"edgy" poems
I was listening to a poet
reciting his poem “Times”.
He was pondering, could
it be like this and that?
Suddenly my cup of tea
happened to taste so sweet,
made me wonder why
wasn’t it such an edgy,
a while ago any time
before now just as tasty.
Where on a stony thorn
was it stuck this long?
It had to bloom just now,
so sweet a rose!
No one predicted whether it
will rain or not, it just drops.
The sun, shedding clouds,
suddenly swims so low!
Pondering me, I could
then only digest it
accepting a truth:
It doesn’t matter when
the bees love to come out,
sit on the rose and fly.
For the time, its best bard
only sings on time!
Mar 20, 2017
Mar 20, 2017 at 7:48 PM UTC
I was never looking into you
I was only pouring an image of myself onto your canvas
Of course I didn’t know
it was me looking into me
this was the mirage of my desire
always in the shape of a question mark
and you
a sweeping mystery
oozing something toeing the peculiar line between *** and titanium (cold, edgy, sharp - trembling
between pain and principle
like blazer and tie
or more like halfway-unbuttoned-shirt-and-slacks on-with-no-tie
(it was like you were making an effort!))
It was ***
but it also wasn’t ***
(I am empty
I am full)
I keep building up and up and up
all these images in my Mind
(which never shuts up)
(a never-ending narrative
She spins and spins and succumbs
only in those rare and passing circumstances)
constructing people like buildings
only the scaffolding is imaginary and when
the architecture folds in on itself
soulless
and my beloved figurines come toppling down on me
why do I still get so surprised
so stung
so lonely in that
hollow and distant way
(like your Mind is echoing
in on
Itself)?
My Mind is like quicksand
devouring streams of memory with ease
forever unsatisfied and craving more of the same
sharp edges and all
praying for a satiation in some distant future
She knows will never come
Only here
in this tiny universe
can I spell out anything resembling rationality
from the mess and junk and tangled tendrils of my Mind
Only here
can I extract bits and pieces of thoughts
and try to puzzle them together
until they make sense
until I can separate “Me” from “Reality"
And what doesn’t make sense
what I need to understand
is why I feel so beset
with this heavy magnetism that
overpowers me to the point of
paralysis
(with little to no room for breathing)
and why it was you
who pushed me into this feeling
and you
who is still pulling me along
far past the threshold of my resistance
and I am done
and it stings
Sep 13, 2018
Sep 13, 2018 at 12:51 PM UTC
Last night I
Buried my dreams underground.
Fleshy as a corpse
Edgy like the corners of a time capsule.
Once my cup was sloshing round,
Now it's barely half full.
This morning I
had almost forgotten what had happened
But I heard muffled sounds.
They were still alive.
It made me wonder about
What it takes to suffocate
A dream.
Sep 29, 2011
Sep 29, 2011 at 12:48 PM UTC
Sometimes i wish i could write poems
with all the similes clinging to your thoughts like barnacles.
And describe people with metaphors that wrap around the actual meaning like weeds grow on to other, more pretty plants.
It would be nice if i could use edgy things like cigarette butts, half filled bottles of beer, and lipstick stained papers with a number jotted down
to describe mundane things like sadness and fear,
although lipstick stains and cigarette butts do leave an awfully mundane stench behind.
Oct 15, 2013
Oct 15, 2013 at 5:20 PM UTC
I bet you never got to know
That I wasn't always depressed
I was always narcoleptic
Every time I told you I didn't feel good and couldn't see you
I wasn't depressed
I was narcoleptic
That message in March
Where you said you even loved when I was so depressed I couldn't get out of bed
I was narcoleptic
I couldn't help it
People never understand, it's like how you feel when you've been up for days
I was narcoleptic
I could sleep 12 hours
And not feel refreshed, because my sleep doesn't heal me, like it heals you and others
I was narcoleptic
I know I took those stimulants
But they made me edgy and nervous, and I turned into a **** so I didn't take them but
I was narcoleptic
You see, those stimulants, Vyvanse
Made me feel like I'd been up for days but running on 2 pots of coffee because
I was narcoleptic
A man who has been up for days
Is not often the most polite and I hated being impolite so I stopped taking them but
I was narcoleptic
So I spent my days sleeping
Sleeping till noon, then needing to sleep at 3 PM, until 10 at night and then until noon because
I was narcoleptic
Your stepdad said he wouldn't stand for that "crap"
But I couldn't help it, I wanted to see you more than anything and I knew it hurt you but
I was narcoleptic
Not only am I narcoleptic
I think I have fibromyalgia just like my grandmother, who loves you too, I think,
I have fibromyalgia.
Today I'm still narcoleptic with fibromyalgia
But I've found a cure, a mix of two pills, one for the narcolepsy and one for the pain
One pill is designed for nothing but narcolepsy (not ADHD) and the other a narcotic for the pain
You'd have no idea how much better I feel than I did before
You'd have no idea because you don't care to learn who I am
Because I'm not who I was, I'm refreshed, something new, I'm normal for once
Not just feeling bad, not just tired and sore and fatigued, not so depressed I can't get out of bed
Just narcolepsy and fibromyalgia.
Nov 26, 2013
Nov 26, 2013 at 2:29 PM UTC
Here I sit
Between two choices
Between two people
Between two indentities
Looking for a happy ending
In a world divided
As sharp as black and white
To my left
Is what society wants me to be
Smart and respectful
Following the rules
Dressing to impress
safe, but
To my right
Is what I want to be
Dark and edgy
Rebelling
CLoaked in black head to toe
Black rimmed eyes
Loud music blaring
But the thing with black and white
Is that there is a gray area between
With infinite shades
Some wear it on their face
For everyone to see
While they group together
I'm left in wonder
For when I look in the mirror
I am suddenly colorblind
Blinking back at myself
for hours on end
Trying to figure out who I am
Am I more of what I'm trying to be
Or what I should want to be
Maybe I'm a perfect 50/50 mix
That isn't so perfect after all
It's plain and boring
perfectly ordinary
On the left
I would be a fake, and
On the right
I would be a fake
Feb 17, 2016
Feb 17, 2016 at 11:40 PM UTC
I have to get this out
off my chest before
I straighten every crooked object
offensive clutter distraction
OCD
nervous as ****
I'll pull out every hair
or tear my fingers off
If I don't figure out how to look
in your eyes
without screaming
I love you
I love you
I love you
I love you
I love you
I love you
I can't remember anything before you
I can't imagine anything without you
I want to live the rest of my life with you
But only if you think I'm cool
We should just **** ourselves
Nov 8, 2014
Nov 8, 2014 at 12:59 AM UTC
I fell for a guy
As handsome as when the snow fell on a flower
One thing I only see on pictures
One that I only see on winter
He might think I only fell for his looks
But I see him not like in those books
I try not to but a laugh always goes out
Even for mere words as "water"
Made my heart flutter
For someone to make me smile
Even when I see him from a mile
My admiration for his works
I was never envious
But if ever he doesn't like me
I would still admire him for he
I would choose to be happy by myself,
And not with someone who's edgy with me
Dec 22, 2022
Dec 22, 2022 at 11:02 PM UTC
You aren't the first to walk these roads.
These lonely, gravel trails covered in broken glass and nails.
Every time a rickety car breaks down and fails
it leaves it's wreck along the side of highway,
just watching the traffic pass them by.
They are monuments to every effort we have made and given up on.
They are why you MUST try.
Whether you live in a town or a city,
there are going to be some pretty ****** moments in life.
It takes a lot of strife to get a small amount of satisfaction
but the chain reaction
of doubts and down 'n' outs
is drowned out by the radio static and
I don't mean to sound dramatic but
I understand.
I just want you to know
you're not going to go on your own this time.
Every moment spent crying is time that could better spent trying.
If I told you I don't have these moments,
well, I'd be lying.
Because I've felt the color drain from my face
as I try to remember the last place I left my courage
because it's not at arm's reach this time.
Sneers and eyerolls draw spirals around me
like I'm at ground zero of an M.C Escher painting.
I can rephrase suffering so many ways.
But at this pace, I still can't outrun my own thoughts.
I find my courage at last
but there is no sticking place to ***** it to,
so I just say ***** it."
I can't say I knew it would end this way,
but if all this poem comes down to
is a whiny teenager trying to be edgy
than I guess I...
Jun 28, 2014
Jun 28, 2014 at 1:18 AM UTC
For forty days and forty nights
We had no reasons to fight
So the planet was flooded
By the warm blooded
******* soaked
Visible ******
No more cloaks
No more loners
For everyone there was a match
But here's the insidious catch
It didn't take long for people to get bored
And start cutting and crossing cords
Until we resembled a chaotic horde
For forty days and forty nights
The Earth was flooding
Until things got muddy
And clouded transcendence
In the form of independence
Our lives keep knotting together
Our lives are rotting endeavors
We were completely happy
But felt that was too sappy
We sought edgy darkness
In a world that was shark-less
We made the world we live in
By putting on shark fins
And eating those that fall overboard
Out of their relationship
We try to be their overlord
Or add them to our list
Love grants a clenched fist
When there is value to a kiss
For forty days and forty nights
We turned on Earth's floodlights
And the world was flooded by love
Until we decided to try to look above
To see nothing there
Just the empty air
There was a time when there was love
Now there is none
Only a gun
And the number one
Jan 13, 2018
Jan 13, 2018 at 2:12 PM UTC
*** DRUGS *** DRUGS *** DRUGS
I'M SO EDGY
I HAVE DRUGS WITH MY ***
I HAVE *** WITH MY DRUGS
Mar 31, 2012
Mar 31, 2012 at 12:24 PM UTC
Doot doot
I hear the trumpets of the deceased
The rotting calcium
The bones
An army of many arise
Doot doot...Doot doot
Their weapons edgy,
and captions random
Doot doot
May the great raid begin
Spooky memes spammed in the thousands
An extreme dose of spooky chemo
Doot doot.
Oct 20, 2015
Oct 20, 2015 at 1:05 AM UTC
If I were a book,
what would my cover lead you to believe?
Colorful knee socks - a bit quirky.
Nose ring - acquired during a brief rebellious phase.
Purple hair - craving attention.
Lack of eye contact - lacking self confidence, socially awkward.
Chipped nail polish - not quite a girly-girl or a tomboy
Combat boots - attempting to seem edgy.
Maybe your assumptions are right.
But you'll never know until you read the book.
Feb 20, 2014
Feb 20, 2014 at 9:47 PM UTC
your gusto
ripping through my veins
'merican flags
trump supporters
platinum beer
fireworks flaring
fires visible atop seedy peeled-paint rvs
technicolor lights amped up on edgy recreational vehicles
4000 (BRIGHT BLUE), 6000 (BRIGHT GREEN), 750XR ON-AND-ON-AND
covered in dirt and filth
eating meat
sizzled atop
flames atop
charcoal bricks and lighter fluid
complimented by krafts brand
mac n cheese
i am apart of it
you know
your triumph burns sticky, out of my skin
guiltily i came into being
birthed inside anthracitic sediments and lighter fluid
scratching, writhing, biting
at the mercy
of a hyper-paint / subtle-death encrusted
reality
Nov 25, 2016
Nov 25, 2016 at 8:52 PM UTC
O
The Who
belted out adolescent
stress
through edgy
guitar riffs
like they still had
pimples
long after they
became
famous.
And me
I
I
often forget
that
I'm
I'm
supposed to be
becoming
a
Man
or something
like that.
My hands are bleeding surely:
my guitar pick isn't my fingers
but soon I'll write these nonsensicals
in blood. But nobody should scream
out for that. Nobody should buy
my words like rock-albums.
Nobody should ask Who
is he and Who
am I because
me
I
I
often forget
that
I'm
I'm
supposed to be
becoming
a
Man
or something
like that.
While
The Who
O
The Who
belt out
out adolescent
stress
through edgy
guitar riffs
like they still have
pimples
long after
becoming
famous
like Who?
Jul 23, 2015
Jul 23, 2015 at 2:24 PM UTC
She’s a little bit cooler than me, I like that
A little more dangerous.. a bit edgy in fact
Marked with black ink, like poem in calligraphy
A canvas of expression, a work of true beauty
She brings a sense of safety, that comfort feeling of home
And I feel her warmth around me, no matter how far we roam
Just as lost as I am, and exhausted from the journey
Her eyes pointed downward, her shoes worn and *****
Behind her are the years, the ones that she has spent
And the love that she will need, well it must be heaven sent
Paying her tolls as I have, so many times before
Her scars will tell a story, but her eyes say so much more
Our paths have come together and gone apart at times
And while she’s gone I sit here and scribble down these rhymes
I see her in the distance, she’s standing all alone
A girl who’s not afraid to be left out on her own
And like a thief in darkness, she stole my heart so tender
And meeting her again, I know that its still with her
-AJT
Dec 6, 2018
Dec 6, 2018 at 1:11 PM UTC
Gun metal gray,
this pigeon grasps
at current strung black
across a brick-
bounded back alley
edgy eyes on
uneven piles—
disposable
artifacts of people
caught in-between—
it trills its plea,
a directionless
directive to throw
away smaller,
more edible, trash
Sep 19, 2009
Sep 19, 2009 at 8:46 AM UTC
There is a state of existence,
where a person is neither A nor B
he's inbetween--
he's the addition, the subtraction, the shove and retraction,
I've spent my life "+"ing and "-"ing
building empires of handshakes,
floating from bar to bar with drinking pals,
crowbarring ice off queens of black venom,
I'm the distortion in the middle, but I can't see the end--
I never promised answers,
but the soft hands, the wet eye'd, and the widows
cry out for closure,
I get edgy and the "+"ing turns to "x"ing
Instead of answers--
I take the As and Bs,
I inhale their the white-knuckle moments,
I simmer in their fading passion,
I glide through their dying beds,
Instead of clear answers--
A x B x A x B x A x B x A x B
=
(unfamiliarperfume, missingherwedding, socialnetworkwindowshopping, backroom, thestoplight, theschoolzone, dirtylaundry, rejectedphonecalls, hisgirlfriend, herboyfriend, hisboyfriend, hergirlfriend, otherwives, otherhusbands, blackout, clenchedfist, animmatureandirresponsibleflirtationwithaddiction, howlingatthemoon, gettingoffonthepast, leaveherinthenursinghome, makingthewake, mowingthegrass, droppingthebouquet, tooold, tooyoung, toolate, toosoon, toosweet, toocruel, toofat, toothin, toonosy, toodistant, toobad)
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Best Laid Plans
And in the grey of early morning,
they look at the equation,
they look at the proposed solution,
and inevitably the As and the Bs
say to me,
"Now, simplify it."
I get edgy
I get edgy
I get edgy.
May 12, 2012
May 12, 2012 at 3:19 AM UTC
I imagine a biological plant,
I reach for It but can't touch It beacuse It's only my imagination.
I picture the same plant and reach to grab it but this time It's in 2D.
Now I am holding the plant. I can see and feel It got many features trying to prove itself being realistic but
It got no smell, no dirt, no life. It's just a prop.
Unlike your plant..
I can feel the warmth, the edgy imperfections, the good intentions of your plant.
I can see the healthy strains, the perfect ratio, the water flowing through your plant.
I can smell the unique aroma, the soul essence, natures soil all over your plant.
So I inject my plant with drugs, steriods and testoserone to match yours.
Look at my plant now world!
- Its just GMO'd.
Trying to be real made my plant more fake than It ever was.
How am I supposed to spread my seeds when my plant is so dysfunctional?
It would only create more confused and broken plants and eventually the world would be destroyed.
"Evolution could only come after a revolution"
Is a quote stuck in my brain.
Should I let my plant rot for the better
or should I keep watering It hoping for the best?
I really dont know anymore.
Mar 1, 2018
Mar 1, 2018 at 12:53 PM UTC
~for better days for the poet betterdays~
mournful tunes play silently, but still too often,
eyes wet but in corners kept, recurring then the
memories, keepsakes, letters, books, small trinkets,
not dusty, but dusky, resting on in-between ledge of a
mountain-sized twilight of well lit shadowy haziness,
edgy dark brilliance, a comprehensible contrast non-comprehendible
tunes that bless with equal measures of grief,
comforting, by memorable card flashes of good relief,
a dividing line, hazy and frequented crossed, a sort of path,
with no destination signaled, as if the path itself was an end,
to a meaning, a solution, with no clarity divined, a division
of sight and insight, providing an ill fitting reconciliation
mourning is electric, morning is electric,
letters, words bottled up in evaporating perfume bottles,
seeking the comfort of dissipation unto a larger atmosphere,
the scent in everything tangible, stronger still yet, in intangibles
that can erode but never ever fail to return instantly when voked,
by vision, odor, a particular child’s smile, line in a poem volunteered
recovered, uncovered, a post first writ to be written, discovered,
when time and place coincidentally breathe together, at last,
beckoning you to places where memory serves only as a pleasuring,
upright mind marker, decorated in chains perpetual reforging,
absent pain, gleaming dreamings full-replacing longings for pasts,
new verses composed, passing, a grand addition to a child’s legacy
May 18, 2019
May 18, 2019 at 8:50 AM UTC
Old like a pensioner,
I'm reminded,
every waking hour,
of how I'm being left behind.
I'm sat there,
staring into space,
waiting for the world to change,
and love to accelerate leaving me stuck.
Stuck in the past,
where people are how they are,
where they haven't changed into freaks,
intent on destroying what makes them beautiful.
They are just fresh and pure,
and wise enough,
enough to not take risks,
risks that aren't worth taking.
But SNAP,
an adrenaline rush,
back to reality,
what has happened?
They bitterly remind me,
that I'm to ill to be in control,
they have planned to move on,
without a second thought.
I am sat there,
a hopeless mess,
while they leave to get a job,
proving there ability in independents and change.
It doesn't take a genius,
to realise I'm ill,
the anxiety of loss and change,
leaves me edgy and so low.
I'm dying,
I hope someone,
can **** my troubles,
before they **** me.
Jan 12, 2014
Jan 12, 2014 at 5:13 PM UTC
I have met Masters and OGs
within joint commissions.
While my dear, Granddaddy Purple’s
spending my tuition.
But, it was merely a Blue Dream
at blunt ceremonies.
While Hindus and Afghans breed in
holy matrimonies.
Look at all of Mary Jane's strains,
I want to be like them;
stuck pondering my bud's embrace
and all’the broken stems.
Reuniting the Skywalker's
was quite like the Death Star
far out, in space and burns fast like
Sour Diesel’s quick car.
I rode the Pineapple Express,
then I hit the Train Wreck.
Lights out! The conductor demands
that we have our pipes checked.
Look at all of Mary Jane's strains,
I have plenty of them,
still pondering my bud's embrace
and all’the broken stems.
My bud's came less often and I
became less credible.
I told my bud Bubba that we
should switch to edibles.
“But, you can't eat these sweets unless
the treat's gradual high
stops your bud’s from disappearing.
You need me to get by!”
Where are all of Mary Jane's strains?
I need some more like them;
losing the embrace of my bud’s
and all’the broken stems.
All my buds have vacated me.
All that's left is Reggie
and Mid, who aren't like my kind buds;
they’re leaving me edgy.
I’m hanging with Mid and Reggie
hoping they'll come around
But now, even they’re gone, and I
have lost what was once found.
The strains of Mary Jane are gone.
I can't live without them!
I dream to see my bud's once more
and all’the broken stems.
Jun 22, 2014
Jun 22, 2014 at 11:31 PM UTC
We hardly fit with our jagged edges
and our heavy breathing, our holes
don't even coincide. Our symmetry
is imperfect, as imperfection can be.
We can't call it home. We're too
edgy to ever do so. It doesn't even
come close to that feeling of
comfort and love. We're not in love,
nor are we friends by any means.
Hardly acquaintances. We wouldn't
lift a finger a finger to help the other
No, this isn't home, love or friendship.
Our weapons are still on us. The poison's
hidden in the secret compartments of the
rings we gifted each other. We never
believed in anything but practicality.
I specially sharpened the blades I
brought with me. I know he loaded
some 'special' bullets in his gun.
We deal like this, like rival gang leaders
It's the only thing that has remained
the same through all these years,
frighteningly comforting in it's stagnancy.
It doesn't even come close to companionship.
It's definition lies somewhere between
hatred, addiction and need. Quiet intimacy
will prevail between us and anyone who walks in,
feels like they're intruding on something a bit
more private and clandestine. Though no one
notices, our spines don't relax even once.
Aug 6, 2012
Aug 6, 2012 at 7:48 AM UTC
The bourgeoisie?
I loath them,
and I hope they buy my poems!
The critics?
They know nothing,
and I hope they hail my poems!
The intellectuals?
Dumber than pigeons,
and I hope they canonize my poems!
Unabashedly,
I'm not afraid to admit it:
I write for fame and riches,
and nothing really more.
Yes, yes, make no secret of it,
I wish only to shock you,
arouse and repulse you,
****** you,
with mindless,
gore-splattering violence,
and heart-throbbing ***
along on every page.
****** and ***** gore, and blood,
how else are my sales to flood?
It's art for arts' sake,
or something to the effect of that,
whatever makes me edgy,
socially relevant,
to scholars postmodern,
housewives bored,
and teenagers yearning,
to read ***** words.
So keep it then in mind,
my lovely readers you,
I very much like infamy,
and piles of money too;
be sure to buy my books,
praise me,
“Fresh and new!”
So that I may hire cooks,
to save time writing verse,
the very verses you adore,
lambasting the very rich and poor.
Rampant materialism,
spiritual decay,
what else do you
*******
want me to say?
A saint of the lowly,
the offbeat too,
voicing the obscure,
and the unheard and the
blah, blah, blah,
whatever it is,
I really don't care
quite honestly,
bluntly,
I'm being true,
I write for the fame
and the riches,
not you!
Mar 30, 2014
Mar 30, 2014 at 10:23 PM UTC
.*in the end days?! you charge against the snowflakes... and make a ******* snowman! he... he! i still can't comprehend how these personalities made money from lifestyle choice... they were basically internet bums, internet "lazy people"... bums... become supporters... engrossed in the internet homeless people... bums... i ate a custard pie, and devised a poncy-scheme to become paid for an opinion without a dialectic.... homeless people, bums... seem like philosophers by comparison... and now the bewildering quest... of how / why the internet died.*
**** it, the gloves are off...
about time to punch this *****
silly-dead...
**** it... all the internet content
creators, that are women:
are giving off nervous voices...
shoe on head... whoever...
here's where said people...
start looking for, ahem....
"real" jobs... jobs plagued by
the study of psychology....
oh they're scared...
because whatever the internet
was...
from 2007 through to
2016... in the time of the zenith...
hello new t.v.,
hello internet banking...
hello internet online shopping...
what?!
you want edgy?!
come down to the forest,
or the shady back alleyway
with the new teens...
come come...
you wanted edgy...
such a shame though...
to think of your comments
becoming as redundant
as the plight of sending
off your C.V. application...
sorry....
what?
you have finally arrived
at what you wanted...
why are you looking at me for
with that dumb-"found"
look?!
do i look stupid?
or are you pretending
to not be?!
******* internet bums...
you know it was coming...
it was coming...
i never asked for money...
i'll never ask for money...
but you did...
you begged...
you dog begged...
you...
begged...
you're still going
to beg,
when the internet is reduced
to nothing more than
a 2nd t.v., internet banking,
and internet shopping...
and... that's about it;
you're joking, you think there's
more?!
ha ha... good luck.
p.s.
because, believe it or not,
look at what you gave me?
i didn't ask for money,
i didn't ask for time...
but what you gave me
is best expressed cryptically,
as both time, and money.
Oct 31, 2018
Oct 31, 2018 at 10:03 PM UTC