barren,
So I plead for seconds and corral but only
Three revelations in the expanses exhumed:
One – I want to die. Two – Tastes beat the years.
And three – The world’s a wonderful meal;
Home to another and common denominator,
The shared variable, viable and pliable,
Our simple ingestion, communal,
So that I may venture a path paved prior
And yet parallel something nearly precious – truly alive.
Either way, it’d satiated but one achy throb
And prevented me from washing the dishes;
A fair trade for someone who’d always assumed early ends.
Apr 11, 2016
Apr 11, 2016 at 9:56 PM UTC
"Sometimes your worst self is your best self
The moonlight divides the shadows.
The essence of a black rose.
Butterflies flutter by through the air.
Unaware they are there without a care.
I grab thee adorable like a snuggle bear.
Not to get a job in this city is unfair.
At the interview discrimination to my face they dare.
I do not run, I am not scared.
I reapply consecutively, insanity flares.
I am invisible, I am not there.
Nobody notices or even stares.
He calls me his baby.
He treats me like I'm a lady.
His intentions are never shady.
My eyes watch his aura.
His essence glows like a tiara.
His eyes sparkle like stars.
He drives a truck not a car.
Our attraction is mutual.
So sacred & constitutional.
Our desire is not yet full.
Our passion rages like a bull.
Our time together is never dull.
His lips touch mine.
That night for the first time.
Mar 24, 2016
Mar 24, 2016 at 4:09 PM UTC
******* ******** sleeping around.
Call it what you will, just not making love.
Most nights I fall asleep on someone's chest, however never the same consecutively.
Lying on ***** sheets next to someone who's name I dont know
And won't remember.
You see i was taught
That this is what happens
"When a man and woman love each other very much"
But thats just ********
As I crawl through anothers bed my emotions shut off,
love never comes into play.
It never has.
As I surrender to pleasure not only mine but theirs.
It courses through my body and veins
Bringing life and feeling into the empty limbs.
Every finger, toe, and arm being brought alive if only for an hour or less.
Every kiss spreading warmth, every touch igniting my senses.
As soon as it begins its over.
The life i had within me falters, dripping from my fingertips and toes, falling from the ends of my hair.
As I lay in dark cold rooms where I spend my nights.
Sleep never crossing my mind.
Numbly staring at the walls feeling empty once again.
Everybody knows.
With all the pictures I send without a care in the world.
I fill the requests one by one, going down the list.
When I walk down the halls they stare and whisper.
Their words dont mean a **** thing.
And so I fall asleep in his bed.
I fall asleep in her bed.
Anywhere but my own.
I'm not scared
I'm never nervous
I never care.
Because as the clothes come off as the hands make contact with my flesh as the lips skim my body.
My emotions leave.
I can mechanically go down without a glitch or hesitation.
I can undress and redress quicker than your average.
I can move my hips and hands in that perfect way.
Im up for that.
I'm down for anything.
Call me, I'm your girl.
Feb 3, 2015
Feb 3, 2015 at 6:22 AM UTC
He wanted to become something, but he did not want that something to define him. He wanted to be a part of the picture, but not to be titled or signed. He wanted to belong, but he did not want his belonging to override the fact that it was in fact he, who had come to belong, not a nameless member of the group. He wanted to be found in a dictionary for those who sought him, but undefined like the slope of a line. He wanted to be stationary and mobile consecutively. In short, he wanted the impossible, but then, didn't he just want something worthwhile? And isn't it true that nothing is impossible?
Nov 28, 2012
Nov 28, 2012 at 3:11 AM UTC
My upstairs spiraled to her looking glass
in those hand-me-down shoes alight
and would incline on the way down to the street
so this diadem could never faint
yet had swallowed ancient rouses
why he didn't die in a field of clover
with a herd of deer then
as they both arrive just to expose this simplex
that may fold their wonder many times
but her entirely backless suit met consecutively
with spring base was tapestry in a town of such nomad
as fillies were finally exonerated by his demeanor.
Mar 16, 2018
Mar 16, 2018 at 7:51 AM UTC
years have passed
we have tried and failed
love and pain felt consecutively
arrogant and dismissive
self delusion throughout
two seperated puzzle pieces
May 18, 2018
May 18, 2018 at 12:10 PM UTC
He doesn't like to be noticed but he's impossible to miss and impossible to hang on to.
You can't tie someone like him down.
He'd chew off his arm in what you'd perceive as self sabotage,
but for him it's survival.
His freedom is what brings him home to you at night.
Maybe not consecutively but he always come back....always.
All the reasons you come to hate him, resent him, miss him are all the reasons you loved him in the first place.
You loved his intoxicating freedom.
You loved that you could smell it on him.
You loved that when he was close enough
you felt like it was yours.
So you tried to hold him tighter.
Convinced that if you could just make him love you enough he'd stay
Missing that he was loving you as much as he could.
So instead you began killing him.
Resenting him for not being what you needed, even when he was all you ever wanted.
Slowly...watching him die without even realizing it.
Yelling at him.
Screaming at him.
Begging him.
Cursing him.
Causing him to hate who he is because it makes him "broken".
Hating that the pull within him is too strong for him to deny
Breaking his own heart because it was too broken to just love you the way you wanted to be loved
but he loved you...
By the time he had eaten away at half his arm you expected the pain would be too much for him to bare so he'd stay.
Only to watch him run on 3 legs crying out into the night.
Singing her song that called to his being.
He is the wolf.
And she is his moon.
Not even the sea can resist her call.
How on earth could it be expected of he?
Aug 2, 2021
Aug 2, 2021 at 5:09 PM UTC
Consecutively eating one meal a day,
despite the knowledge of the physical attributes that come with doing so.
The endless weekend black outs and bathroom floor surrenders.
The sleepless nights lurking for company.
The overwhelming guilt in attempts to start over again.
The three hour long anxiety attacks that cease to subside.
You realize you haven't taken care of yourself;
that numb became such an acceptable state of being.
Dec 20, 2019
Dec 20, 2019 at 5:29 AM UTC
in grade 8 i met a poet who told me that the cure to writers block was to consecutively write down all my thoughts in a time period of 3 minutes. so i've been doing that for the past couple months and somehow they always end up sounding like suicide notes. the way they always start with a story and end in "i'm sorry." wouldn't you have thought that i would have been happier by now?
i've been carving your name into my wrists with silver blades so it feels like you are still a part of me. i have no more tears left to cry so i guess it's time i start bleeding. i'm replacing my emptiness with pain and the exhilaration of death never made me feel so alive.
i have never been good at anything. i thought that maybe loving you could change that but i guess it seems i'm not much use for that either. all i know how to do is make you cry and make you *** i have never been much good at anything else.
and i finally understand why no one has ever loved me in the ways i love them.
who would ever buy a shirt with stains or a mirror that is fragmented.
who would ever eat a meal half-cooked
or live in a house that has collapsed
and these all seem like such meaningless questions but what i'm trying to say is who could ever love a soul that is bruised.
so i understand.
i understand that everyone needs a valve. everyone needs a pump of oxygen into their lungs, a pump of air from mouth to mouth. everyone needs a life source.
you wanted me because i fit the job requirements but i guess you are starting to realize that you can't steal a heart beat from someone who is far past dead.
so i understand why you are leaving.
and the only words i can push out from my lips,
i'm sorry
Apr 26, 2017
Apr 26, 2017 at 10:39 PM UTC
I walk the fine line between love and hate
Consecutively losing balance and falling
Into the deep abyss of either one
Just to climb my way up and slip right into the other
Every landing just can't seem to arrive any sooner
Consistent with it's tasteless teasing
As if my mind has not sat through enough horrors
I reason with myself, that it probably really hasn't
My vocal chords have no more screams to release
Aware that they would just be consumed by the echoes
From the last time I was there
A shift in amplitude never changed a thing.
And still, I walk the fine line between love and hate
Despite the times my body slams onto the cold, hard ground
For it is the only path I have
To absolute indifference.
Apr 15, 2017
Apr 15, 2017 at 3:54 PM UTC
I'm scared and I'm seeing my heart scattered on the ground..
No one is pickling up the pieces
It was only being stumbled and consecutively being stepped on..
Apr 15, 2017
Apr 15, 2017 at 9:45 AM UTC