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"eviscerate" poems
let's make a deal. uncap the bottle, discover my greatest work- a soliloquy on sentience, performed to an empty room. the walls are bleeding lead poisoning again and i am leaving logic behind. the air is crisp on my wretched skin and as the world dies its aching breath helps me to finally feel alive. i am pure white. let me rise, enlightened. as i float, breathless, i can feel, finally, the weight of my bones. make me into a sparrow, feast upon my marrow, so i can become porous- but leave my hollow mind whole. idolize me. spin my disease into pure beauty. a stone-cold rose grounds the coffin for my dreams, liberating me from responsibility. awaken me. strip my heavy corpse of its wings, eviscerate the breath from my lungs cease my tangibility oh glory, build me up strip me down to my knuckles and teeth, to the weathered bone. remove the bloodstains from my home. if i bleed now it will be beautiful when i fall, i will glorify the cement, decorate it with my shining insides when i come down it will be stunning it will be dreadful and i will be resplendent -but the delivery won't change the content candy wrapping can't cover up the stench of death- i have given up on purging the necrosis from my tissue i have found this tantalizing muse once again, and once more i will let her put cigarettes out on my sorry skin. i've grown to love the smell, that acrid poison it almost covers up the scars she leaves- if i can make dying sound beautiful then to hell with us all if you could romanticise suicide you'd be rotting too
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Nov 12, 2012
Nov 12, 2012 at 9:14 PM UTC
poetically pathetic
let's make a deal. uncap the bottle, discover my greatest work- a soliloquy on sentience, performed to an empty room. the walls are bleeding lead poisoning again and i am leaving logic behind. the air is crisp on my wretched skin and as the world dies its aching breath helps me to finally feel alive. i am pure white. let me rise, enlightened. as i float, breathless, i can feel, finally, the weight of my bones. make me into a sparrow, feast upon my marrow, so i can become porous- but leave my hollow mind whole. idolize me. spin my disease into pure beauty. a stone-cold rose grounds the coffin for my dreams, liberating me from responsibility. awaken me. strip my heavy corpse of its wings, eviscerate the breath from my lungs cease my tangibility oh glory, build me up strip me down to my knuckles and teeth, to the weathered bone. remove the bloodstains from my home. if i bleed now it will be beautiful when i fall, i will glorify the cement, decorate it with my shining insides when i come down it will be stunning it will be dreadful and i will be resplendent -but the delivery won't change the content candy wrapping can't cover up the stench of death- i have given up on purging the necrosis from my tissue i have found this tantalizing muse once again, and once more i will let her put cigarettes out on my sorry skin. i've grown to love the smell, that acrid poison it almost covers up the scars she leaves- if i can make dying sound beautiful then to hell with us all if you could romanticise suicide you'd be rotting too
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67
i love you when we're alone because you eviscerate me in front of your friends but alone you kiss the veins in my arms press your small hips into my hips & sigh into my neck & blink so slowly that i can hear your eyelids whispering you won't hold my hand in public because you blatantly want to seem available to other men but when it's only you & it's only me we lie on our backs letting the summer rain collect in puddles in our bellybuttons & you swear to god there's only one way this can end you say i can't meet your parents but everything i do reminds you of your father that tall strong man of your childhood singing sinatra to your mother in the kitchen just like i do when i sneak behind you & tickle your neck with my tongue you're giggling as i carry you like a bride into your bedroom for naptime or playtime you only miss me when you're by yourself like a flower hidden in a fenced-in backyard but you ignore my texts most days because when your friends are around you're busy dancing toward the sun & lying to them about where you spent last night & the blueberry pancakes you ate for breakfast you don't mention the ticklish new rib spot i found or the quiet music we make together at night or the stars we wished on with our pinky fingers tied together i love you most when we're sticky asleep alone you humming in turquoise ******* snuggled into my armpit with your warm hand melting into my chest & me in the pinstripe boxer briefs you bought with my arm under and reaching for your exposed breast
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Jun 28, 2015
Jun 28, 2015 at 8:38 AM UTC
blueberry pancakes
i love you when we're alone because you eviscerate me in front of your friends but alone you kiss the veins in my arms press your small hips into my hips & sigh into my neck & blink so slowly that i can hear your eyelids whispering you won't hold my hand in public because you blatantly want to seem available to other men but when it's only you & it's only me we lie on our backs letting the summer rain collect in puddles in our bellybuttons & you swear to god there's only one way this can end you say i can't meet your parents but everything i do reminds you of your father that tall strong man of your childhood singing sinatra to your mother in the kitchen just like i do when i sneak behind you & tickle your neck with my tongue you're giggling as i carry you like a bride into your bedroom for naptime or playtime you only miss me when you're by yourself like a flower hidden in a fenced-in backyard but you ignore my texts most days because when your friends are around you're busy dancing toward the sun & lying to them about where you spent last night & the blueberry pancakes you ate for breakfast you don't mention the ticklish new rib spot i found or the quiet music we make together at night or the stars we wished on with our pinky fingers tied together i love you most when we're sticky asleep alone you humming in turquoise ******* snuggled into my armpit with your warm hand melting into my chest & me in the pinstripe boxer briefs you bought with my arm under and reaching for your exposed breast
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Neon Stella Artois lights and sly hellos It commenced as we were flew spinning Ticket stubs and ink -stains Oh, as our love flirted we both were seeking Brooklyn Subway stops and ***** clothes We perched by the equator but only when beginning Backwards flasks and ******* Then winter solstice was challenged by spring’s springing Strands of soft pearls and wishing wells We shivered the anxious touch of a faux July summer’s evening Empty bar stools and firelight It was still bitterly February but with the mockery of songbirds floating Two Thirty Seven A.M. and sea shells How can the world deceive us in this fashion: fools, we accept ever-knowing Buttered bread and hindsight Dawn will crash with frostbite and these daisies will pay the price of their beauty’s sinning Wine before noon and payphone bills Wind will eviscerate this moment for once you have touched the sun the ice is more than suffocating Dry heaving and ribbons We were only waiting then at the heart of a train station for the stretches of shadows to lengthen First drags of cigarettes and blue diet pills The glitter within the dew drops stolen from our tired eyes when our first summer was stolen Cheap motels and kitchens We could barely exchange syllables, our melodies quarreling, our blood had thinned Calendar pages and black lace ******* The euthanasia of the spring would have hung us too if we had breathed it in The Last calls and lollipops One can repose more gently in the absence of color than in the theft of sin Bitten manicured hands and autumn leaves We used to sleep in a room with wonders, windows, and blankets within Midnight whispers and rooftops It was the only place that could soften the swords in all this ruin ****** wrappers and painting supplies Today is cruel, it cannot be summer if the world doesn’t spin Happy hour cocktails and goodbyes
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Jan 26, 2013
Jan 26, 2013 at 2:16 PM UTC
Marshall Evans
Neon Stella Artois lights and sly hellos It commenced as we were flew spinning Ticket stubs and ink -stains Oh, as our love flirted we both were seeking Brooklyn Subway stops and ***** clothes We perched by the equator but only when beginning Backwards flasks and ******* Then winter solstice was challenged by spring’s springing Strands of soft pearls and wishing wells We shivered the anxious touch of a faux July summer’s evening Empty bar stools and firelight It was still bitterly February but with the mockery of songbirds floating Two Thirty Seven A.M. and sea shells How can the world deceive us in this fashion: fools, we accept ever-knowing Buttered bread and hindsight Dawn will crash with frostbite and these daisies will pay the price of their beauty’s sinning Wine before noon and payphone bills Wind will eviscerate this moment for once you have touched the sun the ice is more than suffocating Dry heaving and ribbons We were only waiting then at the heart of a train station for the stretches of shadows to lengthen First drags of cigarettes and blue diet pills The glitter within the dew drops stolen from our tired eyes when our first summer was stolen Cheap motels and kitchens We could barely exchange syllables, our melodies quarreling, our blood had thinned Calendar pages and black lace ******* The euthanasia of the spring would have hung us too if we had breathed it in The Last calls and lollipops One can repose more gently in the absence of color than in the theft of sin Bitten manicured hands and autumn leaves We used to sleep in a room with wonders, windows, and blankets within Midnight whispers and rooftops It was the only place that could soften the swords in all this ruin ****** wrappers and painting supplies Today is cruel, it cannot be summer if the world doesn’t spin Happy hour cocktails and goodbyes
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35
pieces of flotsam soak and float on the paper, jetsam thrown to lighten the load, or goad, the alligator, away the guttural noises, sound like harsh commentary the closer the gator is allowed to get, not wanting to look over the shoulder, but stop in for biting remarks, the gator's teeth are so large and famous they have names and voices; "punctuation or punctures, I can help" "point of view tch, tch, tch"                                                                          "your grammar needs work" "doubt you will finish" "no one will read IT" "you will never find the right word" "is your audience a six year old" "borrrrring" "what a croc" "are you enjoying what you are doing?" "successful writers are all published" "you call that a sentence, keep it up and it will be a death sentence " "how many tenses can you misuse in a paragraph" and these are the names of some of the smaller teeth, the molars, are more than a mouthful, have polar names, that would leave anyone cold,                                                       even the bold, and shall not be put in print, they bring out the PTSD, imprinted for eternity, by the gator which comes at the sounds of splashing, flailing, and failing, as the pounding of the heart, the deepened breathing, as the ink from the pen, unfiltered, leaves nerves and veins exposed, while leaving to find home, a safe haven, a storybook ending, away from the gator's keen sense of overt criticism, intended to gut, and eviscerate, cutting remarks, putdowns to hold down and under, the piece that IT is trying to tear off while spinning or shaking the head side to side, which is both NO! and to bash the will, the self-esteem, into little pieces of me...             and my worst enemy,                                                 my internal, infernal editor,                                                                                               with the voracious appetite for self-defeating
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Mar 8, 2014
Mar 8, 2014 at 12:08 AM UTC
wrestling with an Alligator named ddaarrrreellll
pieces of flotsam soak and float on the paper, jetsam thrown to lighten the load, or goad, the alligator, away the guttural noises, sound like harsh commentary the closer the gator is allowed to get, not wanting to look over the shoulder, but stop in for biting remarks, the gator's teeth are so large and famous they have names and voices; "punctuation or punctures, I can help" "point of view tch, tch, tch"                                                                          "your grammar needs work" "doubt you will finish" "no one will read IT" "you will never find the right word" "is your audience a six year old" "borrrrring" "what a croc" "are you enjoying what you are doing?" "successful writers are all published" "you call that a sentence, keep it up and it will be a death sentence " "how many tenses can you misuse in a paragraph" and these are the names of some of the smaller teeth, the molars, are more than a mouthful, have polar names, that would leave anyone cold,                                                       even the bold, and shall not be put in print, they bring out the PTSD, imprinted for eternity, by the gator which comes at the sounds of splashing, flailing, and failing, as the pounding of the heart, the deepened breathing, as the ink from the pen, unfiltered, leaves nerves and veins exposed, while leaving to find home, a safe haven, a storybook ending, away from the gator's keen sense of overt criticism, intended to gut, and eviscerate, cutting remarks, putdowns to hold down and under, the piece that IT is trying to tear off while spinning or shaking the head side to side, which is both NO! and to bash the will, the self-esteem, into little pieces of me...             and my worst enemy,                                                 my internal, infernal editor,                                                                                               with the voracious appetite for self-defeating
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55
a tongue a knife a rhyme a slitted try of silence mine i could never keep it fought rip the gut right from my life ill scream the name until i rot shreik a word so loud ill cry i tried my luck but missed the cut a trickled spiggot sputters with it a soft spot for the eyes that fall out of my skull flaming pupils burn the crop the students of the fire they stop drop and roll into the wretched thought that comes each time they learn what has been wrought to build this pyre to eviscerate the weakened soul the empty rooms inside my home voraciously in rapture tearing sinews off my mind splitting ears and feeding from the captured nothing left behind my skin no map no muscles missing compass knees buckled ******* leave me or ill pull the trigger ill **** the lost and eat the hindered incinerate your wicked splinters and in this home snap each of your twelve ******* fingers its teeth are gentle on me in a way that only devils can we're peckish for atrocities and it has given me a plan a broken handed man within the corridor his one eye wide the other in the devils side a matching type to mine if i still had my sight the door is closed and i am blind but we can smell the horror more breaking out we tore into that bodys core but that devil, him, the house, unborn as i woke up in a corpse for i am dead upon the floor
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Nov 11, 2021
Nov 11, 2021 at 2:34 AM UTC
i cant get enough
Original honour killing, But the killing of self, Eviscerate with the Sword, Samurai Warrior chooses his death, Rather than an enemy steal his last breath. Original honour killing, Bushido; Seppuku, Disembowelment left to right, This great honour is fused with a great pain, Plunged through his skin to make himself pure again.
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Aug 28, 2012
Aug 28, 2012 at 6:32 AM UTC
Seppuku
Remembering time past. Hell, searching for lost time. Idyllic maybe But Flowers wilt. The idle wailing of Sirens and Daffodils Allows me to forget: Nostos holds Algos. Scylla, Charybdis. Is the future come yet? Every word becomes a mistake. All triumphs a fleeting matter worthy of none. Eviscerate my joy and live in its corpse.
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Apr 7, 2010
Apr 7, 2010 at 5:40 PM UTC
Lines Remembered Under the Blare of Florescent Lights.
Lucifer just said I'm two-faced; But the reality is I wear many faces Each one a mask Picking a bouquet of oopsie-daises Unabashedly lashing out at you I eviscerate; wielding a scalpel Then I pounce; scalped him, Pelt dangling from my ***** pack **Went Kerouac on ***** *** Surprise, surprise Palpable attack Thumbing tacks into your eyes Lame as a bad sitcom Band-wagon careening off the laugh-track Everybody loves disarray **** Vamoose! Underlying interloper Feel the allusion in high resolution; Little tike on the ***** Anne frankly I'm that Führer fomenting furor Have you lost your marbles? Inaudibly garbling warbled garbage Mauled to death **I **** narwhals** Convoluted revolution I revel in it Elusive illusion Testify, I bring the excellence in electrocution I'm the executioner Putting the fun in funeral Like a neurotic necrotizing narcotic A lobotomy to the temporal I dreamt the demented torment of descent Cascading like a torrential waterfall Ghoulish delight Primeval upheavaler With hopes to elope, many fold Mic bold, but I suspect she's hitting the slopes; Ice cold Evoking emotion but a hopeless show marionette in a stranglehold
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Mar 1, 2014
Mar 1, 2014 at 9:01 AM UTC
✈ ▌▌
i don’t want to hear about your former heart don’t want to memorize the lines of the faces that betrayed you strip down from your past down to your brittle bones claw your resentful hands into my bare flesh and show me why you’ve learned to flinch at love i don’t want to hear about your boyfriends girlfriends don’t wanna know where it went awry i want to be the curse that runs you dry sink my teeth into your apathy, fill the empty crevices in your bed with yet another allegory eviscerate the plot for another horrorific love story make your memories shiver as we fill each other - we quiver cause i don’t want to hear about know about - the skin or soul before me it’ll be irrelevant when we make the ground split with our calls and the earth will stand still as you exhale that godly breath don’t wanna hear about your former heart
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Nov 26, 2014
Nov 26, 2014 at 11:49 PM UTC
college dating profile pt.1
Sometimes words are weapons Add an s or a certain order and They will cut to the bone, Eviscerate a  bowel, Destroy a dream, End a life, Break a lovelorn heart Other times sans s fronted They caress a weary cheek, Lift up a tired soul And reassure a faltered Dream that its time Too will come to Faultless fruition We speak thousands of words Every day of our lives Without thought, And spoken they come With added edges and jagged spurs Of intonation, tone, Expression Or with balm for healing, Warmth for the cold Respite for the bewildered Mind and soul Lifting up repairing all And making good On harm But beware the poem Most of all! for it Is a fearsome trap For the unready author Who writhes upon the created flow Struck from their own verse Read well by another, For poems tell our truth Warts and all, And like singing lay us bare To critic judge and common herd, Who hear, absorb And find us whole and Nowhere left to hide, We are forced to face Reaction, Reaction to our souls and hearts Captured upon a pen's point, Pinned to a board or a page And read aloud Where all can see And what do you hear? What do you see? My God you see The real and naked,, The one and only, Me.....
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Aug 24, 2020
Aug 24, 2020 at 8:43 AM UTC
Words
There are times where I wished I let you go. No logic can hold the burden, Taming the desire To bathe in your presence. A spring of lava Warms my shell With pain, and with Asphyxiation. Yet, Irrational as I may be, You inflict the wounds That keep me alive. Come. please. Stab me some more. Eviscerate me As you will. For I am irrational, Void of human, A being of lust, At your satisfaction.
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Mar 8, 2017
Mar 8, 2017 at 8:47 PM UTC
Irrational.
I listen to the sound of my fate as it pours out of the bottle. At last the pressure can escape. Breathing a sigh of relief that would meet the clouds with gentle licks. I am seated at the edge of my own precipice and at the bottom is a river. Ready to carry me down a tumultuous pass to the sandy peroxide foamy waves that exfoliate my sins. Scout the bottom of the ocean for my heart, You will find it throbbing like your eardrums in the auricle of a conch shell You will hear the sound of my voice And feel the grit of sand as you clench down your teeth The water dries around my knees as I float atop the surface. Exposing my holy flesh to the contenders of will power. Will power my will to engage the mighty rock. And burst and bleed and eviscerate to form, to mold, to sculpt the golden stool of my consciousness. Feast your eyes upon my crown Adorned with the corpses of my victory And collateral damage Feel its weight as heavy as mercy The blood pours into the ink as I dig these verses from my soul. The goal, my raison d'être, ikki *** and my modus opernadi is to excuse the agenda pushing glitterti when they tell me what my life should be. I should be, cruising the milky ways and the galaxies that my being exists in. Infinite space, infinite time leaves way for infinite possibilities to truly be free. So don’t mind me. Standing as the revolution The testament Revolving around your disillusion Thicker than cement My empire was built on dreams, schemes occupy my reality and place you next to me. And the rest of me I will give to you as I pull you inside of me. So that when my eyes close you sleep and when you are sad I weep, deep is the colour of our passion beyond indigo. More fierce than the might of Chaka and his legions and yet as quiet as snowfall and you are Beautiful. A shock to the senses that dissipates the fog. This concludes the prelude.
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Apr 9, 2013
Apr 9, 2013 at 4:47 PM UTC
My Testament
I listen to the sound of my fate as it pours out of the bottle. At last the pressure can escape. Breathing a sigh of relief that would meet the clouds with gentle licks. I am seated at the edge of my own precipice and at the bottom is a river. Ready to carry me down a tumultuous pass to the sandy peroxide foamy waves that exfoliate my sins. Scout the bottom of the ocean for my heart, You will find it throbbing like your eardrums in the auricle of a conch shell You will hear the sound of my voice And feel the grit of sand as you clench down your teeth The water dries around my knees as I float atop the surface. Exposing my holy flesh to the contenders of will power. Will power my will to engage the mighty rock. And burst and bleed and eviscerate to form, to mold, to sculpt the golden stool of my consciousness. Feast your eyes upon my crown Adorned with the corpses of my victory And collateral damage Feel its weight as heavy as mercy The blood pours into the ink as I dig these verses from my soul. The goal, my raison d'être, ikki *** and my modus opernadi is to excuse the agenda pushing glitterti when they tell me what my life should be. I should be, cruising the milky ways and the galaxies that my being exists in. Infinite space, infinite time leaves way for infinite possibilities to truly be free. So don’t mind me. Standing as the revolution The testament Revolving around your disillusion Thicker than cement My empire was built on dreams, schemes occupy my reality and place you next to me. And the rest of me I will give to you as I pull you inside of me. So that when my eyes close you sleep and when you are sad I weep, deep is the colour of our passion beyond indigo. More fierce than the might of Chaka and his legions and yet as quiet as snowfall and you are Beautiful. A shock to the senses that dissipates the fog. This concludes the prelude.
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20
These thoughts grind my teeth through sleep. These dreams make waking up a gift and a chore. Morning injects me into reality Like a vaccine: a deadened virus that will keep you safe. I cannot stomach this infertility, Not yet. I am not what I am The eyes of those who pretend to see: As benevolent as a mouth full of razors. The mouths that I always want to kiss. The lips that I always seem to pursue. The cuts that I always pretend to cherish. The ancient lust shakes my blood. And I am forced to embrace nostalgia as She and She and He and Then penetrate my mind: a time long past. What is memory but a slideshow of regrets? Every word becomes a mistake. All triumphs a fleeting matter worthy of none. Eviscerate my joy and live in its corpse. It is April and we are frozen: Stuck in a world we never knew In a love we thought we felt A life we never lived. Entering this house is the last twist of the knife. You're breaking my soul upon your eyes: No birds sing. Life isn't very long. Even roses wilt. It's rude to stare. High on sidewalks and streetlights, The sun has set: will it rise again? What is to become of this, My darkness? There is no clock tower here, and My full moon is setting too fast. Day will come, day will come. Feeling too much or nothing at all. My heart races and I've no clue why. And I will come home, to a sepulcher Void of all light and screeching like the Storm. I lift the knife to my side, I look at you, and I sigh.... These thoughts grind my teeth through sleep.
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Apr 20, 2010
Apr 20, 2010 at 7:55 PM UTC
No Way But This:
These thoughts grind my teeth through sleep. These dreams make waking up a gift and a chore. Morning injects me into reality Like a vaccine: a deadened virus that will keep you safe. I cannot stomach this infertility, Not yet. I am not what I am The eyes of those who pretend to see: As benevolent as a mouth full of razors. The mouths that I always want to kiss. The lips that I always seem to pursue. The cuts that I always pretend to cherish. The ancient lust shakes my blood. And I am forced to embrace nostalgia as She and She and He and Then penetrate my mind: a time long past. What is memory but a slideshow of regrets? Every word becomes a mistake. All triumphs a fleeting matter worthy of none. Eviscerate my joy and live in its corpse. It is April and we are frozen: Stuck in a world we never knew In a love we thought we felt A life we never lived. Entering this house is the last twist of the knife. You're breaking my soul upon your eyes: No birds sing. Life isn't very long. Even roses wilt. It's rude to stare. High on sidewalks and streetlights, The sun has set: will it rise again? What is to become of this, My darkness? There is no clock tower here, and My full moon is setting too fast. Day will come, day will come. Feeling too much or nothing at all. My heart races and I've no clue why. And I will come home, to a sepulcher Void of all light and screeching like the Storm. I lift the knife to my side, I look at you, and I sigh.... These thoughts grind my teeth through sleep.
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43
There in the trenches I've seen headless henchmen Bending spoons For hapless children Cremated too soon Demons croon They zip They zag As the lower class picks their scabs The gift of gab Sent towards rips from packs The rush alone could make one gag! Have you been there? Would you go back? There in the trenches I've met widows and wives Carousing with voyeurs Polishing pikes Their best years behind Spent on pyrite- Euphoric alibis Which eviscerate bright eyes Will the Church draw nigh Or watch the stranded die? Into the trenches Few do proudly go Ash pollutes the snow Falling like pyrex smoke You might choke When violence hits your nose Deathblows Thrown by the dead broke Cross your eyes And clog your throat Check your pulse As an ambulance clears the roads Would you leave ivory thrones To reach a people with no hope? There in the trenches Christ spent His time Teaching the poor Healing the blind Who are we to stand aghast? Shrugging our shoulders Fine wine in antique glass? When revival comes Will it move your feet With Gospel passion Down the cracking streets? Could you spare a dime To prepare a meal For a drooping reed With snakebitten heals? There in the trenches Good News must flow Will you remain aloof Or be the one to boldly go?
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May 6, 2017
May 6, 2017 at 10:52 AM UTC
There in the trenches
On wings of expelled  vapour did they venture beyond the hangings of gravity and they ascended to heights that blended with thoughts of fulfilment. Wisps were expelled till exhalation was exhausted, and slowly what arose descended to it eventual beginnings. But declining was harder than was imagined. Pain elevated as the friction of reality swept over, and where the vapour once filled there interior now only emptiness did eviscerate the stable mentality and wished only to ascend again. "Beauty of a dream, that is a nightmare of reality,
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Dec 22, 2016
Dec 22, 2016 at 12:28 PM UTC
Crack Pipe Dreams...
when it hit you home. *you’re eyes closed at shutter speeds, when the heart sinks, or sank. and each blink individually, starts to take a second of your life from me, frivolously. and your mind focuses, but like a broken lens, you nictate, nictate, like you’re stuck on repeat. and you dictate the aftermath, like you have admitted defeat. as cynosure slips from your fingertips. the closure in the locus. you spoke to me in hindsight, and you spared me in the moment. still glowing, albeit, caliginously. you described the bright lights in defiance, lying sweetly, in a conversation, in constellations, i’ll remember you in full bloom; in keepsakes; we wished to the the stars aligned, shining flowers for you in the nights sky. whilst you fought for your life, in kind. high as a kite, twinkle in your eye, as you guide your life away. still in spite, of your perdition, the latest addition of you. when i see you in ruin. through the body as it mortifies, and your fortified smile, tortured denial, a defiant forcefield, shatters and eviscerate, and as you evaporate; i see your lips crack through dryness, my queen and highness; i’ve not seen you laugh for a while. and as I see time pass, from you astute, a calmness in your eyes grew, and now when you belly laugh, you gasp for air, it’s as if, not much is inside there. as you stutter and stammer, judgement impaired, scared. and yellow coloured, tinged skin, bed ridden in affliction, to me, to you. as it dawned on me and then it dawned on you. when it finally hit you home, nothing left but skin and bones, the final petal of a rose, fell.* **I still miss you. I miss you still. I always have, always will.**
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Apr 3, 2016
Apr 3, 2016 at 6:08 AM UTC
when it hit you home
when it hit you home. *you’re eyes closed at shutter speeds, when the heart sinks, or sank. and each blink individually, starts to take a second of your life from me, frivolously. and your mind focuses, but like a broken lens, you nictate, nictate, like you’re stuck on repeat. and you dictate the aftermath, like you have admitted defeat. as cynosure slips from your fingertips. the closure in the locus. you spoke to me in hindsight, and you spared me in the moment. still glowing, albeit, caliginously. you described the bright lights in defiance, lying sweetly, in a conversation, in constellations, i’ll remember you in full bloom; in keepsakes; we wished to the the stars aligned, shining flowers for you in the nights sky. whilst you fought for your life, in kind. high as a kite, twinkle in your eye, as you guide your life away. still in spite, of your perdition, the latest addition of you. when i see you in ruin. through the body as it mortifies, and your fortified smile, tortured denial, a defiant forcefield, shatters and eviscerate, and as you evaporate; i see your lips crack through dryness, my queen and highness; i’ve not seen you laugh for a while. and as I see time pass, from you astute, a calmness in your eyes grew, and now when you belly laugh, you gasp for air, it’s as if, not much is inside there. as you stutter and stammer, judgement impaired, scared. and yellow coloured, tinged skin, bed ridden in affliction, to me, to you. as it dawned on me and then it dawned on you. when it finally hit you home, nothing left but skin and bones, the final petal of a rose, fell.* **I still miss you. I miss you still. I always have, always will.**
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Miriam Marcus struggles up out of bed. She's caught up in blankets and clothing, stuck with a foot in the sheets. Coffee smell. Pungent, slightly sweet, it pulls her by her shoulders, with its body to the door. Then, sharp and deep, scents of a trashcan floating chicken in its own juice punch her in the nose. In the hall, lights flicker. In front, on the couches, bodies pile up, pile over the room. Get caffeine. Dodge the food spoiling happy on tables, counters, and do what you do as you do. Every day. What's wrong? Short. Succinct. Acute. I never even wanted this picture. (You did!) First smell is a fragrance soft to my nose. (Sour cream.) Will I be number 6 in this two bedroom forever? Will I lose my job? (Probably.) What's wrong? Short. Succinct. Acute. I never even wanted this picture. (You did!) You wanted this medication, baby. You can't tell me different, though you could try. ***** why you gonna waste my time? I'm waiting for you, waiting for you to catch up. While you play twenties in your thirties I urge your image using only raw throated screams, always unseen behind your head in floating, incorporeal code! And it kills that I can't know (Pour coffee.) if she'll catch up! (Ignore it.) I'll chew her heart into chunks, (Work day.) just let me! I'll eviscerate her, devour her and **** her out into a self made five mile hole in the lonely woods! Just let me.
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Apr 19, 2017
Apr 19, 2017 at 9:15 PM UTC
"Sour Cream (Miriam's Song)"
Morning lights wake me Evening drives take me That girl doesn't have a soul The mechanics of her body Twisted & droll But falling for her I can't help It's a magnetic, atomic kind of bond So long lonely You forget what you came here for But the clouds seem to radiate With a dreary tune & the brisk waves seem shaky Pulled by a silk moon The seasons change as we do Warm in the soul In love with their warmth Falling out of love & into gloom & back to feeling the coldest you've ever been It's never a win win We're entirely too selfish But for you, My dear I would eviscerate worlds Cross freezing rivers Travel the darkest forests Fall into the core of this planet Or maybe it won't take that much & you'll love me For who I am Not what I do
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Aug 22, 2014
Aug 22, 2014 at 6:32 AM UTC
Dream dog
Swift and exact Words so glib Your blade runs right between my ribs. Blooded strike Like lightning arc You pull the blade and stick my heart. Agonizing Pulverizing You dropped me to my knees. Eviscerate Eradicate Bleed me over my unheard pleas. Waiting wastes time on hand You can't afford to stop or plan. I read in my mind Racing are my thoughts. Am I to finally say goodbye? For surely, it appears I have yet again Lost.
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Feb 21, 2014
Feb 21, 2014 at 5:49 PM UTC
Defeat
I deliberate You reiterate It completely exhilarates Me. You eviscerate My heart From my chest Like a secret art. Before I know it I'm exposed Nothing left disclosed, Nothing left to hide And then you Roll away, like the tide Leaving me ashore With nothing more Than an empty Chest cavity, An abnormality. As I stand there In despair you drift away To another land Where another girl Will just as easily Give you her hand, Without knowing That she'll never withstand Your ever rolling tides. And that she'll never be able To get rid of the pain that subsides Once you've stripped her Down like you did I. I'd cry But I don't have a heart To even really feel this goodbye.
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May 17, 2013
May 17, 2013 at 3:24 AM UTC
Abnormality
It’s not like it matters, No one will think twice. These disposable efforts mean so much to us, And, at times, we cherish them too. Though the higher you climb, The worse off most are, For the toll, is indeed, a high one. It’s not that you’ll fall, (Though soon, you may welcome that), But near what’s rumored to be the top, You’ll find, you’re often alone. So finding an average, A cool medium, Has become all but uncommon, But even so, what’s to come, Of those few who actually challenge the gods? For what sort of blessings do lay still? Far is it from Dubiety, Though equally close, We expect too much, and leave room for displeasure. We bring it upon ourselves. Then I had a thought, why the way of humans? But why not the way of all life permitting? How not someone revered could leave life unnoticed, Yet someone exalted should be saved, Truly leaves long trenches in the pit of my stomach, Due to lacking a notion of why; Why it is we strive so hard; And if for immortality, Then for what sake and by who are we granted this perquisite? What Blessings were laid on the lives of those, Whose memory would outlast the Earth, Really made worth of a mortal’s own time, More so then any such swings of the hands? For what even is our own worth? As when his eyes fail to save him, Upon what would that broken man fall? Naught but more than his own disparity, Wedged between black reality and his own thoughts. Forlorn, despairing, and void of all sense, He collapses, deader than dead. I shudder to dismiss this, (or any) conflict, Away as I would a cobweb; But he who detects the flaws of himself Before do his enemies, Will end up much stronger than those opposed, As he already severed his soul.
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Nov 17, 2010
Nov 17, 2010 at 8:01 AM UTC
Eviscerate
It’s not like it matters, No one will think twice. These disposable efforts mean so much to us, And, at times, we cherish them too. Though the higher you climb, The worse off most are, For the toll, is indeed, a high one. It’s not that you’ll fall, (Though soon, you may welcome that), But near what’s rumored to be the top, You’ll find, you’re often alone. So finding an average, A cool medium, Has become all but uncommon, But even so, what’s to come, Of those few who actually challenge the gods? For what sort of blessings do lay still? Far is it from Dubiety, Though equally close, We expect too much, and leave room for displeasure. We bring it upon ourselves. Then I had a thought, why the way of humans? But why not the way of all life permitting? How not someone revered could leave life unnoticed, Yet someone exalted should be saved, Truly leaves long trenches in the pit of my stomach, Due to lacking a notion of why; Why it is we strive so hard; And if for immortality, Then for what sake and by who are we granted this perquisite? What Blessings were laid on the lives of those, Whose memory would outlast the Earth, Really made worth of a mortal’s own time, More so then any such swings of the hands? For what even is our own worth? As when his eyes fail to save him, Upon what would that broken man fall? Naught but more than his own disparity, Wedged between black reality and his own thoughts. Forlorn, despairing, and void of all sense, He collapses, deader than dead. I shudder to dismiss this, (or any) conflict, Away as I would a cobweb; But he who detects the flaws of himself Before do his enemies, Will end up much stronger than those opposed, As he already severed his soul.
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