"degenerating" poems
Tick tick
I hear your teeth click
time's going
and gone too soon
Ballerina tip
embittered lip
Degenerating mentality
rippling morality
Love tipping
fraying and ripping
asking quietly,
"did you Ever love me?"
Jan 29, 2014
Jan 29, 2014 at 10:54 PM UTC
as soon as these blue speckled
socks go, that's it. A new bright black death.A solemn weir on a stark horizon.Give me a reason to wear color. My hueless affidavit
runs me into the Earth, where I sprout up
a pallid keb- brain orf'd, you could drag my etiolated ebon
body through the ovine fold or take me to the theater. When I was just a minor teg, I sheared my mim kip, I fuckinggave it to you outright. In this little
cote my wan mien nigrifying; my calamitous black, quaffed full of congou in demitasse, of souchong & saucers. My atrous wethered body albicantly degenerating in the atrous sun. I'm crusting over with wanness and you, you're fortifying in the cwm where I used to yaff and stray. Your ovivorous hunger,something I never knew, when first you came for my jecoral flesh, just another bot digging through my soft toison. Like Dall's Prometheus being sheared from the flock-you cut me away. In this drab and achromic world, you put the wanness in my flesh, the gid in my heart. Still.
Just these blue socks are left.
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 5:20 AM UTC
When I sleep dreams please take head
I’m not accustomed to this speed
spliced with music art and ****
this rhyme a warning and a plead:
Many men look back at me
their eyes memorize silently
I trade in who I used to be
degenerating empathy.
Friends no more are there as well
waving constantly farewell
who they are now I can’t tell
heavy water stains still dwell.
Though no longer what you were
your name a prayer spoken unsure
Instills the fact there is no cure
clear direction- violent blur;
I am a man and I’m a boy
both utensil and a toy
immoral morals, high decoy
let flirt with death, young cold and coy..
So please I beg you, dreams of pain
let sleep consume me, peace sustain
let night air fill my broken brain
through the wind myself retrain
Let me wade in water deep,
let my faith forwardly leap
worry sow and disdaine reap
Troubled Poppies for Endless Sleep.
Apr 21, 2017
Apr 21, 2017 at 4:32 PM UTC
**O, My Creator, Deliver Me From These Inquisitions,
Emancipate Me From These Wretched Oppositions,
Free Me From The Chains Of My Weary Disposition,
Envelop Me Within The Folds Of Your Holy Apparition**
*The Sun's Light Dwindled Along The Horizon,
Darkness Bruised The Ledges Of The Sky,
Summer's Vegetation Recoiled And Fossilized,
Within The Dark Soil's Crumbling Underlie*
**O, Glorious Divine Being, Act On My Requisition,
Extricate My Soul From It's Appalling Malnutrition,
This Tattered Mind Is A Degenerating Composition,
Let My Spine Sprout Wings To Carry Me To Redefinition**
*Stars Emerged From The Depths Of The Heavens,
Holes Filtrating The Stale Air Circulating In Slime,
Oozing From A Fatal Virus They Referred To As Time*
Feb 18, 2015
Feb 18, 2015 at 7:08 PM UTC
Physical entropy
Degenerating mentally
Blistering coldness
Completely divided
Minute attentions
Diverse dreams
Of crowned suns
Sidestepping death
Reframing life
Unopened borders
Enclose the
Pedestrians within
Open minds
And closed mouths
Closed fists
And open eyes
Blindfolded
By an uneducated
Population
Nov 17, 2013
Nov 17, 2013 at 2:08 PM UTC
the agony of endless clocks
burning deep red digital hours
into equally deep red eyes
like coming off hallucinogens
time etches into your mind
with endless delirious atrophy
screaming meaningless words
into the blackhole of your thoughts
******* you deeper into realms
where the night is ungodly
and you are an animal in its midst
breathing silently in the silence
facing a grinning monsters kiss
that will shoot you with adrenaline
right as you wish to close your eyes
right as you wish to close your eyes
the sandman trips another line
in the murky distance a siren cries
"degenerating madly on the floor
love the ****** we ask for more"
Oct 9, 2010
Oct 9, 2010 at 12:12 AM UTC
being one for a long time now.
My days used to start with a joint, a Charminar and a corn roast with lemon and salt.
When I was rotten, ridden and worn out,
Other people’s dreams, heaves and hushes seemed the best to experiment on,
If not for the petty papers called money,
I’d continue to rot, ride and wear.
Being a ghost ain’t so bad,
At least it has pushed me to feel elated
That a degenerating section is following the echoes of my generic past.
That if not in my name,
The word sing the same lull.
It has been good that now my day starts with a joint, a Charminar, a corn roast with lemon and salt, Beer mug full of white pumpkin and Chiku in Milk and fresh cream,
And, the Chapter 1 of a new book.
I just, like it I guess, not just to buy the mixer, white pumpkin and Chiku in milk and Fresh cream, but for the *** nicotine and the new rush to blow
Or howl into, as well.
I just like that it has pushed me to soar at my own level of dreaming real in my name.
That someday soon,
My dreams will be mine.
And yours,
Will be,
Yours.
Feb 22, 2015
Feb 22, 2015 at 12:56 AM UTC
Sweet as the pantries,
She basked herself in a fanciful coating of clothes and accessories,
Longing to find what she termed her "Identity" in her self-proclaimed journey of seeking Truth.
Basing herself upon these coatings,
The sweetness, the addictive tone of hanging on to the securities of being visually appealing had been the sole thought harnessed in her underutilized mind.
"What should I wear?" "Am I looking too ugly in this?".... undisclosed, subtle yet toxic cycle of thoughts kept protruding from the braincentre.
Things unkempt, bottles scattered over the floor, food wrappers uncleaned....she continued glorifying herself with her trance-like state of consciousness: Calling it "Nirvana" as she glanced over her new list of Boy-friends on Facebook.
While ignoring being a pejoratory display to others, she went on profusely with her self-consuming obssession on "Beautification"....with few occassions of gaining a few disapproving glints of nostalgia from her used-to-be down-to-earth mates.
****** Her work was disorganized, she was casted out from the team she used to collaborate with on a Science project, and became merely an alluring visual representation for pack of hungry alpha wolves.
Disintegration, down to the floor her teardrops were drained from her tearducts as she pushed every bottle of her exclusive make-up products away. "Useless, worthless...."the self-degenerating dictionary of vocabulary swarmed her psyche, attacking every single optimistic living cell in her.
Few days had passed when she found herself sleeping on the cold, hard, unrelenting floor. With a slow recovering stance, she gets up with the final thought of taking a chocolate bar for sugar.
Now she is a healthy, spiritual woman committed in empowering others to find their true identity
Nov 19, 2015
Nov 19, 2015 at 4:34 AM UTC
Nanny,
Saying goodbye was the hardest thing I have ever done.
As I tread along the barren corridor that night,
I passed the poorest of souls.
Those whose frenzied hands moved without purpose,
Muttering incomprehensible sounds from their shrunken lips,
As they stared absently at the walls, never truly seeing.
With a clenched jaw, I had to divert my gaze,
Wondering who these people were
Before their lives were stolen by Time,
The unquenchable monster slowly sipping at their youth.
A loving mother, brother, daughter, husband, sister?
Their stories I will never know.
I wondered if you would remember yours…
365
The sign on the door read Christina Cook,
Written hastily on the old whiteboard,
Stained black with the names of those who resided here before.
I will never forget the unbearable sorrow I felt as I entered your room.
Nanny, you used to tell me aging was a natural process,
Like the changing autumn leaves.
But you forgot to tell me that after that beautiful,
Final blaze of glory,
They fall.
Littering the ground in their fading shades of brown,
Disintegrating into powder.
Spread by the wind as ashes.
I held your hand, and felt the leathery skin
That bound your delicate bones.
But, it wasn’t you. Gone was the strong woman,
Mother of 8, grandmother of 19
In your small frame, I found a child.
So proud to flaunt your red-painted nails,
It was always your favourite colour.
You drew the bed sheets down
To expose your barren legs and oversized diaper,
So proud to show me “how skinny” you were getting.
I wept inside for your degenerating body.
On the outside, I smiled and said "you are beautiful".
I swallowed heavily as I kissed your cheek and said goodbye.
Took what might be my final glance
At your weathered face that was once so full with joy.
I love you.
I hated myself for leaving you all alone in that desolate room.
I wished my presence could provide you with comfort,
But I knew I couldn’t.
Fall was fleeting,
Snowflakes were falling,
And you didn’t know me anyways.
Dec 3, 2015
Dec 3, 2015 at 2:47 PM UTC
shades of hues so dark, yet iridescent, lined the minimalistic realm during the era of the Grays.
each Gray wore gray clothes
ate gray food
thought gray thoughts
and could only think in terms of black and white… and gray.
there were no rules, simply because no one was unhappy with the way things were.
happiness was trivial;
trivial like a pale shade of pink managing to make its way into the spectrum of the Grays
or trivial like the way a Gray would see that pastel and disregard it entirely.
it did not exist.
happiness was trivial, smiles were trivial, balance was necessary.
balance, balance, balance.
order, order, order.
creativity did not exist.
creativity was not a word.
if a Gray’s words had no obvious meaning, they were disregarded, because they were incomprehensible. Words not in terms of black and white were seen as red, seen as blue, seen as green,
but never seen at all.
magnitude.
the magnitude of something’s potential depth was measured by their ability to disregard anything not pertinent to what a Gray should believe.
a Gray must be Gray, must be pensive, must be reserved.
a Gray must be tedious, must be timid, must be poised.
a Gray must be obedient, must be trusting, must be trusted.
a Gray must not see red, or blue, or yellow, or green, or purple, or indigo, or orange,
especially not cerulean or magenta or cyan or mauve or tangerine.
the Grays evolved from Whites, from Blacks
the degenerating masochists of times before
the Grays could not look down, nor up, nor in between, or sideways, or vertically, or around
they could not think what to possibly think of what these people before them may have thought about thinking and thoughts
and couldn’t bear to think about all of this thinking
so the Grays did not think about thinking
they lived for the sake of living
they breathed for the sake of inhaling, exhaling
inhale
exhale
inhale
exhale
inhale
exhale
but somewhere
somewhere in that Gray society
a young Gray began to breathe
exhale
inhale
exhale
inhale
and opened his eyes
his blue, blue eyes
and brought thoughts of color
to every Gray’s mind
lightened the world with light
opened the world to chance, to luck, to love
exposed the world to color, to beginnings and ends, to loss, and to destruction
and cried tears of red, of blue, of yellow, of green, of purple, of indigo, of orange,
especially cerulean and magenta and cyan and mauve and tangerine
flooding the world with possibility
flooding the world with creativity.
Jun 8, 2013
Jun 8, 2013 at 11:20 PM UTC
I want to feel you **** me again,
This time just like you tried back then,
I want to look you in your degenerating eyes,
To search inside all your precious lies,
The ones you were fed from youth,
The ones you believed as your truth,
I want to create your shattered reality,
And drive you into cowardice insanity,
I want to relive that desperate moment with you,
I want to ignore the pain and feel what was true,
I've released this relentless anger you inflicted,
But I know somehow you will always be addicted,
To the screams you heard on that delicate day,
So I wish to perform again and to your dismay,
No screams or pleas to stop the strain,
No *********** from body to brain,
Only stone cold eyes looking back at yours,
As your soul becomes the one mine devours.
Feb 7, 2014
Feb 7, 2014 at 2:11 AM UTC
The clock ticks and ticks
The seconds, minutes, hours pass
The clock looks down from it's perch on the wall
The heart questions its validity
And sighs.
The body grows and prospers
The thought of degenerating, down-grading persists
The body takes itself in and wants to embrace the only moments it has
The brain becomes distracted and lost in its own perception
And sighs.
The Earth, the only planet where love is known to exist
The clock has no jurisdiction over it
The Earth, in all its cosmic glory and all-knowingness
The body, such a sin to let it rot from the inside out,
Sighs.
The clock, the body, the brain, the heart, the Earth
The ticking, the rotting, the thinking, the sighing, the all-knowing
The clock measures the body, and the body, the Earth
The Earth, with no heart or brain of its own, spins unworried
Yet sighs.
Apr 23, 2016
Apr 23, 2016 at 8:20 AM UTC
Who were you?
At the end
No man I knew
Your essence
Was liquor
Your character
Alcohol
Your spirit
Spirits
The numbness
Took over
Sickness
Diseasing
The mind
Plaguing
The soul
Infiltrating
The veins
Corrupting
Abruptly
The human aspect
Degenerating
Generations
But you don’t even
See that
Anymore
Do you?
Eyes glassed over
From champagne
Whiskers
From whiskey
Who are you
Now?
Cat and mouse
You and the bottle
But I can’t tell
Which is which
Anymore
Running in circles
Tangled up
Into one
So tell me
Was it you
Or the liquor
That pulled
The trigger?
Mar 22, 2013
Mar 22, 2013 at 10:36 PM UTC
Everywhere there is darkness descending
Gradually threatening to take over humanity
The only audible voices is of grievance
Diminishing light of the eyes; only vices visible
The parasitic dodder has destroyed crops
Pests and locusts have abducted the grains
Starvation is causing uproar amongst people
Waterways and the fresh rivers are contaminated
Every drop of water has turned to poison
We are all exhausted and smothered with desperation
Covered in dust and mud, the minds are all paralyzed
The sun’s rays now obliterated the ozone layer
Ultraviolet rays now degenerating us faster
Ocean’s have breached the lands at alarming rates
As if rubbing salt over our wounds and despair
There is anarchy, protest and resentment everywhere
All humanity is up against nature, trying to salvage
The last remaining hope to save this Earth
© Amitav (Radiance)
May 12, 2014
May 12, 2014 at 8:05 AM UTC
Depravity Acts Like Gravity
Bringing you down
to Chaos and Degradation
And Degenerating Entropy
Trapped in a Path of Iniquity
Engorging an Extremity
To part the Lips of Life and Love
Enshrouding all that would shove
Pursuant to the path to Ecstasy
All the Work here is licensed under the Name
®SilverSilkenTongue and the © Property of J.Flack
Apr 7, 2015
Apr 7, 2015 at 7:04 PM UTC
Rise, Rise. The summoner sounds his morning song.
With a move of the hand, my life he conducts,
And I, like a wind-up dancer, obey all day long,
Never dancing to my song, which he obstructs.
Rise, Rise. Join the daily, degenerating strum,
Which occupies our bodies, but leaves our minds to wander
Where we could have gone? Or perhaps become?
While we drone on in labor, and true life squander.
O Time, you ensnare us in the pursuit for profit,
But allot us no room, none at all, to spend it.
Nov 15, 2013
Nov 15, 2013 at 12:29 AM UTC
Sky Lord,
Airborne, you are without equal
Unsurpassed in your ballet of the sky
Cloud dancing, rainbow colored hues
In this, you have paid your dues..
Born with a poetïc face
And a mind that raced in numbers
You walked tall among men
In riches degenerating into rags..
What began of dashing beauty
Became a scourge of grotesque painting
Aviator, with your broken bones
Break their hearts
In the mystery of your misery
Compensate what you lack
holding intimacies in your hands
Merge their bodies with empty promises
And the poison of the loss
Of your genius
with the disintegration of your sanity
Repeatedly in circles
You repeat your words
A hundred times
Sans grace of rhymes
Paper airplanes torn in shreds
Lie wasted in the grime
Of deathly dust
Like germs permeating
On blackened windows
Walls that hear your wails
And tales of woes
In the end you have lost all reason
In the sadness of your gloom
Many men have spelled your doom
Like an outcast in the desert
You were but an empty shell
No one there to care for you
Though they all gave in to you..
Silent tears deprived the laughter
In the midst of all the fame,
And all the fortune
You have died a lonely and
Neglected man
But, you are up the skies now
And I can just see you smile
Waving like a shy schoolboy.......
with delicate delight in your eyes,
Maybe there, in your spiritual might
You shall be free at last
For airborne, you are without equal
Like a true conqueror of the constellation
You shall sleep in an eternal sleep
Where all but peace shall stay awake
In your heart that is already mended
Apr 7, 2015
Apr 7, 2015 at 7:58 AM UTC
Nationwide Insurance twas on my side yay
cuz, earlier this July forth
two thousand eighteen ja way
windows closed, doors locked, and
car keys visibly splayed
on driver seat oye vay
feel free to call me a horse's *** today
utter anxiety compounded,
plus unable to locate master key,
thence fodder for poem and more to say
rifling thru boxes without success,
an impulse arose to call road
upon learning policy
doth include locksmith service,
ah felt less doggone snappish,
and uttered hoo ray
though modest aye,
congratulated awesome,
fulsome, and handsome
self on quick thinking,
and automatically became less tiresome
pondering for no particular rhyme nor reason
(as a getaway) Panama or Paraguay
then immediate decided,
sans ditto explanation,
but no how and nay
yet honest to dog suddenly felt
like a young lovestruck lad
during month of May
and without further delay
a compulsion arose
to putter along, though
momentarily gazing heavenward
and counting (just beak caws)
glistening black crows
plus painfully aware
a spike in recurrent
"senior" moment of forgetfulness grows,
thus starkly aware significant rustiness
increasingly, frightfully,
and chokingly coats
lix spit tillage harrows
resuming schlepping dishabille
crotchety bedeviled aching
body electric irksome
with fringe benefit (such as
momentary lapse of reason)
quite aware mettlesome
ness of youth nonrefundable,
non-reliable, and non-retrievable,
and guaranteed continued
pricking, viz nettlesome
degenerating aging telomeres,
sensate perspicuity, and oxysomes
leaving a once robust person some
what discombobulated
and easily toilsome.
Jul 4, 2018
Jul 4, 2018 at 7:39 PM UTC
i hate everything
that symbolizes life
flowers, the sun & breathing
i trace my wrist with a knife
when i'm not at work
i'm high all the time
i've become a different person
in the space between the reason & the rhyme
i'm wasting myself
without going all the way
for my constant self-indulgence
out my *** i'm expected to pay
i'm degenerating & withering
the person i was would hate who i am
forever stumbling down this existential staircase
everything i say, do & believe is a sham
theres no real semblance of hope left
and i think i'm okay with that
in the end, it doesn't really matter
whether i'm reprimanded or patted on the back
cheers to cheers-ing to the future
***** & diet soda in hand
i'm undoing the suture
i know i'll be okay wherever i land
Jun 1, 2016
Jun 1, 2016 at 12:50 PM UTC
I guess it is time to find something to look forward to.
I guess it is time to be reminded that not everything is falling off the edge.
I guess it is time to tap into hope.
I Guess... I Guess...
It is more than a feeling that I seek today.
I look forward to the time when I choose to be happy more than I choose to be sad.
A simplistic, cliche statement that speaks dividends to the current mental state of myself and others.
We look inside of ourselves and choose to look at the nuggets of despair that are over there,
Instead of looking at the joy that is on the other side.
I Guess... I Guess...
Life is more worthy of repeating than closing.
Doors that open might be more intriguing, but sometimes revisiting past failures can make you stronger.
But make sure not to dwell too long.
Balance the doors that are new and the ones that used to be present for you.
I Guess... I Guess...
Hope is a choice.
Hope can provide peace.
What do we put our hope in?
Where do our eyes rest upon when we look up to the stars in the sky?
Who provides us our daily bread?
Who irrigates our bodies with life?
Where do we put our faith in when the times decide to derail us off the tracks?
Where does the child go when they no longer have the bread they need?
When we gather up the provisions we need, do we take too much?
When we grab the stars do we take too many?
Are we using hope to fuel the fear that is festering deep inside?
When the stars are shining are we the ones snuffing them out?
I Guess... I Guess...
The time has come to choose true hope over falsified documents.
The time has come to let faith be a guide.
The time has come to stop hoarding the stars and take just what I need.
(I wonder what else I need?)
The time has come to take someone else's hand just to comfort them.
To show love and to choose love.
To choose life over death.
To show hope to choose hope.
I Guess... I Guess...
I want more than a fine feeling.
I want more than a horoscope peace.
I want more than a past that I'm ashamed of.
I want more than a degenerating hope in things that will never give me joy.
I guess it is time to find something to look forward to.
I guess it is time to be reminded that not everything is falling off the edge.
I guess it is time to tap into hope
I Guess... I Guess...
I am lost, but I am too scared to be found...
Apr 19, 2020
Apr 19, 2020 at 4:43 PM UTC
Suddenly the plot sickens… Lurching out of a comatose state, the sudden onset of panic…left with a past that has never passed…was and is always present. At present, past and a past present, both distinctly different from the present prospect of the past degenerating already into a future prospect which will never be. Suffer that. Being prey to anxiety, nostalgia and hope…. to attain from time to time the absolute serenity of a perception of timelessness, a state of lack of perception of time; to fuse together some brief fragments of eternity, we can perceive on this side of life, through a glass darkly. Though eventually will perceive with crystal clarity, in sharp focus. Simulators. Emulators. I keep bumpin’ intae mysel. That’s just the point. Around the bend. It’s not the end. Sons of fear and sorrow, will you cheer tomorrow? Sons of toil and danger, will you serve a stranger? A new beginning, never ending. Still sometimes I feel so low that I want tae “top mysel.” But I will go on. God is ma strength. He is ma Salvation. The only Way, The Truth and The Life. Love. Always was and always will be. HE IS.
Feb 18, 2024
Feb 18, 2024 at 8:27 AM UTC
Penitentiary filled with blacks
Crooks on cracks
Pills,needles taped with ducts
Life on smack
Blood shot eyes running nose and popping eyes
Cracking lips with oozing blood and saliva
The levitation is concise
But my terms long to cease
A fallacious adrenaline running through my veins
Dragging my pale heart to fuse
Forever taunting my sanity
Enticing into sober of things
The fade of my chastity
Caged my conscience from creativity
Confined in a penitentiary ****** ward
Under guard blabbering alien words
Drugged from hostility for my feeble mobility
Beyond the walls laid hope
Only if my term cease or hop
And my savager enveloped and mailed away
Degenerating the ethical morals
A stitch in time could have saved nine
Jul 17, 2017
Jul 17, 2017 at 5:21 PM UTC
gibbous moons
cycling through
fluorescent streaks of copper
filling the sky
exploding bones
caught within degenerating muscles
feel the sunrise move
up your body
the golden ichor
pumping through you
lights shadow in the night
still images of a different life
feel the cells tear apart
and the soul
molds into the background
Nov 20, 2016
Nov 20, 2016 at 7:36 PM UTC
Heavy as a thousand tons
Weighing down my worrid mind
Minutes meaning less and less
Degenerating bones and flesh
And all I'm left with
Is a feeling of dread
And a voice inside my head saying
Trouble
Heavy as a thousand stones
Being thrown its all my worried mind
This little rose I try to hold
These thorns and then I let it go
And all that I have left
Is healing hands and helping words
And a voice inside my head saying
Trouble
Heavy as the world I love
Spinning around inside my head
Nov 14, 2015
Nov 14, 2015 at 3:51 PM UTC