"deoxygenated" poems
Deoxygenated blood flows from the body to the right side of the heart through the Vena Cava.
From the Vena Cava to the Right Atrium.
From the Right Atrium through the Tricuspid valves.
Through the Tricuspid valves to the Right Ventricle.
Up the Pulmonary Artery.
Through the semi-luner valves.
Out the pulmonary artery.
To the lungs.
Blood becomes Oxygenated
Oxygenated blood flows from the lungs to the left side of the heart through the Pulmonary Vein.
From the Pulmonary Vein to the Left Atrium.
From the Left Atrium through the Bicuspid valves.
Through the Bicuspid valves to the Left Ventricle.
Up the Aorta.
Through the semi-luner valves.
Out the Aorta.
Oxygenated blood is sent around the body.
Blood becomes Deoxygenated
Deoxygenated blood flows from the body to the right side of the heart through the Vena Cava........
SO If you tell me your heart is "literally broken" just don't.
It isn't broken.
It just hurts.
It's just feels horrible.
Painful.
A feeling that hurts you and feels like your heart hurts so much that it's actually broken.
But your heart doesn't actually hurt.
It's just a feeling.
The cycle stills goes on.
It is still functioning.
So, next time you feel your "heart breaking" and literally being "torn apart",
Remember...
Deoxygenated blood flows from the body to the right side of the heart through the Vena Cava.
From the Vena Cava to the Right Atrium.
From the Right Atrium through the Tricuspid valves.
Through the Tricuspid valves to the Right Ventricle.
Up the Pulmonary Artery.
Through the semi-luner valves.
Out the pulmonary artery.
To the lungs.
Blood becomes Oxygenated
Oxygenated blood flows from the lungs to the left side of the heart through the Pulmonary Vein.
From the Pulmonary Vein to the Left Atrium.
From the Left Atrium through the Bicuspid valves.
Through the Bicuspid valves to the Left Ventricle.
Up the Aorta.
Through the semi-luner valves.
Out the Aorta.
Oxygenated blood is sent around the body.
Blood becomes Deoxygenated
Deoxygenated blood flows from the body to the right side of the heart through the Vena Cava.............
Dec 17, 2014
Dec 17, 2014 at 5:39 PM UTC
Symphonic
My fist was first five fingers
Flowing Favonian into the palm of my radiant mother
As cheeky as a sprite, soon I revelled in the
Crisp light of the fridge and all its chilled visitors,
A skin-deep draft last week, a raging harmattan yesterday,
Barren among the fruitless lands of Mesopotamia.
Crawling, my sergeants and I led the way through our childhood fantasies.
Ali Baba's fortress, the ruins of Babylon, and up to the lately perturbed Euphrates.
I dropped my automatic rifle,
hurriedly snatched it up in the unforgiving desolate,
just in time to
narrowly dodge the absent onslaught of enemy gunfire
Only to witness a serpentine strike and an explosive splash
Of metal violating my infantile hand, a hand that was trusted and was caressed
Now merely a bludgeon to satisfy the steel-clawed slash of the shrapnel
A buffer to the skin of my wide-eyed physiognomy.
Waking up in the loose sheets of a completely unremarkable beige bed,
With the deoxygenated breath of the novice surgeon liquidizing in my veins,
It was almost too much to handle (if you'll pardon my pun).
These days it is
The good hand with which I
Uncork, pour, and serve.
It's with the utilizable limb with which I
Ignite, shift, and steer.
It's with my brain that I
seethe
And it's with my stump
That I knock.
Sep 24, 2014
Sep 24, 2014 at 12:16 AM UTC
Do you ever realize that
This universe
Can be likened to blood?
Do you ever just sit down and realize,
That the stars in the skies
Are platelets rushing to form a clot
Around an ever expanding cut
Constantly pouring out blood?
The composition of the blood
Diffuses
And becomes that rich oxygenated red
That becomes dilutes with the air
Of our atmosphere
And the ruby red sunlight becomes
Lovely, lovely orange and yellow,
The kind that get you all mellow.
It also splits into the
Cold color of deoxygenated blood
Yes blue.
We watch it ooze
Slowly
Putting the vast expanse of the heavens
On display
After the day
Is done.
Then there is the plasma
Which scientists say is the
Fourth state of matter
But what does that even matter?
Do you ever realize that
This universe
Can be likened to blood?
Produced from an
Ever expanding wound
Like that of Christ whom
Was bruised for our sins.
Do you ever realize that
The universe that surrounds us
Could be
The blood of Christ
There to erase our sins?
That the more we do wrong,
The more blood he bleeds
Thus the more we see
The universe increase?
Do you ever realize that
The universe is constantly expanding
And will never stop?
I mean doesn’t that thought
Ever pop
Into your mind?
Oct 6, 2014
Oct 6, 2014 at 11:44 PM UTC
drown in the dark
cleansed of all vital signs ; great relief
cold fish dreamed a thrill
drowning in the great salivation
a deoxygenated chill of perish
vote free the sponge of your formation
give to the new life that can fend
fed off of your spoil
a greater survivor in this stern habitat
can carry on your energy and wealth
Apr 5, 2022
Apr 5, 2022 at 1:31 PM UTC
I want love.
Hand holding, eye smoldering, heart folding love.
I want someone to fall in love with my nose, the embarrassing pimple that grows, the stuttering word that flows clumsily out of my butterfly-filled mouth.
Fall in love with my bare face, the way my hair is never in place, the sound of my heartbeat as it loves to race when I breathe in your deoxygenated air as your lips dance eagerly across mine.
Take me to the future where your favorite song will be my jagged laugh, not the sound of my keys as they type “lol” on my mouth’s behalf.
I mean, take me back to the past back when relationships would actually last, so that I can yell at you on the park, as opposed to typing “I HATE YOU” exclamation mark.
Fall in love with the touch of my soft palm, the way that I get angry but always remain calm; and I’ll fall in love with your precious words, as we soar through the sky like love birds.
Imagine us flying, standing on the porch crying, being exceedingly scared of losing the only one that’s ever cared.
Fall in love with my voice rather than the arrangement of my sentences sculpted into emotionless bodies on a screen.
Tell me that you hate my profile picture because the lifeless image captures not the breathtaking beauty of my flawless imperfections.
Substitute your ****** with a dagger and pierce me in the eye agonizingly slow. Stare into my soul as you go in for the **** to verify that your choice still remains at execution.
I want to kiss the creases of your brow as they spill emotion all over your anxious face as we sing our first “I love you”.
I want you to wipe my tears away as we split paths and wave at our hearts as they whisper their final goodbyes.
And when I look back on our amazing journey, I want to remember you and your words better than my inbox ever will.
Oct 23, 2014
Oct 23, 2014 at 7:29 PM UTC
every word we've ever spoken in english
is just a new combination of 26 letters
the first thing we ever learned is how to
alphabetize in ascending order A-Z
and your name could be any other letter
and your initials have the possibilities
of 26!
and she is four nucleotides in different
combinations - we can count uracil and then
she'd come from an odd number of oxygenated and deoxygenated ribonucleic acids
Feb 22, 2015
Feb 22, 2015 at 9:43 PM UTC
I live on the Right Side of the Heart,
DeOxygenated blood,
is what I've been labeled,
I'll travel to the lowest level of my Side of the Heart,
From the high and mighty Atrium,
to the low and grave Ventricle,
In the Ventricle, you don't do much except hope,
to get transferred to the Pulmonary Artery,
and that's up to the Muscles to decide if your worthy,
Why do I want to leave my life on the Right Side of the Heart,
and begin my journey to the Pulmonary Artery?
because from there they will send me to the Lungs,
and in the Lungs they will remove the poison of Carbon Dioxide,
making me unworthy of the rest of the Body because of my soul,
and maybe, just maybe, finally I will met the Oxygen I've been longing for,
and maybe my day will come,
*but what happens once out of the Lungs?
and granted the Oxygen I deserve?*
They will push me out of the Lungs,
Into a familiar home,
Like the Right side of the heart but instead it will be the Left,
and being on the Left side of the Heart,
I'll be allowed to exit and roam free,
across the whole body as they need me,
Because finally someone is going to rely on me,
Finally I will have a purpose,
Finally I will be Blood.
May 28, 2015
May 28, 2015 at 11:27 AM UTC
No one can save us
If we think we are all alone
Have a
Look at the heart
Pumping for you 24/7
Have a
Look at the lungs
Purifying our deoxygenated
to oxygenated blood
Have a
Look at the kidneys
Recycling our body
They are working for you
Only for you
No matter what
You are not alone
Wonderful soul and
It's capabilities
Oct 17, 2014
Oct 17, 2014 at 3:15 PM UTC
The first time I can remember writing a poem was in 3rd grade. We wrote haikus about springtime and when we had 4 we sewed the paper together with pink yarn and gave it to our mothers for valentine's day. The first poem that I read was about friendship.I didn't like it.The first poem that touched me was about suicide. It talked about pretty elfin faces turned up to the light and how when the blood splattered it looked like a rose a bouquet of flowers between her legs she said no he said yes, more. The thing was I thought that pulling a trigger on yourself was beautiful. I had this image of a skinny girl in a white dress leaning over a toilet letting all the bad pour out of her pink lips. thought that carving his name into your stomach fat was meaningful and that scars were a thing to be proud of. I thought that only eating celery and working out until you fainted was cinematic. The reality is that the blood splattered because the bullet cut a dime sized hole in the back of her mouth and came out where her ponytail would have been. The pressure shattered her larynx and lodged pieces of bone, teeth, and cartilage in the surrounding skin. Her tongue was torn to shreds and her metal retainer melted into her gums. There weren't flowers between her legs, there wasn't even a condom. She never said no but she never said yes. They were in love and wanted to be together but she didn't want him. She pretended she enjoyed it and cried in the bathroom when he fell asleep. When you zoom into the picture of the bulimic girl in a white dress you will see that she isn't a teenager she's 40 but she still looks like a child. Starvation prevented her bones from growing. Her lips are chapped and she has sores lining her gums, burst blood vessels in both eyes. Her hair is long but thin and dry and her eyelashes had fallen out and never grown back. She is kneeling over her daughter who offered to pay for rehab's toilet because she ate too much during thanksgiving. She bruises easily and the purple isn't the color of a night sky it is the color of deoxygenated blood vessels popping under her skin and congealing like fat on a turkey. Carving your name into your rolls doesn't make him come back to you, it prevents you from ever wearing a bikini. Stop making self harm and mental disorders seem beautiful and romantic, because there is nothing beautiful about having to bury your only child because he forgot to eat and used the razors one too many times.
Feb 8, 2016
Feb 8, 2016 at 10:57 AM UTC
Let me inject you with a metaphor
An euphemism of my life
The reality of the real world
I spew profanity
I smoke
I drink
I ****
I am such a bad person that people think I'm joking, because no one can be so cruel right? And that's the only reason I have friends
I think about heaven every now and then
But hell is like a brewery in my stomach
I ***** negativity
And allow my demon to control my thoughts
She is my only stability, my only sanity
My walk is the footsteps you hear in a horror movie
My legs are pin needles stuck out to pierce the side of everyone who gets close to me
My arms give guidance to the slaying of wrists and popping of pills
My heartbeat is the crack of a woman's rib in a broken home
My chest is the homepage of insecurity and doubt
My lips are the poison kiss of loneliness
My tongue tastes darkness covered in sparkling lies
My eyes are the pathway to her
I am her slave and I will do anything she asks of me
So please don't look into me Because she is constantly waiting for her next victim
Don't try to save me
You have no idea as to who I am
Hi
I'm Basbee
I have trapped a demon inside of me
She is cold and lonely
She's mean, rude and quite frankly a *****
Basically she's like me
Except she torments me from the inside
She has officially burnt a hole in my heart And all that's left is barely pumping blood
I am deoxygenated Because she keeps stealing every breath of fresh air I inhale
She has me mentally and emotionally ****** up So the only good part I had left was my physicality And she had to **** that up too
I have these scars More like tattoos, to remind me that I am mortal and one day I will leave this body and She will be free
I bet you're asking by now "Why don't you let her go?"
I can't
She is a part of me
And without her I would fall apart Because right now She's the reason I'm trying to paint a picture of myself To remember who I was when I was young
Because right now She's the reason that I believe in a God
I am a dark twisted fairytale
And I know how my story ends
She will eventually break out of the haunted prison she lives in And leave me warden to my own shadow
May 10, 2015
May 10, 2015 at 3:39 PM UTC
white and black keys together, in a piano creates the beautiful music,
oxygenated and deoxygenated blood together, play role in chambers , to create living cardiac,
fire and water together, sacrifices to make the powerful gold,
you and i together, live to make a beautiful meaning story..
Apr 24, 2021
Apr 24, 2021 at 2:05 AM UTC
Write me in your arteries
That any time your heart pumps
With Oxygenated blood to your body
I will always be widely spread and read
Engrave me in your veins
That every time your veins returns
With Deoxygenated blood to your heart
It will always return with me to your chambers
To be nourished and there eternally entombed
Pollute with me your airs that anytime you draws in
Your lungs are smelly with frankincense of me
Your diaphragm is deflated with fragrances of me
You pharynx is perfumed with scents of me
Your larynx is lavished with incenses of me
Your bronchus is covered with colognes of me
Hold me in your eyesight; reflect with me in your retinas
Carry me in your optical nerves; memorize me in your medulla
Beautiful as a final song that never ever ends, as a moment unforgettable
Emboss me in your emotions; share me in your thoughts and dreams
Have me always in your feelings like a fantasy, an ecstasy memorable
Let your vivid visions always be with a copy of my mirage, image of me
© Kìùra Kabiri. All rights reserved.
Feb 2, 2017
Feb 2, 2017 at 2:11 AM UTC
He's the type of boy you see in the hallways
with a cigarette dangling from his lips
though smoking isn't allowed on school property.
If you look over his shoulder and see his sloppy handwriting making up notes for English class
the only words repeated
would be something along the lines of
the afterlife.
I promise that if you look at his veins and if you bother to realize that they climb his hands like trees
you'd notice that all the deoxygenated blood has yet to care.
If you walk past him in the hallway
and you see him leaning against a wall
say 'hi',
not because he's broken and he needs your fixing
but because it might be fascinating to know someone as twisted as you
so why walk by the boy that smells of death and cigarettes
and not attempt to be friends with him
when you know his mind is just another dark variation of the rabbit hole.
You see, you could fall in love with him,
but really, would it be any different from falling in love with yourself?
You sit in math writing dark poems, attempting to make something physical out of the acting in your heart
but does it even matter.
He's doing the same thing in science class
except maybe his are a little more twisted than yours
and maybe that's what makes you jealous
perhaps he's dipped his fingers into the bowl of life
and you've dipped yours into the fountain of death
but morbidity seems to ache for him in a way that will never yearn for you
and maybe it's silly
to romanticize these thoughts
but darling, I can't seem to picture blood running down a knife
and not bring a sort of sweet satisfaction from it
and maybe I'm twisted
perhaps my mind is not a place for the faint hearted
but my love, who ever said I was strong
Apr 23, 2015
Apr 23, 2015 at 4:09 PM UTC
I want her look of unholy deliverance
that moment
Suspension In A Centrifuge:::
That perfect tunnel vision:::
My Dress rehearsal for Idolatry
bind me, a dolt, adult
Call me perpetual adolescence
deoxygenated default, setting in blue
so set me as the center of your universe
***** my temple, ego ******** edification
a dullards magnum opus, an apoplectic deity
when the script become predictive,
post or pre-mortem
predicated upon Walmart storylines
and nine live felines...
but we are bound by blue light specials to be
***** plain, vanquished vanilla
in a box store store morality, box store love, box store exsanguination
a new metric of mortality
the new math for the bloodless
Mar 11, 2021
Mar 11, 2021 at 8:17 PM UTC