"excruciatingly" poems
I'm looking deep into her eyes
*Looking into her eyes...
is like opening a door that leads...
to another door*
Wait..really? OK...I open the door.
*This door leads to a long, winding path,
like the winding path of your love.
The path leads to a third door*
O...K. I open the door.
*This door leads to a spiral staircase
descending down, down, down, deep
into her soul.
At the bottom of the staircase is--*
A door?
A door.
I open the door
The door is locked. The key might be under the mat
Seriously? I check under the mat
Nope, not there. Maybe try under the small rock next to the door
Oh for the love of...I check the rock
There is a key
Wonderful...I unlock and open the door
*Inside this door is a large atrium
the glass ceiling giving way to a
beautiful summer night, the stars
twinkling in the distance. At the
far end of the Atrium, there is a curtain*
Sigh I pull aside the curtain
There is a door
Come on! I open the ruddy door.
*You find yourself in a long hallway,
with fine art hanging along the walls.
Crimson carpet lines the floor.
At the end of the hall is a door locked
with a combination biometric
fingerprint scanner/retinal scanner*
What.
*You have 10 seconds to unlock the door
before the hunter-bots de-atomize you*
What!? Ok! I try my fingerprints and eye!
*The door unlocks and the hunter-bots stand down.
In the next room are three vials. Two of them contain
terrible neuro-toxins that will lead to an excruciatingly
painful death. The third will allow you to continue on
to the next room. You have 30 seconds to choose before
you are terminated*
What the hell is this!?
This is the path to true love hidden deep in her eyes
No, this is insanity!
15 seconds
OK! Geez! Umm..Vial Number 2!
You're totally dead
Oh god!
Just kidding. None of them had poison...was just messing with you
THAT'S IT! I'M DONE WITH THIS
Really? There's only one more door. I swear
...Fine. What ridiculous thing do I need to do to open it.
*It's already open. You find yourself in a circular room
with a pedestal in the center. On the pedestal is a hand
written note. On that note is the key to everlasting happiness*
I pick up the note
*You smell sweet hints of your beloved's perfume and
notice the care that each word of the note was written.*
What does the note say?
*My love:
Next Tuesday Only -- Buy One-Get One Free at J.J's Pizza. Cannot be combined with any other offers/coupons. Must present coupon upon purchase. Expires 1/14/14*
...An expired coupon for Pizza?
Such a wonderful expression of love!
How do I get out of here...
You see a door
.
Mar 8, 2014
Mar 8, 2014 at 4:00 PM UTC
I'm a no one;
Just a stranger that happened to pass by,
Who made a silly mistake,
Yet you talked like we were meant to.
Just a peculiar case;
Talking random things,
That seem to mean nothing,
Yet made its way to be remembered.
A cathartic mess;
Leaving a note that said I'll leave,
Trying to forget how much it'd hurt;
You told me to come back.
Comfort;
Words that made me hold on,
Coming from the most unexpected person;
Maladroit.
Ecstasy;
Dancing with what you've said,
Somehow excruciatingly sweet;
Bitter.
Waiting;
Exhausted with nothing more to say,
Though wanting to talk;
Cold coffee.
Aug 20, 2017
Aug 20, 2017 at 4:43 AM UTC
There it is again. That sound you've known for so long but can never grow comfortable with. It's resonance is beyond anything describable in this world; by these means. You know it so well yet cannot fathom it. Years pass without your awareness of what this thing, this intrusively disturbing abomination truly is. You effortfully and excruciatingly ponder, analyze and rework your thoughts to no avail. You are virtually incapable—and utterly useless.
As you stand, sit, or lie, pondering your lack of discernment, you stop in your tracks.
You realize something you never have before.
What is it?
Jun 28, 2014
Jun 28, 2014 at 12:04 PM UTC
I'm thriving in a prism.
Colors can't blend,
light turns into shards
(they beat excruciatingly across my chest).
I wish to be blinded
instead I'm living dead.
Sep 29, 2014
Sep 29, 2014 at 5:54 AM UTC
Life is like a deck of cards,
you never know what you will get.
After you get what you (have) received,
you do not know if you’ll be deceived.
You try your best to play it right,
but all the noise made your grip (excruciatingly) tight.
You look left and right to find the answer,
you were not aware of the need of a Savior.
Life is like a deck of cards,
there can’t be just one player — at least two,
winning and losing depended on skills,
(but) sometimes before you even know it –
you were killed.
Every second — a grim sombre anticipation,
Every minute — a twist of hope and sense of admiration,
you try to scrape through using persuasion,
but all in all we’re in delusion.
A delusion, A deck,
of cards.
Apr 15, 2013
Apr 15, 2013 at 3:48 AM UTC
“We love what we don’t know, what it’s lost already…”
Jorge Luis Borges
I hang on to your portrait, in front of me;
among candles, copal, and all those things you worship in a mexican altar to the death.
You are my invisible jaguar,
you appear before me, between dreams, and I fell alive.
Full of wounds,
lacerated by my absence,
I put your portrait in front of the altar that my mind has conceived,
and you seem to hold the paradise's secret in your hands,which are made of ashes.
Then, according to the mexican & catholic tradition,
like a rural priest,
you start to draw a cross, made of the ashes of your magic, sacred hands.
The smell of the whole,
sacred being that exists in this spiritual plane,
lays on your profile, so beautiful embodied in your portrait,
which I prefer above any other reflex.
Finally, when I think on your lips,
is when I stop believing in anything else,
and just keep on holding the devotion that I worship to your portrait...
Then I chase each single one of the naked,
flaccid,
vulnerable memories of you,
trying to protect me.
I think of you,
so profoundly and vividly right now,
that my skin transpires,
bleeds,
my muscles are tense,
and my mouth recites your name with all and its last name.
I wish that, under a supernatural power,
you're also thinking of me, at this precise moment,
and that some thought can touch me below my skirt,
and make the skin of my white buttocks to bristle.
White –Blanca in Spanish-; the name of one of my childhood’s friend.
And the same color of your so polish, european skin.
The rainforest of your sacred Chiapas.
I need you excruciatingly.
Like a dagger into my body.
I will like to see your portrait being devoured by the flames,
but I do not have the courage to throw it to the fire,
for its image will become strongly painted in my mind,
and the effect that you exerts towards me it will be more powerful.
Dangerous.
I had a dream a couple of hours ago,
it was me,
so earthly,
being blessed by your voice,
and the tattoo you have on your left arm, being kissed by my simple mouth.
Our skin,
together,
united,
white,
is the wall where the moon lays on,
Lays in our bodies making love,
in a black hammock,
conjuring with our pneuma to the whispering of the rainforest...
Jan 19, 2014
Jan 19, 2014 at 5:37 PM UTC
Land of the free
you seem to call it
But the freedom
only seems to fall
on one end of the spectrum
one side of the scale
And when the scale tries
so excruciatingly
to balance itself
When it comes crashing down
in an attempt to be heard,
to make a sound,
It is met with cries of outrage;
With a selfish victimization of,
“what about us?”
“don’t we matter too?”
but that’s not the point,
now is it?
The scale
isn’t screaming out any less
for the importance of
one side
by trying to give an inch of importance
to the disregarded other.
Black Lives Matter.
Jul 6, 2016
Jul 6, 2016 at 11:09 AM UTC
That face is excruciatingly beautiful
Blinding as platinum confetti
For the new year of the soul
She is my conch shell
When I hear her, I hear me
That body is hauntingly whole
Strong as a steel gerder and just as smooth
For the structure we are building
She is my mirror
When I see her, I see me
Those hands are soft as silver
Holding the pages of our life
Strongly into the new book
We will write together.
Apr 28, 2015
Apr 28, 2015 at 5:37 PM UTC
Pulsing obsidian liquid pushes through cerise veins
Excruciatingly painful, yet never ending
Dark coils wrap around your stomach
Clenching in merciless vexation for unknown reasons
Ruthless needles sew an inferno in your heart
Blazing fire consisting of flames which jump
And ice. Pure cold solid ice
Is glided over you
So that your whole frame crumbles with shivers.
And all your mind can do
Is beg. Beg for this moment to be over with a single tear.
Jan 24, 2015
Jan 24, 2015 at 9:03 AM UTC
"I'll be your slaughterhouse, your killing floor, your morgue and final resting..."
Richard Siken
You set my soul on fire
pouring gasoline over
every inch of the skin
I inhabit daily
You set my soul on fire
knowing how much it
would burn, leaving
deep everlasting scars
You set my soul on fire
excruciatingly ripping
a person I love so
knowing the pain you'd cause
You set my soul on fire
your face ablaze with
an unspoken contentment
at claiming what you believe is yours
I sit here and mourn
my heart misshaped from the norm
I sit here and weep
at how trampled I was by your feet
I sit here with anger
knowing where to point the finger
twist it round,
with your well rehearsed stirs
that damage, disintegrate and curse
© Sia Jane
Jan 14, 2014
Jan 14, 2014 at 1:55 PM UTC
I pledge my absolute blind-faith and non-wavering allegiance
to the Flag and the totalitarian, oligarchic Viertes ***** (fourth Kingdom) for which it stands,
one nation wholly divided in any and all ways conceivable,
hell bent on Global Military-Socioeconomic Conquest in the name of the same God as our enemies
with liberty and justice for those who can afford it (Read: the excruciatingly wealthy).
Apr 19, 2013
Apr 19, 2013 at 5:43 PM UTC
I have a list
The job is mundane, same old, same old
Murderers, conceiters, haters, ....
No remorse even at the last breath
Today is a busy day
Lots of you to claim
First on my list is a thief
He stole children for a living
And sold them to the highest bidder
Sometimes, I think the Guy upstairs is so unfair
What’s wrong with taking a child
And selling her so she’ll get a better life
Not that I’m complaining
Contrary to popular belief
Hell is kind of empty
Most people in their last living moments
Say they’re sorry and zam! I lose!
This guy is different
Peter Hinckley the Child Snatcher
He doesn’t know he’s walking into a trap
And he’ll be shot dead by the cop hiding across the street
So, here I am, Ok, Now!!
“Gotcha, come with me, Peter Hinckley!
Welcome to Hell! Where it’s always breakfast in bed! Not!
Haha!”
My next is a woman, those are rare down there
Henrietta Bugglery – “Gosh, what a name!”
Her one and only sin – loving herself too much
Till she hated everyone else
It’s not her fault, I don’t think
She has it all but wisdom
So how can it be her fault
Well I suppose she could have been better to her children
But she hated them too apparently
Ahh humans, I’ll never get them, I suppose!
Henrietta was ready but she didn’t expect Me!
Not that I’m not pretty but I have to hide my face
Seeing me sometimes jolts them back to life!
“OK, Missy, let’s go!”
“What do you mean let’s go? Who are you? And where are we going?”
“HELLLL! Missy!!”
“Who are you?”
“ Darth Vader!”
(and they say i don’t have a sense of humor)
“You mean like from Star Wars?”
“Yes, exactly that – Let’s Go!”
“I’m not going anywhere with you!”
“Oh come on, don’t make me zap you there.
I like you all to arrive happily, after all the rest of eternity is a long time”
“Get lost! I’m not coming with you!!”
“Oh well, you leave me no choice!
Welcome to Hell!”
I lift my hand and she is stretched excruciatingly (it appears) into Hell
You’d think my work is easy
Actually, it’s not
Sometimes, I wish we had some of your high tech equipments down there
Then, I won’t have to do this myself
I could have me some robots who would never mess up
Or suddenly have a soft heart like in the case of ....
Oh **** I’m saying too much!!
*P.S. Don't worry, I'm probably not coming for you
P.S.S. I lie, a lot!*
Aug 24, 2013
Aug 24, 2013 at 9:59 AM UTC
Pretentious smile
There for awhile
Cunning and guile
Mask the bile.
Feel the burn
Tides turn
Emotions churn
Pain we learn.
Turn the key
Unlock me
Set free
But with fee.
Claim your claim
Always the same
Mutilate, maim
Ruthless game.
Games you play
Daggers you say
Honesty you slay
The facade you stay.
Whisper your lie
Get me by
Truth will try
Chains to pry.
Curb your greed
Untruths you feed
Here I bleed
From destruction you lead.
What's your goal
**** my soul?
My naïveté you stole
You're but a mole.
Share my plight
And in plain sight
Steal my light
You're my fight.
I know it was you
Excruciatingly true
Things you undo
For attention you pursue.
Oh how you bend
Honeyed words you lend
Establish your brand
As my deceitful friend
Now I know
Wiser I grow
I will not show
Knowledge I stow
Still you smile
You have for awhile
I've tasted the bile
So bitter, so vile.
I've felt the burn
The tide will turn
Fairness I might earn
Lesson I'll learn.
Jul 29, 2014
Jul 29, 2014 at 9:54 PM UTC
So, you think I am a dark evil poet eh? Well, get a load of this! What would you write about if everyone you loved, your mom, your dad, your stepmom and your wife all died before you? You wouldn’t exactly be writing about rainbows and butterflies would you?! No, you would write about death, sorrow, and excruciatingly philosophical things too. So quit being so judgmental!
Crows, sitting, watching you die
Watching, waiting, to feast on carcass
Your carcass they feed on
Sep 20, 2012
Sep 20, 2012 at 6:06 PM UTC
I love you to the moon and back, yet on earth, I hate you back and forth.
I am happy with a suppressed sense of agony. So ecstatically vibrant, yet miserably tormented.
I live day to day, walking and “maturing”, yet move no further than beyond the grave of a past, long dead and gone.
I’m awake, don’t you see?
When I wake, I open my eyes in a helpless sleep. Outside my tiny being, I see nothing but me.
I call myself a mother, or a father, but never gave birth to a daughter.
We call ourselves a “family”, but exist so disconnected — wavering and dislodged, apart and separated. Smiling resentfully, painfully, excruciatingly.
All for the cameras of course.
I am respectful — to be respected! I shower in lies, and cover you too, so I need not see any offensive residue.
I am a strong person, cowering and contracted to the slightest sight of error.
No vulnerability.
I’m brave, don’t you see? A plastic rock, standing impervious to the sea.
I love you, I love you, I love you. But I don’t see you, nor hear you, don’t know you.
I understand you, of course, “I understand everything!!!!” But I don’t see you, nor hear you, don’t know you.
I know you, I know you, I know you. Yet I don’t see you, nor hear you, don’t know you.
You’re crazy, poor child! Why can’t you lie like we do!?
Why can’t you NOT feel like we do!?
Why can’t you NOT see as we do!?
Why can’t you just “forgive” and “accept”? Take it all, all our objects in their entirety and forget the emptiness of your soul. Sacrifice yourself, for you need not forget, we gave it ALL.
Don’t you know yet? This world is OURS to own. A “truth” to be known.
Your perception; a mere fallacy to be shown.
Don’t you know yet?
Everyone agrees.
We stand before an army of validation, against your small speck of reality.
All memory, all harmony, all said and done -- buried beneath.
We are the bringers of truth, the proclaimers of wisdom and sound guidance. And you, our poor child, just a little voice to be silenced.
A lost soul, drifting outside the “right” path.
Reach for our direction.
You’ll travel upon a dusty, well-trodden track, and with feet now imprinted with scars. Rest assured though, for we travelled there too; feet too ***** to bear and too numb to care.
Take our confident hands, our dearest child. We’ll lead you through a clear path with tainted feet.
You’ll fall and we’ll rise in disbelief.
You’ll scream and it’ll only echo our fears.
Sep 17, 2016
Sep 17, 2016 at 8:40 PM UTC
Dancing is a way of life, dancing is life. Some say you crawl before you walk, I say you dance before you breathe. How do I explain the feeling of; spinning, jumping, running? I can’t. It is indescribable. Dancing is such a magical thing, you can speak to the people who can’t speak, and you can feel for the people who can’t feel, you dance for the people whom will never be able to dance. Most don’t understand where I am coming from. Why I am not sure, but if a person stopped and listened. They will hear the music of life and where there is music there is a dance, the dance of life…
This dance may be one of the hardest to get through; the preparation will be excruciatingly painful. But everyone does it. Everyone hears the music at some point. Have you ever listened to Beethoven? In his symphonies there is a pattern. It starts out slow; it gradually gets louder and louder and then BOOM! The ****** Beethoven’s master pieces are a replica of life. Think about it, really hard, and listen to the music.
Can you feel your foot tapping? The sound repeating in your head? This is the first realization of the dance. Now your swaying back and forth, like the trees in an autumn breeze. This is the second step, but the first motion. I want you to get up and throw the tips of your fingers to the stars in heaven. Then pull them back down. And breathe.
What is it that you feel? Perhaps relaxation or maybe happiness, possibly anger or frustration? Whatever you feel don’t let it go away. The feelings you get when you dance show the audience that you are human. Like all humans you will make a mistake you will fall, you will trip, you will tumble to the floor of the stage. That means nothing and don’t let anyone tell you differently. It means nothing because, without those mistakes there will be nothing to improve.
Improvements. Simple things that can change your dance. Keep your arms firm and your head held high. Your arms are the roads to your heart. You let them slack and fall, your heart gets crushed. Try holding a friends hand to keep them firm. Your friends will always be there through this dance. Don’t let your head drop for you head is the door to your mind. If you let someone in you lose personality. Your dance becomes someone else’s. Those are the only things you can mess up, but for some reason these mistakes happen more than once.
In the end when the music stops and the crowd cheers at your achievements. You know that your dance has made an impact maybe in more ways than one. Dancing is a way to communicate to show who you are. So when you hear the music, start tapping your foot, sway back and forth and, dance. Dance just not for you but for the people that can’t. That is the dance of life. Your life.
Jun 16, 2010
Jun 16, 2010 at 6:36 AM UTC
Before I sleep or when everyone around me is asleep,
I go to an empty street. I wear a coat to protect myself from the cold.
It's a nice cold.
The type that kisses your cheek makes you shiver a little and fills you with giddy.
In the middle of this street is a lamp post; I like to weave words and art from this lamp post.
But I need to go back to slumber
But I need to go back and play with numbers
And when I don't have these things to worry about
The light goes out
I wait for it to turn back on
Most of the time, it doesn't
I play with the wires
Or maybe perhaps I should go looking for other lampposts and fires
I try to call friends
But it all leads to dead ends
The light of the lamppost will not come back
So I try to make in the dark
And it is excruciatingly hard
All that comes out is a horrible chord
Outside the street, everyone tells me the song is beautiful
But I what I still hear is bad and inexcusable
I'd wish that what happens on that street
Stays on that street
Because the darkness of that lamppost seems to follow me wherever I walk
So, I decided to pause and stop on the sidewalk
Maybe the solution to this darkness is simply changing a wire
Or moving on to find another flare of light
Oct 13, 2018
Oct 13, 2018 at 10:31 AM UTC
“Did you bring the specimen sample?” the lab employee asked,
“UUhhhhhhh, no, I wasn’t aware I had to bring it.”
“Well…you can’t do that in here. Can you go home, do you live around here?”
“I wouldn’t be able to get back before you closed.”
“Ah **** well, okay, take this,” he handed me a sample jar, “There’s a restroom on the second floor—”
“Woah! What? It’s a single-use restroom right?”
“Yeah man, don’t worry, we’ve all gone up there when we needed some privacy.”
“Jesus, okay, thanks, I’ll…be back…soon,” said in the manner of a partial-statement, partial-question,
And so there I was, on the second floor of a lab facility, attempting to get a sample after perhaps I had already produced too many samples in too short of time, especially for a man like me who is no longer a teenager, it was a rather difficult process, the environment was less than conducive, and when it finally happened it gave me an exertion headache that was so excruciatingly painful I thought my brain was going to ******* explode out of my ******* ears, my life’s work, concluded as I fell to the pissy floor of this restroom, having produced an extremely small amount of sample, what I had been viewing on my phone would have surely amused many, disappointed a few, and maybe flattered one, but ultimately nothing would matter ‘cause I would be dead, oh well,
When I went back downstairs to the office and gave the employee the jar he handed me a sterile one and told me, “Alright, just in case we need another sample, do it at home next time,” and I did.
Mar 7, 2025
Mar 7, 2025 at 7:27 PM UTC
i have poetry that doesn't deserve to be written on paper, metaphors that are so strong that my pen quivers when i try to write them down. they only deserve to be written between your legs with the tip of my clever tongue as the pen. it is the type of poetry that can only be recited with your moans in the background, and with your nails digging wounds into my back. i want to watch your reaction as you die a million ecstatic deaths while i write each and every word of my ****** poetry at the back of your ears, on your neck, on your collarbone that shyly peeks through your shirt and the middle of your ******* where it always feels like home. i want to worship constellation of stars on your back with kisses. every kiss serves as a period, every stroke of my tongue is an exclamation point. i want you to curse my name and pull on my hair as you feel my kisses go, oh so excruciatingly slowly, up your inner thighs. there are not enough metaphors for me to tell you how beautiful you are to me, but here i am still trying to praise you with everything i have.
Feb 15, 2015
Feb 15, 2015 at 6:38 AM UTC
Be careful little one
You have the frozen globe of existence at your Fingertips
Marking Tracing Melting oh so slowly much too fast
Diligently your dead eyes glance gracefully into infinite bright spotlights
Your fragile razor-edged smile’s tearing the corners of your lips
Insecurely holding yourself excruciatingly precise
Marking repugnant lines down your too young face
Spine’s held ram-rod straight pretending to keep your world afloat on a
Butterflies listless fluttering wings
The tiniest misstep reverberating inside your hollowed breastbone
In.. In… In…. Inconspicuous
Comparable in the manner of a lamp bumping the floor two houses up
Breath hitched tattooed pulse brings life to your porcelain pores
Tip-toeing on egg-shells of yearning aspiration
Flinching at the cold intangible fear that’s grabbed your hand
Makes you come to life a stones throw too freedom
Diamonds ruthlessly rip into soles and ****** toes imprisoned in silk
Wine stained lips sneer at rows of red velvet
They grasp everything you've strove for, they are the power
Passion, adrenaline, up most urgency sweeping you away
The most elegant anguish rushes out forming awestruck wild abandon
Waiting your whole life for this moment boiling down to now
Day after day year after year
Pupils blown wide it’s do or die spread your arms and take your bow
Self-loathing narcissist
You only dance as if the the sky is falling when you feel all is beyond repair
Never have you been more beautiful
Jul 18, 2014
Jul 18, 2014 at 4:17 AM UTC
finally its a glacial melting
of cold stark undertakings took standing
falling failing wounded kicked down beaten
while the beast was surely overcome beyond all
mercy; the soul sold by whatever devils bargaining
body beaten by voodooed ***** till worth extracted yet
worthless made mad into madness itself devils not so friendly
now; but time and time again possibility can be and is reborn then
still many mountains many spills many failings pains accusations pills
there a heart warms beats again here a bit and there what rhyme and reason
if not ones own can one wounded heartless warrior predict; mercy here sweetness
there one day you can feel once in a while you think you may be able to care; you love
you lay out all compassion, careful without flattery and thee endearing; one is so suspecting
the other heart ache clear dearly, you think you may too be human and a warm heart and hands
tender may mercy touching all creation but there is no witness alone; but ever closer ever looser losing
all senseless and of all reality; then they play ya...they play you player; hate the game that is their life; where
things we want are more than things we need and they are not each other; and they do not come from the earth; and we are all so 21 forever......better take from other and I've been like 3 and 99 more forever and take trips so like 30 trillions of light years this life alone.... and it's excruciatingly beautiful alone together, and the pain is so beautiful here for it is given between the here All beautiful place and way but for our chosen willingness, it's quite simple again again,
i long for one warm heart again someday where we can be afire again across this universe, for this body wills as much as this heart mind soul understands believes accepts and knows just one thing; so it's alright one will do i sense many yet somehow it seems what ya get is the proverbial of instead
nine cold shoulders!!!
Nov 12, 2012
Nov 12, 2012 at 8:12 PM UTC
You're the sun.
So beautifully bright that I have to stare, even though it hurts horribly.
I live in Antarctica, where you only light up my world half of the time and then leave me to suffocate in darkness for months on end.
You're a deer.
Unaware of me observing your adroitness from the dark depths of this brazen bracken which conceals me.
If I make any sort of sudden movement, I know you will sprint away into the trees because you're so afraid of letting anyone get close to you.
You're a puppetmaster.
Pulling at my oh-so-vulnerable heartstrings in the most musical way while creating the most fantastic and addictive art.
Your fingers are magic to me, and their slightest movement can either plunge me into endless despair or **** me up to the most heavenly of all cloud nines.
You're a siren.
Drawing me in with your sweet song only to ultimately unravel me.
You taunt me with colorful hints of false hope, making me wonder if you're really that cruel, or if you're merely unstable.
You're a child.
So oblivious to the obvious, yet incredibly innocent.
You brighten my day with your silly antics and sweet gestures alike, but you're too enthralled in your own little world to ever notice.
You're Doctor Jekyll.
Always changing your face from friendly to arrogant and asinine, then right back again.
Sometimes I wonder how I could love someone like Mister Hyde, until you turn into the nice guy again and remind me.
You're a weaver.
Excruciatingly twisting the threads of me into the fabric of my being, leaving little streaks of sorrow and joy.
You have shaped this tapestry in the most painful and beautiful way, and without your unknowing influence, it would surely be unrecognizable from its current battered, but unique, condition.
You're a thorny rose I keep trying to pick.
Sending me away ****** bleary-eyed, and smelling sweet.
I wish you could understand how much I need to carry you home.
Jul 4, 2016
Jul 4, 2016 at 2:09 AM UTC
I want to forget
Not have to worry about
What was just forgotten
From a mere 10 seconds ago
The time involved is an
Excruciatingly long prospect
Minutes being not finite
Measurements any longer
I'll refuse to leave this place
This room, much less
For at least two days
Nothing but hydration and cigarettes
Wonder aloud about anomie
And if I'm afflicted
A ridiculous thought
Of course I am
May 13, 2011
May 13, 2011 at 8:33 PM UTC
The benefit
of challenging anything
too comfortably established
isn’t so much
some clichéd grand expansion
of one’s worldview, but rather
a well-warranted reminder
that anyone claiming to have found
any conclusions is very likely
full of ****
I love you dearly, humanity, but
you discover the world
like a toddler discovers his own foot,
and cling
to obsolete sensibilities
like trying to justify your belief in Santa Claus.
And you hate what you find
when you look too long,
because
you say that you discover the world
but what you so stupidly, so humanly
overlook is that the world bears herself
with no inhibitions, and even though
you can’t see everything immediately,
it’s all there; she has
nothing to prove to you. Yet the mystery
you so excruciatingly choose to maintain
is that even though the earth bares her skin
unashamed, you find her ****** absurd and
clothe her blatant body
in preconception, tragically dedicating
the decoding of your existence
to finding out
what truly lies beneath.
So perhaps, humanity, you should
embrace those who **** you off,
because you cushion your soul
with every reason to distance yourself
from any realization
that there is no inherent parallel
between every finite question
and the eternal answer,
unsatisfied with
the tantalizing ellipsis
the universe leaves you, and that the very fact
I even formed a sentence
is punctuated
by my mortality.
May 23, 2014
May 23, 2014 at 12:56 PM UTC