"fatalist" poems
**i'm in a dangerous state of mind
with no care for living this life
where human emotions are traded
for less than a pack of rubbers
but you didn't even use those
so how much did i truly mean
when the push came to shove
and grinding hips
with moaning lips
that whispered, screamed,
and cried his name
on the night you ****** my heart away
where loyalty takes a literal backseat
to pleasure
and a long term relationship
is laughing stock material
ha ha standup, ain't i funny
to look for something more than this
but i would choke on my own tongue
before i'd speak bad of you
my backstabbing lover
unfaithful friend
i hope to god it he was worth it
the cost was more than just tears
but blood spray on the bathroom mirror
and an empty place where i once
used to love
permanently empty
i can't find the will to care
more than a few half-hearted,
correct that, heartless
obscenities muttered under my breath
with ****** on my mind
a 3:30am fantasy to help dull
the pain that i should be feeling
maybe i'm just a pessimist,
fatalist, cynical, and negative
but my lack of surprise cuts the most
lied to by my mind for those
two months of my life
that i thought i had it all
better to have loved and lost
but even better to **** it all
and just go out with your name on my lips
and your lies in my heart
i hope you think of me when you're with him
that you choke on your tears
plagued with the worst emotions and loss
a better killer than any gun**
Dec 14, 2012
Dec 14, 2012 at 9:48 PM UTC
the fatalist in me thinks about a Trump vote
quietly marking the box that will end the American dream
snickering to myself as the ballot falls into the bin
knowing I have done my part to bring about the end –
destroying families across the land
and building a wall greater than any Chinese design
breaking the back of a faltering agricultural system
asking the masses of impoverished to stand right there with him –
expressing a desire to actually nuke Iran
and that the military would rival that of any era
planning on expanding our empire abroad
telling the public that peace is a fraud –
I cannot help the reality that I am entertained
frozen with terror, eyes peeled to the spectacle
this train wreck developing is really just catching speed
could the American people willingly vote for greed –
there is only one way to bring about the end of days
and like anything it takes work, practice, and dedication
but this move seems more real than any before
we are all being wooed by Babylon’s ***** –
I, for one, am going to sit back and enjoy this ride
it’s not often one gets to see the fall of Rome
a nice mountain lake; spring fed and crystal clear
waits hidden in the mountains if the end gets too near –
see, having a plan means there’s no reason to worry
and gives me the advantage to vote for your doom
while most of you sit, hands folded to pray
I’ll hike to the hills when we come to the end of days –
maybe I won’t survive the coming nuclear battle
when ‘the donald’ shoots his mouth off to Vladimir Putin
or Kim Jon, or Iran, or the Afghani folks
but until then I will prepare and go on making jokes –
Sep 18, 2015
Sep 18, 2015 at 1:14 PM UTC
not a papist or ****** or shapist
but enjoying a curve
not an escapist
lacking the nerve
not a florist, tourist or activist
unless its summer time
and certainly not an alchemist
no water into wine
a lovely smiley altruist or artistically quite loud
but sadly failed when drawing
kindness from the crowd
mist
gist
fist
hoping to desist in being a monarchist
and always very eager on not being dogmatist
but still I really strongly emphatically insist
that faddist, fauvist fashion
is only a passing passion
for the narcissists among us
realist
publicist
terrorist
humbly suggesting that zeitgeist
is an ist
but failing to enjoy the line
being a fatalist
not a facist, xylophonist or anything with isms
just a bad contortionist
with creeping rheumatism
determining the future through a timely
cruel twist
whilst realising ultimately
I’m just
a sad typist
Aug 19, 2011
Aug 19, 2011 at 7:10 AM UTC
She prances the streets, a ballerina in heat snapping finger's in rhyme! Forget thy time, she telephathicly makes her own.
She lives alone, yet roomies become her attire, maiden of dires, dating site's not accommodating thy interest? Pinterest !
A pipe she keeps next to her bed, juicy lipstick, a prideful head,
Yet still her small green bag does not satisfy.. Queen so blind!
Smoke evacuates the old pried windows that are nailed, for ghosts do haunt her, within and outside..
Thoughts of suicide, as riddles she makes up to stay sane, her mascara pounds to thine rain that leaks into her basement sanctuary!!
Addict's she clings to, monsters she speaks to, as her cats keep good company, I know!!!!
An operetic show, a fatalist as me, yet still hoping for whats not there, unruly she dares!!!
Her street lies beyond the ghettos, 515 dover lane ..
On the east side of town where the bullets meet with trains!!
Factory's of grains that make your daily bread, where thy living and thou dead come in between two world's...
Lonesome young girl, no more chariots can you escape, for thou art blundered and unvaped to the cloud animals thou creates!
May 11, 2015
May 11, 2015 at 12:32 PM UTC
TRANSCIENCE:
misspell it every time. somewhat
quite sure it’s intentional. feel i
might be due a nightmare. have
been throwin’ too much weight
on the psyche. pressing
my worth
more and more out of existence.
and i am more disciplined than
i allow myself to believe.
with awkward schedule fulfilling
each day, awakening to death
and the Sun’s mistress giving
chase. with each sun set
and rise, i drift. world witnesses
rebirth. continual birth,
and everything turns out
in the end. (no fatalist)
goat’s head on the wall,
staring as i can barely scrawl.
eyes that see beyond this vessel,
to search a span of sleeping lives.
and cold wind gusting, i’m
all too focus’d.
if only a pocket warmer to
thaw these clench’d muscles,
nothing more than tepid
flesh. nothing, endless flesh.
found broken lines,
found blur’d thought,
i awaken.
- and may they never be
found having to cook
with premium pony meat.
too cryptic. i lost it. and now
the Muse of Nothingness
brings the other, brings
the middle ground. continue
to brake and simplify. at
long without it,
the Sea Wolf always finds me.
and if to change places, it
would be much the same as
how this vessel seeks the Sun.
and i
am consumption of sacrament.
and i
am beauty all inclusive.
and i
am crass, purposeful, in misleading.
and i
am prone to not caring for
making sense.
and i
am Lotus Eater re-emergent.
and i
am bound to sound like
a slow burning. like a little.
Feb 1, 2013
Feb 1, 2013 at 12:43 AM UTC
Whatever you want to talk about you
can be sure she will immediately be in
the zone. Unconventional in lifestyle,
she lives alone without modern comforts.
She seems to hitch-hike through life,
having at times ridden with extraordinary
wealth and good fortune. At others, loneliness
and poverty have been her wearisome
companions. A fatalist, she will note your
material wishes, and promise that when
luck shines on her again, they will be yours.
Don't try to change her, you won't get far.
Generous to a fault, when she has money
it slips through her fingers like a croupier
dealing cards. Once she is your friend
rest assured she will remain so for life.
May 8, 2015
May 8, 2015 at 4:18 PM UTC
In the fairy tale, Aimee was bad at heart,
a pretty shell that promised a pearl and
when cracked open, gave grains of sand
instead. It scratched the surface of the eyes
and misled; Aimee was just one of those pretty
Jezebels, cruel within, decorated without.
Her sister Aurore was the heroine,
a fatalist, who sighed her philosophy:
'What will be will be' and her patience and
good heart tugged her towards the coincidences
that always favour the light.
But Aimee was driven away by her own wickedness,
and had not the luck of the good.
All Aimee had was the face.
These are the kind of stories I am tired of because
I want to tell you that when Aimee was just a
small girl, she sat and watched her mother scrutinise
her appearance in the mirror. She watched as she
painted her face and knew then that she was just a painted
beauty, a kind that easily peels off. How little it
mattered though, as her mother smiled at her jewels.
Painted or true, her mother had succeeded through
beauty. So Aimee saw no good in the kind and the patient,
who suffered and accepted their suffering. She chose an
ambition called wickedness and she wore it like a petticoat
beneath the blue ballgown. Aimee was the kind of girl
to get what she wanted. Her mother had taught her
that her face was the only kind of fatalism she could follow.
I am tired of these fairy tales that give undefined shapes.
I'm tired of the dichotomy between the good and the bad.
I'm bored of the light always finding their happily ever after.
Just tell me the story of the dark and tell it properly.
May 3, 2016
May 3, 2016 at 1:32 AM UTC
We don't always understand the actions of the other.
All you know how to do is take care.
All I know is how to be taken care of.
It's time for me to learn to take care of someone else;
Time for you to take care of yourself for once.
Perhaps we always knew this was the outcome.
Perhaps we always knew this was how it would turn out.
What happens when a realist and a romantic fall in love?
You're smothered, I'm heartbroken but still alive, both.
What happens when two realists fall in love?
Sounds like the beginning of a bad joke,
One that you are living.
I'm running around in a fatalist's mess,
And you're running around to the tune
Of needing things to make sense.
We are both running around and around,
In patterns that I can't help but think resemble
The outer circles of hell.
But, the glint of sunshine comes with the rain.
I'm told that there's no water in hell.
So this wet October weather
That we are presently enduring
Is a glorious sign, promising the possibility of better days.
Nov 16, 2011
Nov 16, 2011 at 1:07 PM UTC
There are moments in life when everything makes sense
Someone special touches your soul, breaks through the fence
In honesty, you'll never be the same again
Angel came down and gave you a taste of heaven.
The times you fail to find good reasons to wake up
In the morning; feel good, and put on some make-up
God sends a message and says bright days are ahead
"You want to explore the world, now, get out of bed!"
Intolerable hardships, inevitable
Everyone heals differently from the same battle
One who can't fall asleep will find a way to dream
A fatalist will stop seeing things in extreme.
Give thanks to the ordinary that empowers
And the extraordinary won't have borders
Reminded again, with love and music combined,
Real happiness is only but a State of Mind.
Mar 9, 2012
Mar 9, 2012 at 4:58 PM UTC
the dire debonair of the arena
feral fatalist fettered to insatiable throes
his triad of tenets: slit throats, slain soldiers, serial sin
ethos eternalised as a brothel of bodies
ballad of the battle
this altar of adrenalin, stilled at the shrill aria of blade
betrothal of shattered bones and faltered breath
frail life for a radiant death, liberation befallen
behold, birth bred on the front
heartbeat hell-bent for the taint of blood
tender thrall afresh, befit to bite
isolated inhale of desire, arise the hostile
lord of the lost
to dine on heroes, relish their finale
his alienation as a bane of fate
adrift in a red tide that threatens silent desolation
Apr 29, 2017
Apr 29, 2017 at 4:38 PM UTC
Whilst others are dreamers
And optimists
I canst lie
I'm a realist
And fatalist,
I guess that's another reason
I respect and love and canst
Relate to the prophets so much
They weren't optimists!!
The were fatalistic...
Jun 19, 2015
Jun 19, 2015 at 10:43 AM UTC
Alls my life I has to hop, brother!
Alls my life I...
Hard times like, “Yah!”.
Mad tricks like, “Yah!”.
Fatalist, I’m all lost
Homie, you are all lost
But if God got us, then we gon’ be alright
We gon’ be alright!
We gon’ be alright!
Brother, we gon’ be alright
What we need is a way to lose the radar
Of the creatures of gluttony that resembles
a bar.
So, I hop in hope that I’m still afar
From the clenches of them ****** piranhas
Chasin’ me like a cop car.
Call this eternal for no solace is there
And this frog won’t ever give in to that
Joker’s flair.
Twisted it is that a kiss pronounces exit from
this lair?
Yeah, sure do adhere.
I’d rather die and state my mind clear.
This circus denounces hell, I fear.
Joker’s the devil and piranha’s sin, my dear.
It’s clear what they intend to do here.
Mere resistance is futile and it tears
Lingering hope and steers
My fate. My life. My ideas.
But I take a leap of faith Cause
If God got us, then we gon’ be alright.
Brother, we gon’ be alright.
-Asher Graves
Aug 31, 2025
Aug 31, 2025 at 12:13 PM UTC
We all have a fatalist
Inside of us
Teetering a tight rope
Trying to fight fear for a good show
Those high hopes
are defined by the lies of someone else
We are Brave despite what we tell ourselves
When the circuitry comes caving in
Aug 11, 2025
Aug 11, 2025 at 4:42 PM UTC
the anonymous who keep us fed,
allowing us to stay in shelter, hide in bed,
while they masked and gloved,
go about keeping us safe and living
with no glory, the invisible,
the shelf stockers,
the wipe-downers,
of our collective spaces,
disinfecting when we
are home in our heads, while
their families worry~wait
we are the indebted,
so our collective can prosper,
no one calls them heroes,
but we would be at greatest, fatalist risk,
if not for the burdens they accept,
for they deliver
us.
so I when I ask nowadays, where is shelter,
the answer is, it is on the way, it is in their hands,
being delivered!
May 5, 2020
May 5, 2020 at 9:01 AM UTC
Wrestling with knots, not knowing how,
the fatalist sees it as a victory for
the anaconda, that constricts me now,
the pessimist sees it as a loss so why fight,
the boa constrictor as it closes the hold,
shallow breathing increased panic as I stare
into the face of the optimist, who smiles at me.
and says "well there is always heaven",
I know he means well
but he can go to sweltering places far below,
and I ask myself how do I do this to myself?,
why do I stall and hold my breath,
when thinking things through and no answer
not one answer volunteers, show of hands?
no tears fall, those wells are all run dry,
not that tears or laughter or the yawning void of my,...
my lips are turning blue, not my favorite colour,
but it does match my eyes...
Dec 15, 2013
Dec 15, 2013 at 11:06 PM UTC
I want to debouch in open country, where maidens wear fine dresses, where debarrasing is new and the old is the opposite!
Redisposistioning!!!
I need a renewal, where none are cruel and none shall scorn me..
No false lovers to burn me, but to float on our own cloud nine!
A well of wine....
Hyaline wings to rasp me in molecule air's, where people can care and give and forgive all in one seeming.
An angelic meaning!!!
Our horoscope's to guide our way, as god enchants and breaks the day, as in night time comes strange creatures!!
Iconograph teachers!!!
Candles to burn their wax, poor to live in mansions, and the rich to shacks , yet all are still so equal living as one!!!
Idiomorphic suds!!!
No inurbane gesture's, only our kudos to make preachers, from the divine and sovereign the high one calls us!!
Lakefront musk!!!
The landscape is marvelous in this place with no time, no watches, no keeping of minutes that don't matter, no heart to get shattered...
No abuse, none battered!!!!
Just landlords who grow all things naturally, as striking beasts, in primal form!!!
Enwomb me envoy ive not seen, epatant dream,
For when shall someone show me all I wrote??
False hopes? Or fatalist blur?
May 10, 2015
May 10, 2015 at 6:58 PM UTC
Somewhere in the cacophony of moments
That flash of imagination lost to white noise
The slow bleed of nights and days stains pristine dreams
The rush of brilliance grays
Surrendered to the litany of decay
Songs unsung caught in the back of my throat
Strangled words
Toxic on my tongue
Hand over mouth and shackle my mind
Truth in the mirror that renders me blind
Little thoughts they scurry
Furtive in the failing light of hope against all hope
Reality reigns dragging chains
She etches her name on my scarred heart
Until death parts us...
I am the eulogy of dreams
I've never done this kind of thing before
Desecrate this grave
We can save her....
Resurrect the desperation
Dismiss this ignorance as bliss
The fatalist in me screams
Some things are better left buried
Dreams and lullabies lie skeletized
Revived as nightmares
Will **** the marrow from a broken soul
Already I scatter
Ash and shadows
Requiem for life unbreathed
And you wait for me
To break the ground
And exhume the muse
Again....
TL Boehm
04/30/12
Oct 8, 2014
Oct 8, 2014 at 11:12 AM UTC
the old cannot erase
the shadow of their setting sun
bled across their threshold, staining
the abandoned chair by the fire.
Jul 15, 2015
Jul 15, 2015 at 1:01 PM UTC
MODERN DAY SOCIETY FOSTERS NEW BREEDS,
WHICH SEEMS TO BE CONVENIENT TO YOUR NEEDS,
RESPECTING OTHER PEOPLE'S BELIEFS IS ALL VERY WELL,
TRUE OR FALSE IDEOLOGY - EVEN YOU CAN NOT TELL;
YOU LACK EXPERIENCE OF LIFE - AND, OF COURSE, DEATH,
YOU WILL NEVER KNOW ANYTHING UNTIL YOUR LAST BREATH,
EVEN THEN, YOU WOULD WISH US TO GO TO NOTHING,
CAN'T YOU GIVE YOURSELF A MORSEL OR AT LEAST SOMETHING?
SUCH A FATALIST - YOU WANT TO BE LEFT ALONE,
IRONICALLY YOU WON'T BE - UNTIL YOU DROP LIKE A STONE,
I COULD ASK YOU ABOUT ACCIDENTS AND DISASTERS,
BUT I WON'T - YOU'RE NOT CONCERNED ABOUT WHAT MISFORTUNE INFERS,
YOU BRING THE WORDS UPON YOURSELF - A COP - OUT IS DERISORY,
IN MY OPINION, YOUR EXISTENCE IS NOT RANDOM - THAT'S AN IMPOSSIBILITY.
Feb 8, 2016
Feb 8, 2016 at 9:51 PM UTC
I feel time move around us
as I lie waiting in the dark room;
anticipating the moment
when the dust settles on your pillows
and you descend upon me.
Apr 26, 2016
Apr 26, 2016 at 5:20 AM UTC
An old man fell victim to pacification
I still see him laying there
body twisted and spent
I remember thinking how undignified he looked
How undignified we all look
when an abrupt transition to violence consumes us
Hysteria in the masses leads to now
leads to whirl winds
leads to fear and pointless chaos
Then we are left with nothing but a burnt out shell
As fragments of are carefully contrived realities begin to crumble
The worst part?
We stand there in the aftermath beat down to indifference asking how did this happen?
Reach for the mirror
It appears the fatalist has won the day
What way is that to live?
Oct 5, 2016
Oct 5, 2016 at 2:07 PM UTC
nietzsche the prophet,
a man coukd never begin
an anti-nihilist mein kampf
having written this...
or anything akin
to this...
he'd be busy, off,
doing some plumbing...
as i could be off...
doing some industrial scale roofing...
or some Bogart
of a chemistry stature...
nihilism?
doesn't surprise me...
the point of the mood swings?
i've moved way,
way past nihilism...
no paragraph...
**** must be "poetry"...
or someone saying:
well... here's to saving
the Amazonian printing press...
so....
me less a nihilist,
me more a fatalist...
and i pray to god for no
requisite of entertaining
redemption...
will i be one of those
black kids in an OXFAM
adverts drinking ***** water?
counter-culture
counter-the-concept-of-fame...
had i the ambitions
to provoke a people
to a collective will
via a proverb...
amitions of fame ended...
when aspirations of
pedantry set in.
harold norse
appreciated this fact,
having the patience
to investigate Greece.
Feb 20, 2019
Feb 20, 2019 at 7:26 PM UTC