"disembowel" poems - Hello Poetry

"disembowel" poems

Warning: Use dis list in context. You decide on which side you fall. disappear disregard disaster displace disqualify disrepair disturb dissipate disability dispose dismal distribute distrust disturb discriminate discuss disdain disguise dishearten disinherit disown disparage disagree disgruntle disclose discolour dispute disarm discover disassemble disadvantage disallow dispossess discontent discontinue disrespect disincline discomfort disrepute dishonest disillusion dishonor dismiss disobey disjoin disappoint discipline discord discern discrete disfigure disconnect disapprove discharge disbar disease discord disfavor disengage disassociate discipline discount disembody displace dissaray disembowel discombobulate discredit discourse disentangle disenfranchise disembark discard disburse disbelief discover disable disagree disintegrate dismay dispense dislodge disclaimer disapprove dissatisfy disrupt dispel dislike dismantle disloyal disbatch disrobe disperse display disaprove disciple disavow disconcert disinfect disorder dismal dismember displease dissemble disunity dislocate distort distrust distress dissolute disassociate distill discect (?) distemper distain distasteful distraught dissolve dissonant dissuade And dis isn't de end.

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Aug 22, 2015

Aug 22, 2015 at 12:06 PM UTC

Is Dis Good or Is Dis Bad (a partici-poem)

Warning: Use dis list in context. You decide on which side you fall. disappear disregard disaster displace disqualify disrepair disturb dissipate disability dispose dismal distribute distrust disturb discriminate discuss disdain disguise dishearten disinherit disown disparage disagree disgruntle disclose discolour dispute disarm discover disassemble disadvantage disallow dispossess discontent discontinue disrespect disincline discomfort disrepute dishonest disillusion dishonor dismiss disobey disjoin disappoint discipline discord discern discrete disfigure disconnect disapprove discharge disbar disease discord disfavor disengage disassociate discipline discount disembody displace dissaray disembowel discombobulate discredit discourse disentangle disenfranchise disembark discard disburse disbelief discover disable disagree disintegrate dismay dispense dislodge disclaimer disapprove dissatisfy disrupt dispel dislike dismantle disloyal disbatch disrobe disperse display disaprove disciple disavow disconcert disinfect disorder dismal dismember displease dissemble disunity dislocate distort distrust distress dissolute disassociate distill discect (?) distemper distain distasteful distraught dissolve dissonant dissuade And dis isn't de end.

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I have a pack of letters, I have a pack of memories. I could cut out the eyes of both. I could wear them like a patchwork apron. I could stick them in the washer, the drier, and maybe some of the pain would float off like dirt? Perhaps down the disposal I could grind up the loss. Besides -- what a bargain -- no expensive phone calls. No lengthy trips on planes in the fog. No manicky laughter or blessing from an odd-lot priest. That priest is probably still floating on a fog pillow. Blessing us. Blessing us. Am I to bless the lost you, sitting here with my clumsy soul? Propaganda time is over. I sit here on the spike of truth. No one to hate except the slim fish of memory that slides in and out of my brain. No one to hate except the acute feel of my nightgown brushing my body like a light that has gone out. It recalls the kiss we invented, tongues like poems, meeting, returning, inviting, causing a fever of need. Laughter, maps, cassettes, touch singing its path - all to be broken and laid away in a tight strongbox. The monotonous dead clog me up and there is only black done in black that oozes from the strongbox. I must disembowel it and then set the heart, the legs, of two who were one upon a large woodpile and ignite, as I was once ignited, and let it whirl into flame, reaching the sky making it dangerous with its red.

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2.3k

The Inventory Of Goodbye

I have a pack of letters, I have a pack of memories. I could cut out the eyes of both. I could wear them like a patchwork apron. I could stick them in the washer, the drier, and maybe some of the pain would float off like dirt? Perhaps down the disposal I could grind up the loss. Besides -- what a bargain -- no expensive phone calls. No lengthy trips on planes in the fog. No manicky laughter or blessing from an odd-lot priest. That priest is probably still floating on a fog pillow. Blessing us. Blessing us. Am I to bless the lost you, sitting here with my clumsy soul? Propaganda time is over. I sit here on the spike of truth. No one to hate except the slim fish of memory that slides in and out of my brain. No one to hate except the acute feel of my nightgown brushing my body like a light that has gone out. It recalls the kiss we invented, tongues like poems, meeting, returning, inviting, causing a fever of need. Laughter, maps, cassettes, touch singing its path - all to be broken and laid away in a tight strongbox. The monotonous dead clog me up and there is only black done in black that oozes from the strongbox. I must disembowel it and then set the heart, the legs, of two who were one upon a large woodpile and ignite, as I was once ignited, and let it whirl into flame, reaching the sky making it dangerous with its red.

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Rabbit, Rabbit, worn and weary at my parlor door Come inside, sit by the fire, we’ll let tea spirits pour They listen as we sip, they’ve never heard a rabbit howl. But you’ve loved a wolf, and the wolf loved you A rabbit who was on the prowl Your lover wore the beast they made, of comets, dirt and fur You drove fast cars You fell through stars You think it would all become a blur Oh the places you two ran, the places you two crashed A rabbit who danced through constellations You two birthed solar systems when you clashed You tell me of what you saw, the gods and their creations The secrets that you made together, the heights you did ascend And how this journey came and went to find its timely end Because you lived an urban fantasy, in a world like a dream Fantastic creatures in it teemed Fantastic deeds and fantastic feats Fantastic, eerie, dark lit streets. For all its wonder, much like your lover, It had as many teeth And this is where a rabbit learned to growl Grew sharp claws to disembowel And on each other you left your marks Be it lovely or be it ****** Both felt trepidation at the threat of sparks So Howl, rabbit, who offered up your beating heart Howl rabbit, who loved the prowling bard! Tell your stories, weep into your cup Nostalgia rocks you in her arms Howl at those old once blazed skies Howl about all of those pretty lies Howl, divine heart break of harsh goodbyes A thousand suns set on that day The dream is done, or so you say The things you crave, the things you made These things you’ve done will never fade The fauns of man have made their war In the ballad of a love that is no more... But you’re not a rabbit, and they weren’t a wolf This was not a dream I was there, and it was despair, The story wasn’t as pretty as you made it seem I’m glad it’s done, that you’re both free I hope you did enjoy the tea But make no mistake, I know your habit They weren’t a wolf, and you’re not a rabbit

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Sep 21, 2018

Sep 21, 2018 at 12:24 AM UTC

The Lovers Urban Fantasy

Rabbit, Rabbit, worn and weary at my parlor door Come inside, sit by the fire, we’ll let tea spirits pour They listen as we sip, they’ve never heard a rabbit howl. But you’ve loved a wolf, and the wolf loved you A rabbit who was on the prowl Your lover wore the beast they made, of comets, dirt and fur You drove fast cars You fell through stars You think it would all become a blur Oh the places you two ran, the places you two crashed A rabbit who danced through constellations You two birthed solar systems when you clashed You tell me of what you saw, the gods and their creations The secrets that you made together, the heights you did ascend And how this journey came and went to find its timely end Because you lived an urban fantasy, in a world like a dream Fantastic creatures in it teemed Fantastic deeds and fantastic feats Fantastic, eerie, dark lit streets. For all its wonder, much like your lover, It had as many teeth And this is where a rabbit learned to growl Grew sharp claws to disembowel And on each other you left your marks Be it lovely or be it ****** Both felt trepidation at the threat of sparks So Howl, rabbit, who offered up your beating heart Howl rabbit, who loved the prowling bard! Tell your stories, weep into your cup Nostalgia rocks you in her arms Howl at those old once blazed skies Howl about all of those pretty lies Howl, divine heart break of harsh goodbyes A thousand suns set on that day The dream is done, or so you say The things you crave, the things you made These things you’ve done will never fade The fauns of man have made their war In the ballad of a love that is no more... But you’re not a rabbit, and they weren’t a wolf This was not a dream I was there, and it was despair, The story wasn’t as pretty as you made it seem I’m glad it’s done, that you’re both free I hope you did enjoy the tea But make no mistake, I know your habit They weren’t a wolf, and you’re not a rabbit

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Decapitate, disembowel, tear and mutilate! Schizophrenic!Psychedelic twisted mind! Expedite, liberate, Alienate then recreate Masonic!Prolific piece of mind! Sabotage, besiege, flank to infiltrate! Victorious!Strategic tyrannic mind! Crucify, liquify, impale bleed them dry! Torturous!Barbaric, sadistic mind! Derange, insane, crazy and mental! Hallucinating!Polysyllabic demented mind! Disturbed, diabolic, vile and fatal! Parasitic!Infected infested mind!

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Nov 14, 2013

Nov 14, 2013 at 4:53 PM UTC

alucard-sepet-dalv

Decapitate, disembowel, tear and mutilate! Schizophrenic!Psychedelic twisted mind! Expedite, liberate, Alienate then recreate Masonic!Prolific piece of mind! Sabotage, besiege, flank to infiltrate! Victorious!Strategic tyrannic mind! Crucify, liquify, impale bleed them dry! Torturous!Barbaric, sadistic mind! Derange, insane, crazy and mental! Hallucinating!Polysyllabic demented mind! Disturbed, diabolic, vile and fatal! Parasitic!Infected infested mind!

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rhythms en trance ***** princess dance come **** me cruel eat me like ants wont you hurt me sir out comes the dagger her eyes get so large she wants me to bag her she knows im in charge wont you rip me sir foot arched **** puffed where are the whips she moves like fire and slink-ally strips my ******* bleed love sir howls like the wind for **** and the blade begs for it now ***** **** in the shade the knife between my legs sir *** shakes and prance to the congas beat eyes flirt wild as she whips her own feet won't you cut my toes sir ***** *** aches whirling dervish break me my love as she dances the curvish use my mouth sir her ankles clamped legs spread wide arms pulled back theres no where to hide smother me sir head ***** gut ***** spleen eat it all devour the queen my belly is yours sir she looks in my eyes says thank you for my fate spreads her legs wide i take the bate disembowel me sir oh lover bleed im up deep inside i work you down and cruel is the ride my ****** sir she cries and writhes and she **** so hard she wants to burn and is slathered with lard my rose **** sir i break her in half and lick up her *** she cries and she squeals as she starts to pass pluck my eyes sir i crush my love to finish her off she begs for more and starts to cough take my ******* sir face to the the floor the music turned down baby death dance in water to drown remove my head sir I did the dance i love to be slain stretched flat by a roller i loved the pain dinner is served sir thank you sir may i **** you **** sir drink your **** sir lick the toilet clean sir you've crushed me to nothing sir beaten me dead sir ****** me a thousand times sir is there anything else sir yes sir thank you sir what ever you say sir your so good to me sir ill be right back from the dead sir i love you sir

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Jun 29, 2016

Jun 29, 2016 at 6:03 AM UTC

DEATH DANCE...sexual dark explicit

rhythms en trance ***** princess dance come **** me cruel eat me like ants wont you hurt me sir out comes the dagger her eyes get so large she wants me to bag her she knows im in charge wont you rip me sir foot arched **** puffed where are the whips she moves like fire and slink-ally strips my ******* bleed love sir howls like the wind for **** and the blade begs for it now ***** **** in the shade the knife between my legs sir *** shakes and prance to the congas beat eyes flirt wild as she whips her own feet won't you cut my toes sir ***** *** aches whirling dervish break me my love as she dances the curvish use my mouth sir her ankles clamped legs spread wide arms pulled back theres no where to hide smother me sir head ***** gut ***** spleen eat it all devour the queen my belly is yours sir she looks in my eyes says thank you for my fate spreads her legs wide i take the bate disembowel me sir oh lover bleed im up deep inside i work you down and cruel is the ride my ****** sir she cries and writhes and she **** so hard she wants to burn and is slathered with lard my rose **** sir i break her in half and lick up her *** she cries and she squeals as she starts to pass pluck my eyes sir i crush my love to finish her off she begs for more and starts to cough take my ******* sir face to the the floor the music turned down baby death dance in water to drown remove my head sir I did the dance i love to be slain stretched flat by a roller i loved the pain dinner is served sir thank you sir may i **** you **** sir drink your **** sir lick the toilet clean sir you've crushed me to nothing sir beaten me dead sir ****** me a thousand times sir is there anything else sir yes sir thank you sir what ever you say sir your so good to me sir ill be right back from the dead sir i love you sir

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Sitting in the gutter Cause its the only place to see What guts are Wondering does anybody Fight for anything Anymore? Cause I don't see it I see people walking past Opportunity Walking away from things With ease Cold feet Treading cautiously Feeding doubts fire Going about Life so passively But Hold up let's join a cause! Direct our anger Politically, racially, at poverty and inequality Donate some money Rant constantly about Overturning regimes Then retreat back to apathy Woe is me! Bleeding hearts in their masses Floating past me In the gutter Cause its the only place to see what guts are... And hearts Cause no one has heart anymore Where is the love? Where is the passion? The courage and the loyalty? All Going about life so Half heartedly And what can you do with half a heart? Give it to Me Cause as I'm sat here Reading entrails like some gypsy Passing judgement on you A poor reflection on me It seems I lost mine So I embrace the pain that migrates from an empty chest to A swelling stomach Lift myself up from that gutter And feel what guts are Take half that heart And see how far it'll take me... To make it whole

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May 11, 2015

May 11, 2015 at 3:03 PM UTC

Disembowel Movement

Sitting in the gutter Cause its the only place to see What guts are Wondering does anybody Fight for anything Anymore? Cause I don't see it I see people walking past Opportunity Walking away from things With ease Cold feet Treading cautiously Feeding doubts fire Going about Life so passively But Hold up let's join a cause! Direct our anger Politically, racially, at poverty and inequality Donate some money Rant constantly about Overturning regimes Then retreat back to apathy Woe is me! Bleeding hearts in their masses Floating past me In the gutter Cause its the only place to see what guts are... And hearts Cause no one has heart anymore Where is the love? Where is the passion? The courage and the loyalty? All Going about life so Half heartedly And what can you do with half a heart? Give it to Me Cause as I'm sat here Reading entrails like some gypsy Passing judgement on you A poor reflection on me It seems I lost mine So I embrace the pain that migrates from an empty chest to A swelling stomach Lift myself up from that gutter And feel what guts are Take half that heart And see how far it'll take me... To make it whole

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I don’t believe you. There’s no way you could have fended off those velociraptors and their inter-dimensional captors with a spork and a water gun. No, you didn’t go into the matrix, or find an heirloom of the Norse, or find a cure for when your throat gets hoarse. You most certainly did not bring forth Satan with a glass-blown tuning fork and those pictures you have are photoshopped. A seismograph cannot detect a pulse from that distance, you would have to be close, so it did not help you defeat the devil, which you’re undoubtedly making up as well. You cannot throw marshmallows into black holes, you would be crushed by the gravity, far sooner than pushed within marshmallowing range. You did not **** nor disembowel a mutant roll of paper towel nor did you invent the interrobang. I wish you would just please quit trying to convince me that you came back from dying especially after you weren’t mauled by a bobcat. You did not inject yourself with nanobots, or anonymously author a Times Best-Seller about the struggling wife of a poor bank teller. Stop deluding yourself, Johnny, it was only a dream. Son, go back to sleep.

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Oct 26, 2011

Oct 26, 2011 at 4:56 PM UTC

I don’t believe you. There’s no way you could have fended off those velociraptors and their inter-dimensional captors with a spork and a water gun. No, you didn’t go into the matrix, or find an heirloom of the Norse, or find a cure for when your throat gets hoarse. You most certainly did not bring forth Satan with a glass-blown tuning fork and those pictures you have are photoshopped. A seismograph cannot detect a pulse from that distance, you would have to be close, so it did not help you defeat the devil, which you’re undoubtedly making up as well. You cannot throw marshmallows into black holes, you would be crushed by the gravity, far sooner than pushed within marshmallowing range. You did not **** nor disembowel a mutant roll of paper towel nor did you invent the interrobang. I wish you would just please quit trying to convince me that you came back from dying especially after you weren’t mauled by a bobcat. You did not inject yourself with nanobots, or anonymously author a Times Best-Seller about the struggling wife of a poor bank teller. Stop deluding yourself, Johnny, it was only a dream. Son, go back to sleep.

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Honey, I am vicious, I have teeth-sharp& and I foam at the mouth sometimes my fingers shake too much when they lace with yours (please, I hope you don't feel my claws grazing your palm) and I spit fire into your mouth in a moment of osculation you want me soft & pink with heaving ***** but I am hard with serrated edges you'll disembowel yourself on maybe I'll make a home in your guts, and burrow so deep that I'll never be found, never ostracized again & I will be sweet, sickly so like rotting fruit left out for weeks but you will never smell the putrefaction because honey masks vinegar, & I've caught so many flies that I am a swarm of my own, engulfing you and every other man and in the night, I will be at your doorstep, howling & panting; a sirens call, feverishly waking you from your sleep you will answer & let me warm your bed, coiling-a Lilith in heat teeth will befriend flesh in the friendship of the century &I; will let you take me fast&whining;, everything you desire, girlish gasps meeting every bone bruising ****** you will never notice, as my flesh begins to split, and I will still feel warm to the touch but it's only from your blood

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May 22, 2016

May 22, 2016 at 4:27 AM UTC

Watch Out: a love story

Honey, I am vicious, I have teeth-sharp& and I foam at the mouth sometimes my fingers shake too much when they lace with yours (please, I hope you don't feel my claws grazing your palm) and I spit fire into your mouth in a moment of osculation you want me soft & pink with heaving ***** but I am hard with serrated edges you'll disembowel yourself on maybe I'll make a home in your guts, and burrow so deep that I'll never be found, never ostracized again & I will be sweet, sickly so like rotting fruit left out for weeks but you will never smell the putrefaction because honey masks vinegar, & I've caught so many flies that I am a swarm of my own, engulfing you and every other man and in the night, I will be at your doorstep, howling & panting; a sirens call, feverishly waking you from your sleep you will answer & let me warm your bed, coiling-a Lilith in heat teeth will befriend flesh in the friendship of the century &I; will let you take me fast&whining;, everything you desire, girlish gasps meeting every bone bruising ****** you will never notice, as my flesh begins to split, and I will still feel warm to the touch but it's only from your blood

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I have discovered that my blocked nose is not the reason I can’t smell roses. The smell has been cut out of the genus for the sanity of sensors on cargo airplanes. What then, about my children and their’s, when they discover old books for themselves and ask questions about the smell of flowers? About poetry, and the Nineteenth century? How would I tell the tale of family Plantagenet, with flags as dead as Lancaster and York? This tragedy seems so terribly unfair when roses are so much prettier than instruments on planes, every petal a miniature piece of God’s own skin. I need to walk down to the roadside florist if I can get out of this sweaty blanket into this chilly weather and find one of these ****** roses so I can dismember its petals one by one. I must disembowel this litany if I can she loves me, she loves me not, she wants me extinct bred out of this world for convenience, just like the forgotten smell of those roses. The tragedy to be told is that women are not supposed to be the main course in your life, the glorious bouquet of roses that you set the table around. They are more like condiments to an existence already charmed, but if the ketchup has gone rotten it tends to put a damper on how everything tastes and everything smells, I can’t smell the flowers and there are too many forks.

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Jan 15, 2014

Jan 15, 2014 at 11:45 AM UTC

The Smell of Roses

I have discovered that my blocked nose is not the reason I can’t smell roses. The smell has been cut out of the genus for the sanity of sensors on cargo airplanes. What then, about my children and their’s, when they discover old books for themselves and ask questions about the smell of flowers? About poetry, and the Nineteenth century? How would I tell the tale of family Plantagenet, with flags as dead as Lancaster and York? This tragedy seems so terribly unfair when roses are so much prettier than instruments on planes, every petal a miniature piece of God’s own skin. I need to walk down to the roadside florist if I can get out of this sweaty blanket into this chilly weather and find one of these ****** roses so I can dismember its petals one by one. I must disembowel this litany if I can she loves me, she loves me not, she wants me extinct bred out of this world for convenience, just like the forgotten smell of those roses. The tragedy to be told is that women are not supposed to be the main course in your life, the glorious bouquet of roses that you set the table around. They are more like condiments to an existence already charmed, but if the ketchup has gone rotten it tends to put a damper on how everything tastes and everything smells, I can’t smell the flowers and there are too many forks.

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I wish I had a reason to throw it in your face stab you to death with it and put you in your place. I wish you were filled with reason. I would disembowel your thoughts, tear them to ****** oozing pieces, but they’re already mush. I wish there was a reason you bashed me so with Nonsense, **** it— like cheating on your wife— and say by The Word, that’s how I live my life. I wish you’d see reason so I wouldn’t have to hack, smash and splatter, cackle rip and tear to get you back to reality waiting in the lobby. A nice one, with magazines and plastic plants, a fish tank filled with generous grants. A receptionist with bleach blonde hair, a friend or two who wouldn’t care that you’d gone crazy and play it off, like you were joking.

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Apr 20, 2011

Apr 20, 2011 at 12:23 PM UTC

matthew-cannizzaro

Residual scarring (it's all nonsense)

I wish I had a reason to throw it in your face stab you to death with it and put you in your place. I wish you were filled with reason. I would disembowel your thoughts, tear them to ****** oozing pieces, but they’re already mush. I wish there was a reason you bashed me so with Nonsense, **** it— like cheating on your wife— and say by The Word, that’s how I live my life. I wish you’d see reason so I wouldn’t have to hack, smash and splatter, cackle rip and tear to get you back to reality waiting in the lobby. A nice one, with magazines and plastic plants, a fish tank filled with generous grants. A receptionist with bleach blonde hair, a friend or two who wouldn’t care that you’d gone crazy and play it off, like you were joking.

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this is worse than i thought it would be.this is harder than i thought. i ******* know i should accept myself but its hard not to believe im broken when the only model for happiness includes no room for me, i don't want to be selfish. sorry for forcing myself into a life never made for me. i understand you don't care when i find it hard to breathe. im choking to death and you just want me to hold your hand while you breathe into a paper bag. i'm not your friend, im your comfort object. i want you to care that im in pain.you told me you love me. you told me im too good to be true. you like me the same way you like your coffee: sugared; drowned in milk so you dont taste the bitter. :it all feels so one-sided: you said, **:i tell you everything.why dont you ever tell me anything: :i want to help you: :like you help me, i feel so useless:** i cried and you pretended you didnt see. you are a sorry excuse for a friend.you are selfish.if i told you i feel like im dissolving youd ask if this means i love you. youre corrosive.youre sulfuric acid and i never should have let you inside of me. god ******* dammit.im tired of writing about you.you make me feel unlovable and broken. there are bones in the backyard of my childhood home. there are eight rosebushes to choose from and i grew up scratching myself ****** on the branches. you like to disembowel anyone who makes me feel loved and when i try to fix myself you ask why im abandoning you. its always the same ******* thing. its always the same thing.you're always crying and im always biting my cheek. im always lonely and youre always kissing my neck. its always the same.

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Apr 7, 2014

Apr 7, 2014 at 6:39 PM UTC

robin-goodfellow

guilt vs gild vs guile

this is worse than i thought it would be.this is harder than i thought. i ******* know i should accept myself but its hard not to believe im broken when the only model for happiness includes no room for me, i don't want to be selfish. sorry for forcing myself into a life never made for me. i understand you don't care when i find it hard to breathe. im choking to death and you just want me to hold your hand while you breathe into a paper bag. i'm not your friend, im your comfort object. i want you to care that im in pain.you told me you love me. you told me im too good to be true. you like me the same way you like your coffee: sugared; drowned in milk so you dont taste the bitter. :it all feels so one-sided: you said, **:i tell you everything.why dont you ever tell me anything: :i want to help you: :like you help me, i feel so useless:** i cried and you pretended you didnt see. you are a sorry excuse for a friend.you are selfish.if i told you i feel like im dissolving youd ask if this means i love you. youre corrosive.youre sulfuric acid and i never should have let you inside of me. god ******* dammit.im tired of writing about you.you make me feel unlovable and broken. there are bones in the backyard of my childhood home. there are eight rosebushes to choose from and i grew up scratching myself ****** on the branches. you like to disembowel anyone who makes me feel loved and when i try to fix myself you ask why im abandoning you. its always the same ******* thing. its always the same thing.you're always crying and im always biting my cheek. im always lonely and youre always kissing my neck. its always the same.

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I will love you after-wars I will love you before-wars I will love you during-wars 7th grade: ESL class... I thought afterwards was “after-wars” it wasn't until I took English 101 that I learned the proper spelling/meaning of this word meanwhile I constructed a whole theory as to the origin/definition of such word: such word according to the carlito's little immigrant dictionary is used to describe that time in which one is fatigued by so many battles, fights, skirmishes, attacks, abuse... and begins to see and feel all things around in a slow but certain process of apacigüe that very moment in which one feels the cool air caressing each wound, each bitter memory. Like a teaspoon full of honey after coughing to the point of bleeding. The moment in which the universe seems to have mercy of/on the oppressed: when grandma's hoarse singing and laughter suddenly emanated and filled our hearts with a sense of peace after-wars: Guadalajara en un llano Mexico en una laguna me he de comer esa tuna aunque me espine la mano during-wars: our time, in the middle of societal scrutiny. See? They don't seem to care much at sight, yet their thoughts of exclusion tend to disembowel us, hang us in public and use us as examples of what can happen when you bend or brake the rules. Yet it is not hate but love that can save us... and them. You and I, by practicing this horrendous act of resistance called “amor” are in fact saving the world, or at least diminishing the painful moments. And one day, I promise you we will touch the stars... after-wars.

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Jan 19, 2014

Jan 19, 2014 at 3:26 AM UTC

xuanito-de-la-puente

ESL Poetry After-Wars

I will love you after-wars I will love you before-wars I will love you during-wars 7th grade: ESL class... I thought afterwards was “after-wars” it wasn't until I took English 101 that I learned the proper spelling/meaning of this word meanwhile I constructed a whole theory as to the origin/definition of such word: such word according to the carlito's little immigrant dictionary is used to describe that time in which one is fatigued by so many battles, fights, skirmishes, attacks, abuse... and begins to see and feel all things around in a slow but certain process of apacigüe that very moment in which one feels the cool air caressing each wound, each bitter memory. Like a teaspoon full of honey after coughing to the point of bleeding. The moment in which the universe seems to have mercy of/on the oppressed: when grandma's hoarse singing and laughter suddenly emanated and filled our hearts with a sense of peace after-wars: Guadalajara en un llano Mexico en una laguna me he de comer esa tuna aunque me espine la mano during-wars: our time, in the middle of societal scrutiny. See? They don't seem to care much at sight, yet their thoughts of exclusion tend to disembowel us, hang us in public and use us as examples of what can happen when you bend or brake the rules. Yet it is not hate but love that can save us... and them. You and I, by practicing this horrendous act of resistance called “amor” are in fact saving the world, or at least diminishing the painful moments. And one day, I promise you we will touch the stars... after-wars.

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I think I'm okay. My eyes are wide awake, as I lay in the place in which I chose to end my yesterday. I feel as if I should be anxious, but I'm not, 'cause if I stop long enough to worry I may just leap from the ledge of this apartment building. It sounds sorta thrilling... but I bet a million that my blood, and my teeth, and my bones on the street, are all very far from filling... And if I made it alive, I wouldn't survive the outlandish hospital billing. They keep telling me that everything will be alright. I just wish that all rights didn't eventually turn into a left, because I'm sick of leaving things behind. My two-sided mind is always changing. I'm constantly re-arranging the furniture that is my thought process, and the room's a manic mess.

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Oct 25, 2010

Oct 25, 2010 at 10:15 AM UTC

Disembowel or digest

I think I'm okay. My eyes are wide awake, as I lay in the place in which I chose to end my yesterday. I feel as if I should be anxious, but I'm not, 'cause if I stop long enough to worry I may just leap from the ledge of this apartment building. It sounds sorta thrilling... but I bet a million that my blood, and my teeth, and my bones on the street, are all very far from filling... And if I made it alive, I wouldn't survive the outlandish hospital billing. They keep telling me that everything will be alright. I just wish that all rights didn't eventually turn into a left, because I'm sick of leaving things behind. My two-sided mind is always changing. I'm constantly re-arranging the furniture that is my thought process, and the room's a manic mess.

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Cats make me laugh, the selfish gits, They prowl through life, not taking **** We humans are just staff, to them, Our independent feline friends, Standoffish, surly and downright rude, Very fussy with their food, They change their minds just like the wind, Very often gourmet food is binned, And then they stalk into 'their' house, And disembowel some poor mouse, There is one thing you must never oughta, Try to wash your cat in soapy water, The outraged cat will then go wild, You will then know the devils child, On the coldest the winter nights, Cat approaches, purring, right? Jumps on your lap with kneading paws, But one false move, you'll feel their claws, You can never ever own a cat, They own you, now that's a fact, Our intelligence they have surpassed, They've worked out how to lick their **** One thing deserves a generous pardon, They at least crap in neighbours gardens, I cannot help respect these beings, I'd never wish to hurt their feelings, And so I for one will doff my hat, Towards our Royal highnesses , the cat.

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Apr 22, 2014

Apr 22, 2014 at 5:41 PM UTC

Cats make me laugh, the selfish gits, They prowl through life, not taking **** We humans are just staff, to them, Our independent feline friends, Standoffish, surly and downright rude, Very fussy with their food, They change their minds just like the wind, Very often gourmet food is binned, And then they stalk into 'their' house, And disembowel some poor mouse, There is one thing you must never oughta, Try to wash your cat in soapy water, The outraged cat will then go wild, You will then know the devils child, On the coldest the winter nights, Cat approaches, purring, right? Jumps on your lap with kneading paws, But one false move, you'll feel their claws, You can never ever own a cat, They own you, now that's a fact, Our intelligence they have surpassed, They've worked out how to lick their **** One thing deserves a generous pardon, They at least crap in neighbours gardens, I cannot help respect these beings, I'd never wish to hurt their feelings, And so I for one will doff my hat, Towards our Royal highnesses , the cat.

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An expression. Something I can put my mind on like a thumb print for the world to see. It’s a way of speaking without having to worry about making sense, or worrying if people understand me. It’s completely limitless and under my-- control. I can abuse it, address it, analyze it, bend it, break it, bushwhack it, create it, contort it, cultivate it, destroy it, design it, disembowel it, explore it, fabricate it, hijack it, hurl it, love it, man-handle it, mold it, mutilate it, scatter it, stretch it, strip it, synthesize it, translate it, torture it, undress it, and it will always ask me to come back. It will always call to me asking for more, telling me to express myself.

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Apr 24, 2012

Apr 24, 2012 at 8:39 AM UTC

An expression. Something I can put my mind on like a thumb print for the world to see. It’s a way of speaking without having to worry about making sense, or worrying if people understand me. It’s completely limitless and under my-- control. I can abuse it, address it, analyze it, bend it, break it, bushwhack it, create it, contort it, cultivate it, destroy it, design it, disembowel it, explore it, fabricate it, hijack it, hurl it, love it, man-handle it, mold it, mutilate it, scatter it, stretch it, strip it, synthesize it, translate it, torture it, undress it, and it will always ask me to come back. It will always call to me asking for more, telling me to express myself.

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i am waiting for a lobotomizing love, to disembowel my mind to erode my bones to scoop out my insides with shaking hands, lifting them to the light, i will not be reborn debilitating, primal instincts and i am waiting for a lobotomizing love

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Sep 23, 2012

Sep 23, 2012 at 7:58 PM UTC

a winged skeleton;

i am waiting for a lobotomizing love, to disembowel my mind to erode my bones to scoop out my insides with shaking hands, lifting them to the light, i will not be reborn debilitating, primal instincts and i am waiting for a lobotomizing love

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we don't live in times likened to a nearby 1cm off renaissance painters with patrons as noble as the popes, we live in times where free art flows, free art as free among starving people, as free as sea water, as free as candlesticks among electric shrapnel sparks, in a time when no bothersome brine of full-time takes the telescope to see more stars that are plentiful already to eden's sacrifice of nakedness (sign-of-the-cross missing crucifix blaspheme all authority); we live in times where no complete artist exists, instead artists with full-time jobs tying them down to originally stated profession for a date (lawyer, surgeon, chemist, etc.) & **** art has become 2nd grade karaoke if no worse hara-kiri would-be sway of a forgotten decapitation - of a disembowel'ed satyr when a martyr would do a due icon for the urban and shrinking wheat field arable populace kneeling; in st. petersburg i was told to stand up when listening to a choir, once in catholic school i yawned during our father and was held in detention for an hour, then paddy came along and said: martin luther - so i said sweden in suede and it became the origin of quebec: came the rain of applause.

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Jan 23, 2016

Jan 23, 2016 at 7:29 PM UTC

removed.polaroid-scrabble

a forgotten decapitation / cossack dance over your grave

we don't live in times likened to a nearby 1cm off renaissance painters with patrons as noble as the popes, we live in times where free art flows, free art as free among starving people, as free as sea water, as free as candlesticks among electric shrapnel sparks, in a time when no bothersome brine of full-time takes the telescope to see more stars that are plentiful already to eden's sacrifice of nakedness (sign-of-the-cross missing crucifix blaspheme all authority); we live in times where no complete artist exists, instead artists with full-time jobs tying them down to originally stated profession for a date (lawyer, surgeon, chemist, etc.) & **** art has become 2nd grade karaoke if no worse hara-kiri would-be sway of a forgotten decapitation - of a disembowel'ed satyr when a martyr would do a due icon for the urban and shrinking wheat field arable populace kneeling; in st. petersburg i was told to stand up when listening to a choir, once in catholic school i yawned during our father and was held in detention for an hour, then paddy came along and said: martin luther - so i said sweden in suede and it became the origin of quebec: came the rain of applause.

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She is a bird in a cage that you keep, whose songs you ravage and reap. But she is a silent, catastrophic storm; she will requite, and destroy your form. Until your own ashes and dust you adorn, and to your bones, your flesh is torn— bare flesh, bearing every sin and desire, and in her claws, these she will acquire. The bird will abandon her feathers and skin: she is the aethon, and she will soon begin to disembowel you and devour everything; while you shriek, she will laugh and sing. Against your empty vessel, each fiery kiss sears, and her mocking cries echo in your hollow ears. Your birds chant to the rhythm of your torment: "For your stolen fire, you will atone and repent."

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Aug 2, 2016

Aug 2, 2016 at 7:15 PM UTC

librocubicularist

The Lover of Prometheus

She is a bird in a cage that you keep, whose songs you ravage and reap. But she is a silent, catastrophic storm; she will requite, and destroy your form. Until your own ashes and dust you adorn, and to your bones, your flesh is torn— bare flesh, bearing every sin and desire, and in her claws, these she will acquire. The bird will abandon her feathers and skin: she is the aethon, and she will soon begin to disembowel you and devour everything; while you shriek, she will laugh and sing. Against your empty vessel, each fiery kiss sears, and her mocking cries echo in your hollow ears. Your birds chant to the rhythm of your torment: "For your stolen fire, you will atone and repent."

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I may not be skilled with knives or swords, But I can disembowel you with words

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Oct 24, 2014

Oct 24, 2014 at 11:45 AM UTC

I may not be skilled with knives or swords, But I can disembowel you with words

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A perfect synapse to this ecology. To this drone. To this end game night. When all tranquil hits at the same quantum. This time piece of us is forever as we sit above skyline in the ether. Clouds hold us like tombstones, in their clutch as earth. I expose you to my inner bastion of thought and you accept. You agree to love. The environments perfect for the crispness of night. The crisp clarity of the night and shadow. On this grave dug dirt, we set higher than any scraper of sky. We are at the belly of the beast ready, to disembowel the tyrant. We no longer are two but in sync and hold all power, beauty, and aesthetic measure. The tide eats us into its stomach, where we protect fortune. In the end it's that one person. That one keepsake when we die. Our last thought besides ourselves in our heart and mind. Our final passion. Now tell me that’s not dying together.

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Mar 23, 2013

Mar 23, 2013 at 1:04 AM UTC

A perfect synapse to this ecology. To this drone. To this end game night. When all tranquil hits at the same quantum. This time piece of us is forever as we sit above skyline in the ether. Clouds hold us like tombstones, in their clutch as earth. I expose you to my inner bastion of thought and you accept. You agree to love. The environments perfect for the crispness of night. The crisp clarity of the night and shadow. On this grave dug dirt, we set higher than any scraper of sky. We are at the belly of the beast ready, to disembowel the tyrant. We no longer are two but in sync and hold all power, beauty, and aesthetic measure. The tide eats us into its stomach, where we protect fortune. In the end it's that one person. That one keepsake when we die. Our last thought besides ourselves in our heart and mind. Our final passion. Now tell me that’s not dying together.

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Ghoulish faces in the dark trick or treat? fireworks what a lark, dogs that bark cats that howl the reaper comes to disembowel. Halloween, last year you should have seen what fun that some of us boys engineered, pumpkin eyes on scarecrows tied to roman candles, we flew them through the sky, ate the pumpkin pie, treats and sweets and tricks galore, we always wanted more and more. But last year was the last year passed the point of shed a tear for trick no treat for me, she said, no more fun and games for you, it's time to take responsibility for what you do, I see, said I, no more pumpkin pie or eye or scarecrows flying through the sky, I lie of course I'm going trick and treating eating sweets and three sheets to the wind down at the dog and duck I'll pick up the pluck to phone her and with my fingers crossed and one more double whiskey tossed down deep she'll answer and I'll keep it low, tell here where to go and then regret it instantly, no more Halloween for me.

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Oct 31, 2015

Oct 31, 2015 at 6:19 PM UTC

john-edward-smallshaw

Ghoulish faces in the dark trick or treat? fireworks what a lark, dogs that bark cats that howl the reaper comes to disembowel. Halloween, last year you should have seen what fun that some of us boys engineered, pumpkin eyes on scarecrows tied to roman candles, we flew them through the sky, ate the pumpkin pie, treats and sweets and tricks galore, we always wanted more and more. But last year was the last year passed the point of shed a tear for trick no treat for me, she said, no more fun and games for you, it's time to take responsibility for what you do, I see, said I, no more pumpkin pie or eye or scarecrows flying through the sky, I lie of course I'm going trick and treating eating sweets and three sheets to the wind down at the dog and duck I'll pick up the pluck to phone her and with my fingers crossed and one more double whiskey tossed down deep she'll answer and I'll keep it low, tell here where to go and then regret it instantly, no more Halloween for me.

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gather sins while your victims turn above their grave while sounds of slime emit from ******* grime but recall a sinister rabid entranced wind is waiting over the horizon and will not be hesitant to disembowel your grinning *** while you feast now on other living beings and oh, you had your fun! You will see once come after your light turns out the suffering of eternal heat.

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Aug 1, 2014

Aug 1, 2014 at 9:02 PM UTC

gather sins while your victims turn above their grave while sounds of slime emit from ******* grime but recall a sinister rabid entranced wind is waiting over the horizon and will not be hesitant to disembowel your grinning *** while you feast now on other living beings and oh, you had your fun! You will see once come after your light turns out the suffering of eternal heat.

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she smiles a bit of me dies inside she laughs she cries a bit of me still cries inside tears don't shed so i get tattoos of them on my face from my eyelids where the water once bled these inked drops now take their place i hear to **** is bad to detain and disembowel is a tad worse for my mind is my greatest gift but it may also be my most frantic curse.

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Nov 5, 2023

Nov 5, 2023 at 9:45 PM UTC

she smiles a bit of me dies inside she laughs she cries a bit of me still cries inside tears don't shed so i get tattoos of them on my face from my eyelids where the water once bled these inked drops now take their place i hear to **** is bad to detain and disembowel is a tad worse for my mind is my greatest gift but it may also be my most frantic curse.

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The blood lust, the parasite disembowel in me, is dying to your every ***** Incision of your inside out with precision will be my entropy. Oh!! The bullets gone. Now you will feel the pain. I will wear a smile as you go through excruciating pain, your screams will be music to my ears. Tie u to the wall, cut off your tongue, sew your charming eyes stitch your ******* mouth you ***** you'll be deprived of sleep pain will be your constant companion. I loved u so much that you have left me with nothing but a state, state of walking dead i hope your conscience eats you away. What am i supposed to say, when the best part of me was Always you..

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Jul 17, 2014

Jul 17, 2014 at 9:16 PM UTC

The best part of me,

The blood lust, the parasite disembowel in me, is dying to your every ***** Incision of your inside out with precision will be my entropy. Oh!! The bullets gone. Now you will feel the pain. I will wear a smile as you go through excruciating pain, your screams will be music to my ears. Tie u to the wall, cut off your tongue, sew your charming eyes stitch your ******* mouth you ***** you'll be deprived of sleep pain will be your constant companion. I loved u so much that you have left me with nothing but a state, state of walking dead i hope your conscience eats you away. What am i supposed to say, when the best part of me was Always you..

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