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"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
0
Jul 11, 2018
Jul 11, 2018 at 3:34 AM UTC
Noir
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
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43
*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)*
0
Jul 20, 2015
Jul 20, 2015 at 12:54 AM UTC
An Apology of Sorts
*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)*
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71
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
0
Jul 28, 2018
Jul 28, 2018 at 5:12 AM UTC
Shelter
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.
0
Aug 27, 2019
Aug 27, 2019 at 12:59 AM UTC
Lackadaisical
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.
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49
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
0
Sep 10, 2018
Sep 10, 2018 at 8:58 PM UTC
Trapped Thoughts
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.
0
Sep 15, 2013
Sep 15, 2013 at 6:05 AM UTC
enjoying the unicorn bar and grill.
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.
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15
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
0
Oct 4, 2013
Oct 4, 2013 at 1:13 AM UTC
I'm not gonna write you a love song, you promiscuous ****
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.
0
Jun 14, 2012
Jun 14, 2012 at 5:56 PM UTC
Poison Ivy
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.
0
Sep 24, 2013
Sep 24, 2013 at 12:43 PM UTC
240913
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.
0
May 29, 2017
May 29, 2017 at 1:29 AM UTC
31. Druggie; Degenerates
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.
0
Sep 15, 2013
Sep 15, 2013 at 6:05 AM UTC
Untitled
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.
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15
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.
0
Jul 22, 2014
Jul 22, 2014 at 11:07 AM UTC
Hypocrisy
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.
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108
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
0
Jun 17, 2014
Jun 17, 2014 at 9:04 PM UTC
Taking Chances
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
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15
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?
0
Sep 12, 2013
Sep 12, 2013 at 7:33 PM UTC
My Darling, My Dear.
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?
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61
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
0
Mar 2, 2015
Mar 2, 2015 at 9:40 AM UTC
Contaminate they flooded mainstream my neighbor
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]
0
Apr 5, 2013
Apr 5, 2013 at 9:11 PM UTC
[dP]
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]
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61
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.
0
May 1, 2013
May 1, 2013 at 12:29 AM UTC
Coffee Shop Boy
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
0
Dec 20, 2012
Dec 20, 2012 at 9:50 PM UTC
18 Days (12.21.12)
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
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16
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’
0
Aug 1, 2011
Aug 1, 2011 at 1:42 AM UTC
'Black Coffee'
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’
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19
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.
0
Oct 31, 2018
Oct 31, 2018 at 2:01 AM UTC
Blood, Blood, Blood.
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
0
Jun 11, 2015
Jun 11, 2015 at 5:07 PM UTC
Out There
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.
0
Feb 6, 2011
Feb 6, 2011 at 6:54 PM UTC
intentionally disconnected, rather than unintentionally, as previously demonstrated
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.
0
May 16, 2013
May 16, 2013 at 6:28 AM UTC
The Croatoan Tree