"contaminate" poems
the electricity runs through our veins
and past the street signs we rumble by
in the car you stole, we go fifty above the speed limit,
the roof of the car is the noir sky above
and the midnight rain pelts our upturned faces
the dancing drops of water drip onto our smiling lips
the sound of the sky collapsing
echoes the flashes that streak the sky,
the flickering light casts paved roads with a brief brightness
(as if god were wearing light up sketchers)
the lacy brallette that wears me
gives me the bravery to stand up in the speeding car
the velvet pants that ripple with the wind
drink up the nighttime rain
and the rare headlights race past us,
heading into homes and hearts
the mellow playlist that connects the aux cord to our ears blasts
so loud, we can no longer hear our insecurity
the mascara that once clung to my eyelashes
now streams down my face.
on a two way street,
we drive down the middle
unafraid in the face of direct dangers
so unaware of the towering empty skyscrapers
and instead highly exhilarated
from the street signs we drive by
too fast to read the blocky lettering
the road signs glint, smiling as we wave and reach towards them
the cigarettes you smoked are thrown through the open window,
still smothering slightly.
i can still taste the smoke on your lips
and your hand tucks my hair behind my ear
and as the wind objects and inhales
unreal in the hazy a.m. car trip
the tunnel rushes towards us,
and we both hold our breaths,
as if breathing would contaminate us.
the lights that glint, cast a yellow-white glow
and for once, i see you for who you are
a boy too buzzed to feel
a kid who only felt "sort of"
a person who couldn't heal
and a lover who could never give love
Jul 11, 2018
Jul 11, 2018 at 3:34 AM UTC
*Didn't it sound a lot like something
He said a long time ago?
Now it makes sense
Dripping from honey lips*
I lowered the box into the ground
Empty but only I knew as much
Nothing to see, nothing to touch
My own heart was buried deeper down
Looking up I saw you shed a tear
For all I was laying to rest
Was to you a memory blessed
A short respite, the re-emergence of fear
Or maybe I had it wrong
You could have known all along
I could have been the one deceived
Or maybe I only thought you believed
Step back
She sings the Mantra
Let her finish
Before we continue
*Hare Krishna ¥ Hare Krishna
Krishna Krishna ¥ Rama Rama
Hare Rama ¥ Hare Rama
Rama Rama ¥ Krishna Krishna*
I could tell you reasons for what I've done
Before the passion flamed
I dreamed her naked, unashamed
Innocent as the day was young
I thought it was love that drove me on
Even when the snake bared it's fangs
Injected it's venom of change
Convinced my compassion was strong
Now I know that it can't be forgiven
The arrows pierce you from behind
Weaker still your weakened mind
And contaminate your imagination
Stole a page from God's playbook
I'm sorry, my old friend, that you fell
But I have ****** myself to hell
Just one page was all it took
*this end is for me even more than it is for you
the fog in the forest is still sickly thick
and you can't see the forest for the trees
I dragged it out for too long
but I know your ignorance is blissful and I don't blame you
I'd do the same thing if I were in your shoes*
It was my own guilt that stopped me cold
Made me think twice of what I'd done
I know you'd just soon it go on and on
(And on and on)
But seeing you so often demeaned is getting so very old
•••••••••••••
Cry when you hear the song
Crying is often the best thing to do
Break down for an hour, in the back of your mind
Know it gets better when the grieving is through
Don't take anything she said for granted
She felt she had good advice
But you gotta let it work
Learn how to pray
Build a fortress around your mind
Evict the rogue voices
*"This is rebirth
The hardest word
Held under water
This is death
I'm out of breath
Held under water"
- Dustin Carpenter
"Held Under Water"
(big sleep., 1988)*
Jul 20, 2015
Jul 20, 2015 at 12:54 AM UTC
Tipping point reached, one final breath
Let the waves of inertia crash, contaminate
....
Alone in complexity, machinery, and everything
Perfectly formed human being
Slowly turning sour by the minute
Stale air, only growing in its bitter taste as
Seconds that feel like hours, add to feel like years
All the plans i made
All the plans i planned to make
Gone, but not forgotten
But then they were gone
Truer statement never read then
What i read on the back of the final bit found
Within my reach
Filtered through a layer of sediment
settled over my vision
Sanitized as life had been
But my shelter having been breached
To seep much longer...
Too accustomed, but it doesn't help
Found lacking in the company I had hoped to keep
A poor atonement, sinking further
Or, it kept rising
I was nearly covered.
.....
They stepped a little closer
And left appalled by what they found
Rotting in the dark, silently
Defensive at the outset, shaking at the sound
Sounding incomplete
Face down this
Eventual ending
For me
Jul 28, 2018
Jul 28, 2018 at 5:12 AM UTC
I once was told
In Broooklyn New York
I had a lackadaisical attitude.
It was the first time I was hearing
That whimsical adjective !
So lackadaisical I was !
Looked like an illness
The way they said it
It seemed I could contaminate.
So I stopped a few seconds to think and dissect the word
Lackadaisical
I lacked a daisy somewhere !
Sounded like I lacked a fuse in my brain !
Next thing I know I was checking the word
In my reminiscences of the Oxford English Dictionary
Or may be it was Webster's
And it said in black and white ferns I lacked purpose
I wasn't properly lazy, I just lacked directions
I lacked enthusiasm, stamina
I was devoid of zest
I was blasé
Insouciant
Careless.
Translated into more French I was nonchalant and better said
Jemenfoutiste.
It was during an encounter group
And they threw that lackadaisical attitude ******** to my face
And guess what i did ?!
I just kept on smiling
Jemenfoutiste to the extreme.
And they kept saying
See what I mean, you 're so ******* lackadaisical , man !
You're so pathetic ! You're so apathetic !
It was Winter in America like Gil Scott-Heron would say
And it felt so good, so warm,
As far as I could see,
To be called lackadaisical
And not laconical.
I not only lacked a daisy
I lacked a bunch of tropical flowers indeed !
Like bouganvillea, orchid or hibiscus
Anthurium, jasmine or bromeliad
I lacked sun and sea
Strange as it was
Even though I was near Atlantic Avenue, Coney Island
So I was lackaseacal and lackasuncal
But what I didn't lack was ants in my pants
And until today they make me dance
My forever lackadaisical dance.
Aug 27, 2019
Aug 27, 2019 at 12:59 AM UTC
I wish to share with you
The patterns of destructive thoughts—
The ones that consume my mind
And contaminate my soul
I’d hoped it was time
FINALLY
I so badly need them to be free
I refrain
And keep them locked away
Trapped within the walls
I have so carefully built
And unfortunately
They shall remain put—
For you are not
Who I thought you were
Sep 10, 2018
Sep 10, 2018 at 8:58 PM UTC
The bartender a europa server leaves me a shot of liquid propane.
He moves past every silver dollar forgetting about the meaning
of whskey and bull dogs.
I watch cody a young university of washington student sneek In a can of raineer beer (if he really goes there) ill never ask him.
This is how lastcall always takes place: a drunken masqerader our friend johnny
Drops his wallet and kills a shot of jager. ( are we drunk enouph yet)
I order a taco and gain three hundread pounds tonight.
Master of the pitchers. He still dreams of being a physical thearpist ( he failed trying to take over for Dyrile). His new tall order of a job makes my anticipated buzz weaker.
Im tired of these long dresses opening up and spilling all over the dance floor ( the dj warned her not to)
Our ladies still mention bach. Inside of her purse hides a mystery knovel.
Tueday means a victory at home. Every player utters pride of being a regular.
We sink the black eight ball knowing the bouncer gets in the way of ourdrunk enemies ( a red head)
He charges like arhino. Hes a animal without areason to **** But the bouncer prevents his six year jail sentence from ever happening. Bexause were all forgiven like helpless bar rags trying to dry out before the mold and mildew
contaminate our bull **** stories. We all speak easily after the brooklyn dodgers turn every blue and white hat around the five head.
He wont show us how the airforce cut his hair. Every one of his is angry patrons drink until the switch flickers the message ( crawl home bfore the cops fish with dynamite) in the ruston pqarking lot. (Searching for fake DW'S) each of themshine a britemaglite until the last car disapears still swerving like a skunk ptetending to hide in the storm gutters.
Sep 15, 2013
Sep 15, 2013 at 6:05 AM UTC
Get out of my heart
Get out of my head
You're not what you thought you were once
And even then you weren't that
Beauty is within
And without
And you're rotting
Rotting from your exterior to
Your core
You are a rotten apple, not a bad seed
Do you know how much sewage water it takes
To contaminate a glass of drinking water?
A drop
You're a gallon, baby
A gallon of sewage
Tons of nasty
Packed into eight ounces
Of Falsehood
So keep faking
Maybe someday, you'll find soemone else
Some other idiot who, like you, has no respect
For themselves
Or others
Or society
Or humanity
Or progress
So keep up your act
Act well your role
For you are our ***** STD
The thing we never want to hear about
But that reminds us of how much
We want better for ourselves
Oct 4, 2013
Oct 4, 2013 at 1:13 AM UTC
Creeping vines climb
crisscrossing the cracked clay
Crumbled brick shards collect
at the base of the tower
Essential oils permeate the air
Invisible liquid fire
Inflaming all feeling
skin bubbling and peeling
Grotesque **** oozes
from ragged ripped flesh
Itching is incessant
Swollen red eyelids
Tear drop elicits twitching
A scream of unfulfilled urges
Vines encircle the neck
countless green nooses
contaminate flesh
Breath becomes brutality
swollen esophagus
Red and green monster stalks
searching for someone
with skin thin enough
to climb underneath
into the innermost layer
Death
brings an end to the maddening agony
Body a bulging red ball already collects maggots
Creepy vines questing
never ending searching
not satisfied until they find
the next target
Cycle continues
no escape from the ivy.
Jun 14, 2012
Jun 14, 2012 at 5:56 PM UTC
your fingers would tiptoe across my palms, and it made me feel alive.
the first time you touched me, i figured out what the purpose of butterflies really were.
the first time you touched me, i almost believed you were trying to create an army of them,
that they were going to break down the maze inside my head
that i would become some disgustingly lovesick drone
i don’t know why i ever doubted myself
the butterflies don’t visit me anymore,
they’ve done their job.
my feelings are neutralised.
my body is numb.
and you hold me like the touch of another would contaminate me.
your embrace is a cage,
but one i have built myself.
Sep 24, 2013
Sep 24, 2013 at 12:43 PM UTC
I can tell that
you can't tell
that you aren't
going to be famous.
You helped **** a kid
by selling him laced candy
because you were trying
to buy an acting career.
Your suicide threats
and cries for help
turn me on.
Because.
I would love
for you to die.
And if you were dead --
as dead as the dirt on
the graves you've helped fill --
I wouldn't sleep better or worse;
I guess I would just be happy
knowing that someone would
be able to sleep and wake up.
They put you on the evening news
and you laughed about it on twitter.
Because you are a river
teaching drowning lessons
but not taking responsibility
for the cornflower blue corpses
that haunt your dangerous brain
and contaminate nearby life.
You are a degenerate --
but not one with potential
or hope. You are not what
is beautiful about struggle;
you are not interesting.
You are written about
much like how cancer
is written about in journals.
May 29, 2017
May 29, 2017 at 1:29 AM UTC
The bartender a europa server leaves me a shot of liquid propane.
He moves past every silver dollar forgetting about the meaning
of whskey and bull dogs.
I watch cody a young university of washington student sneek In a can of raineer beer (if he really goes there) ill never ask him.
This is how lastcall always takes place: a drunken masqerader our friend johnny
Drops his wallet and kills a shot of jager. ( are we drunk enouph yet)
I order a taco and gain three hundread pounds tonight.
Master of the pitchers. He still dreams of being a physical thearpist ( he failed trying to take over for Dyrile). His new tall order of a job makes my anticipated buzz weaker.
Im tired of these long dresses opening up and spilling all over the dance floor ( the dj warned her not to)
Our ladies still mention bach. Inside of her purse hides a mystery knovel.
Tueday means a victory at home. Every player utters pride of being a regular.
We sink the black eight ball knowing the bouncer gets in the way of ourdrunk enemies ( a red head)
He charges like arhino. Hes a animal without areason to kill. But the bouncer prevents his six year jail sentence from ever happening. Bexause were all forgiven like helpless bar rags trying to dry out before the mold and mildew
contaminate our bull **** stories. We all speak easily after the brooklyn dodgers turn every blue and white hat around the five head.
He wont show us how the airforce cut his hair. Every one of his is angry like drini until the switch flicker themessage ( crawl home bforetheco9s fishwith dynamite) in the ruston pqarking lot.
Sep 15, 2013
Sep 15, 2013 at 6:05 AM UTC
Life is glorious
With a taste of gore,
But it seems
That glory has no value
And gore shall prevail
Forevermore.
Hand in hand
Go glory and gore,
For, rainbows are not found
Without a sunny downpour.
Magnifying trouble
Doubling the rubble,
A flaw engraved-
Incorrigible.
Harder and hardest
We name them apart,
But truth lies in neither
For, it's only hard.
Choking and bleeding
To death and beyond,
Send us to our eternal home,
To the grave we belong.
We need not love
To live a life
Without burns
Within the soul.
We need not heartache
To maximise gore,
But only the need
For sympathy and pity.
Although some of us
Need not any pity,
Only a helping hand
To change the future.
Past is past
Untouchable,
We have no time turner
To change what's over.
But gore maximisation
Is what is shameful,
Exaggerating
Pretentious nightmares.
Stories of blood
Stories of tears,
They may be true
But only what
It means to you.
Keep the rubble
They way it is,
Don't falsely increase
The heavy burden.
Yes we cry,
But not die.
Death comes once
And takes us away,
Completely disconnected
And entirely stray.
We sink to the bottom
But we don't drown,
Breathless and shivering
But still alive.
Going over these lines
I only see
A blank page
Staring back at me.
*Oh you hypocrite
Don't tell these lies,
You know you double
The rubble and the cries.*
I despise this poem
But still, I write
For, I need to be loyal
To the growing demons.
Paradoxes contaminate
Words of wisdom,
Scattering constellations
Back into stars alone.
I question myself
What is it I want,
I realise that the answer
Only lies in a web;
The web of life.
Live life to the fullest,
Don't live in a dream world,
This is reality
There is gravity.
***But, to hell with life
That's what I say,
Live your dream
Make it your way.***
Be considerate
To what others want,
But never bow down
To unreasonable taunt.
Look at good
Look at evil,
Choose your path
Let it prove
Not fatal.
*A cursed hamartia
Ruins many a life,
A flaw so fatal
A remorseful light.*
Ending this vague haze,
Of many a peculiar phrase,
I cannot comprehend myself,
For, I am caught
In the inevitable daze.
Jul 22, 2014
Jul 22, 2014 at 11:07 AM UTC
Don't let yourself fall in love with him
When a boy who gives you chills every time he holds you close, shows you his favourite place, don't remember the route on how to get there because when he's gone, you'll only find yourself going back there to get a glimpse of him one more time
Don't listen to his favourite song, for that melody will stay permanent with you wherever you go & the day he leaves you, you won't be able to listen to it without choking
Don't tell him to let go of his bad habits, for you got your own too
Just because he got this positive mentality about life, doesn't mean he'll be good for you
And just because you two like the same bizarre things, does not make him your soulmate
And when the day comes where he stops putting as much effort like before, don't be expecting so much from him for you'll just be left hanging
Don't watch the stars with him, he'll contaminate it & you won't be able to look at the sky again without swallowing a mouthful of him
Don't let him enraptured you with his lovely compliments, just remember when he's no longer there, that you are beautiful too before he ever came into your life
Just because he promised & tells you that he loves you, doesn't mean he'll stay
Don't let the embrace of his arms be your comfort place, for when he leaves you everywhere you go will just be cold & chilly
Don't let him break your heart, but you're going to let him anyways
And when he does break your heart, you'll feel like you're dying. And it will feel like someone just ripped out your lungs & you won't be able to breathe. But just remember you will find someone better, because you deserve better
You shouldn't have fallen in love with him
-thrcy
Jun 17, 2014
Jun 17, 2014 at 9:04 PM UTC
They called me before they put it on the news
The phone rang three times
It was two in the morning
I answered with
"Who the **** is this?"
The the answer that came back to me
Was something I would have never dreamed
Though they came to our house several times that week
And wrote on their yellow legal pads
Even when they took you to the station for questioning
I still thought
"No, not my wife."
It was the police
Calling to say that after hours of interrogation
You'd confessed.
My darling, my dear,
I ask you not as an enemy
But as a friend-
How could you?
Did bullets leaving a gun sound too much like
The blood pushing through your veins?
Did you look at them and see not humans
But colours and noises and air?
Was the allure
Of taking a mortal and carving their veins into shreds
Too much for you to control?
Was there some violence in your past that you had to avenge
On all the humans you could reach?
Please, my darling, my dear,
How could you?
On our wedding day
When your dress tore and we fought
Did that contaminate your love?
When you took a exacto-knife
And carved a bird onto the boys skin
Did you think that perhaps the bird was you?
Did you fly? Do you regret it?
Do you regret me?
My darling, my dear,
How could you?
I think perhaps you were Mary
And gifted with a child
But you saw it, weaker than you
And burnt it alive.
Was the pain of knowing
That you could
Greater than morality
Of if you should?
My darling, my dear,
How could you?
Did it get harder
Every single day
Like drops falling into a cup
Till it overflowed with words and feelings unsaid
Rage and anger unchecked
And things that you were not allowed to touch
Except with blood on your hands?
My darling, my dear
If you have an answer
Please, tell me!
How could you?
Sep 12, 2013
Sep 12, 2013 at 7:33 PM UTC
Yea, I'll bet yr thrilled to see, me yo read me
Cool
Ya read peas? Maybe a spool.
Wow. That's callee da burn grab the allo
I pop right b aka up on the trending poems , player and hat ears see me and go noooo,,,,
But I fight back, I don't retract my neighbor my neighbor I
Eat his cat rack jv,. Owe
Mar 2, 2015
Mar 2, 2015 at 9:40 AM UTC
Failure's in your future
so sit down and wait
until it's delivered.
Let's ****** your dreams
and watch them plummet
straight into the dirt
and wait until they decompose
and cease to exist.
[breath]
You're nothing but a failure in the making.
Your insignificant accomplishments
have bloated your reality and
have opened the door to hope
that still manages to spill
throughout
your mind and
contaminate the truth.
[breath]
You still live in the same spot.
You haven't left. You've stayed in your own tiny city still
trying to impress the same type of people, but you didn't
expect them to leave so soon. See them move on while they
forget you and slowly your entire environment changed.
[breath]
We've dealt with your nonexistent career.
Should we move on to your love life? You fell in love over the
summer and after she left you, you became so bitter you couldn't let
go of her memory and decided to ruin her name to
everyone around you. Blowing it all out of proportions
just so you can look like a victim.
[breath]
So after becoming so involved in your made up reality you
decide to give up on everything around you. You disappear and
nothing holds value to you anymore. Then, you feel like you should
escape your reality and moving two thousand miles away seems
the only way to make you happy.
[breath]
Oh. But you found love again didn't you? You are on step one aren't you?
She's your inspiration right now isn't she?
She gives you hope and her beauty makes you happy.
The results of this imbecilic attempt leads to your heart
being ripped out of its rib cage and after being crushed by her
foot full of rejection you sit there and your insignificant
hope begins to evaporate.
[breath]
You lose focus and nothing can gain it back in time
for the most important week of your short life.
You fail as well and
while you struggle to find why
it is that this is occurring an idea
that I have planted begins to sprout.
You've considered it. You've agreed to it.
You can only look in my eyes as I smile.
Climb on the stool and focus your eyes on the ground.
[Expected your own thoughts to betray you and we triumphed]
Never did I regret killing your hope.
Place this necklace over your throat.
The material? I believe it's rope.
Let me tighten it for you.
[push].
[breath]
Apr 5, 2013
Apr 5, 2013 at 9:11 PM UTC
Coffee shop boy sitting at a wooden table with headphones tucked gently into his ears
Sipping espresso or tea from a paper cup that says "Caution: Hot Contents"
Which makes him think desperately of her clothes, and the wind-kissed skin she wears underneath
Wishing he could be the air and wrap his soul around her with each of her steps.
He takes a sip of his latte or black coffee, and feels the burn as it travels down his throat
While it warms his heart he looks out at the night sky framed by the coffee shop window
He glances at the moon and all of the stars and prays they light her path and keep her safe
In envy he realizes the stars look upon her every night, when she wears the moonlight around her face
With her head resting against a pillow, eyes closed and dreaming things the day can't contaminate.
And he wishes beyond hope he could be there to write them down like a to-do list kept secret from her
Until completed he presents them to her, with a check mark on his own heart to show that it, too, is hers.
But since he cannot do these things he picks up his Americano or Cocomo and takes another sip
And he lets the banging of the drums and deliberate pounding of the guitar put her out of his mind
Until later at night he picks up a pen, half-full with ink, and writes once again about himself
Hoping she'll read each word and fall as in love with him, imperfections, flaws and humanity
As he is with her beauty, words, breath, heart, soul and spirit.
May 1, 2013
May 1, 2013 at 12:29 AM UTC
18 days left until the end of the world!
We’re down to the wire folks – so get your living in now because in 18 days, all this chaos, selfishness, hate, bigotry, joy, happiness, and beauty will come screeching to a halt.
I wonder if the WORLD – the PLANET knows its end is near? I wonder if it knows that a puny, insignificant species on its face has declared its end and death? I wonder how many times before it’s heard about its end and has kept on rollin’ merrily along?
To think that one species can – and has – imposed its superstitions and god-myths on such an immovable and ancient cosmic body. If you need a definition of arrogance my friend, look no further!
For billions of years this wonderful water-ball has spun its way through the cosmos and has nurtured, raised, and even destroyed countless forms of life upon its face, and yet only one species – amongst the millions that have come and gone, presume to declare its end.
While spiritual and metaphysical voodoo can make grand pronouncements about our doom, we are unique in one other aspect, and that is we are the most intelligent species on earth, and we use our accumulated brilliance to figure out better ways to **** each other, foul the very air we breathe, poison the water which sustains us, and contaminate the soil from which we spring.
So foolish.
So near-sighted.
So ignorant in practice.
So cruel to our mother.
I wonder what makes us – the most intelligent of them all – so incredibly stupid that we spend enough on war every day to eradicate world hunger ten times over, and yet, expect us to believe that in 18 days our world is going to end just because a culture composed of humans ran out a room on a circle of stone?
Pathetic.
Oh silly misguided human animal.
The only thing that’s going to destroy this world – this beautiful, self-protecting, self-correcting, self-balancing world – are the pitiful human animals who don’t even have the humanity to love each other – let alone the earth – enough to lift us higher than a stone-age culture looking at the stars and seeing only themselves.
18 days left before the world ends? I don’t think so. Maybe we’ll do the earth and all its wonderful life-forms a favor and stop the madness we’ve created, and in 18 days finally learn to love again.
© 2012 Michael Hunter
Dec 20, 2012
Dec 20, 2012 at 9:50 PM UTC
Barefoot, and exhausted she enters the plantation,
The sound of leather loafers move towards the counter,
Decadent heat swells across her forehead making sweat shiver down her temples,
*Sweaty palms ****** a decorated mug, and contaminate the elixir with milk,*
Her dark hands desperately search for more beans from the plants, before giving up and filling up her sack and returning to the village,
spices and sugar sweeten the blow, of knowing the bitterness of black coffee,
The sun is an enemy, and pelts her forehead with heat as she returns to the place called home,
Artificial winds cool down the man of many titles, as he pretends to take an interest in the international affairs presented in his daily newspaper while waiting for the finishing touches to his brew,
the load begins to take its toil on her back and she drops the sack,
searching for a visa, meaningless coins are dropped on the coffee shop floor,
She immediately collapses in a frenzy to pick up the goods and dust them of with her fingers,
His eyes momentarily dart towards the silvered coins on the floor, and he ignores them and enters his card into the machine,
‘These are still good, they must still be good, they’ll never know, we can still sell them’ she convinces herself as she clasped the coffee beans into the sack,
‘Aren’t you gonna pick that up sir’ , ‘Um, yeah probably afterwards’ he laughs at the cashiers unconscious desire to obtain as much money in the tip jar as possible,
She picks up her sack and continues walking up the hill, until eventually shanty huts are in sight,
*a printed off receipt is quickly ******* up into a ball in his pants-suit and he obliges himself with a sip as he strolls towards the doors,*
Her faint body seems to motion towards the ground, but by this time other villagers have spotted her and begin running towards her, her lifeless body is circled by their glances,
‘Too bitter… it needs to be diluted’
‘Spices and sugar sweeten the blow, of knowing the bitterness of black coffee’
Aug 1, 2011
Aug 1, 2011 at 1:42 AM UTC
I had never seen so much blood.
Just blood, blood, blood.
It was so red and so dark
and so pure that I feared
one simple touch from my unclean
hands would contaminate it.
I had never seen so much blood.
Just blood, blood, blood.
It was the richest thing I had
ever seen and if I could've
I would've ****** it up
and kept in a locket.
I had never seen so much blood.
Just blood, blood, blood.
It ran from your bald head
out onto the cement floor
and I cried over your body
laying there cold and dead.
I had never seen so much blood.
Just blood, blood, blood.
I cried over you while I
watched you die but my
tears were not from your loss
of life but from the fact that I was
not the one to cause it.
Oct 31, 2018
Oct 31, 2018 at 2:01 AM UTC
Is there really a guy out there
Who doesn't care what I look like
And will love me anyway
Girls say that there is all the time
All of them wear mini shorts and don't have to **** in their belly look good in a tight shirt
Like they know what they're talking about
Is there really a genuine man out there
Or will society contaminate him before I find him
Jun 11, 2015
Jun 11, 2015 at 5:07 PM UTC
a slithering urge rips up my appetite by grass-like fistfulls,
an urge to condense
falter every thought that has the audacity to contaminate my psyche.
the gentle thrumming under-skin is knotted firmly
to the drum of words tapping.
a shell, its contents,
tearing, perforated and utterly whole.
wring the rag
gulp the freshly stolen, assimilated goods
and spread the contents of your stomach for special exhibition.
she leaves pauses,
pregnant and lingering,
until the route to the next unmists.
a familiar pang gasping,
urging now shout and dare and spill
spill invent a new word for the pulsing
of yourself rising within yourself,
like so much bile,
**** as you please and leave careful notes
until the entirety of your vocabulary is spent,
burnt to a nub.
Feb 6, 2011
Feb 6, 2011 at 6:54 PM UTC
It sat upon Virginia’s shore
stalked by the sea,
it’s lichen pale with salt
bark that broke the sand,
a haggard frame stark against
the last horizon land.
The butchered stumps contaminate
a hacked and broken field,
their sapwood leaking silence,
the birds atop them mute,
crowned with their annual rings
of righteous guilt and root.
But there it waits branded by
the blight of unknown fear,
a desolation beacon
when the other trees were cleared,
by then it was decided
what pilgrim eyes would see
CROATOAN
scratched into the tree.
May 16, 2013
May 16, 2013 at 6:28 AM UTC