Forcefeed poems on Hello Poetry

Patti Masterman-Heterodynemind Mar 2010

An Invitation: Come to the Psychopath's Junction!

Come to the Psychopath's Junction
For a time you may never forget;
We've got mystery and ****** and mayhem,
For some hours that you'll never regret.

Come to the Psychopath's Junction
We have tours and stories to chill;
And we'll push you down steps to the basement,
And there we'll forcefeed you some swill.

Come to the Psychopath's Junction
Where we have all new torture devices,
And we'll tie you up, and then use them on you;
And won't have to think about it twice.

Come to the Psychopath's Junction
Where we'll do terrible things just to you;
And if you survive and miraculously escape-
You can invite your friends to come too!

An open invitation, to an elite society of rugged individualists

Allissa Clifton Feb 2019

A peaceful poison

I forcefeed my body a poison in the name of peace
When it coughs and begs please don’t
I hold my hands over its crying mouth and say just one more
The sweet aroma only I can smell when it’s been so long
My lungs cry at this smell
The putrid tears of tar seep into my stomach
It moans a low growl and gurgles it’s insults at me these slurs
              slide
                      down
                               these tubes of mine whispering
over one another as if those  tar teardrops had turned into small souls clawing at me until their grave
My soul lying at the bottom becoming darker and darker

As I continue to try to quit smoking cigarettes I’m both aware of the damage I’m causing my body, but at the same time the release I feel when I smoke. This is a constant fight with myself.

#addicted #poison #pressure #body #pain

Tom McCone May 2014

third cause

tonight is the first night i truly sink my teeth
into an idea
of letting it all go
and yeah sure i've been here before
yeah sure i've put another bullet through my skull
but what good is that to you
and what good am i to you
but still i can't think at all
can't think of anyone else

with bare hands you wring my flesh loose
with cold time i repeat nothing else
and subliming frustration
with two words you broke my ventricles down

with "all yours"
don't say anything
and i could dripfeed you sugar, honey
but what good is that
and what good am i
in the middle of some other night
capturing some other set of eyes
all i've got is gasoline for a smile

but don't wait up
don't wait for anything better to come
'cause you ain't got me yet

but if you wait up
if you wait up
i can catch you
i can catch the wind

but i can forcefeed you frigidity if you want me to leave
and i can not matter if you want me to...

Emma Jan 2019

The Sorting of Confusion

I wanna write about you.
And I do.
You drip off the end of my pen,
Off the blinking line of my cursor,
And fill up white space
With the nebulousness of what you are to me;
Your cumulonimbus formlessness.
Enter.
Pause.
A moment of consideration.
I am constantly unsure of what this all means.
I love you.
You’re bad for me.
I might be bad for you in return.
I want you.
I don’t want anything and I burn for you,
I write for you,
I pine when I am a creature of pragmatism and action.
You don’t want me the same in return, if you do at all.
The absence of you is terrifying.
The absence of you was a relief.
With you I am elated.
With you I feel as though you slowly pull my heart apart,
As though you forcefeed me hope,
For I am unable to do anything else but wish for—
Change
—when we are together,
Though I know it is impossible,
Unlikely enough to deserve the word.
I can see the planes of your skin, feel
Them beneath my fingers
I can trace their lines with my mind’s
Tongue.
Wishing is pointless with you.
I know this and still cry for the moon.

#hung #up #on #you #confusion #thoughts #relationship #bad #dumb #poems

Floor Aug 2019

Eat

I haven't eaten in three days
I feel lightheaded but good
It's a type of high I can't explain
It makes me feel in control
But if I keep doing this they'll have to forcefeed me
They'll put a tube in my nose and feed me like I'm ill
But I'm not, I don't have a disease
I'm no patient, I'm Anne
I'm me.
I like going on walks, enjoy the sun and cloudy days. I love the smell of rain and the sound of thunder and I like being rebellious. Love poetry and books. I am Anne, not a patient.
But I haven't eaten for a while
And I start to feel less like myself

— The End —