Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Auroleus Oct 2012
If I should die before I wake
I'd like for you to bake a cake
in this happy-deathday, I serve you a bowl of soup, because it’s really you
clay bowl, kidney-beans, vegetables, all thickened with dreary cream;
there is an opened-eyes fish, but definitely can’t cry
they all would float and spread out the smell of awry

the soup has its hot steam, but it is not wandering to ceiling,
it is coming to my neck, ******* my guilty, which I have none

seeing this soup makes me twisting my hair; complicated
I was a loner clown living in the wardrobe—then you gave me one unicycle
you took me out from the pile of clothes
away from cockroach which peeing my head gleefully
til I was starving: yes, I am starving sardonically

I glare the flame of your sincerity which flies away somewhere
I lost my fingers in the soup
while bacteria just sitting cross-legged on the left side

the soup remains sour
and I need something to add—to drag my tasty life again

exactly in this happy-deathday, I reinvite you, my honey
mixing a handful fine-ashes with this soup: because it’s really you
so, how does it taste?
dive deeper and fine how delicious your beyond
no more illness, no more madness, no more confusion of my demeanor
mike Oct 2016
I wanna **** myself.
its your birthday.
maybe then
i won't have to see you
watch me **** myself on mine.

i spread pictures
of your past
so you can watch.

there are none of my own.

they're kept in a vault
called excommunicate.

something that never was
will disintegrate there.

goodbye.
Jayme M Yaroch Nov 2011
I miss you
and I wish you were here
so I could hug you
I haven't forgotten your face
or the way you laugh
but I struggle to remember your voice
I see you in the rain
or when horses run
so wild and free
I'm sorry I wasn't there for you
when you needed me to be your friend
I was so scared back then

I have to live without you
but there are things I won't forget
your middle name
your favorite color
what you wanted to name your kids
or how much you struggled
or your victory when you proved them wrong
I'll never forget your birthday
or your deathday
I miss you
my friend
my sister
I miss you
Dedicated to Sasha N. Velez, Aug. 27, 1985-May 8th, 2003.
Jim Kleinhenz Aug 2010
Curiously, I thought of Frank O’Hara
the day after the day I did not get
run over by a truck on Franklin Avenue.
I guess it’s just that story—how he did
get run over and did die. Out on Fire Island.
How he wrote, You just go on your nerve…
You don’t turn around and shout,
‘Give it up! I was a track star for Mineola Prep.’

Or maybe it’s because Frank and my father were
the same age, and today is the day my father died
five years ago. Imagine if you could go through life
celebrating the day you were born and the day
you were going to die, that you knew.
I’m sixty-three today.
Happy Birthday!
And I’m going to live X more years.
Happy Deathday!
(No, I’m not going to
fill in the blank on that X.
We don’t tempt those gods.)
Poor Carol. I’m going to her funeral today.
I can’t even say I let her down. She was my neighbor.
I can say this, though.
If someone’s chasing you down the block,
you just run, Carol. Just run.
That would be Frank’s advice anyway
if he was still alive.
©Jim Kleinhenz
Ready to pummel that head in the way
Altering and destroying every decision that is made
The ultimate backfire that won’t let up
This brain is failing me and I’m more than fed up
Loss of major motor skills
Walking like the dead
Lights are flickering, in and out from the faulty wirings in my head
Hearing loud noises and smelling sweet scents
But on grass of a lawn, body is forward bent
Face first in a pile of dog ****
Such a strong feeling of confusion and can’t get rid of it
I get up and start to walk
In my mind I am sitting and smoking
Blind to the reality of my body choking
Hoping for a simple escape
These drugs never wear off when I’m in this state

Free, these chains of steel
Repelled any real emotion I can ever feel
There out to get me I know it’s real
In the world where you know my body is limp
Grasping for air but brain once again fails it
Merely seven more minutes of brain activity left, I am still trapped
Memories of things that never happened
Feelings of regret and relief are more than gapping
I take a slice of that deathday cake
Never ever knowing that I’m not even awake
Fake
J J Nov 2019
Luminescent skin, spiralling layers pressed
From inside the curling dagger pollen;
Violin strings draw forth the butterflies
Towards their fate, cerberus lips clasp
Wings of dafodil— spotty mossy green
Outcrosses the budded red drooping dead;
Akashic run, like that of a waterfall
Whence rippling pendulums row,caught infinitely.

Glowing stem— seperating to laughing claws
and mandalas paused along fully harmonious crease;
All falls back to fungal soil underground
For which all life is magnetically supported:
Prestine exoskeleton, flaming bones
that weavith skyward with ancestral ghost
softly chasing, having foundated their creator.

Blonde hair binding split petals via waves
  Of furious vibrations, snapped calm and quiet.

Mature flesh and bone, whom let the pencil
Move over pale canvas—
'I picture a clock that's arms spin fire
Outward. '
Poor woman, legless two years
Prior to her deathday— wonderous harbinger
Who once, overwhelmed by the menial day to day,
let pencil fall,skim and form
   and reform

Beautifying the world -- lonely, bold and brave
Her mind image caught, fished through the haze

And etched for the rest of time to forget.
Tribute to an amazing Czech artist
VJ BRIONES Oct 2017
there's nothing special about birthday.. It's just the day you first feel the pain when the doctor slapped you in the ***. The day when you first feel the air, see the blurry light above, hear the noises of the world, the day you exist.. it's just a normal day. Nothing to celebrate about. I don't want to celebrate my step forward the staircase of age towards death and other bad scenario that will happen. I'm not happy about it. I just want to feel the day, enjoy everyday. Because birthday is the day when every people you know will greet you and pretend that they care and love you. The people who will be gone after your so called "special day".

Every year we pass our birthday but the fact is we pass our deathday but we don't know.
Mateuš Conrad Mar 2016
i celebrate my deathday
everyday,
i don't know when it will
become a blowing-out-the-candles day,
and it's more exciting that way;
no, not necessarily morbid,
but necessarily: hello!?

— The End —