"debauched" poems
Plagiarism of worthless ideals,
that you so ignorantly hold high.
Shaking in amazement,
how can you call your self alive?
Totalitarian, lethargic lifestyle.
Ignominious displays of disaffection.
Constant contradictions;
out of your mind.
Caught up in the clouds,
cognition of mania and level debauched.
Up to high to realize, you're an “open mind” with locked doors.
Maslow, Skinner, and Darwin alike, turn in their graves,
over your lack of evolution.
Mar 6, 2013
Mar 6, 2013 at 2:00 AM UTC
"Honestly? I'd just cover that up", he says
Orion's not moving. Stars don't move.
They may die, they may dim, they may traverse galaxies
Change position in the night sky with the seasons
Give me one. good. reason.
To cover up my compass home,
The one good thing, the one beautiful thing,
On this scarred and wretched body?
"We'll put Orion somewhere else, start over"
You're not my mother, ripping out a new piercing
Locking the door on a daughter and her father
Drinking and dating and thinking "start over"
My skin is just my skin, the moles and ink
And decisions are mine to live in
How dare you claim yourself an artist,
yet break down your clientele, your canvas
So Orion's not the problem, sir
It's a debauched attitude toward station
When I follow the stars tonight, I will tell them
Needles have no consideration
Aug 5, 2014
Aug 5, 2014 at 4:13 AM UTC
Social chaos metered out through tiers of population stung
By indiscriminate battle wrought lifeblood, incessantly, is wrung.
Why so the need for Assad’s torch, your Syria so needlessly debauched ?
Nameless causes fuel the fire, Shiite, Sunni intervention. Hezbollah and al Qaeda spew
Vindictiveness to streets of rubble, Toxic, killing vapours stew.
Misery to gasping children, horror in the dying eyes….
Condemnation points it’s staff to you, Assad, where vile blame now lies.
Why so the need for cities torched, Damascus needlessly debauched ?
Inevitably the missiles cometh, raining incandescent death and blast,
International righteousness throws intervention’s unknowns vast.
Why so this need for man debauched, Your Syria, once so beautiful, now scorched ?
Marshalg
Pukehana
7 September 2013
Sep 6, 2013
Sep 6, 2013 at 4:47 PM UTC
Relatives of dead convicts
with debauched faces
and curly headed sailors
sing morose melodies
to the wail of saxophones
screaming strings
clashing cymbals
and the rattle of kettle drums.
Sep 14, 2014
Sep 14, 2014 at 4:55 AM UTC
I'm looking for a Neurotic Girl
someone who will break down before I do
someone who's not afraid to cry,as the tea kettle boils,
after telling me about her problems.
Someone I can worry about,and do unselfish things for, and offer some comfort to,
someone who depends on me for a change.
I'm looking for a girl
who isn't too confident in herself,even though she's wonderful,
at least in my eyes.
Someone who hasn't got her entire life sorted out, just yet.
Someone who'll realise that I can be a nice person, behind the facade.
Because these days I'm wandering
from party to party
from pointless
city centre venues
and all-too-familiar and contemptible
small town social haunts
and all I see and hear
are the attention-seeking, the unreachably friendly, the distant
and the involved
All swimming in mediocrity
If you'll pardon the fake sophistication of that last metaphor
And all I'm left to do
is wonder what it would be like
to find someone
who I could be Introspective,
Debauched and Nihilistic with
A nice Neurotic Girl.
But I suppose that would invariably lead
to some sort of responsibility
in my otherwise self-absorbed existence
I would have to pretend that I am a proper kind of person
for the sake of my fragile lover's much needed feeling of security
I would take it upon myself
to go out into the world
to keep a sort of balance for the both of us
spending headache-inducing hours
with people whom I cant stand
while she sits at home
and smokes
in bed.
Apr 13, 2012
Apr 13, 2012 at 7:10 PM UTC
fem in isms,
i imagine Sapphic eyes:
bad *** advert coruscates elite
fairness sensing slavish blind
in gestate calm affirm
in genders More numerous of Windows--
Superior--for Doors--
O harsh judgement foiled,
as a foil, as unknown truth
foil-doubles in the brow,
abject symmetry to systemize
a fertile lack of sterile barrenness,
i am a mediatrix rend,
nirwaan, hijra wonderment aside
from transemotion's ground swells
demeaning to be understood.
i celebrate and face the same
to be what paperwork tests being
normal being, freely chosen
atom each belonging moves
an asterisk of paths
of mutate art of nature social darwin maze.
i imagine Sapphic eyes,
ginko soft they pile up all cobble
memories themselves concretely
cloistered fame
spray of salty waves,
macho screams symbol
for dismissal ease
for tearing at an inner unsaid war
with lists offense of proper taste
to what posterity intends
an undulation womblike seeming nourish safety sounds.
i imagine Sapphic eyes
past
debauched
meanderings
where hyster-clarity rejoins its titular
and reliable escapisms curl the lips
of maleness found
here and there smile sneer love
i imagine Sapphic eyes
linguistic pirouettes
congest that wisdom nonetheless
the moment passed on to a
feigning truth in pretty rhyme
ornamenting time with fine meter fine
vernacular chimes peter in
to juggle perspectival paradox,
redichotomize the twilight idols,
resolve the conflict like a dawn
Aurora,
i imagine Sapphic eyes
running plastic with Alaskan wolves,
toga floats to snow
to let us see the purest fairness form
a ****** circle,
Hypatia ascends from tenebrous grave,
Impregnable of Eye is pregnant now
with Wollstonecraft revered
in liberation's fount
families held exemplar gaze of
Taylor, ****** Cady,
Anthony resanctified
to vote entitlement's
empathic origins, waxen mold
of nascent categories,
narrow hands spread wide to panoply anew
the manifest evolve in true unknowns
Nov 23, 2012
Nov 23, 2012 at 11:56 PM UTC
I was going to write a sonnet, but I didn't have the gumption
First my pen ran out of ink, then my hand just wouldn't function
I could not start or stop to think
Things were happening in slow motion
I felt as though I'd surely sink
Into the coldest darkest deepest ocean.
I started off fine, my ambition was evident
But by the 10th line, I'm debauched and decadent.
I hate to write this, my fingers are hesitant,
Nothing else in life is, but failure is permanent.
Nov 15, 2011
Nov 15, 2011 at 9:07 AM UTC
my **** is like a monster
not dimensionally speaking
it's a monster like a wild little dingo
with a huge appetite
and some really mean *****
like kamikaze surfers waiting for take-off
with their engines on
when i see you
you are blond like something i might regret
you are pretty like something i always knew and loved
and your voice reminds me of a girl i used to care about but never actually met
your voice is perfect and always sings in tune
its midnight, really
and the band plays the last song
and they play it like its their last ever
and you say you always wanted a double-bass player
in your band
but i say i can play the banjo like the world is coming to an end
and "baby its cold outside"
yes it is colder than it ever was
but its OK
you got a bike
i live around the corner
so its goodnight from me
me
the out of order gentle ****** predator
the ***** watchman that just switched-off the lights
the good lieutenant of the debauched night shift
me, with a heart as big as the Pacific
and a smile that says **** me pretty please
goodnight
Apr 7, 2010
Apr 7, 2010 at 4:49 PM UTC
In a mess, I awake to the feeling
I didn’t do it,
so I puke and I crawl and I drink
just to do it all again.
At night, I am needlessly obsessive in
wasting time,
only maudlin with alcohol stained tears
alone in a bathroom stall.
In the harsh darkness, my shadow falls
to its knees
reckless and voluntarily debauched
can’t stop the sins from slipping out.
At times, I have discovered myself
to be obscene
so I scream instead of honeyed whispering
begging for the familiar collapse.
Crazed, I shake my hair out and leave
before you notice,
walking like a shameless heretic
to find the next version of myself.
For a moment, I twist and turn sour
in your mouth,
and if you thought kissing me would save me,
you were wrong.
Aug 31, 2020
Aug 31, 2020 at 4:30 PM UTC
As I sit here just chewing the cud
Nights lost and debauched with my friend Richard
Picking up that guitar as a kid from Cash Converters
He left me for the sun down under with the students and the surfers
E Minor through to a chord named A Sharp
Strangling that neck with fingers that don’t know where to start
I should have listened to Mr Hogarth for this career in its finest form
Rocking out on stage wow that would have been a storm
But it’s never too late to try and give it another go
Read music they say but I wouldn’t know my **** from my elbow
No, no, no, that’s not the attitude
I’ll plug this thing and never give up as someday I’ll fill those smoky rooms
I joined a band with 2 brothers and bassist of whom I did not know
Mill Hill practice every Sunday just thought I’d give it a go
But only one song and a commitment I could not keep it was always bound to fail
I’ll carry on solo still looking on but really just chasing my own tail
Work carried on as a plumber of which I never did really enjoy
But it paid the bills
A mortgage
A van
And a wedding on the horizon
All in sight except for that unseen tree which nearly stopped me from ever rising
Paraplegic is a word I had rarely ever used
you’re a ******* a **** I had said once myself how dare I have used that abuse
To be told you will never walk again is a shot that broke my heart
Don’t let it get you down be strong and try for a brand new start
The days go by at the start of this new journey
The loss of once friends and to gain some new is now what must ground me
A different perspective and a sharper humour has now unveiled
Hello new world you won’t get me down just watch this beast unravel
Taking the good with the bad and filtering through the ugly
A different ship to now set sail, get ready for this could get choppy
But as I say and always repeat, life goes on its just how you take it
This second chance given to me a bit lower down, but still determined to make it,
Hey Mr Wheelchair.
JJB
Jan 17, 2018
Jan 17, 2018 at 4:51 PM UTC
I kiss upon your petals,
You kiss upon my scars,
If our love should be guarded,
Should we not both be guards?
You dissect me viciously,
I take you as you are.
I kiss you and say sorry that I'm breaking us apart.
God, I'm so ******* stupid.
The fellow you fancy is a figment of a feeble imagination.
An egotistical ****** with a heart of stone only pierced by your daggered eyes.
I wanted woefully to be that one for your love once.
I stood through senseless scrimmages to earn your satisfaction.
I played that part unceasingly seeking your acceptance.
But nevermore shall my strings be debauched by the pain of your plucking.
No longer shall I participate in pretending to be the man you make again.
Jul 6, 2023
Jul 6, 2023 at 12:29 AM UTC
Just like Eminem,
I'm not afraid to take a stand
If that is what it would take to make you
comprehend
That this adulation spawns me to be
mettlesome
I was impatient to wait for the time,so I
purchased a new watch our time has come
Been in many debauched rapports
All resulted a faux pas because I invested less
effort
Not rueful, but from this juncture I prospect
to be more perfect
I'm not afraid
To take a stand
If that is what it would take to make you
comprehend
I was improvident but I'm devising to be
provident
I was impatient but I'm outlining to be patient
I am stubborn but I'm willing to be adamant
You said I'm indelicate I'm willing to be decent
I'm not afraid
To take a stand
If that is what it would take to make you
understand
That I'm for you and only you
I'm executed from dishonesty, I take an oath
to be true
I'm not afraid
To take a stand
Even if that is what will make you understand
That I love you and only you...
Siyanda
Aug 14, 2015
Aug 14, 2015 at 9:12 PM UTC
Staggering explosions of venom-laden light
In a world of darkness constructed by man
Debauched genius and greed tainted sight
In second blinding rays of silver filled the skies
Trillions of once living humans lay dead
Empty warm footprints were life once led
Gray piles of ash on radiation kissed the ground
The species ended
Beating hearts unbound
It was not the first bombed dropped
Nor the cause of their fall
Or the second
That followed
When Azrael began to call
The third
The Destroyer
slowly seeping life
The fourth
Spreading it fiendish tentacles
Created from evil and lies
The fifth
Came in waves of poison rippled sound
The sixth
Was death cold sister come to hover round
But came the seventh
In clap of thunder
None now left to worship
In awe and wonder
The seal had been opened
The convent broken between God and man
The punishment foretold
Revealed in the blood of the lamb
@Tammy M. Darby September 3, 2016. All poems are stored in author base
Sep 3, 2016
Sep 3, 2016 at 7:20 PM UTC
She steps into the room,
Timidity and grace;
Innocence and caution synchronized.
She feels you watching her
And quickly turns away-
But it's too late,
She's been defiled by your eyes.
She's just another pretty girl
On whom to feast your eyes-
Another helpless victim to your gaze.
It doesn't matter what she wears,
It doesn't matter what she hides-
The second you set eyes on her,
She becomes your latest prey.
A slave to your senses,
You mother ******* perv!
I hate you and all your twisted ways.
A ******* of duplicity-
A ravenous, worthless curr-
Twisted in your soul
And ****** up in your brain!
'Cause you've got X-ray vision,
And you **** her with your mind;
Defile her with your very gaze.
You strip her down and play with her,
Debauched within your mind;
Violated, objectified, debased.
Oct 15, 2017
Oct 15, 2017 at 2:47 AM UTC
*Spawn from the darkness
with venomous tongue,
spewing mystery, enchantment, delight.
Lurker of shadows
destroyer of dreams,
coward weaving your lies in the night.
A desolate heart
a lost, wounded soul,
your dark radar sensing new prey.
Debauched voice crying out
come to me, i'll set you free,
another soul murdered this day.
Coward of the shadows
cloaked in deceit,
always outside of their sight.
Honesty torments you
truth your opposer,
your demise awaits in the light.*
Jan 22, 2013
Jan 22, 2013 at 6:13 AM UTC
ginko soft they pile, strewn on cobble
memories themselves concretely devised
cloister inward, revise, revise, revise:
debauched meanderings fully marble
escapes to curl the lip, adorable
here and there, whether smile sneer incise
linguistic pirouettes or paler lies
congest that wisdom indefinable --
the moment past moves on to feigning truth
with pretty rhyme, for ornamenting time
with myths to filter in an Avalon,
juggle perspectival paradoxic ruth
with fine meter fine, vernacular chimes,
and resolve the conflict like a dawn
Dec 2, 2012
Dec 2, 2012 at 9:47 AM UTC
You know that in the silence there is a volume of sound,
A whisper of the decadent falling to the ground,
Their jewels and their poise,
The china faces and steady stances crumbling to the floor of marble like broken toys,
A weeping victim now laughs at the corrupt as they fail,
Their alibis and cover-lies aren't fit for humans now.
They collapsed under the weight of deceit, that decadent class,
Of champagne flutes and crystal glass,
Now standard thrift-shop plastic beakers,
Stalking 'round in second hand sneakers,
No noise from the debauched, not a sound of relevance,
The bliss of watching it unfold, the descent of decadence.
Aug 27, 2012
Aug 27, 2012 at 9:21 PM UTC
up n down
like the proverbial ****** drawers
servin hors doeuvres
to rich *****
bein rinsed by cheap escorts
hands raw
work eight days a week
to be paid for four
make much more
on her back were she as debauched
with the petite bourgeoisie
tucking in to her
as the main course
Mar 15, 2016
Mar 15, 2016 at 5:43 AM UTC
The Aftermath of Injustice
In Memory of Neil Aggett
1953 - 1982
You crossed the border to offer your expertise
To render a service to a people without a voice
A people in hell
To a nation stripped naked by gross injustice
Like a tree with no leaves
Stripped bare in autumn
Left with no shade from the scorching sun
The fruits had all been stolen by wicked men
Devoured by the debauched in khaki attire
Swollen and puffed with pride like pastry in an oven
They took you captive like Jesus once was
Punished for doing good
Until your heart cried out with an inner voice
Why the whips and chains
Wet and cold electrified feet
You knew then ... You wouldn't get out alive
Your passing cruelly induced
To end your life ... Your only relief
Like a whisper in a crowd
Who would hear your cry
Of course the papers had to say
He did it himself ... He did it his way
Oh how I wish I was invisible
There in your cell of hell
To name and shame the faces
Who unjustly got saved by the bell
Written by Sean Achilleos 25 January 2019©
Additional:
In this life it may seem that there are people who get away with almost anything and everything.
And perhaps they do.
However, only in this lifetime.
But sadly not in the life thereafter.
Like an alarm bell that breaks the deathly silence early in the morning.
It's not what you want to hear, but a necessary truth.
Jan 25, 2019
Jan 25, 2019 at 6:43 AM UTC
“SHAME ON YOU”
By: F. Panerio
Shame on you!
Charlatan
Shame on you!
Phony
Shame on you!
Hoax
Shame on you!
Larceny
Shame on you!
Debauched
Shame on you!
Mendacious
Shame on You!
Superciliousness
Shame on You!
Snootiness
Shame on You!
Scoundrel
Shame on you!
And shame on me!
If we both alike!
Jun 24, 2010
Jun 24, 2010 at 6:56 PM UTC
I can remember when I left you,
No.
When I saved you,
No.
When I condemned you.
When you offered me your heart and your lust and I took them into my own and cursed myself with the role of a lover.
I accepted the gift but at least I felt conflicted.
Enough so to soon see that giving you joy meant denying what I am.
I am nothing but contradictions.
A hypocrite with a most debauched nature.
While I wished for nothing more than the red of your petals,
So too did I wish to lay with the weeds.
Much closer to my own kind,
like me they choke the beauty from flowers.
Only with a little less love in their grasp.
So I shifted from you and in poetic spirals of ink I set you free.
At least that's how I saw it.
But now I realise just how much damage a week with me is worth.
Your eyes look dimmer.
A layer of spite and tears stop me seeing any further than that.
Your petals didn't fall but they certainly faded.
What was red became black,
A hell I never wished for you,
And I can only pray that your shade is much more superficial than mines.
I hope it will wash clean and reveal a purer white than a spotless bride.
But that's just a dream.
Hearts are easy to see when they're worn on ones sleeve,
And I've changed hers for the worse.
A fate I had not foreseen and now she can't even see me.
Everything I once admired has drifted from her face.
But it's been replaced by perfection of a different sort.
Had this been clear to me I could have hid who I was.
It would have been worth it.
Just to leave her as she was.
If I confront her will she pour this new life into me and be as she should be?
Or will I leave her in the same void of pain and passion I found myself in?
I swore to watch over those left behind on the path to bliss,
But not those I dragged back myself.
If only I could send her back on the path.
Another letter perhaps.
Dear Rose.
I love you.
I'm so, so sorry...
Dec 27, 2013
Dec 27, 2013 at 5:35 PM UTC
I speak in tongues of men and angels, I speak as a man that knows the angles. I rhyme truth melodically, with my methodology, my words convicting you this is no mythology. And as tides of tithes flood our church like Jordan, the lives of lies, my tongue has shortened. So let's ask the Ghost of the Most-High, high above I, to bless this mission, this mission of mine.
(Are you sold? Are you inspired? By this sorcerer peddling his strange fire? Are you scared? Are you mired? By the weight of this second-rate evil-inspired rant that can't won't couldn't shouldn't be found profound by us when by Christ it wouldn't? The "broken bonds" of this sounding gong are just more chains, just empty song)
I've loved, lived, lost!
(But burned the cross.)
I've spoke and swayed!
(At disastrous cost.)
I've sung the hymns!
(So did the Devil)
Filled our church with gold!
(The softest metal.)
I fought back the dark!
(But it left it's mark)
Laid all at the altar!
(That's still awaiting a spark)
I witnessed to the street!
(On a weak foundation.)
Was given the the finest things!
(And moth and rust will take them.)
(It was never about what he could do, what glory can God take when who is seen is you? His “my’s” and “I’s” can’t save the lost, his “my’s” and “I’s” put Him on the Cross! Man can only save what gold can buy, and in the end owns nothing but gilded lies. You've seen his path, and where it leads. Do you see now that it's from you you're freed? Not debt, not pain, not loss or strife, but the crushing weight of your debauched life?
The Son will not impart what this man asks, for to leave you the world is not His task. For we are born, but do not live, until we surrender that which was not ours to give.)
Aug 28, 2015
Aug 28, 2015 at 7:58 AM UTC
Wealthy,
by dint of lucky birth
lavish,
by way of early learning,
the boy's body grows,
but his mind does not, and
with all things merely
given
he himself is
given
to taking
all desired things
without
a second thought
Profligate
in action, manner, and style
his brash displays of excess
appear to him
congenial acts of
tempered moderation
his slavish hedonism,
blinds him to the
folly of his ways,
like a child with an
insatiable sweet tooth
and the keys to a candy shop
he peruses the town
in ritualistic fashion
night after night,
sowing seeds of
licentious desire
which bloom
into Devil's Trumpets
of debauched
indulgence
one drink
then another
one line
then another
one pill
then another
one conquest
then another
attained in
rapid succession
pursued with
reckless abandon
awakening
in a different bed
each afternoon
sun beams
piercing the blinds
stinging his weary eyes
his temples throbbing
his vision spinning
his stomach churning
his desire remaining
the void within him imploring:
“ENDURE”
but soon
he discovers his
well of fortune
has finally run dry
the repressed knowledge
of this inevitability
descends upon him
like a Biblical plague
his cards decline
his key refuses to
open its door and
the doors of his conquests
slam in his face
and so
the destitute rake
stumbles pitifully
without aim
with body aching
with knees weakened
with ears ringing
with hands trembling
with vision blurred
with fear and doubt
mocking his every step
the concrete corridors
once so exuberant
now appear to him as
moribund and desolate
graveyards for the senses
the neon banshees
which once broadcast their
sultry siren songs
like choirs of cherubs
heavenly and divine
now sound to him
like the tortured screams
of the ******
rising up
to haunt his dreams
the emptiness remains
echoing his every
tortured thought:
"who am I?"
"what have I become?"
"why am I here?"
"what was it all for?"
awash in the tumult
of the dark night of the soul,
the handsome stranger's limbs
give out from beneath him, and
his mind collapses into deep
and dreamless sleep
whose
countenance mimics
the final embrace
of death
For him,
they are one in the same,
and of deaths,
this will be the first
of many
for he has
but yet begun
to learn.
Mar 3, 2019
Mar 3, 2019 at 4:18 AM UTC