"disintegrated" poems
"silence is worse; all truths that are kept silent become poisonous.” ― friedrich nietzsche
like poking the hornet's nest with a stick, you are a rose with stems and thorns so thick,
your skin is protection from oppression, keeping the world out of your private channels
like i'm AM and you're FM all of which are static with distorted voices only science can pry through your enigmatic cacophony on a molecular level, and any evidence of who you are, i couldn't find with years of knowledge, a indestructible ship could speak more evidence about
why it was annihilated, obliterated, disintegrated under the ocean for months at a time without
any current survivors, and the last person i could be described as would be Sherlock Holmes
every detail washes over my head like a flood of details that can't enter because a force field
surround my head like it's a crown being so clueless, but it feels like i'm wearing a dunce hat
and maybe i do realize that there will be a position where you will be put out into light
there is no way out of your mind, like a schizophrenic, if kryptonite killed superman,
can it **** the infectious virus spreading like wildfire through these veins, can you stop
worrying about when you will finally break down and open up to someone?
****
- kra
Dec 9, 2013
Dec 9, 2013 at 10:13 PM UTC
Long before she was born
The balance, the societal scale,
The ground upon which her wobbly feet
Will learn to stand upright and walk steady
Had been socially disintegrated.
Arms with which her clay mind
Is to be molded and framed
Had been morally fractured.
The ‘responsible majority'
Saddled with the making of serious decisions
Had decided against her-
The minor, with fewer rights
And a body like hers-
Double jeopardy, I will say.
The verdict always the same,
Unanimous more often than not
Guilty!! Is the girl child;
If she grows too fast
Or he touches her inappropriately.
So she learns from her early days
The skill of helplessness
All through the pain and the shame
For it is always her fault
Always has been
Long before she arrived
©Belema .S. Ekine
Oct 13, 2017
Oct 13, 2017 at 7:07 AM UTC
A place in which I know nothing about, an unknown world
A world unlike any I have ever known to exist, an opposite of this reality
A place only to be traveled to by deep sleep or sweet reverie
A world of pure innocence and raw creativity, a world of adventure and fantasy
A place where you can fly into the cosmos
And soar through the universe until you become nothing but sparkling stardust
A realm where blood isn't pumping through your veins, but rather what flows through is stardust
A world within a world
A realm where physicalities are meaningless and existence lies within the cosmos
A world that causes you to question your own rendition of the word "reality"
A realm that both defines and illustrates the meaning of the word "fantasy"
And is inherently bigger than any one dream or reverie
Something like that of an endless reverie
A myriad of universes and ever-glowing stardust
Something like that of an endless fantasy
A myriad of imaginings and an ever-growing illusory world
Something like that of a castle in the sky, nothing like that of harsh reality
A myriad of thoughts that turn into pictures and skies that turn into the cosmos
Have you ever journeyed into the cosmos?
Through shut eyes and intense dreaming or through glassy eyes and pleasant reverie?
Have you ever left this reality?
Joined the entities of another realm, disintegrated into the galaxy and became stardust?
Have you ever traveled to another world?
Became another entity, fully embraced a potent fantasy?
I wish to travel to this place and immerse myself in the fantasy
I want to become one with the cosmos
And escape the physical world
I wish to travel to this place and immerse myself in the reverie
I want to become one with the universe through the merging of our inner reaching stardust
And escape this tugging reality
Nothing is more terrifying or confining than what I know as reality
Nothing is more appealing or liberating than what I know as fantasy
I am a soul and I am stardust
I am the universe and I am the cosmos
I am a dream and a reverie
All within a world outside of a world
A place existing outside the lines of reality, a place within easy reach of the cosmos
A world born unto fantasy, a world fueled through reverie
A realm overpowered by stardust, a realm that is not of this world
May 28, 2013
May 28, 2013 at 11:30 PM UTC
_Fear not the candle burned at both ends,
A silent dawn of broken words and disintegrated phrases,
For you have attended to the tremblings of your soul
And made them known to yourself._
Jan 18, 2022
Jan 18, 2022 at 1:38 AM UTC
If ever I was accusatory
it's only because I too am guilty.
I try at symmetry
only to end up inadequate.
One who cannot amount to their own ideals
cannot know a single thing.
However certain I am of decay,
I still forget faster than memory would allow me to retain
motes of dust scattered across my library
that were once skin,
places I had been,
not one returning from departure.
No postcards
save for my disintegrated cells who speak only
of transformation.
Hushed in dim light,
scattered across oceans of words whispering,
You're already dead you naive little star.
Oct 4, 2013
Oct 4, 2013 at 1:00 AM UTC
Meeting you was like drizzle on a sunlit day. When the rays of that big ball of fire up there meet with the opaque droplets of acid shooting down upon the mere ground. A rainbow lit up the sky and I thought I could call you mine but then slowly and suddenly the colours disintegrated into the sky and as soon as the rainbow disappeared you were nowhere to be found. The clouds filled with grey appeared and my heart sank into the pit of my stomach because I knew you weren't ever coming back.
Apr 10, 2018
Apr 10, 2018 at 10:58 AM UTC
the LORD & I have been arguing for days
over four small words:
[thy will be done.]
let this be known:
never is there a bigger sacrifice
than compromising the cloth that has woven your soul,
choosing to burn its textile
rather than cling to its strong stitchings & worn-in, familiar pattern,
leaving you in nothing but incinerated rags.
I plea for maintained remains of
this combusted fallacy of joy,
whilst He responds with simply
[I am making all things new.]
please hear this:
there is truly nothing that can mend you here,
nothing that can weave you together &
save your heart from being torn
as a love letter ripped into shreds of its possibilities,
leaving you with nothing but
disintegrated
dreams.
my past is aching to become my present,
& my perceived future has begun to rewind.
my place in this world has become null&void;
without the hope I once held close.
for what happens to a princess
when her earthly prince continues to commit slow suicide?
[peace, My child.]
I can hear my bones screaming to be heard,
as songs on a broken record,
stuck on repeating the same old refrain:
*please please please please please…
[on earth as it is in Heaven.]*
night sweats--
when your mind cannot stop running even whilst you sleep.
shaking limbs—
when your heart trembles & begs to stay alive.
*[plans to prosper you, not harm you;
plans for hope & a future.]*
I’m strung out on all these things that keep me sane
while my mind feels like its going through
withdrawals of the Holy Spirit—
WHERE ARE YOU, GOD
& WHY IS THIS YOUR PLAN?
YOU DO NOT LOVE ME AS YOU ONCE DID.
[those who hope in the LORD renew their strength.]
laying on my bedroom floor
with hymns pouring from my mouth
like tongues of fire & bile
I feel farther from glory
than I ever have.
[He restores my soul.]
LORD
as Christ once begged of you
Take This Cup,
LORD
I plea
for deliverance
for reconciliation
for an exodus from this body that is
full of intoxication
& self-loathing.
[until the very end of the age.]
LET MY SPIRIT RISE FROM THE ASHES
& BE HEALED OF THIS HORROR.
Feb 5, 2014
Feb 5, 2014 at 3:18 PM UTC
call me selfish
i'll be too dead to care.
i burned for everyone i could,
i tried to be the
l i g h t
of their life.
eventually i started to
f l i c k e r,
my wick disintegrated
and i burnt out.
my
f a i t h
saved me time and time again.
my
g o d
is perfect and kind and loving and forgiving.
my god knows i tried, i
f o u g h t.
but somehow after everything, my brain has gone.
where did it go?
i wish i knew.
so now i must go find it.
now i must
g o.
Mar 10, 2019
Mar 10, 2019 at 11:12 PM UTC
*
YOUR HAPPINESS SURVIVED...
Did you ever think of
What happened to those glass pieces?
The shattered glass pieces
Held some of your happiness like
A mother breastfeeding a new born baby
It slowly gathered and tried to joined
The remaining left over happiness
Years passed but glass pieces
Never parted with your happiness
And preserved it with lots of care
The broken glass pieces
Still hugs and kisses your happiness
With the hope of giving it back to you
Your happiness is secure & safely alive
With the shattered glass pieces
The remaining life of the glass pieces
Is destined to more breakages
Don't worry if
The glass pieces are crushed, stamped
Still shattered further in more tiny pieces
Disintegrated into powder
Be sure whatever they do to glass pieces
It will not let your happiness go
It's clenching your happiness tightly
Come one day to find how
The glass pieces are living
Come and see the castle of happiness
The shattered glass pieces has built
Naming your happiness "An Angel"
What if I told you that
I am the glass of LOVE that encased your
Happiness and that you shattered...!
(Read the flashback story in NOTES below)
*
Apr 19, 2017
Apr 19, 2017 at 1:04 AM UTC
I just woke up on a train I shouldn't be on
I'm stuck in this seat,
To the left there is no one
To the right, there is just my shadow
How peculiar to have a shadow when there is no sun shining through the train
The windows are tinted and the sky outside is murky
I can see the land around me is barren with no greenery
My legs are starting to ache from sitting so long and I feel a fiery rash spreading on my chest
the pattern is floral, like carnations in bloom
My chest is swelling up to my throat
Something is expanding in my chest, stretching and burning
Something familiar but foreign
And just like that a carnation bursts through me completely disintegrated. In my lap I try to put the pieces together
Stuck in this seat I take out my mirror and look at the hole where the carnation lived
Deep inside, something the size of a petite ruby, little and plump was beating.
Louder and louder I could hear it in my ears,
the swelling is subsiding around my neck but I don't think I'll be free of this chair for a long while
Jan 13, 2015
Jan 13, 2015 at 12:18 AM UTC
ever since my childhood broke and the safety net disintegrated
I've been running and holding it high above, arms aching
in a futile attempt to stop things falling through
woven seams. Sometimes it works and I stare up,
neck burning, to the things I cannot touch.
I do not look down to the debris scattered around me,
to the failures of my braced shoulders, slipping through like water;
impacting like stones.
once I caught a fisherman; he threaded silver secrets
through twine using smiles and sympathy and I lowered my arms, to keep him alongside. There were some places he couldn't reach but
that was ok, because we ran for an eternity ensnared in each second.
it was a particularly beautiful day when I noticed him slowing,
staring out to sea, steps faltering and new smiles forming that
were not faced to me. He left me and dived headfirst, forgetting that
fisherman cannot swim. He drowned as I ran on, arms outstretched
above me as the net danced in the wind and everything fell through.
I have never stopped, never ceased these thundering steps;
my eyes are still turned to the sky, the holes in my net cast
beautiful shadows and through them I see the stars and wait impatient
for the night when they too fall.
Mar 31, 2015
Mar 31, 2015 at 10:52 AM UTC
why i am an only child?
you have to ask the Polish women
who were forced to drink iodine....
1986...
Chernobyl...
it spread to Poland from the Ukraine...
a "rainbow" effect,#as my great-grandmother
recounted...
in the local park?
streaks... of autumnal trees
in their full bloom decay,
and the furthest green in summer...
a strange time...
why wouldn't my mother have
more children?
i guess, in fear of breeding a ******
pro-life, what?!
you raise them!
see how they turn out when
you're dead!
god's "grace"...
you ever curate the fate
of your grandmother?
well then!
now you know!
nature is ruthless!
man attempting to
overcome it?!
you know
what nature does?
i know what nature does...
steam-roller and...
somehow the most vocal speakers
are those daring to
question the feathers
of a macaw parrot...
substituting it with
fashion trends...
mort in concencus,..
vive in conscissio...
i might have been born with
a sibling...
but i wasn't...
the Scandinavian countries learned
of it,
from under, beneath the iron curtain...
and who can actually blame Gorbachev?
when the U.S.S.R. was made
dissolute?
and no war took the zeitgeist
garments of a pope's approval?
no cardinal red,
with Attila's river...
who is to blame,
the scolded transition period of peace?
no one unless my grandfather can
understand the peaceful transition
of the disintegrated U.S.S.R.,
into a Russian Fed.?
no one?
but the women of Poland
and the Ukraine? still had
to drink iodine...
and i am...
i am...
i am...
i will always be...
the long lost cousin of the Chernobyl
geblüt;
there is not concept of
a butterfly effect...
when it comes to the query of an,
atomic reactor!
Aug 22, 2018
Aug 22, 2018 at 10:50 PM UTC
I always walk up the stairs with a cup of tea filled to the brim. Not even walking just taking small steps periodically just in case the tea spilled. Sometimes I made it to the top and sometimes I spilled it and I would have to come back downstairs, go the the kitchen, get a paper towel, wipe up the mess, throw the paper towel away and try again.
It was a very tedious Task.
My mother used to yell at me for the times I get too lazy to clean up the mess and just allow the tea to dry up on the floor to stick.
When I was twelve I realized how many times I allowed the tea to dry up. Most of the time I didn't even care if all the tea spilled by the time I got to the last staircase. The boiling hot tea spilling on my feet and the carpet and the granite didn't bother me. My mind was wayward- somewhere unknown. My thought process didn't care to think about my mother after a hard days work coming home to yell at her old enough daughter to stop drinking upstairs. She used to get so mad at me sometimes wondering why I always said "I don't care,".
She used to despise me for it, and I did too.
Maybe I liked how the tea burned my feet causing me to walk faster, maybe I liked the pain. Maybe I was too busy to care about the abundance of spills maybe I wasn't. Maybe I just didn't care.
The whole world stopped spinning for me but my mind didn't. I loved leaving a trail of sweet hot tea for me to follow again and again, my mother didn't.
Finally my mother broke all the teacups and threw away all the tea we had in the house. In all honesty I freaked out. I could've ripped the whole house from its foundation and throw it toward the horizon. I could've take matches and burn the place down letting its ashes fill the toxic sky. I could've done all of that.
But I didn't. I disintegrated into my covers and let my bed seep me in, like tea leaves brewing. I was brewing.
And like the perfect cup of tea, I finally became that dark, rich color with the perfect amount of milk and sugar, placed onto a saucer that was the right size. I the ridges kept me in place and the walk upstairs wasn't so bad anymore.
Jun 22, 2015
Jun 22, 2015 at 9:19 PM UTC
the men end lunch with strands of glowing spit
webbed to the tips of their boots.
they huddle and coagulate, chanting as one,
then bloom with loud whispers into
heat and steel beam ******** meat to the city grid.
my father once stepped on a nail.
he turned yellow
& his leg disintegrated.
Dec 31, 2014
Dec 31, 2014 at 6:14 AM UTC
And you as well must die, beloved dust,
And all your beauty stand you in no stead;
This flawless, vital hand, this perfect head,
This body of flame and steel, before the gust
Of Death, or under his autumnal frost,
Shall be as any leaf, be no less dead
Than the first leaf that fell,—this wonder fled.
Altered, estranged, disintegrated, lost.
Nor shall my love avail you in your hour.
In spite of all my love, you will arise
Upon that day and wander down the air
Obscurely as the unattended flower,
It mattering not how beautiful you were,
Or how beloved above all else that dies.
2.6k
To crave,
Wails of agony, voices soaked in terror?
Call after call, message after message.
Care, love, sympathy?
Succor, surveillance, support?
Tear after tear, hands shaking and grasping?
Pity, solace, warmth?
To receive,
Levigating guilt, being disintegrated.
Evanescensing from reality.
Blood clotting and drying.
Those who are paid to give care,
Who seem as though sympathy;
Hadn't glazed over their eyes in decades.
A room so cold and sterile,
That not even the warmth of my breath
Could stop my bones from shivering under my skin.
Desolating abandonment,
Hums of fluorescent lights,
In chorus with sobs of despondency
It isn't what I wanted.
But it is what I deserved.
Aug 24, 2024
Aug 24, 2024 at 2:40 PM UTC
Tall prairie grass, wind-swept and
burnished gold, whispers with the
long-dead voices of all who passed
on this trail in their dream voyage
to Oregon, or California, or who
died, disease-ridden, exhausted, to be
buried just off the rutted trail
under a lonely stretch of sod
or cairned atop a barren lava bed.
A bone-white wagon tongue,
its carriage long ago disintegrated
and fallen into splintery planks,
laps thirstily at the dry sod along the
edge of the trail, finding only
parched earth and no water, burrs
and beetles instead of hydration.
More prairie than desert but still
more a place to leave behind, only
insects, lizards, hawks and the curious
chickadees seem to make it home,
this dusty stretch of history.
Hawks hover, then spiral effortless
high above, as they did so many years
ago, dark against a soft patchwork
of azure blue sky and creeping clouds.
The occasional click of grasshoppers
is barely audible in the billowing prairie
grass shaken by the incessant wind.
Dry bones of beasts and luckless humans
hug the edges of the trail, mute testimony
to the brutality of the westward rush
and the following of the Oregon Trail.
--
Nov 26, 2011
Nov 26, 2011 at 7:30 PM UTC
Yesterday she genuinely smiled
Something that lit the town bright
The way her lips curved to the left
Before the right reminded me
Of the days she never knew you
Tonight, believe it or not, but she laughed
Her laugh could be heard from a mile
It was so loud,
Contagious,
And it whispered the word "content" into the winds
The kind you would hear after you kissed her lips
Or at least when you used to press your lips upon hers
And tomorrow you will see her glow with happiness
The kind you see from a lonely child who finally felt love
Beautiful, exquisite, pulchritudinous, just to name a few
Those are the words that will come across your mind
When you see her pass you by
By then I will feel sorry for you
Because she finally moved on
She finally saw her true worth---her true beauty
And I will look at you and feel sorry
She overlooked your flaws, past, and mistakes.
She forgave you for your stupidity countless times
Accepted your selfishness and narrow mindedness
She made sacrifices for you,
MADE time for you when she had none,
Adjusted her life to make things work for you
To make things work with you
All those things that you could not do for her.
But now, you are nothing but a piece of her past,
A memory that is constantly fading,
An old flame that long disintegrated,
A photograph that has fallen on the back of her desk,
Or maybe you're all of that.
No. You are all of that.
And I feel sorry for you.
So sorry that you lost an amazing person
Someone who accepted every part of you,
Was willing to put up with everything,
Change her ways to make things work,
Someone who didn't give up so easily, and
Someone who would have never given up on you
The way you did with her.
Jun 5, 2014
Jun 5, 2014 at 9:29 AM UTC
My anomalous trip thus far has been dichotomous.
Harbingers motivate my advent: a chorus.
Acceptance of frolic ventures sent: a quest.
My sneakers meet familiar soil at last.
Designed to be a panacea, yet I fall ill.
Sleets of rain impact my soul: a slight chill.
Hazed trance, awashed clean of all acrimony.
A lurid stroll, downhill, parallel, perfunctory.
I, a stoic mercenary, avenging my ties tonight.
Arcane magic flow through my veins, my sight.
Moisture sparkle, glistens through my mental maze.
Resistance, control: I attempt to regain ablaze.
Synaptics fuse, burn, misfire, discombobulate.
Higher functions remain: calculus, formulate.
Veritas! Visual focus be on 2D layer sharp.
Disintegrated data sung with melodious harp.
Laissez-faire slayed by Communist meritocracy.
Mental hierarchy arise from wayward sorcery.
My affection for her nets only melancholia.
The amity cease... yet reborn by spying cornea.
Upon a hill from sea to sea brings forth diplomacy.
Lively lads, enshrouded in black; they be prodigies.
Persons of worth: one stranger joins their ranks.
If my creed offend, beg you pardon pranks.
Silent drizzle softly sings of night and majesty.
Lament under moonlight, behold gray sanctity.
Ne'er shall dreadful turmoil befall our facilities.
Literature conceals such divine secrecy.
Aug 28, 2010
Aug 28, 2010 at 5:15 AM UTC
wish i could tell you i told you so,
but i didn't.
with each comforting heartbeat,
the only portion of life that's always there for me
we can only leave together.
the edge of my eyesight would blur,
peripherals no longer
i find it preferable that way,
and i saw those stars
which i love but am confused by.
you are one of those stars.
i think i despise you.
you once appeared so paranormal
divine.
now that facade of a goddess
has shattered
and the fresh shards
piercing deep into your innocent flesh and own self
and mine
change how we view one another.
driven by desperation
you've sunk into the deepest
and darkest scale of your unexplored options
now where are you?
inside the remains of that disintegrated facade,
that facade of strength and perfection.
now i see you as i should've from the start.
raindrops of pure lust and stupidity
pour from those clouds of truth and true self
that you rely on so heavily
to conceal and avoid.
however,
once upon a time
did you have such tainted depths?
or was you inner self identical
to your once intact facade
or did your weakness of the moment
allow her to inject you
with her own spreading mixture of
corrupt promise and ruin?
what have you gotten yourself into girl?
should have floated away with me
to the 4th dimension
into a brighter place with genuine promises
where i could have protected you
from your very own unexpected demons
Nov 5, 2010
Nov 5, 2010 at 3:07 AM UTC
I’ve walked through the
Burning flames of disappointment
Flames STING Seeping through my skin
Sore souls heal from the verdict of me
Piece by piece
I turn into ASH
Eventually all I am is
Dark, Black, Disintegrated ASH
May 29, 2018
May 29, 2018 at 8:17 AM UTC
I never could find the words
To say what I was feeling
I thought though,
You could see them around me
Like the glow of radiation
You read about in comics
I expected people to listen
And find my words somewhere in the silence
But no one did
And my words floated around in the air
And disintegrated
Somewhere thousands of miles above the earth
I never could find the words
To say what I was feeling
I thought though,
If I wrote them down
Told the story
My story
People would understand
And find my meaning somewhere on the page
But no one did
The blank pages stared
Meaning never came
And they disintegrated
Somewhere thousands of miles below the earth
Apr 5, 2014
Apr 5, 2014 at 1:20 PM UTC
I’m thinking about the doctor's hands shaking as she
struggles to intubate a cat.
I’m thinking about the technician's hands squeezing the cat’s rib cage,
pulsing life with a delicate force; she is much more gentle than
practitioners are with humans—
hard and quick down with the palms; the ribs snapping,
the sternum sore.
Some time ago an 80-year-old woman on my unit was
opened up bedside for a cardiac procedure during a code.
After a week in ICU, she came back to us on the unit, was up and
walking and talking, and was discharged home within another week.
Meanwhile, the 60-year-old man was dead in the morgue
after a 45-minute code failed to resuscitate him.
The flip of the coin. The thin line. The blessing or the curse.
The absolute darkness of a body bag. The cold chill of absolute zero.
The fresco painted on the catacomb walls could either depict the
light of the sun or the multicolored lights that the
brain shoots off minutes before death.
The eleventh hour,
isn’t that what it’s called?
We don’t want to talk about body care, death care.
We have to, but it won’t register.
After a loss, after a trauma,
we are on autopilot.
I think of my mother,
six feet beneath frozen soil in
a pink padded casket and think:
I don’t want that.
I think of the prearranged plots my grandparents picked out
next to her in an above ground crypt and think:
I don’t want that.
Bacteria still causes decay after the embalming process.
Putrefied flesh. Bones visible. Muscles eaten. Tissues disintegrated.
We don’t talk about it.
We try to think the opposite. The positive vs the negative.
(But that’s not always possible or healthy.)
I’m thinking about hands inserting IVs, hands taking
blood pressures, hands documenting the code notes
on a clipboard in the back of the room.
I couldn’t do these things.
My hands tend to break what they touch.
The glass bowl in the pet store.
The clay project in art class.
The succulents, the basil, the orchid.
I’m good at things I don’t have to think about:
good at the autopilot, good at the autonomic,
good at trauma.
Nov 19, 2020
Nov 19, 2020 at 2:47 AM UTC
My grandmother
has a chair that sits
in the shower-- a tile
throne for loved martyrs,
her hips have disintegrated
as has some emotion,
you say I don't know
sorrow, you say I don't know
sadness
but here I am again, naked in your chair
letting the hot water
bead down my face in
substitution for tears.
Aug 14, 2012
Aug 14, 2012 at 12:18 AM UTC
the wind drifted through her bones,
tearing her from the roots of her existence.
and though she had been placed in a jar of water
in attempt to save her being,
her stem began to droop,
and her petals changed from a shade of deep purple to brown,
and her leaves became dried and fragile.
and slowly but surely,
she disintegrated back into the hollows of the earth,
just as all flowers do when their time has come.
Nov 12, 2013
Nov 12, 2013 at 11:04 PM UTC