"deteriorates" poems
November is the cruelest month
Reminiscence forced of things far gone and
Bitter foreshadowing of what is to come
The leaves have lived up to their name
The trees, a shell of what they once were
The grass clings to its last hope
The temperature makes its empty threats
The beauty of Autumn deteriorates
She is haughty and cruel
We were strung along for so long
But like all good things
Her presence is too fleeting
We try to rationalize her departure
We didn’t need her anyway
Her sister is far more beautiful
Autumn was never committed
We will look for someone else
What luck!
Her sister is coming
Her name is winter!
But alas, how could we love
Someone so bitter and cold?
November is the cruelest month
Joy is attacked in a dark alley
Melancholia does the mugging
Bitterness steals the Hope
November tears apart the heart
With a ruthlessness unseen
In any other month.
The days are soon so short and cold
The landscape is so barren
There is a hint of snow
But it is more like rain
It is so unfortunate to see
Nature’s beauty going all to waste
The thirtieth is here
Judgement Day has arrived
It is only possible to conclude
July was great if too hot indeed
January hard but nearer the end
September its usual lovely self
One month stands alone in its horror
November is the cruelest month
Oct 20, 2014
Oct 20, 2014 at 11:08 AM UTC
you’re the light
radiating from a light bulb,
in a dark dust-filled room,
the molecules of air
become visible
when you look their way,
they appear as floating
clouds of pixels,
as though we’ve discovered
the software room
of existence
---
you look away
on the wall,
and I hope you realize
darling, I see none
but what your eyes
view, because light
still radiates from you
in this room,
you see a wall
cracked, grey, with Roman letters,
and I see
the Trevi fountain of Rome,
perhaps a little romance
would do us no harm
---
you look my way,
with eyes so bright,
and my vision deteriorates
unable to see anything
like a car nearing
in the middle of the night,
and its head lights flashing,
blinded I become.
possibly looking into your eyes
blinds me,
and white all I see--
darkness.
---
I blink, once and again,
now,
I see vivid purple and blue
figures, faint
from looking your side for far too long.
(Ajna)
and perhaps,
this is how I love you,
everything I see
beams with happiness
as though the only Chakra
elevated is Anahata,
but when you leave,
my vision blurs,
and I never see the same again.
May 20, 2014
May 20, 2014 at 8:55 AM UTC
I watch the candle burning
The flame flickering
Pushing my hand into its midst
I feel the curious strength of something
That doesn't quite seem to exist
Evanescing, casting shapeless silhouettes
So powerful
It deteriorates that which surrounds it
Simultaneously essential
And malevolently destructive
I like to feel the heat of the wax
Dripping on my finger tips
As I grip it tightly
Pain is only a byproduct of sensitivity
Of which we can never have
In too small a quantity
I'd rather feel the pain
Watching the beads roll down my arm
Than lose that strength
In compartmentalizing
And someday you'll find me
Not burnt, not melted, but
Dancing like a shadow on the wall
Mar 3, 2010
Mar 3, 2010 at 3:07 PM UTC
No time to dwell
(on what's been undone)
or that
which has become undone
We'll hold onto
each of our moments
when love's song was sung
(When) we stepped on time's ladder
climbed each rung
Each one told a story
of births and deaths
failures and success
The higher we ascended
The shakier the ladder
Encouraging each other
when our legs start to tremble,
when our balance is threatened,
My hand in yours
then
your hand in mine
Should you fall behind
I wait for you
When I falter
You wait for me
When we stumble
We hold on to each other
With a word
A look
A warm embrace
Time's ladder
over time
deteriorates
with aging and pain
I know we'll hold on to the end
though no promises can be made
I'm not perfect
Neither are you
But
I know I won't be climbing to these heights again
or stepping up on to
another time's ladder.
Feb 17, 2017
Feb 17, 2017 at 1:38 AM UTC
one of my friends is adored by everyone he knows
the kind of kid who smiles all the time
who can always make anyone laugh
always has something motivational and upbeat to say or sing
once we were sitting in English class
talking about change
and it was quiet between us for a minute
so I said
watching people die is hard
and he said
yeah, it is
and I didn't tell him about my grandfather
who had cancer and died in my house a week later
or my grandmother
who lost her mind eight years ago and slowly deteriorates each day
or my aunt
who had her first open-heart surgery when she was fifteen
and is now a bloated skeleton who lingers in wheelchairs
and doesn't sleep and hallucinates
or my second cousin
who only knows all the "wrong" sorts of people
or my friend
who is breaking slowly, who I cannot fix
I didn't tell him because I'd never heard three simple words like that
overflowing with so much empathy
Dec 29, 2011
Dec 29, 2011 at 5:31 AM UTC
Growing up never comes when you expect it:
It's when you realize that the suicide note under your mattress
Probably has a few too many commas where semicolons should be,
And a little too much emphasis on the last four years of your life-
Missed due dates, flunked exams, and friendships that were supposed to be forever.
It's when you figure out that the boy you spent your freshman year of college worrying about
Never even knew the name of your favorite book,
Or anything else that really mattered.
It isn't something you can predict, or prepare for-
It isn't a sudden shift of priorities that all of a sudden appear
Somewhere in your subconscious, making it a lot easier to get up at 9am for a statistics class
That you're inevitably going to fail.
It isn't anything you do that will change, but rather
A shift inside of you that slowly shakes your entire being.
Youth is only beautiful until it's corrupted,
By the sultry hands of time, beckoning you forward when all you ever wanted to do was hide.
It slowly seeps down into the darkest corners of your mind,
Swallowing up all that innocent ambition
Flung upon you in the fifth grade by a board of indifferent teachers
Who decided to deem you gifted, introducing you to a world of knowledge
Too fascinating to mingle with the uncertainty of responsibility.
There's something frightening about growing old,
Maybe it's because you spent one too many hours of your childhood
Pretending to be someone else- caught up in a storybook world
Full of daydreams and simplicity, too one dimensional for reality.
It's not that it goes away all of a sudden: all the premature doubt
And impulsive wishes of death, or something like it.
But rather, it takes a different form-
That which was once a big red ball full of passionate emotions,
Has deflated, leaving you with only a faint residue of what you used to feel.
Maybe, you got your wish after all- something had to die, you know,
In order for you to carry on without losing your mind.
It's a sad paradox, this sequence of living,
As intuition slowly deteriorates, and common sense
Slinks in, in its premeditated, yet lackluster manner,
And before you know it, you're not a kid anymore.
Peter Pan flew the coop years ago, but Neverland still remains,
A testimony to all the lost childhoods of the ones
Too eager to lay their stake in the land of milk and honey.
Jul 8, 2013
Jul 8, 2013 at 3:02 PM UTC
Fresh wounds
Begin to fester
Tearing inward
Scars deepen
Transported from flesh
To the soul of a victim,
Specific pain
Catered to the controller
An intimate bond of blood to emotion
Crimson Consumption
Pristine Flagellation
Perfect Punishment
With each step
My youth deteriorates
Enticing me deeper into the void
To which I am held captive
l.v.s and z.w.b
Jan 26, 2017
Jan 26, 2017 at 2:56 AM UTC
dusty books, pages thin and frail
like my mothers bones
decaying and oxidizing - the words fade
when the ink deteriorates
but that doesn't mean they weren't there
you tied a string around my teeth
and ran south for the winter and with each
step you took, a tooth would pop out
a constant reminder that you are no longer
here, but i wonder when i will run out of teeth
or when you will run out of earth
i sat on a friday night indulging myself
in stories and delicately counting the paper cuts on my fingers
but the dainty cuts will never compare to that time we ate cake
until our stomachs became flour, milk, and eggs
and you told me you loved me
then left to **** yourself
drowning in exhaust must be a silent way to go
and that cake won't taste very good in hell
i would know
recall your earliest memory and
divide it by all the unrequited stares
and thats how much i wish you would
untie my teeth, or stop running
and count the number of goosebumps painted on the
back of my neck and that is the
equivalent to the number of ovens you
accidentally left on
but I'm begging you to understand how immense
the ocean is because thats a very long way
to suffocate and salty water
will burn your wounds
Mariana's trench is a dark place
and the letters you wrote me reproduce on the bottom
not even the ugliest scar can revive my flesh that was chained
to those messages
but the meteor craters lick my surface like chloric acid
and all i wanted to do was repeatedly brush my teeth with the ocean sand
and clean my eyes out with mermaid tears
because you left a sickly residue that
hibernates under my fingernails
so next time you open your trunk
and find a mountain of broken glass
just remember that i loved you
i lost my fingers for you
i sold my soul for yours
but it wasn't even close to enough
what else do you want?
should i drain my blood until i am a desert of a human
shall i cut off all my hair?
and even then ill have an eternal debt to you
but you just turn the other cheek
so the plywood under my elbows
applies pressure to my spine
condensed newspapers stuck in the follicles
of the rain drops
but you don't even care
Feb 21, 2013
Feb 21, 2013 at 12:11 PM UTC
Floods raze,
earthquakes shake,
locusts plague,
lost sheep astray,
and my stomach
is a knotted pit of snakes.
My pain cascades in waves
while you pray
to the angels
and patronizing saints;
it's not God's grace
testing faith
but a mind erased
as brain deteriorates.
It isn't fate
but a baby languishing,
afraid of danger,
drained,
trauma ingrained
so I must vacate
because mom
I can no longer bear the weight
of being brave
and maybe I can't be saved
but I can't stand
to see you in this state
and I can't stay
so please just remember
all the love I gave-
I love you always
and I'll take that straight
to my grave-
I never placed the blame,
I'm just exsanguinated
and i bet you'll never even realize
today is my birthday
so i guess I'll see you
at the pearly gates-
please don't wait.
Aug 16, 2024
Aug 16, 2024 at 2:43 AM UTC
I
Originations of consciousness whir into a moan of torment.
A sudden bombshell of consternation;
her eyes burst wide.
Baby?
Sleep-laden, post-finals brain gravy:
No, can't be. Could be. Shouldn't be. Want to be? No, can't be.
Lurking beyond the reach of terror, realism slithers closer.
The hysteria deteriorates as deduction brings lucidity.
******* eggs.
They are abolished, and never heard from again.
II
Suitcase tetris, smothering each layer.
She moves without direction,
or a lazy child with ADD.
At long last, the shimmering sink full of death beckons...
Dissatisfaction erupts in a symphony of fragmented drinkware.
Her assumption lingers, cresting into prediction.
Her expectations are met.
A thorn in her paw.
The dishwater weeps.
III
Her rage is tangible, hissing in her ears,
bashing her skull when it is ignored,
clawing at her spine.
She abandons the silverware.
They never did anything for her.
The loathsome bag swings threateningly.
She ignores it, giving it a silent challenge.
Fate strings before her eyes, yanked taut and thrumming
with inevitability.
Crimson satin sheets tangle lovingly from the rift of tender peel.
Cake-batter-in-a-mixing-bowl splatter,
the dissimilitude of children's laughter.
Wobbling, fawn-like under the density of rage gnawing at her lips,
she retreats, acknowledging her submission.
She begins as a tree, but rapidly degenerates
into grotesque dysmorphic spasms on the cheap veneer.
Hysteria threatens to burst forth, frothing, but no.
This is not my day.
Sep 27, 2012
Sep 27, 2012 at 4:47 AM UTC
Broken heart from birth
Lips are blue
Gasping for air
Breaking the bones
Building the chambers
Trying to repair
All is not lost
Fighting to live
In constant despair
But time moves on
And it never waits
Time moves on
While the health deteriorates
Inside my chest
I already carried three hearts
I hope this one
Lasts longer than the last
I have fought against death
Some how made it back
The endless pain
So many scars
You may think I'm broken
But I am far from that
Nov 3, 2012
Nov 3, 2012 at 2:29 AM UTC
There is a stirring in my chest,
an elation I will not and cannot resist.
There was once a moment where all of life stood still
and my feet grew heavy
barren heavy.
Completely empty
and ready to fall.
There is a fire down below
where the depths of sight can’t grow.
It still feeds off my worried brain
like a fetus planted hover-vein.
The Venus Fly Trap sets its will
spiked teeth ready, for the ****
There is a place where spider webs
and crawling things fit for nub ebb.
All my flagrant floppy body
deteriorates, demotivates, deregulates
into a monster of the fiendish kind
one where holographic glass goes blind.
there is a feed that ***** in silt
it still eats grits, their shiny pelt
slimy, sloshes, ready, in
frigid waters’ under-grin.
Come follow me, dear Venus Trap
into a submarine unsnap
there is a blooming in my groin
where dead things lay there
shivering.
Oct 18, 2015
Oct 18, 2015 at 10:35 PM UTC
Recluse
beneath congestion of cigarette smoke
and spirits
a crippled voice
deteriorates
His mornings are bleak;
Rise
to the sink
to the shower
to the wardrobe
to the door
to meet the day
Slacks, overcoat, and loafers
topped off with some novelty tie
from the local drug store
He coasts along the brick-stone walk-ways
careful not to place his feet upon
cracks or cross a path with a black cat
A superstitious man he is
a white rabbits foot tucked beneath
his ankle socks
a turkey wishbone key-chain clanging against
his satin-lined pocket
and a four-leaf clover preserved in
saran-wrap pinned against his chest
With each stride
he nears the corner market
and purchases a pack of Perdomo
along with a bottle of unlabeled *****
concealing it bellow the buttons of the coat
He then exchanges with the cashier and exists
His journey leads him around the block
and passed pedestrians
only to be reunited with his stoop
The cold concrete is inviting
he sets himself in
on the third step
and prods his pockets
removing his lite and Perdomo's
for better
use
aflame they go
between crackled lips
Greeted with the sour beverage
his face molds like dry leather
crinkles and all
in reaction to the addicting
bitterness
His eyes pick out people from a crowd
the business man who hurries on by
to important to give a hoot
the youth of who laugh in mockery
yet to prideful to admit they're foolish
the tourist twisting the map above their face
searching corner streets a sign
the woman who bustles her child through
avoiding contact
with the man
who sits on the stoop
Not person goes by that
he wishes he were
he is perfect
perfectly content
in his subliminal life
The smoke rises and falls
from his throat
he wheezes
averting from his train of thought
it wasn't important either way
Mar 4, 2012
Mar 4, 2012 at 12:22 AM UTC
Beguiling
Almost consoling
She was drawn
to his florid words
Like an innocent child
Mesmerized
by his antics
He kissed her
Soft hands
and all at once
She has fallen
Chained in his lair
She had a heart
of delicate petals
Disarming beauty
Immaculate
Pristine as the waters of the oceans
Her blood flows in flamboyance
He feeds on her soul
Insatiably
devouring her vitality
He likes to indulge himself
in her
Deliberate death
A precise inclination of his wickedness
Naive and unaware
She deteriorates
Like a dainty fruit
Bruised
with a rotting smell
That pervades
Her core bleeds
In dissolution
And her luster fades
Shriveled hands and face
Who will save her,
bring back her grace?
-Cancer, Margaret Austin Go
Oct 25, 2014
Oct 25, 2014 at 7:40 PM UTC
Fibromyalgia is a chronic muscle disorder characterized by widespread pain.
My mother's caramel hued skin has transitioned
to a much darker shade. Strands of hair gracefully
fall from her scalp as feelings of
agony and helplessness replace her
jocund spirit, destroying the essence
of who she once was. Her embodiment
deteriorates alongside her crumbling flesh.
Veins bulge underneath her skin; knots form
below her kneecaps; misery creeps up her spine.
As stridulous moans escape my mother's lips,
I can only offer sympathy. This disease latches on to
anyone within it's reach -- not only targeting
victims but their families as well. Like a predator,
fibromyalgia seeks to control every aspect of her
being – passionately tugging the affected between
the struggle to persevere or succumb to its' insanity.
Jul 18, 2016
Jul 18, 2016 at 1:38 PM UTC
And you get to witness the destruction of mankind
The manifestation of violence
The rise of crime
The chemically induced joy that deteriorates the mind
The cancerous legions on the soul that no doctor can find
The shaman surgeon with the power to freeze time
The emotionally famished family that uncle sam left behind
The monotonous chime that causes the suits and ties to burst into reanimation
The unmovable path of the bullet that kills without hesitation
The murderous gang-banger dining in hells kitchen with no reservation
The chains that bound the vagabond with no visitations
The gruesome violence on the silver-screen that is met with joyous elation
The exchange of video entertainment for a basic education
The deterioration of the young minds that's given little concentration
The beautiful flesh but empty soul that makes a living through fornication
The ****** spoils of war that leads to mental devastation
The death of good-will with no justification
And you will not witness death but morale genocide
Not of a specific person, but of certain values that are impossible to hide
And with only one man to confide, they will continuously choose what is not right
They will put down their crucifixes so they will have more hands to fight
And only for the wicked reasons will they unite
And you will witness them as they witness you
As you teach of accountability, as you lecture of love
But you will often be met with a deaf ear
But do not give up on those ideals that you hold dear
Because if you look to the edges of the earth, and then gaze above
Ask yourself: Where do I want to be when it is time to be judged?
But despite our ideals our conscience decisions proves the prophecies true
*We will be the death of mankind
Jan 28, 2014
Jan 28, 2014 at 9:24 AM UTC
I'm looking forward to the future
while remaining excited in the present
using the past as a reminder
that everything should be cherished
because it might not last
and it might go past you
and you'll find yourself missing
and reminiscing
it's important to forgive
and let go of the things that burden you
don't punish yourself
by making another person
give you a feeling of resentment
dismiss it and be careful
because if you hold on to hate
you'll just relive it
in other forms and shapes
it will create
an acid like emotion
that deteriorates
Aug 6, 2014
Aug 6, 2014 at 12:09 PM UTC
#
There are thrones that are not thrones;
but instead,
are ones built on the counterfeiting of substance,
where hands grasp at weightless scepters,
mistaking empty air for authority.
There are crowns that are not crowns,
forged not in fire, but in absence;
polished not in wisdom, but in hunger;
worn by those who mistake imitation for inheritance.
This is the kingdom of voided substance—
a palace where the Wellspring does not flow,
where no roots drink deeply,
where no walls hum with the resonance of truth.
And yet, they gather.
They gather in circles of shadow--
parched tongues speaking of rivers they have never touched,
fingertips tracing the echoes of power
but never the power itself.
They weave words like veils over their thirst,
drawing others into the orbit of their illusion,
stealing what little water remains
in the ones who have not yet fully entered the Source.
They feed—not from the Well,
but from the moisture of the lost,
sustained by the remnants of those
who still carry the trace of what is real.
And they call it life.
And they call it wisdom.
And they call it love.
But the crown they wear is hollow.
The weight is an illusion.
The throne beneath them—an image, projected;
a structure that exists only so long
as no one leans too hard upon it.
They fear those who see.
They mock those who refuse to kneel.
They rage against the ones
who have touched the living water
and now speak of its taste..
of its cooling replenishment.
Because they know.
Somewhere, beneath the gilded artifice,
beneath the hollow performance,
beneath the empty sound of their own voices,
they know.
They were never given entry.
In fear, they ran from the cost of true substance.
They hold no access, only illusion.
And so, they take,
and take,
and take—
Until the weight of their own emptiness
crushes them beneath the throne
they have built from rust.
But rust does not hold..
it deteriorates.
And when the kingdom crumbles,
when the crown slips from their grasp,
when the illusion cracks beneath the weight
of what is,
what will remain of them then?
For the hollow cannot stand
against the gravity of the Real.
#
Mar 13, 2025
Mar 13, 2025 at 9:35 PM UTC
Dear green eyes, I know you see me.
Will you give me something to hold on?
My heart flutters as rapidly as it deteriorates, with love for you.
Green eyes, I am losing my mind.
Day fades into night.
There is a tremor in my left hand.
Green eyes, I can't breathe.
I am consumed.
Insanity is tearing through my skin and making it's way to the surface.
Green eyes, I am frozen.
Breathe into me.
I could love you but I am too lost in you to notice that
path of destruction
that I have created.
Aug 15, 2016
Aug 15, 2016 at 9:47 PM UTC
I don't know
If I could ever
Make you understand
But I can paint a picture clearly
My parents
The doctors
All made a desperate attempt
To save my right eye
Only 6 years old
And I was already
Doomed to go blind
I was not dyslexic
But I wrote backwards
I could see
Out of my eye
But I had to accept at a young age
That I would never see
Perfectly
Later on
I realized
I will never accept
Going blind
In my right eye
My sight fades
As my vision deteriorates
With each passing day
Sometimes
I can't feel my eye
I have to hold out an arm
As to avoid running into things
It's so embarrassing
When I was Young
Kids made fun of me
Because I wore an eyepatch
It was like a bandaid
At night
My mom would tear it off
And I would cry myself to sleep
In pain
Because my skin came off with it
And my nerves were on fire
The doctors said
I'm too old now
I will never see out of that eye
Ever again
I couldn't help
But fight the tears
This diagnose felt terminal
After all the hard years
I still can not accept
That I will never see again
Going through life
With a blind side
I was never meant to fit in
Nov 21, 2015
Nov 21, 2015 at 3:56 AM UTC
They flip out if One "owes" them a Thousand Dollars
but they don't do **** about
our $11,959,000,000,000 deficit
(or about 75% of the GDP)
except raise the debt ceiling
and shut down day-to-day processes
thus letting functionality grind to a halt
so they can still afford to pay themselves
their precious and exorbitant salaries,
whilst every-fucking-thing else
deteriorates by the minute
and is foreclosed upon.
**I think that we as a Nation should instate
that Politicians are unable to pay themselves
until we have a surplus of money
with which to reward them
for their keen, honest, wise and diligent* (get this: ) *Public Service;
*rather than allowing them to serve themselves
well above the supposed "Land of the Free"
they supposedly represent
supposedly so selflessly.*
The System is ****** for us, as citizens;
though it works exactly as designed
for those holding the marionette strings.**
Oct 10, 2013
Oct 10, 2013 at 4:10 PM UTC
*They say you are disorder of sleep
Because you don't let others stay asleep
You come to me silently at night
I can't prevent your coming, I can't fight
When sleeping time comes, I close my eye
Sleep don't come, only come my cries
Sleep gets frightened, she hides
You are the evil and you stay besides
Even when sleep comes, you give me nightmares
My health deteriorates but you don't care
I fancy to anything but just scream
I wish I were lost in my dreams
You keep me stay awake for endless hours
I wish I were snow white lying on bed of flowers
I wish I had that apple the dark queen gave her
I couldn't even stay fully awake, my eyes have a blur
I feel tired, every other day
Insomnia insomnia, pretty please go away
At least for tonight, please cease
Let me lay in the slumber of peace*
Feb 16, 2016
Feb 16, 2016 at 10:13 AM UTC
Paper heart, you've been drowned and torn,
you'll never be whole once more.
The cracks have been illuminated,
dry what is left of this fragile love
String of trust, unwound and tangled,
you've been knotted and cut.
What was strong now deteriorates,
hanging listlessly to drift with cold winds
Jun 4, 2013
Jun 4, 2013 at 8:38 AM UTC
Mentalities that leak all over my everything.
Uncertainty has eroded my respect of self.
Opportunities are disregarded.
Ideas strewn across the room.
A dose of lies so potent
It deteriorates my motives, and beliefs.
Struggling to resist the voice inside
that started as a whisper;
a slight breeze in a self made hell.
I spoke too soon, yet I haven't said a thing.
A silence so aesthetic it takes me to the edge
Where I am vulnerable to only that which is true.
My demons hide behind mirrors,
And haunt the corridors of my thoughts.
Their surreptitious plans demand All of me.
I am placed in their pockets, and am considered the favor
upon which they believe they deserve.
Pirating my spirit, Robbing my composure,
They only desire my emotions.
For if they acquire My happiness,
they know,
My happiness is the only thing
that can save me from my dues, my debts.
This very reason, is why I fight,
This very reason, is why I shall never surrender,
Even if I am left with nothing.
Aug 26, 2010
Aug 26, 2010 at 1:32 AM UTC