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JayceeJellies Dec 2015
Crawling in my skin
cringe, cringe, cringe-
it's a meme you dip!

*AyY **** bye!
B E Ragland Nov 6
some sanctioned grandiloquence
and what i actually write
fight one another
for height in this blight of a hierarchy.

in other words, they are ****.

i want you to feel something,
even if it is negative.

you would be surprised at what is combustible.
bees May 28
.
..
...
with a smile like yours
anywhere is a
paradise
...
..
.
avalon Dec 2017
can you feel yourself dying?  
do you feel the earth as it burns
as it's turning, twisting
and spiraling so violently
the friction sends sparks
into galaxies? can you taste
the life as it's leaving you?
as it's rippling out of your
fingers and snatching the breath
that's knocked out of you?
do you cringe as your edges
are singed by the fire
surrounding you? as the oceans
subside and the planet decides
that erosion's
just your
point of view.
JuneForever Jul 4
When I think of my old behavior I cringe. When I think of what I did to you I cringe. My thoughts cringe over and over.
My heart cringes at the thought that I ever did that to you.
What I have done to you, I have done to many others without even realizing it.

So thank you and I let you go.
Carter Ginter Oct 2014
My stiff arms hit the metal of the door as I force it open, against
the chilled fist of wind, pounding hard upon the glass
windows and then equally upon my face and forearms. It had to be
below 50 degrees, but I had hoped that the cold could help me
feel again. Feel something. Unfortunately,
this ice only froze my fingers, leaving
my body as numb as my mind.

Later, as I rid my machine of the cloth concealment, protecting
the scars laced into my skin. The water boils as I
examine my life-lines, these battle scars, in the mirror and
can only cringe in thought of the disappointment drowning
the faces of those I care about most: their eyes
drooping down with the weight of eyebrows, creased
diagonally, half shock and the other half burning
discontentment. They purse their lips and stab my eyes
with their daggers, when I chuckle nervously.

I shake my head of these thoughts from my speculation and
step into the steam, hoping the heat could help me
feel again. However, the fire does not scorch my
body, nor incinerate the emptiness, it only slides
down the marble sculpture my body feels to be
(equivalent to the concrete barrier that builds behind my eyes)
JS CARIE Jun 2018
To us, time does not belong
And since reality is wrong...
Live with me in legacy
You're so close already
Residing in memory

Only a hearts twinge and without cringe
My pleasuring in teaching to uke  
A warranty insurance for a more creative you

Ill stand on the needle of your thread, fixed and stable without dread

Get ******* and dragged around by your apron strings

Feel the chain around your neck swing as it stings and swings

Be what your tongue tastes when taking all varieties of temperature

Be the brush you use to finish assignments when they get to be too much

As wine deminshes and glass comes clear, take the role of servant, pour countless refill, until you're ready to be bed in achieving complete fulfill

Rest assured, If you feel fear or need a mirror, allow me to transform into reflection to tell you how beautiful everything you wear
and how to me
you are so dear
Shashi Dec 2017
I look back
And cringe at my failures
The dreams that broke
And the unfulfilled desires

All so indecisive
Here lies my mind,
To give up on my dreams
Leave all the wishes behind

The pendulum of the clock
However, tells me another story
Don't stop, no matter what
And you sure,  will have your glory

Like a long-lost teacher
Time tells me - keep up with the fight,
One day You'll be among the stars
Believe me, You'll be shining bright!!
Graff1980 Sep 2018
Nobody knows the
the darker corners
of my decrepit soul,

a stale and stinky
nasty shrinking
***** of abstraction,
that is less than
a fraction
of nothingness,

a shadowy space
where people cringe
and strangers displace
their rage
till tension and resentment
fill this smelly place.

Nobody knows
that my heart
does not grow
but disposes
of the red roses,
dripping paint
of crimson pain,

beatings
taken in exchange
for struggles
and anguish,
pumping out plump
plumes of poetry
and prose
to express the truth,

that nobody knows.
patty m Jun 2014
A nightmare whispers in my ear
sidles down, spreading wasp-like wings
as it hisses between pointy teeth
words of chaos and confusion.

Disturbing revelations
whirr, jitter, and chatter as I flinch.
Its consumptive rattle spraying spittle
emits a putrid scent reminiscent of rodent.

Milky blue and innocent eyed
yet dastardly depraved,
the imp reaches out
shivering with excitement,
ignoring my piteous complaint.

Oppressive gray skinned nightmare
barbed prehensile tail
your vicious stinger
breeds monsters.

Failing light
the fallen rain
congers danger
Between bouts of nausea
I watch him ******* breath from mewling infants,
opening plague tombs, unwinding sheets,
and I cringe with the fear of being buried alive.

Clinging to bones, scant hair on a withered head,
I cry burning tears,
my face seamed with scars.
Not dead yet, but powerless to refute him.

Leagues of the dead march by
rank after rank of their numbers
never staggering to an end,  

I try to rise, wheezing , tongue swelled over teeth
eyeballs bulging, as their footsteps grow louder.

Still I dangle chained to this moment
terrified ,
as nightmare rears its head
but even more frightened of dying.
bekka walker Mar 2015
I make love to the son of Francisco Alcarez.
He keeps me warm when I am frigid.
He lights a fire within me when I am frozen.
They say he makes your clothes fall off,
and oh Francisco Alcarez,
you've given me your magic.
Weber Blue agave are your eyes.
You've brought your chaos from the south of freedom, so stab it into my stomach.
~It's not the worst thing thats been stabbed into my stomach~
I think I've cracked you open, but- you've uncorked me.
Slide me into the bliss I've missed, waiting for you~
Tear me away from my cyclical thoughts,
Smooth out my mind,
Kiss me gently and watch me cringe with sour pleasure.
But, lets keep this affair private~
I don't think they understand--- I need you.
patron.
Apathy Jun 2015
You slam the door in anger, in frustration you mutter my name.
You pound your fist against the wall, I cringe and feel your pain.
My words dry in my mouth, a word against you I dare not speak.
My body shys away from you, I feel my knees getting weak.
You vent your fury in a whirling rage, leaving devastation in its wake.
Your words leaving gashes across my face, carrying on not realizing your mistakes.
I already feel guilt and pain, is that not enough for you?
ConnectHook Sep 26
Greta, oh Greta, you’re freaking out.
Our planet won’t perish. You'll grow up.
Hyped and promoted by globalist funds,
Your unbalanced drama makes us cringe.

Greta, oh Greta, you’re barking mad;
Your handlers have let out too much leash.
Time to lie down on your favorite mat
And pray to the Lord Jesus Christ.
What’s infuriating about manipulations by the Non Profit Industrial Complex is that they harvest the goodwill of the people, especially young people. They target those who were not given the skills and knowledge to truly think for themselves by institutions which are designed to serve the ruling class. Capitalism operates systematically and structurally like a cage to raise domesticated animals. Those organizations and their projects which operate under false slogans of humanity in order to prop up the hierarchy of money and violence are fast becoming some of the most crucial elements of the invisible cage of corporatism, colonialism and militarism.”

— Hiroyuki Hamada, artist

PS: gotta see this one
https://youtu.be/golAjKMDuVk
Mikaila May 2014
Thin, white wrists.
Bone white
Like china
And just as brittle.
They make that coarse, scraping sound when they touch one another.
The kind of sound that delicate, expensive teacups make when stacked
The wrong way.
It makes me cringe.

Little blue veins kiss the surface of them,
Hissing and sizzling when the air gets
Too close
Like tiny snakes.

These wrists
Have made promises.
They have
Borne loads.
These wrists have snapped like twigs
Under the weight of a heavy,
Punishing love.
But, pressed back together the way they'd been,
They hardened oncemore
Like stone
And the cracks and fissures
Sank inside again
And smooth, unmarred, delicate white skin emerged
To begin the process over.

At night the snakes whisper and murmur against my cheek in their sleep
And sometimes, quite suddenly,
They sink in their fangs
And I awaken with a start,
A sharp pain radiating out to my fingertips
Like a shock.

Last night I felt their strikes by the hour
One,
Two,
Three, more.
And this morning a strange... fullness
Began in my wrists
And seeped out
Up along my arms
Through my collarbones and down
Into my heart.

Perhaps it was the venom
Working
But where it spread I
Settled
Like an old stone wall.
Like the halls of a castle
That has seen too much death
And too many kings.

I sank into myself
For the first time
And the ground felt heavily solid
And I felt
Only the hollow hiss
Of little blue and green serpents
Dreaming inside me
And that
Was something like certainty,
Although of what
I still don't
Know.
Nassif Younes Mar 2016
Never trust a polite person.
It is merely a mask -
The suppression of instinct;
For the tyranny
Of convention.

The polite person will never tell you what they are thinking –
They will only tell you what they think
They should be thinking.

They are well mannered liars.

Unable to argue,
They will cringe at argument.
Unable to challenge opinions,
They will declare all opinions equal.

They are social terrorists,
Poised to drop buckets of sand
Over the fires of controversy.
They talk about the weather
Because no one can argue about the weather.

With their barricade of unwritten rules,
We are forced,
When asked how we are feeling,
To say we are feeling fine
Regardless of how terrible
Or how wonderful
We are actually feeling.

They have completed the destruction of art
By applauding at everything.
They have completed the destruction of intellect
By nodding at everything.

If we do not speak often,
They call us rude.
If we speak with conviction
They call us rude.

Like silent assassins,
They have painted us all grey
And none of us have ever seen the brush.
We are their neurotic servants,
Bound in chains
Of brutal neutrality

And for that,
They smile
And thank us.
jane taylor May 2016
walking through the woods i was surrounded by a plethora of golden bronze amber leaves tumbling in the wind sparkling with a star fire that evanesced from their jagged edges upon their descent.  i stood entranced, mesmerized, utterly hypnotized by their glorious magnificence.  i observed with intensity as a golden bronze amber leaf never having been attached to the majestic tree had no need to let go but gently released.  feeling no trepidation it wholly lacked desire for manipulation to control the forces of the wind.  i watched in awe and wonder realizing that it never disengaged from the tree knowing that separation is an illusion; it simply became the wind.  whirling it shimmered in the autumn sun as it wafted with no need for reins allowing its destination to unfold.  gingerly cascading it settled tenderly on the ground resting comfortably in ambivalence.  i sensed it did not cringe when it was picked up by an unsuspecting boot but intuitively knew immediately that it was being carried and dropped off serendipitously at an auspicious location.  i listened to it intently and drank in its essence as it simply lay in being not obsessing over what would happen consequent but sat in sheer stillness seemingly encompassing all totality.  i was stunned to see that it lingered without judgment in undivided clarity for what wild synchronicity would come.  it quenched its thirst in mystery while being completely at home in uncertainty.  the golden bronze amber leaf seemed one with all that is while simultaneously retaining awareness of self-perception.  as a gentle gust of wind coalesced with the beige fall sky it literally merged with the momentum enjoying the ride to its perfect destination.  with delicacy it rested cozily in ambiguity whispering to me that heaven is a state and not a place.  i vow surrender to black and white existence pledging fearlessly to climb higher creating life with vivid vibrancy adding golden bronze amber to my palette of colors with which i’ll paint.

©2016 janetaylor
ryn Oct 2014
She comes to me every night...
When all is asleep with stars lit yonder.
Comes to me with subtle might
Peeking fiendishly from darkness's cover

Await such time she'd choose to show
Await the chance to finally take.
Ready to pounce like a well tensioned bow
Arrow-like talons, ever honed to stake.

Awake or asleep, she would come without fail.
Creep is her gait; this shadow clad figure.
Always a ***** in my impervious mail.
Claiming her wants with ferocious fervour.

Deemed to be strong, easier to succumb.
Don't fight...don't struggle... Don't call for aid...
Just wait and will yourself numb
She'd come regardless of prayers that's said.

She was here with me last night
In bed, I stared at a being that's faceless...
And my heart wrenched tight.
Gripping and feeding me senseless...

Soon as she came, she left but not before
Siphoning the good and replacing with dread...
Stole was what she did; left me wanting more...
Once deed is done, into the dark she fled.

I know her all too well,
Nocturnal guest that I unknowingly invite
Her intentions to incite, not quell
Send me spiralling through emotional blight.

Day will recede, making room for dark
She'll come; swift and without sound.
She'll arrive majestic; inflicting her mark
I'll wait for her, ready and unbound.

Looking forward to her return
This silent foe whom I find familiar.
With every touch I cringe and burn
Oh secret friend whom I'm beginning to savour...

She is synonymous with various names
Each would bear the likeness of semblance
Let fly her cloak of not dissimilar aims
Endearingly I call her...,

Despondence...
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