"desolating" poems
To crave,
Wails of agony, voices soaked in terror?
Call after call, message after message.
Care, love, sympathy?
Succor, surveillance, support?
Tear after tear, hands shaking and grasping?
Pity, solace, warmth?
To receive,
Levigating guilt, being disintegrated.
Evanescensing from reality.
Blood clotting and drying.
Those who are paid to give care,
Who seem as though sympathy;
Hadn't glazed over their eyes in decades.
A room so cold and sterile,
That not even the warmth of my breath
Could stop my bones from shivering under my skin.
Desolating abandonment,
Hums of fluorescent lights,
In chorus with sobs of despondency
It isn't what I wanted.
But it is what I deserved.
Aug 24, 2024
Aug 24, 2024 at 2:40 PM UTC
Stuck in a whole
Filled with waters that are made of
Fear, sadness, & infinite desolation
I have no fight
I'm giving up on myself
& everything is supporting my forfeit
When she leaves I miss her
But after she's gone for a day or 2 maybe 3 I feel empty again
I can't let myself get distracted from what is good and revert to my hurt as always
I feel comfortable in this hurting desolating state I revert to on days like these
I'm killing myself, am I a ********* She makes me happy, so I torture myself because she won't do it?
May 8, 2014
May 8, 2014 at 12:44 AM UTC
I remember when memories
were crop dusted into epiphanies
and even the slightest hope for redemption
was begged for.
I remember when bones shivered
at the very thought of forgiveness
because I, myself
was terrified at the inevitable idea of truth.
The sweltering silence of the dispositioned room
led me to a melancholy state.
I fished for a slightly logical reason
to be entranced by these somewhat
fleeting moments that had led me to feel
a perpetual love in the eye of the beholder.
So to seek,
I hummed broken words and arranged them
onto paper to behold even the slightest thought of intuity.
As if i had played my imagination to be
the unchanging sea and thinking
I had opened over 1000 doors,
and was perplexed at the thought of which to close first.
Oh but even more terrified at my sustaining comfort
of never learning how to sail.
As my heartbeat scraped along
my unadaptable and inadequate lungs,
I came to the exhausting realization
that every “afterthought” of pain and suffering
was somewhat comforting
because even
in the desolating yet squandering end,
I remembered.
Jul 18, 2016
Jul 18, 2016 at 2:02 PM UTC
Oh,
how your sapphire eyes and seducing laughter
softly, yet frightening
sends paths of associations trough my veins
timeless nights,
burning sunsets,
carefree roars of laughter
Insignificant parts of the past
So tell me,
how come I desperately hold them tight
in my desolating hands
Feb 1, 2014
Feb 1, 2014 at 11:03 AM UTC
You rob me of all my energy,
desolating my little sanctity
You rob me of all my energy,
leaving me with nothing but misery
I foolishly built a home in your soul
because I mistook comfort for security
I painstakingly withstood the chagrin
yet you repay me with your folly
Your mouth is a gun
The words you spew fly like bullets
in no time they crush my bones tidy
They exterminate every bit of life in my body
At the end of it all
I am left with nothing
I feel naked
like a mole rat in spring
But I clothe myself with
assurance and confidence
everyday I mask myself with false mirth
I pretend
I pretend
I pretend
and will continue to
until the very end
Jan 31, 2014
Jan 31, 2014 at 10:36 AM UTC
Your shingled roof keeps the sunbeams out of your head
Greasy grime-stained glass windows tint your cracked worldview
Spite dripping from the meaningless words you said
Time and again it rears its ugly head anew
Tiles misaligned by the slow shaking of years past
Rusted doorknob yielding to splintered wooden door
Vestiges of reason leave your mind all too fast
Eaten by insecurities, razed to the floor
Graffiti and dirt lie intertwined on your walls
Fractured wallpaper peels away in strips and flakes
The answering machine inside holds no more calls
The dusty mould on the tabletop swells and cakes
Broken pipes and tangled wires climb up your side
As varicose veins snaking up your wizened spine
All your flaws leak out and there's nowhere left to hide
Groaning in the wind, your voice hissing "They're not mine!"
Your boarded-up middlesection is always torn
Wind-ripped by desolating gusts of delusion
The flight of fancy, the gloried facade you've worn
Hangs from bitten brick, a decomposed illusion
Dec 10, 2013
Dec 10, 2013 at 9:35 AM UTC
Can you hear the sound of the indomitable wind?
It breathes in great heaves
through these sun-beaten leaves,
so boisterous it could flow through ears to the mind.
The eucalyptus’ standing in disciplined lines
seem disturbed by it,
and by the sun that’s lit,
illuminating their aging signs.
From some stark desert some miles to the south
bundles of dry wind roll
up, over, and down this grassy knoll
that unknowingly beleaguers the skin of both
infants playing with their blocks on the lawn
and an older patron
visiting from Dayton
who naturally rises some hours before dawn.
The wind can easily uproot and tear the land apart;
it can dishevel
a garden neat and level,
desolating work to which the retiree gives their heart.
The lascivious sound of the southern wind resonates
past the final palm of the mind
where Wallace Stevens’ bird went blind,
lying low in the recesses of cranial plates.
I say that that sound is no sound at all,
just a loosing slip
of the cerebral lip
attached to a thing abstractly beautiful.
But it sings its song all the same.
Perhaps it is physical.
It’s certainly divisible.
It pierces the sky like a transparent flame.
Sep 7, 2012
Sep 7, 2012 at 3:30 PM UTC
Oh, Tangerine do stop by,
Help me **** the fleeting time.
The bitterness keeps peeling,
Bleaching me in every bite.
My dented undulating heart,
Bleeds the very orange.
My heart was once young as well,
It soared over life's boughs.
It dazzled over a grassy hill,
Brighter than the midday sun.
Even with the obscuring clouds,
Which kept the blowing winds to shun.
As the evening did spring,
The hill began to swallow.
My heart seemed to color,
Fondling orange with yellow.
Climbing up, this mellow girl.
Had her eyes on my heart.
As she began walking closer,
The rattling wind left it shaking.
But as the breeze blew away,
My heart’s rind felt her touch.
While her eyes kept staring,
Picked me out into her boughs.
The rattling wind did stop,
And I felt I was still shaking.
Her bright shining eyes though,
Seemed too piercing to be true.
In a seasoned moment,
Her grip began to tighten.
Comfort felt crushing now,
And the shaking continued on.
My heart to her open mouth,
As she took my heart, it feared.
But she stopped only to smile,
And threw it down the grassy hill.
And I say to my Tangerine,
My beating heart, come back.
Desolating me on the hill,
The bitterness hurts even more.
Time has fleeted the hourglass.
So my Tangerine do return.
May 2, 2015
May 2, 2015 at 5:50 PM UTC
This strange kind of numb has chased away the desolating pain
there seems nothing in the part where love grows
not in the heart or mind or soul
Is this what death feels like?
Every shred of decency you stole in that **** weak moment of betrayal
you shook the hand of the beast that gave the burden
the thief of my dignity
it was an inncent action between men who respect each other
you had had no right to placee all my shreds of respectably in his palms
to anialate me without provacation
to give me up to avoid confronting the truth
you let my pride die a silent death
the humiliation.
the state of shock
and constant scraping up my self off the floor
it was because you found it easier to forgive, than fight for me
so I died A million painful deaths in that moment
like the love that swore it would die a thousand more
it vanished emphasising the nothing that I am
and you didn't even blink an eye.
Dec 10, 2013
Dec 10, 2013 at 7:26 AM UTC
Traipsing around your own obscurities
A little triangle; you're own trinity
I put a blind eye up to your window of equivocalness
I wasn't positive if you were that in to me
It's not just little crush for you, it's an obsession
Engrossed, hiding behind your false complexion
Everything was familiarly desolating
Who would've known you were enticed by your own progression
Stuck in your game of disturbing affliction
Years and years of built up absorbed addiction
Framed or ashamed of your heartless indulgence
The lies you hide underneath your table, caught fire from excessive friction
Mar 2, 2012
Mar 2, 2012 at 10:46 PM UTC
My rustic heart, desolating my carcass,
Dissolution of Hatred, denying my progress,
Laughter is slaughter, sadness is one ***** of a daughter,
Creation is a lie, the falsehoods of trust falter,
The breach of truth and likeliness,
Turn my insides and cause wretchedness,
I am everything in this world that is wrong
My Rome is burning while I fiddle my song
To my Heart that is an abattoir,
of memories and weak emotion thus far,
I **** you to the bowels of the abyss,
I will be rid of you so I can be rid of this.
Jan 20, 2013
Jan 20, 2013 at 12:09 AM UTC
Lines on each side
Pressed between your lips and cheeks
Oh, how they take me to the skies when you smile
As the cloistered horses appear to greet me with your heart's sensations
Roughed, a rose snake reels in vibrations
That mention of your love
Windows glimmer
Under the light of the sun
Oh, how I wish to gaze upon them day and night
As those hazel wards keep their watch on the dull of vision presented
Dead, without the beating and twinkling
That you can see in mine
I, insecure—
in your apparition's stead
Oh, how I dread your departure from my tight embrace
As the songs of the cardinal that sings within my beaten chest sharpen
Piercing, desolating the wrought plate mail
In fear of your inevitable absence forever
Dec 11, 2015
Dec 11, 2015 at 2:11 PM UTC
Why let a soul be parted from the other?,
If one day, they'll need to find each other.
Oh why put up a game of chase?,
If sooner or later, it will only bring a feel for haste.
How cruel this world of ours!,
Letting us suffer for years, months, days and hours.
How can we discern our existence,
If our other half has its absence?
I beg the deities' pardon,
For being anxious for a rational reason.
I only want my dear love's caress,
For in his arms, I want to rest.
Oh how I deeply yearn for the parted connection!,
Of the reincarnated soul that once gave me affection and affliction.
Oh how desolating can this situation be!,
Waiting and coveting for someone I have yet to see.
Feb 1, 2015
Feb 1, 2015 at 7:55 AM UTC
We are living in a dictatorship, a tyrant is at large.
The Aristocrats are clawing on to their wealth and privilage
Ebenezer Scrooge pales in all spectrum
The Peasants awakened in anguish, brews a tempestous whirlwind.
Torches brought to life,
roaring ******* flames of justice
Torture’s a friendly foe,
the time for lamenting has been extinguished.
Directing their stubby fingers, master of guile,
stroking their overgrown stomach
“Leech the Swines!
Bury their bodies, all but their sham crown
Garlands of heads, draped on my wall.”
A source of warmth for the winter’s plight, A trophy
triumphing the seeds of abeyance
Desolating fate is sealed by this stern decree.
Free hand-reading; not requiring an oracle.
“Am I not a benevolent King?”
**** out the roots.
One by one,
**** out the roots of evil.
For the root of all evil is good.
The peasants thin and scrawny.
Hunger, their morning advocate and evening lover-
Lusting to sink their teeth in to Pride.
The Nobel robed in mulberry silk
making love to a ********** pastry, birthed by a coinless *******
Ascended into the abyssal inner circle of Hell
Those armoured with royal blood adorned in leather costumes
-vagrants cannot discriminate-
slaughtered while Mercy slumbers.
**** the aristocrats, for they are selfish!
The abolishment of poverty, the bane of the Monarchical eradication
A diabolical scheme!
Says the soulless estranged with peace.
May 6, 2017
May 6, 2017 at 9:56 AM UTC
We used to be so close,
you were always my star,
light in the dark life.
You were the whole world to me.
I have always been here for you,
there was not even a second,
not even a moment
when I wouldn't help you.
I was the wall,
The support of our house,
house of the love,
The place supposed to help you.
You have never been at home,
that was the problem.
I have seen it,
I just couldn't believe it.
And the fear that you will not get home,
it has always been desolating me.
Yes, I've been thinking what if.
What if you are not going to come back home.
All of it,
I knew that we are standing here,
On the tiny line where stay and leave cross.
True is that I just couldn't believe it.
And now when it has happened,
When you crossed the line,
I stand alone in a love,
Looking at you running away.
The place full of joy,
My heart, the Eden used to be,
now is just a desolated desert
when you are not here.
I know that the place where you are going to be,
there must be a better ground,
and even if not,
you're going to make it flourish.
And the place where you have left me,
the place has changed after you have left,
the air is toxic and water is boiling.
The place has killed me.
Now I'm standing here,
the living body and the dead person in.
The place has killed my feelings.
The place has left nothing in.
Thank you,
you killed me,
now I'm not living,
just my body is surviving.
Jul 24, 2017
Jul 24, 2017 at 1:43 PM UTC
That day, a day like any other,
the tuxedo cat pads down the stairs while
a refrigerator hums in the kitchen, and outside,
leaves sway and drift to the ground into the melting of
dead, brightly lifeless colors.
But watch as her glass, dropping from her hand, bounces
to the floor, as the tea kettle screams and her hands blanket her mouth,
and notice as she’s unable to cry out. Now watch—watch as the TV man lifts his paper
with shaking hands, voice trembling as he introduces live footage of
crumbling and desolating powder flying through the air like a pound of
grey flour being thrown at the floor, exploding in every possible direction.
Watch as people scream, flee to anywhere, yet unable—unable to flee to
what we had before this,
one we were all begging for as
we watched her towers
desolate to the ground of New York City.
And outside, there were too many legs to find my father.
I saw the tears, a nervous and unsettling aura hanging over their heads,
how could anyone, any child, take in this fear
and understand it?
Once, when I was little, I heard a quote—I don’t remember
where from anymore. But it followed me, rang through
my ears, drumming with a hard, undeviating hammer,
at that moment. “We’re all as separate as fingers,
yet we are always from the same hand.”
Why were we all separated? Why—
why was this happening? I’ll never forget when I looked
and noticed the crossing guard give up on direction,
shoulders wilting as he turned his back and walked away.
Then there was Dad, and amongst the panic, the one—the
only one I knew would tell me, who would soothe me, who
would make sense of all the corruption, he grabbed my wrist,
pulled me into his arms and cradled me as if I was indeed the infant
I felt like in those short minutes. He walked home, not saying a word,
holding me in his arms.
I knew not to say anything. I knew at that moment, that
even if I asked, he would not answer. I saw him helpless,
the armor and strength ripped from him for the first time.
I decided to try anyway
and as I looked up and opened my mouth, his tears, silent
and unnoticed by me, splattered onto my face,
and I knew I would have no answer speak louder
than of that.
Nov 13, 2014
Nov 13, 2014 at 4:22 PM UTC
Oars of longings,
can't move too much bleakness,
a canoe,
looking back,
the embankment,
tears of maple leaves,
southbound migratory birds,
a solitary cry,
desolating,
the shoal of autumn.
Jan 19, 2015
Jan 19, 2015 at 5:15 AM UTC
What will be the death of me?
Will it be the paralyzing memories of my past,
Maybe it will be the time I gave my heart away,
Or could it be from my self desolating mind?
I fight to survive this thunderous cry,
Time and space harmonize,
My eyes are sealed together from the clouds,
Knives in the back of my mind pierce like glaring eyes…
The morning light used to illuminate my life,
I used to call this place home,
Questions about true beauty haunt me,
Is life truly this excellent, is it really so desirable?
If my body was put into a box,
And the night sky wrapped me into eternity,
Would the light of day try to creep in,
Would the light try to eradicate this thunderstorm of a life I live?
I have dreams,
I have visions of men and women,
Searching for their dying day,
Looking for the distant light..
Will their ashes blow into the wind like mine?
How will the respects be paid?
I’m still searching for the night,
They still search for a barricaded light.
Harmonicas playing softly in the dusk,
My dear friend sits alone,
He lives his life on a throne of dust,
Will he be there when I’m all alone?
This night,
It wraps around me like a shield,
Do I know what there is out there where I can go?
Will I remember your voice, or your silencing eyes?
These are the daunting questions I ask myself,
I call into the night sky,
Replies are few,
The ghost of you always knew.
Dec 14, 2015
Dec 14, 2015 at 6:33 AM UTC
Have you ever heard the sound of nothing?
A desolating sunbeam hitting the ground
Each individual on the hunt for something
Yet, nothing can be found.
The trees feel lonely,
They meet the sky for a chat.
They beg for money,
But the sky gets nothing back.
Together, the world turns grey.
The smell of death starts to cover the streets
While they all stand and wait
We just stay inside and try to fall asleep.
Apr 12, 2020
Apr 12, 2020 at 6:57 PM UTC
you've been on my mind
with every scratch of lead on paper and ink and ink
cut print moving on
you stay fresh in my brain like a stamp on a postcard
guts and guts and more
yet you learned to fade like they all do
you learned i can only need you for so long and that thought is just desolating
i don't crave your sympathy half as much as i'd like to think
but the nights are getting really ******* cold
and i'm empty the more i push; it's still what i wanted
and what i'm working towards
and what i'm not ever giving up on
no pills will be too tempting to me despite how much i hate myself
there's a fire cracking in my bones
and your smile's not growing
but i'm worthless
and i often wonder if you know the feeling
Dec 8, 2014
Dec 8, 2014 at 11:14 PM UTC
Magnificent
To be infinite
In the complexity
Of all that surrounds us
Desolating
I'm just existing
In the complexity
Of questioning everything
Aug 16, 2017
Aug 16, 2017 at 2:41 PM UTC
They used wake up when the sun rose.
High and bright in the sky, the souls of Syria.
Kids gone to school, half asleep babies doze
Off, everyone happy, everyone loved.
Everyday of life, earlier, like a feast, celebrated.
Harmless, innocent and unoffending souls.
They are woken up now by bombs showering
From the sky, straight upon their houses.
Bombs filled in with toxic, fatal gases.
Killing those harmless children and babies
Of months old; who are yet to talk, yet to walk.
Desolating parents who dreamt a new world
With their babies, souls who know not a sin.
Bringing a war to people in name of rehab.
May 11, 2017
May 11, 2017 at 5:21 AM UTC
We think shooting stars are beautiful, delicate rarities flying down from an infinite abyss just to cross a meaningless sky with no real end
But no
They are fallen angels, to powerful to listen to any of gods word and to full of hatred to retrieve their broken halo from their fellow brothers and sisters
We are taught from a young age stars are full of life and energetic, especially shooting ones but we are never taught that they are the epitome rebelliousness and destruction and will live to see our world self destruct and collapse in on itself and form a desolating black hole, destined to **** every piece of hope up for itself
Nov 26, 2017
Nov 26, 2017 at 4:08 PM UTC