"excoriating" poems - Hello Poetry

I always hated art. as a kid, the forty-five minutes every ******* Friday and Wednesday was excoriating. even though the other kids adored fondling their fingers through paint swatches, it just wasn't for me. until I met you, my muse and my canvas, your shuddering skin a cream tableaux for my lust to reimagine pointillism cubism impressionism le renaissance haut in scratches and bites and streaks of saliva criss-crossing goosebumped skin. I always hated art.

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May 17, 2014

May 17, 2014 at 7:18 PM UTC

perlucidum

caravaggio

I always hated art. as a kid, the forty-five minutes every ******* Friday and Wednesday was excoriating. even though the other kids adored fondling their fingers through paint swatches, it just wasn't for me. until I met you, my muse and my canvas, your shuddering skin a cream tableaux for my lust to reimagine pointillism cubism impressionism le renaissance haut in scratches and bites and streaks of saliva criss-crossing goosebumped skin. I always hated art.

17

Frustrated from the upbringing, Tortured from whatever's happening. That unsatisfactory notion, Doesn't quit my room. If I could heal myself, Just with one blink. Excoriating and tormenting. Reprehensible and dominating, These emotions stands within me. I am not depressed, Its all just a vain attempt. Nothing has ever been right, Will it atleast be bright? Not brighter than the sun, But like a long lost star That's just my hope, It has begun , Let it be awake, It has relinquished my desperation to flourish. I am a long lost dreamer, Just in attempt to be someone, Someone I could ever dream of. Just hoping to be someone, I could ever be.

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Apr 14, 2015

Apr 14, 2015 at 7:11 AM UTC

manika

Hope

Frustrated from the upbringing, Tortured from whatever's happening. That unsatisfactory notion, Doesn't quit my room. If I could heal myself, Just with one blink. Excoriating and tormenting. Reprehensible and dominating, These emotions stands within me. I am not depressed, Its all just a vain attempt. Nothing has ever been right, Will it atleast be bright? Not brighter than the sun, But like a long lost star That's just my hope, It has begun , Let it be awake, It has relinquished my desperation to flourish. I am a long lost dreamer, Just in attempt to be someone, Someone I could ever dream of. Just hoping to be someone, I could ever be.

24

Let fractals grow beneath my fingertips so I can feel them spiral through my veins as salt water percolates through suppurating wounds. Let me lie supine in the open air of dysphoric intimacy So the cold creeps through the subterranean skin of my chest Let my blood flush my cheeks and spread unrelentingly excoriating the flesh of my exposed body supplicating itself before the sky.

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Oct 29, 2017

Oct 29, 2017 at 8:57 AM UTC

magaprofana

Lamentation

Let fractals grow beneath my fingertips so I can feel them spiral through my veins as salt water percolates through suppurating wounds. Let me lie supine in the open air of dysphoric intimacy So the cold creeps through the subterranean skin of my chest Let my blood flush my cheeks and spread unrelentingly excoriating the flesh of my exposed body supplicating itself before the sky.

6

Coifs of lightning disentangle under a black cloud lattice. Thunder rustles to rude growl, bracelets of leaf are trembling. We're eastbound, hundreds of us on this loosened buckle of corrugated silver flash. The rain attacks the window in excoriating scrawls slivering down into a sluice. Red-shirted woman, run now, over the yawning pool that shivers with addition. Blue-breasted runner, fly, fly into clay-colored false dusk that heaves with humid breath. Escape from this wet hunger that walks over us so indifferently. We stumble nightward. Rain laces our eyes shut. We're alone here.

0

Aug 10, 2022

Aug 10, 2022 at 5:26 PM UTC

EvanS

New Storm

Coifs of lightning disentangle under a black cloud lattice. Thunder rustles to rude growl, bracelets of leaf are trembling. We're eastbound, hundreds of us on this loosened buckle of corrugated silver flash. The rain attacks the window in excoriating scrawls slivering down into a sluice. Red-shirted woman, run now, over the yawning pool that shivers with addition. Blue-breasted runner, fly, fly into clay-colored false dusk that heaves with humid breath. Escape from this wet hunger that walks over us so indifferently. We stumble nightward. Rain laces our eyes shut. We're alone here.

20