"deteriorating" poems
Small and insignificant...
Inferior.
Insecure and shameful...
Clumsy.
Weak and sad...
Molested.
Unremarkable and transparent...
Mundane.
Unlovable and ugly...
Hated.
Remedial and simple...
Stupid.
Angry and jealous...
Loathsome.
Lovesick and lonely...
Desperate.
Sick and Tired...
Old.
Unstable and self-destructive...
Insane.
Vulnerable and trusting...
Suicidal.
Hopes and dreams...
Deteriorating.
Smiling and Laughter...
Remedy.
Heidi Shavill
2008
Jan 21, 2013
Jan 21, 2013 at 3:59 AM UTC
I try to cry
but I can’t
I mute my tv
so I can hear
the pain reverberating
from my nostrils
like I am being
clamped together
in the fetal position
until blood squirts
out my ears
I try to cry
but I can’t
I mute the dog by
giving her a bone
I mute the sun by
drawing the shades
I try to cry
but I can’t
this muted pain
it’s locked in the attic
deteriorating
I mute my neck by
taping it to the fan
I mute my breath
with my belt
roll down my eye
to my lips
I want to taste
this ******* stupid world
for myself
Apr 3, 2016
Apr 3, 2016 at 3:36 PM UTC
I feel as if my head is sliding off my neck like ice cream melting down the cone. I am a witch melting, shrinking smaller as my spine stacks horizontally like shiplap. My body has been refurbished into a pinball machine. Something so tiny as a silver ball destroys so much. It bullets through my body, shooting off like Cuban missiles. I feel the turmoil and chaos seeping through the gutters of this old home of bones. It's like spilled oil sludging through my blood vessels or rats scattering through a sewer, nibbling and feasting away on these muscles of mine until they are frayed like gnawed-on cable wires. At odd hours of the night when time is propelled by the safe travels of breath (that weave in and out like Victorians at a ball) from sleepy children who have yet been touched by monsters or nymphs, whereas each of my breaths steer Odysseus's weather-beaten boat through ten years of treachery. My heavy, melting head slowly sloping like clay off a bust makes its home on my dingy pillow as I lay on a prison bed with cold shackles around my ankles that make my bones shatter into a mosaic as if that could shrink my ankles so I can slip out. I feel like a chained hawk at these hours of the night when I just want to fly until I screech to a halt and flail over the cliff that waterfalls into the ends of the universe. I'd be reluctant at first, perhaps, but what other escape does one have other than to make an autopsist's Y-incision on one's body, then slip out like a hermit crab freeing himself from his heavy shell? Embarking onto a new dimension where there's hope for a radical swap of atoms that don't shape a crippled, deteriorating human is the only choice when you want to live a life other than what you were cursed with. May we then find peace and live as naked souls bearing no heavy shells.
Jul 7, 2017
Jul 7, 2017 at 4:53 AM UTC
You ask me why I cling to you like you’re going off to war
It’s not you going off to war it’s me
Everyday is like a battlefield in my head
I can’t seem to get the words right
I can’t tell you how I feel because of the fear
I can’t let you in because that means you would know
You would know the monster within
I’m toxic and I can’t resist you
Maybe I’m young
Maybe I’m naive
I’ve seen more things and been through more to last me ten lifetimes
My heart flutters when I see your face
The brush of your skin is enough to give me a heart attack
I ask you not to hurt me
You tell me you won't
We both know that's a lie
It's a lie it's all a lie
Because you walk past me like I'm not even there
You talk to my friends and don't acknowledge my presence
I'm invisible again
I'm a ghost slowly being hollowed out
**** it
not this again
This vicious cycle
that kills me from the inside
I'm slowly deteriorating
please I'm begging you
Don't hurt me
DON'T hurt me
Like they did.
Oct 4, 2016
Oct 4, 2016 at 9:43 AM UTC
We are not simple nor monotonous
We are the sum of a thousand million living dying existences
Only believe that you are simply you
Because simply being you is an act indefinable
The fact that we are growing yet deteriorating
Breathing yet suffocating
Living yet Dying
All at once is astonishing
This is life
Do not sit here and accept it
Find a way to create yourself
All over again
Jun 5, 2014
Jun 5, 2014 at 4:31 AM UTC
skipping rocks and skipping meals
magazines are teaching her to eat less, no matter how she feels
models on instagram, tiktok, youtube, and twitter
setting unrealistic expectations with their photoshop and glitter
in size two jeans, hoping to squeeze into ones
it looks like she's living the dream, but in reality, it's not a good one
1000 calories or less, isn't it nice?
she's living in an eating disorder nightmare disguised as paradise
she's losing weight, but not feeling as though she's won
she doesn't want this anymore, when will this be done?
she's dropping pounds, but feeling so shattered
compliments left and right, but it's hard to feel flattered
she's eating nothing at lunch until she's too light to function
the cafeteria starts to feel like a dungeon
feeling sick when she eats "too much"
kneeling in the bathroom using the toilet as a crutch
and then she overcompensates with exercise
when will the people around her start to hear her cries?
things are out of control, it's becoming too much for her to handle
her world feels as though it's starting to dismantle
her mental & physical health is deteriorating as she loses the weight
when will they see what it's doing to her? hopefully before it's too late
Sep 6, 2020
Sep 6, 2020 at 7:56 PM UTC
I exhale.
As I fade from this life, I’ll float into the next and to eternity. I am so deeply enveloped in this world that I dissolve into all the others. My body will decompose, and I will exist again as a new collection of atoms.
I suppose through delusional, philosophical excuse I am connected to this world. And I suppose that stardust constellates and buries themselves in my bones. So I must grow in dimensions greater than height, width, and length.
But the veins of this new world are thin wires of cables and in complex codes and formulas are sent to and received by another motherless machine. Although, I’d rather break these wires and create a spark that can be felt rather than seen.
Let me ignite a craving under the continents and satisfy a spark that cannot be replicated by plastic or manipulated into energy. Let me feel the pressure of the world and the thick atmosphere that caves my posture. Let me once more feel by the fibers of kings and commoners that lace through my veins.
The world is deteriorating and has been left so deprived of life’s ecstasy that it is now hollow and I can only hear my own echoes.
Nov 3, 2014
Nov 3, 2014 at 9:58 PM UTC
I am from first impressions as shaky feet grip unstable rock. The path winds endlessly in front of you with unsure direction. Moss devours the cool, ancient limestone. A satisfying crunch echos with each determined footstep over dried and fallen leaves. Sometimes not knowing where you are headed leads to the best destinations.
I am from beauty everywhere. For what is not beautiful in it’s own dilapidated way? Certainly the sun, setting over silent waters in a rainbow of peaches and soft yellows, is astonishing. But is not the misshapen tree, aged and withered with time, as pleasing to the eyes? Time has beaten and bruised it, and it still stands proudly, bearing every single perfect imperfection, for the world to see.
I am from adventure. Standing somewhere that no one has stood. Seeing something that no one has seen. Living something that no one, not a single person, has lived before you.
I am from a rocky cliff face. With water slowly deteriorating nature’s well-seen splendor. It seems that too many have made their way into the daunting dark cave, squealing with childish delight as they fly off the unsteady ledges. Yet every time you see it, it manages to feel like you are the first one who has ever set foot in that cool sea-cave.
I am from blend out, not in.
I am from water and time carved boulders. Not one the same as the next. Beaten by the endless undulating waves from an ever-full lake. Each one has a story a few million years long. Each fracture, crack, hole, scratch and blemish is just another page to a book still being written.
I am from what is the difference between ordinary and extraordinary? That little extra.
I am from that little extra.
I am from a warm spring night. Just listen. Can you hear it? Every lonely frog croaking, every peanut guzzling blue jay singing, every leaf dancing in the tender breeze has a story. Every footstep, every tree, every rock, every grain of sand, every soft wind has a story.
I am from I never want to put down this book.
Sep 3, 2012
Sep 3, 2012 at 10:59 PM UTC
As you gracefully continue your life,
I'll be waiting.
Hoping.
Deteriorating.
We didn't share much, but it was real,
Was it?
Or was it all a game? A lie?
Maybe I'll taste love too soon
Too much...
I get drunk on that thought, I crave that feeling.
To live.
To breathe.
To be something.
Anything!
But as I stare into your meaningless, distant eyes, a void fills me up.
It crawls to my heart, to my soul.
And it whispers untill I cannot stand it anymore.
The thought of not being with you...
May 27, 2015
May 27, 2015 at 6:13 PM UTC
Poetic symphonies
View this tyranny
Tearing my book of rhymes to pieces.
The deep-ness
techniques of ' IT ".
From it.
Of it.
I am IT
because I know it
I show it.
Reading up On Agrippa
I hold a tight grip when i rip the fabric of another lizard.
The soul is Measured daily on a scale.
Will it weighs less than a feather quill?
The truth not the REAL.
I'm thankful for what inspires me
bodies deteriorating from society
I dare someone to define me.
Because of the Latin alphabetum
these words just keep settling in
and Athena well, Lets just be friends....
Apr 21, 2016
Apr 21, 2016 at 6:57 AM UTC
You let the smoke surround you and the alcohol slide right through you. The demons fight for what's left to stand alone. The battle rages and you lose all sense. deteriorating,wasting. Dream of goodbyes, and spit on the faith. Hope brings the weak, and hate brings the hopeless. The death of a loved one and the retreat of the balance we keep. Words spill out of your mouth like ***** nothing but untruths and deceit.
Mar 12, 2011
Mar 12, 2011 at 8:36 AM UTC
Where the whole that was
has finally
fragmented,
descending in an open, unremarkable blaze.
And so pieces of me shall collide
with the ground,
implanting fractures
few shall discern.
And the winds of days
and nights will continue to
persuade the dirt unto me
so my morose roots will not grow,
infesting a world undeserving
of my inadvertent pollution.
Nov 6, 2014
Nov 6, 2014 at 7:03 PM UTC
We are imperfect products
placed in the midst
of an imperfect society,
a vicious cycle of perseverance
and failure:
constructed,
broken,
fixed,
and fixed again.
Airbrushed and painted
to perfection:
pale skin
flushed cheeks
slim legs
and a smooth mindset.
Opinionated only
on the matter of
superficial products –
glamorizing and embellishing.
Deteriorating enamel –
cracks in a varnished frame.
A scratched surface,
damaged to the core,
polished and glazed over.
Skin made paler,
cheeks more flushed,
skin and bones,
and a mind wiped clean.
Unachievable expectations
and inevitable failure
are enough to b r e a k
even the toughest material
d
o
w
n.
May 10, 2014
May 10, 2014 at 12:11 AM UTC
After feeling like this, to my lowest low and my highest high
You made me realize what it’s like to die, not emotionally but physically
A new thought I never had in my head,
To have my breath shortened, just because I let you into my bed.
This is a new extreme for me, which is hard to beat.
For you filled my life with guilt, shame and deceit.
You pushed me to the ground, deteriorating every little ounce of me
Testing me with trivial questions. I should have recognized the warning sign, bright yellow and shiny black titled “hazard”. Like the reflection of a roadwork sign, saying slow down, danger, caution, this is the borderline.
My instinct was right, No honour go back I said.
You had something over me, like a beautiful grey moth entranced to the light, but deep down inside I knew your world burned too bright. Your personality just stuck to me,as if I was ants attracted to the sweet honey that dripped off the honey comb.
Inside, I knew I should go home.
Words fly, tensions get high.
Why did I not go back to Vendome?
His hands strong hands wrapped round my soft neck, pushing me into the bed, I felt my heart pulsating.
I closed my eyes wishing that he would push harder and longer, to actually feel something other than this pain and misery that he placed upon me.
He looked at me in gratification, that smirk said it all, as he accomplished sometime great like an encore at curtain call.
A look of a great man, big and powerful now its time to take a shower, as what he did was nothing the matter.
My state in shock. What has happened? Is this really unmasking his disguise?
For the mask he wore was unforeseen, like a child at halloween.
The tears in my eyes was not avid, until he clenched his hand to play rock paper scissors,
but little did I know that his rock would cut through my paper.
leaving me with bruises and now a traitor.
Dec 20, 2014
Dec 20, 2014 at 8:32 PM UTC
As I sauntered on banks of Yamuna at night.
I saw a man old, bent, with stick in dhoti white.
Tardily, step by step as he came nearer to me.
With joy I smiled as our own beloved Bapu was he.
With tears in my eyes I asked, ' Bapu you are still alive! ,
those three bullets holed your chest, how did you survive?
What happened to you? Where were you all these days?
What you ate? How you lived? Now where do you stay?
Condition of your beloved land is deteriorating day by day.
Countrymen have left your path, they have gone astray.
Your image, your killers are trying to malign and degrade.
Berating your ways, encouraging means which you forbade.
Hitler's advocates on chariots are traversing Nation's length.
Day by day Fascism is gaining ground , gaining strength.
Disguised as followers of Sri Ram, deeds of Ravan they do.
Riots and killings are frequent, women and minors are targeted too.
Terrorism nourishing on terrorism, cruelty at its worst.
Targeting anyone, anywhere, time and again bombs burst.
Once a land of peace, land of sufism, land of saints,
now ****** Innocent souls being killed without restraint.
Regionalism is being encouraged and taking roots.
Unity of the Nation selfish politicians reduce and dilute.
Corruption is increasing everywhere and in all spheres
Even highest office of respect could not keep itself clear '
Passing his hand over my head he smiled and said '
I am just a spirit, long ago my weak body was dead.
Daily with expectation I rise and daily with despair I die
Daily my hope is shattered and daily with grief I sigh
They may have killed me but now I live in numerous hearts
They may write me down in history yet my message will dart.
See this flag, colour saffron is dear to me, colour green I love.
between them is colour white, colour of peace, colour of dove.
Nation divided in three hurts me more than bullets three
From casteism and regionlism country should be free.
Communalism should not be allowed to raise its ugly head.
With sword of constitution Fascism we need to behead '
Three sound disturbed the calm, beloved Bapu fell on the ground
I went to help but Bapu vanished with words 'Hey Ram' echoing around
Determined that this time his innocent blood will not go waste.
I collected his non-violent blood in my pen like ink with haste.
Nov 2, 2014
Nov 2, 2014 at 3:08 AM UTC
Why are people intentionally cruel and malignant?
Are they too blind to mistake their Achilles’s heel for their forte?
Or do they intentionally enjoy obliterating anything that comes their way?
Indubitably, reeling into their self-destruction and collapse as the roof caves.
Repelling any benevolence into their lives,
They will close all doors with their narrow minds.
Atrociousness will prevail and set forth unfathomable tongues of rhyme.
Seeking insatiable supremacy governing in disguise.
Clearly oblivious to the detrimental exploits they expose,
They will lead a life that is solely self-imposed.
Cultivating an environment of animosity is not astute you see,
People will always revolt and eventually be set free.
Unless you morally evolve and realize you have wronged,
You will embark on a journey that will negatively consume your soul.
It begins with your physical state, depleting with every irrational action you make.
Ultimately, deteriorating your body into an anemic vegetable state.
Reeking of insecurities through the infusion of wretchedness and despair,
your life will begin to turn inside out transforming into an eternal torment of misery and hell.
However, it's never too late to change your tyrannical direction.
It's only compassion, empathy, and altruistic love that will be your salvation.
By: Michael M. De La Fuente
Oct 30, 2014
Oct 30, 2014 at 12:12 AM UTC
In 2005, I had $101.
Sweet Blue,
eyes green,
waiting.
Dilating.
In 2005, I had $101.
Sweet Blue,
is what I called you.
God of Euphoria.
Mother's Milk.
In 2005, I had $101.
Sweet Blue,
had a street
value,
of twenty-five
a pill.
I bought four,
and thankfully
the dollar bill,
was crisp enough to roll.
A different world together,
holding hands.
Greedy for the feeling of calm,
I would grasp tighter,
hand eventually crushing hand.
Morose disposition spirals through a cut straw.
A last straw; an unwanted kiss.
Hand holding hand is a symbolic image,
but don't confuse the inflection of these words.
This is about
the deteriorating hands.
This is about
the deteriorating nostrils.
Not so much about cheap thrills.
Not so much anything,
forgetting,
drugs ****
Jun 8, 2013
Jun 8, 2013 at 8:28 PM UTC
dancing on the sands of agony
to the saddest song of apathy
standing behind tactical amnesty
with no chance because we lack capacity
we can't advance in fantasy
in rampant mankind's laxity
this land is ****** by strategy
a lack of sanity and demanded voracity
a stance of disbanding amity
we enhance the mass audacity
with plans deteriorating rapidly
we only last for a chance at catastrophe
Aug 20, 2016
Aug 20, 2016 at 10:40 AM UTC
My eyes
are bags of mucus hanging by cellophane membranes
to my skull which is now structured like a wet sponge.
My tummy protrudes out from the rest of my abdomen,
a gelatinous layer hiding away a chiseled core
which may be deteriorating into oblivion at this moment.
The skin rests and hangs a little over the top of my leather belt
which somehow manages to fit three loops in from the first hole.
My neck hangs heavy like the ears of a sad elephant.
Oct 18, 2012
Oct 18, 2012 at 12:55 PM UTC
written March 19, 2015
"who said people can't be poisonous?
because the thought of you is taking over my body
i'm ill, dizzy, unable to think straight
and you're just the catalyst to the fire setting off inside of me
slowly deteriorating like a wave crashing against rocks
but my stance isn't so strong
now that you're gone
slowly, i slip
into the deep sea
drowning in your memory and full of everything we used to be
who said people can't be poisonous?
because i sure feel infected
nothing but you on my mind
nauseous over the broken promises you once said you'd never turn on
but now all you're turning on is the anxiety and depression inside of me
this black spot within, i once repressed
is now back and spreading like fire lit to forest green
because you are poisonous
yet
you are also my remedy"
Apr 26, 2015
Apr 26, 2015 at 3:17 PM UTC
Life or Death
I can see the blinding light surrounding me
in my broken hours, the deep rugged circles
under my shapeless eyes, featureless cheeks
floating along the wailing streams, the silent
screams stabbing my soul unremittingly all
through the night, chills sinking in the depths
of my flesh, darkness creeping in the shadows
cutting me deep, tormenting me constantly in
my sleep, crashing and burning, drifting and diminishing,
disintegrating and dying, slow startling thoughts
invading my landscape, every wall encompassing
my view spinning and intensifying across my sunken
dimension, slipping int a world of pain and anger,
blazing flames casting immense loneliness in my heart,
embracing the vicious freezing winds whirling in my direction,
imagination fading into depression, dreams vanishing into
broken bottles, as I gaze at the sharp steel blade facing me,
counting the ways to draw blood upon my existence, the crimson
flow suffocating my crying escape, peeling skin deteriorating into
gray ashes, feeling its smooth jagged edge pierce my skin to a slow
and brutal death.
Jul 18, 2018
Jul 18, 2018 at 12:09 PM UTC
There was a squandering ember that climbed her spinal chord
and lit the deteriorating birchwood on the peach-fuzzed tea lamps.
When those stairwells cramped and swelled with staggered liquid terraces
in the foundational pin-cushion that cradled family after family.
Woe begone chants that railed support beams moaning under elemental abuse.
A litter of ghost kittens coiling underfoot where the rug
used to yawn before the grandfather clock,
now senile and rotting with absent-minded tick-tocks.
Inside her streetcorner, the music was that
monkey hopping to street ***** blue notes on somber ropes.
The air thick with the regal, chunky vibe
of batting eyes, flirty sighs, and bourbon.
Between the buildings again...
embraced with the same warm feeling that
entrances your fingertips, lips, and ears when within a man's arms.
In this city, Love is those two birds on that same powerline
that bowed and ebbed with summer's sweet sigh.
Sep 23, 2011
Sep 23, 2011 at 11:47 PM UTC
I still remember
the night of the living dead
a tempestuous night
when we should’ve stayed inside
the weight of “beloved” stones up on our heads
I heard stories about
vengeful deceased
coming back to life
but if we’re full of hatred
why are we laying side by side?
I buried you
you buried me
but now we are just deteriorating
rotting flesh wandering around
when we should’ve rested in peace
Nov 2, 2023
Nov 2, 2023 at 2:44 AM UTC