"dissociates" poems
You are my dear, decadent desert,
My summer-thyme delight; Starlight.
Tonight’s your night, for you I write.
Radiant glow, fuzzed herbal hue.
My dear butterscotch icecream.
Sore arms churn thick, slick froth - Sauterne butter.
Gentle spread melts, dowsed in sweet, sugared innocence,
rich scents, then sits.
6 years pass quickly, youthhood gone;
My black swan, a third complete.
You, sauterne butter, mix with scotch -
Fermented, demented, invented to inebriate.
Golden brew dissociates reality -
Spinny, fuzzy, dizzy, funny… gone.
Go on again, dear fawn, 6 years pass,
Pant for the water, two-thirds complete.
12 years as toll to adolescence;
Icy, creamy, dreamy, element prepared.
Scoops of soft serve mix with years past - Angsty era.
Seductive spirits, beautiful brew.
At last, my summer-thyme delight dances with rhyme.
The lime-light shines; ten and eight.
Todays the date, stuff immaturity away.
Make room for the adulthoods’ good,
Scooped generously into a bowl
Shuttled and entrapped by me,
Melting, streaming, gleaming and freezing.
You awesome angel!
My pleasure supreme -
My dear butterscotch icecream.
Apr 22, 2017
Apr 22, 2017 at 6:43 PM UTC
glass spits stupidity in my face
until my identity dissociates
old habits rendezvous with my senses
dancing with my lost soul
casting fainting spells
the bathroom floor is cold
on my cheek
my body and memory
feel weak
black clouds
all i see
until all i know
is not me.
Sep 21, 2014
Sep 21, 2014 at 11:52 PM UTC
I hear your sobs from the bathroom
And I hope it’s not what I think
Pray I misunderstood
Hope and hope so deep
We open the door
And there you lie
Lost in some fog
Then I realize
From the look in your eyes
And the colors I glimpse
It’s all over the tiles
And it covers the sink
The scene freezes in silence
Images flashing slow
We try to grasp in an instant
How it began to flow
Searching for the tool you used
That would lead to the breach
Searching for the weapon you chose
To finally... sleep
And I wonder...
*“Is this it?”
“Is this the day
Our life will collapse?”
“Is today the day that
All my fears come true?”*
*Will there be no other laugh
In our lives forever stained
Will there be no innocence
Left from what was shed
Is this the date cross-marked
In our memories forever
Is this the day so black
Where our dreams shatter?*
As I hear the sirens fade
I’m left in silence, petrified
In shock staring at my hands
Voiceless and horrified
So unbearable
That it dissociates me
So unshakable
That it suffocates me
Breathing the thick air
Painfully into my lungs
As I wash blood off my hands
And clean the bathtub
There were no tears that night
Just a blinding pain
As sharp as the knife
You pressed to your veins
Oh mother…
What have you
Done?
You have left me
Forever
Terrified
For things
To come
Couldn’t you spare us
I was just a child
In this bathroom who would comfort
The little girl I was?
Couldn’t you handle
The anger and the tears
Preserve your children
From their worst fears?
You’ve shattered our lives
From your own weakness
And filled our eyes
With... endless darkness
Broken our hopes
For any peaceful day
An anguish for tomorrows
That will never melt away
Oct 31, 2010
Oct 31, 2010 at 1:21 PM UTC
the early bird gets the worm, right?
wrong.
the early bird inches her way out of her nest in the morning, longing to stay snuggled up next to her lover.
the early bird leaves early so she can afford the rent on her nest that is falling apart.
the early bird goes to work and gets an early start on her day, just to come back home to an empty nest and sleep for three more hours.
the early bird takes long and scolding hot baths to ease her aching joints and to participate in some “self care”, even though it never really works.
the early bird stares at herself in the reflection of the faucet and dissociates.
the early bird takes some sleeping pills and tries to fall asleep at a reasonable time, so she can be an early riser the next day, too.
the early bird tosses and turns.
the early bird thinks about the dishes that are not done.
the clothes are not washed.
lunch isn’t made for tomorrow.
the early bird has three tests this week in college and hasn’t studied for a single one.
the early bird hasn’t had *** in a week.
the early bird feels unnoticed.
the early bird feels like she is not enough.
the early bird feels like she will never be enough.
Jan 16, 2019
Jan 16, 2019 at 4:40 PM UTC
My eyes
are sinking back into
my skull.
They leave two gaunt
craters
in the skin beneath each lower
eyeflap,
each which now darkens and
dissociates itself
from
a healthy pigmentation—
much in the same
fashion
as that in which I
myself
have darkened
and dissociated
from reality
Apr 13, 2017
Apr 13, 2017 at 2:41 AM UTC
There are astrological signs which depict the temperature of climactic socialisation.
Are you familiar with the experience of envy?
The early settlers were able to till the land with rhythm, whilst the establishment raised superstitious calamities which were compatible with the presumed evil of harlotry.
Let us rise at this undetermined time of anticipation where maternal bonds are held in question.
Rabbits have always roamed fields in the Herefordshire countryside, whilst post-war community finds affiliation in both prohibition and licentiousness.
I love your scent, as it reminds me of ancient castles.
So, let us burrow into a warren of denial and produce offspring which dissociates from contemporary expectations.
As I appreciate the ages of wisdom, I have questions about our orientation, as it lingers on this eternal horizon of predictable obscurity.
Oct 5, 2014
Oct 5, 2014 at 10:02 PM UTC
whiteness is a mental illness
it dissociates from being human
to construct the language of slavery
I can help with treatment
Jul 31, 2016
Jul 31, 2016 at 9:57 AM UTC
i was raised from a seed only knowing the taste of my own blood
belts planted in my thighs, back, my skin became the soil for bad intentions to sprout
gravity dissociates when shoes are airborne or at hand
i know you held down every animal slaughtered
that you were bred from the same seed, denied water and sun
but forgiveness isn't fine china, and i can't make it for you
bitemarks are the only thing i could defend myself with
yr fingerprints never faded from my collar
it dilutes with the passing of generations
but the meaning stays the same
Mar 1, 2017
Mar 1, 2017 at 7:04 AM UTC
holiness dissociates between my eyes
samurais with ptsd and human tendencies
are the closest to a lulluby during noon
between rib and flesh, the movement uncomfortable
Mar 20, 2017
Mar 20, 2017 at 3:46 AM UTC
Writing for someone
That’s not even there
Still add songs to her list
That I may never share
When she goes unresponsive
Not sure if she’s conscious
And lately
It feels like she’s fading
For good
I just want to reach out
But not sure if I should
For she wouldn’t
So comparably
In me delight
Does not seemingly care
What I’m doing tonight
And despite all I’ve done for her
Leaves me in lurches
Just pondering plummets
From summits and perches
Desertion
Dissociates
Intimate friends
From potentially more
Than beginnings and ends
Mar 20, 2022
Mar 20, 2022 at 6:50 PM UTC