"exacerbates" poems
Deplorable and horrible;
Despicable, abhor-able;
It reiterates, evaluates,
Desiccates, and exacerbates . . .
It never fails, to fall too short,
But always fails as a support . . .
In an attempt to be freed, it misleads to bad deeds
And creates a hunger -- vacuous,
Yet, impossible to feed.
It chases the light away,
And it longs to be alone.
So I am so ashamed to say,
That in my skull,
It found its home.
So I'll fight and fight against it,
. . . But I'll always lose the battle.
It seems that even as I trudge ahead,
That somehow I still straggle.
It is the artist, I am the instrument.
Like a light bulb to its filament.
Every day I'm at the bottom,
Forced to climb back up the hill again.
But I think the day has come . . .
When I've finally stopped walking.
I've reached a door that can’t be opened,
And decided to stop knocking . . .
It's me and who I've become;
It's my actions and what I've done . . .
So, as much as I despise it,
It seems my brain, and I, are one.
Mar 8, 2013
Mar 8, 2013 at 3:12 AM UTC
I haven’t been sleeping well for over a week…Nightmares, tossing, turning – it comes in waves I can sleep for a few nights – then it starts again. The tossing and turning – I can’t lie on my side because my hips & chest hurt, so I try to lie on my back – but then I feel like something is crushing me and I can’t breathe…and I toss and turn back and forth – for hours.
Sometimes I cry and try to talk to myself, tell myself that it’s okay to cry, that it will pass, and I’ll be okay – I try to forget the pain in my hips and my chest- remind myself where I am, repeat my address...I’m a grown up now. This is my house, and I’m okay.
Sometimes I lie down in the guest room and open the window to feel the cool air on my body and listen to the sounds outside. Other times I lie on the floor in the bathroom, feel the cool tile on my face.
Sometimes I fall asleep but then I wake up, startled, from a dream…sometimes I can remember the dreams, sometimes not. But it’s been a really long week, and I’m really tired. I am sooooo tired. And nothing is working now. I’m so tired. And I can’t sleep.
And the lack of sleep exacerbates everything else. The anxiety, the anger, the panic and fear. And there’s no relief…no help. My problem, I get it – at night when everything happens it’s just me here – by myself. No one else. My problem. My issues…all mine – I own it. Me. No one else’s problem – why bother even talking anymore.
I don't even bother calling DT for help anymore - because really - it doesn't matter. It just "is" and nothing can be done about it. And maybe I'll get a "good" night soon - a night where I actually sleep...a night with no body memories or nightmares, no panic attacks or anxiety, no voices, no SI...and then maybe that will be enough to get through another few nights of hell. Maybe - Maybe not.
Just "riding the waves" as you say, DT - I won't call - I won't ask for an "extra" session or bother you on your weekend off. Because it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter anymore. I've ridden the waves for 40 years now! BY MYSELF! Has it gotten any less turbulent? Um, no - so again, I have to ask the question: Why ******* bother? I sure don't have an answer to that question, do you?
And I wish I had the courage to STOP all of it. But I don't today...and even if I had the courage - I don't have the energy.
Oct 29, 2014
Oct 29, 2014 at 11:49 PM UTC
If I'm not the problem, there is no solution. Destiny disrupted by rusted liquor lust. Liquidated terror is the soup du jour. Stale coffee exacerbates the problem. Relapse hangs overhead like a grotesque mobile of alcoholic death. There's glitter in their eyes and a bottle of pills in their pocket. Smoking as self care. I want her to carve her love into my clavicle; I'm dangling by a thin gold chain.
Oct 7, 2014
Oct 7, 2014 at 11:32 PM UTC
Mountebanks and madmen
And marvelous maidens
Populate and pollute politics
Which joss sticks cannot chase
Or alleviate the electorate
In its counter clockwise swirl
Down its own bathroom drain.
Only morals don’t ameliorate
It only exacerbates, enervates
Rather than eliminates the pain.
The pain is felt by franklins,
Never the nobles or magnates;
They go on and make play dates
With other multi-billionaires
In debonair pied-a-terre lofts
And scoff at the peasantry
While exchanging pleasantries
Over gold-laced desserts
Thinking nobody gets hurt
If they pilfer and pillage
Far off village and town
Tearing down and razing,
With life grazing scorched earth.
To the rich, nobody has worth;
Voices that implore are muted
And garbage-chuted in the press.
Nothing to confess, the smile;
A mile of porcelainized teeth
Made more intense by pretense
That importance is impotence
In the face of extreme wealth
When stealth cease efficacy
And delicacy isn’t required.
The moral judge is fired.
A new wife is squired
In hopes a son is sired
To take over the empire.
Mar 20, 2016
Mar 20, 2016 at 5:39 AM UTC
Men are ******* each other over with no waiting,
Yet we still can pass proposition eight, the hating
Inspires new generations of children by baiting
Them with lies, telling them that it’s not too late
To save themselves from the others, standing on soap crates
Preaching God and the morals while the kid decorates
His pages with blood and his sorrows, writing straight
But thinking he thinks sideways, and the pressure’s too great
To overcome because the hate won’t let him live at a normal rate,
His heart beats on a different beat, not rap or country, but he creates
Music of the soul that transcends the forced ideals he ate
Directly from the mouth of the pressures, the hate,
And does not give up even in the most dire of straights
Not giving in to what some old man describes as a fate
Not of his own choosing, telling him who to date, don’t gyrate
Those hips it could be **** so he grows up under an ******
Of false appearances and flawed beliefs, never feeling he can escape
From the hate, isn’t it great, this world we so decorate
And doesn’t it frustrate that no one can relate
That he’s on a never ending track on a train full of freight
In order to power an engine of hate, sating
His thirst for individuality by the fires that proclamate
His burned identity and when given the chance to extricate
Himself from the chaos of the tracks, it just exacerbates
Everything around him, all the hate reanimated
To the point where eighteen is the same as eighty
All he needs is a bullet, a gun, and some potassium nitrate
To stop the violence and state as his own mandate
That he is free from the belated strangers berating
Him for eating off another man’s plate
****** over by the hate, but wait,
It’s too late.
Oct 20, 2011
Oct 20, 2011 at 2:45 AM UTC
#*Weapons have been developed
to create the damaging effects
of high-energy EMP. These are typically divided into nuclear and non-nuclear devices. Such weapons, both real and fictional, have become known to the public by means of popular culture.*
Wikipedia
One E.M.P. could bring this whole thing down;
finale to steal the technocrats’ crown.
Did God intend for us to live this way
like hell on credit with heaven to pay?
One burst of apocalyptic clarity:
all it would take to reverse the polarity…
one massive electro-magnetic pulse
the data-driven ********* to convulse.
You were dumbed down so they could set you up
to drink from the Nanny-State’s golden cup…
This Babylonian One-World vintage
exacerbates thirst: accursed beverage,
enhancing global madness as it’s drunk;
imbibers cannot gauge how low they’ve sunk.
The dregs are drained, only to be refilled;
the elixir of doom is thusly swilled.
When the chips go down as the system ends
and there’s no cash paid for your dividends,
assurance (like health insurance) falters
as your inhuman condition alters.
By then you’ll be ready to wonder why
(although you appear unready to die)
whether Man without God is worth a ****
in the Sovereign Redeemer’s master-plan.
Apr 25, 2017
Apr 25, 2017 at 1:53 PM UTC
who holds the leash
of the pigs in the streets?
follow the paper trail:
dead presidents
never fail to be the culprit.
it's not who
but what.
the police always
serve and protect
capital and property.
why else would they block
off a jewel store
during a peaceful rally?
they may not be
our enemy,
but they
certainly
aren't our friends.
they are the strong-arm
of the State,
fodder on a frontline
devised by fascist elite.
the boys in blue
with low IQs
are oligarchs' favorite tools
for bludgeoning
dissent and pummeling
free expression.
useful idiots—
truncheons designed
with punishing dissidents
in mind.
we may well be
the 99%, but they have badges,
guns, and a license to ****
emblazoned on the blue shield
slapped on their chests,
stoking overzealous
racists to respond violently,
a cacophony of bloodshed
seems to be the only language
they know how to speak.
smash the fraternity
that acquiesces to criminality.
white men in pressed suits—
who's speculative spending
lead to economic catastrophe—
get off scott-free
while black men are imprisoned
for possessing an ounce of ****
not even the blind would fail to see
the "just us" system excludes
the majority of humanity.
all lives matter?
only ignorance could present
such a fictitious narrative,
a self-congratulatory hyperbole
disregarding contemporary reality.
private prisons designed for profit,
institutionalized bigotry instigating
a new form of slavery.
when mass incarceration
lacerates our communities
and exacerbates the conditions
of the working class,
the only dignified response
is to stand up, fight back.
we no longer
have a need
for this blatant idiocracy.
if we truly want to call this country
"the land of the free,"
then we must say,
loudly and clearly:
abolish the police.
Feb 9, 2017
Feb 9, 2017 at 12:09 AM UTC
The living legend is ****** into a rut of pining for his splendid playwright
She was his everything
A new breed of woman
No societal entourage could compare
No jovial jubilee could top her
Her humongous measure of perplexity
Her grace
Her charm
Her mystery
He now despises himself for this moment of nostalgic weeping
The mucus makes it hard for him to breathe with his deviated septum
He looks for something to alleviate his sniffling
And eviscerate all his emotional anguish
Nasal spray and bourbon
He can breathe but the alcohol only exacerbates the visceral issue
And dampens his already flaccid spirit
Clouted with the disheartening reminder that it wasn't all her fault
He fumbles with the bottle while retracing the event in his mind
"It was the golden age of bronze metals"
"She was asked to do as she was told"
"A white lie"
"A foul up"
"An accusation"
"An accessory to ******
"Madcap ad libbed alibis and recounts verbatim"
"She turned on them, they killed her"
The bourbon was gone, his nose was stuffed again
Wheezing, gagging, crying
What's the word for when a living legend wants to die?
Aug 12, 2014
Aug 12, 2014 at 3:53 PM UTC
i don't want you to feel successful, i want you to feel like a success
so that if anything goes wrong you don't think of yourself any less
when the nights are longer and darker and the prizes become few
i don't need you to win first place, i just want what's best for you
so if one day you come home and tell me that everything is just too much
that the assignments are unending,
that the trauma just exacerbates such
a feeling of discontentment
a validation that goes awry
if you look at yourself in the mirror and can't help but start to cry
i'll shatter every reflection and then redraw them so you can see
this is what you look like, you're everything to me
first place, the winner, the poet, the CEO
you are who i refer to when i think of where i want my life to go
i don't need a million dollars
i need you to be okay, to keep speaking and writing
i wanna hear everything you have to say
so if one night you come back to me and say nothing went right
i would put your face in mine and say
you're still the prettiest sight
if the theatres were all empty, and the books were never sold
if the restaurants went bankrupt, if all the meals sat there cold
if nobody saw the vision, just judged the draft to be
if everyone hated your work
you'd still have one fan - me
i don't want you to be successful
i want you to be happy with who you are and then realize
you're a million times better than the version you thought was too far
so that when lake starts to mirror and the sun can't help but kiss your shine
i'll tell you the definition of perfection
and then show how you're the picture that i use for mine
and underneath it says 'successful. a brilliant person to know. we can't wait to see all the places they will go. and all the careers they will pursue that they believe the were never good enough for.'
i don't want you to be successful
because that implies you weren't successful before
you're gonna be outstanding, but if 'out' stood in front of you
it would take a seat
because it knows that there's no comparison to
if beautiful fell apart, it would be full of you
i'm repeating it over and over until you memorize it too
that you're gonna be successful
but if success never came, i would draw you to represent it
i would still draw you all the same
Dec 25, 2024
Dec 25, 2024 at 12:09 AM UTC
These pernicious deeds....
Clenched jaw
A trail of the bright-red
And spit
Dribble from the mouth
Stifled mutterings
Of this ends today
Float in the air
Oh, how the need
To stop the engine
Exacerbates
When exchanging
Menacing glances with death
Wrestle the lethargy
The familiar
Awakened guilt
Gnaws away.
Apr 28, 2014
Apr 28, 2014 at 8:30 PM UTC
I view the future with much equanimity
And try not to rely on consanguinity.
My loss of blood to NHS phlebotomists
Whose hides are thicker than hippopotomists
Or, if you prefer it, hippopotami
Exacerbates a lot of my
Concerns with the diminution of supply,
Reminiscent of Hancock and his cry:
A pint of blood! You must be mad!
That’s almost an armful. It’s really bad
If I do not have enough
Left to fill the smallest coffee cup.
But do not grieve excessively,
I’ve left a glorious legacy.
A double pocketful of books
Into which no one ever looks;
As well as countless music scores
That it seems everyone abhors,
Regarded by equal abhorrence
As evidenced by non-performance.
But one we greet with jubilation
Refrigerated Transportation
Beloved by transport chiefs galore,
Who hide it in their frozen store.
Aug 25, 2015
Aug 25, 2015 at 6:45 AM UTC
The morning's swearing wears away
At the sight of midday.
Midday's timekeeping and selfish pleasantries,
Is shoved at the deliberate onset
Of evening's pirouette.
Evening is a slow demon.
What was once in its husk
Shies from its predecessor;
Anxiously timing its rebirth;
Dawn only exacerbates.
Night shines black through the curtains,
Inside enclosed it is a blessing
As the day's lightning
Fades
And on comes
Peace.
Until the moon, ditching its promises,
Finds more to disappoint,
In the end.
I sometimes wonder if it'll ever come again.
Feb 25, 2016
Feb 25, 2016 at 6:01 PM UTC
Deplorable and horrible; Despicable, abhorable;
It reiterates, evaluates, desiccates, and exacerbates.
It never fails to fall too short, but always fails as a support
In an attempt to be freed, it misleads to bad deeds
And creates a hunger -- vacuous, yet impossible to feed.
It chases the light away and it longs to be alone.
And I am so ashamed to say, that in my skull it found its home.
So I will fight and fight against it, but I will always lose the battle.
I have found that even as I trudge ahead, that somehow I still straggle.
It is the artist, I am the instrument. Like a light bulb to its filament.
Every day I am at the bottom, forced to climb back up the hill again.
But I think the day has come... when I have finally stopped walking.
I have reached a door that can’t be opened, and have decided to stop knocking.
It is me and who I have become; it is my actions and what I have done.
And as much as I despise it, it seems my brain and I are one.
I will tuck myself away, lock the door and here I will stay.
I am right where I belong, hidden by darkness and dismay.
I will mingle with the dark, and the beasts that vanish come the day,
Because I seem to fit right in where the rest of the monsters play.
Oct 17, 2015
Oct 17, 2015 at 11:39 PM UTC
has anyone ever told you that your voice
exacerbates the past
your voice gnaws at the edge of my soul
as if my soul is a tough, stale gingerbread cookie that still tastes somewhat? okay
your voice has the appearance of a soft kiss on the forehead at dusk before i scurry back in to have supper, smiling to myself
your voice has the appearance of braids and freckles on a goofy, smiling face and sun dresses on my funny little body
it aches
but that's somewhat? okay
Jan 24, 2019
Jan 24, 2019 at 6:20 PM UTC
These days, the “sell by” date
dictates the menu for my morning meal.
The next torpedo through the torpor
will be the sound of last nights unfinished dinner
scraped into the centrifuge of my garbage disposal;
separating hardened gruel into densities of curiosity.
The absinthe must have done our cooking
as I’m not familiar with the remains
and I can’t even boil water.
Damning the torpedoes
I ponder my death
and my whirring mind,
as it spins apart the densities of a girl
still passed out in the crevices of my couch,
spun-out shards of cold, pungent, pulp.
I need something for the pain
... instructions on the label read,
“take two pills on an empty soul and
call your publisher in the morning.”
Writing on an empty stomach
only exacerbates this unfulfilled addiction.
My motivation is a hope that one day
I’ll overdose on literary completion
and die quietly in the dawn
beside my “best use by” date.
Sep 14, 2014
Sep 14, 2014 at 10:41 PM UTC
The care and love i cannot show
But it'd always be there and never go
The vicious circle of life exacerbates the state of things
Asphyxiating my presence and clipping down my wings
Only if it could alleviate the miseries
If it could.
Feb 22, 2014
Feb 22, 2014 at 3:00 PM UTC
DON’T EVER!
FOR ANY REASON!
EVER TALK TO ME OR ASK QUESTIONS!
Though it’s admittedly your fault…
We speak volumes to instigate change,
Since you always have to be right,
Your ‘one-up’ only exacerbates your lack of humility – emphasizing your arrogance.
THINGS THAT BOTHER OTHERS DON’T BOTHER ME!
I TRY TO IGNORE IT!
BECAUSE IT’S NOT IMPORTANT!
Is there any way to encourage responsibility or transparency?
If your pet peeve is accountability – then you live vicariously through us.
We are responsible and live your life.
EMPTY PROMISES!
Treat me like an ignorant idiot – I LOSE RESPECT FOR YOU!
Everyone is replaceable – I’M INDISPENSABLE!
It’ll take weeks for you to recover.
DISCONNECTED FROM DAILY REALITY!
Pockets padded you will never understand the struggle.
LIVE WHAT YOU PREACH!
YOUR WORDS ARE EMPTY!
THIS IS WHY I’LL NEVER LIVE FOR YOU!
STAND UP! (LET’S GO! LET’S GO!)
WE HAVE NOTHING TO LOSE! (LET’S GO! LET’S GO!)
I LIVE WITH CONVICTION NOT EMOTION
Dec 21, 2017
Dec 21, 2017 at 1:19 PM UTC
I had a dream that you called me the other day
You left me a message saying everything would be ok
I'm sorry I missed your call, I blame it on fate
It's never my fault, something always makes me late
I tell a lot of half truths, and I tell bold faced lies
It's up to you to decide where to draw that imaginary line
I don't mean to be me, I blame it on the medicine
Its done a lot to calm me down, but it exacerbates my sins
I can't focus on the ground, I still like to walk on clouds
There seems to be no other way, I'll remain broken until the grave
Aug 4, 2018
Aug 4, 2018 at 6:36 PM UTC