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Nicole Alyssia Aug 2014
Asking me to hide my emotions
Is like asking someone
To hide a gushing wound
When the **** won't close
And the blood won't clot
Easier said than done.
Coming from someone on the outside
Who can't feel the actual pain
And would prefer
Not to see the gore
Or clean up the mess.
Humanity flourished the gardens,
IVs replenish dehydrated seeds. He dug
through soil, with carmelizing fingernails to ****
a flood of vapored veins, flowers wilted in twisted
beauty. He held onto bruising stems and curling leaves,
just to abandon a husk in undetected love. Its carcass left
in black and blue, burgundy residue slathers pale petals.
Jewels lay at the Dahlia's crest, beads of ruby sold at the
cost of swelling mischeif. He's a cheater with demons; a lover
to the halo, obeying life within silver wings, crafting a
prolonging Death-
All feedback is welcome!
Blake Jul 2018
I tell myself
Think of him
Another red **** on my arm
He doesn’t want you to do this
Another one
He loves you
Again, this time deeper
He will worry for you
I waver
He will see them
Don’t care. I return to the fluid motion
He will ask you why
The blood drips down my arms
He will want you to stop
I want to stop
He will help you if you let him
I don’t need anyone’s help
Yes you do
I know
So get it
I can’t. I will fix this myself.

I won’t make anyone else deal with my ******* problems
Forearms, biceps, neck, hips, thighs, shins, calves, ankles, ribs, *******, bra line, hand.
King Panda Feb 2016
I was flying home from Denver
and the man next to me ordered 3 double vodkas
slipping the stewardess a hundred bucks
by the end of the flight he was asking me
to come home with him
he had a sheepskin bed throw
that would keep us perfectly warm
this chill winter night
I refused
called him a drunk freak
and giggled when he stumbled down the escalator
and split a **** in his forehead
that cracked like
like Easter
smothered in chocolate frosting
a May 2018
Your words stung,
Every slander,
A deeper,
Wider,
cut,
A bleeding ****,
But,
I grew callus,
Strong and thick,
I learned to push away,
Like a Cactus,
I drew my thorns when you got too close,
I was afraid of hurting my tender insides,
Not again,
Never again,
Would I let you hurt me like you had before,
I spat hurtful words to match the cruelty of your own,
Only letting certain people in,
But never you.
We grab our blades,
and go to war.
You cut me up,
and I cut you more.
I beat your arms,
while you flood my head.
**** out your words,
and I drown instead.
Yet you've no bruises,
mine are as dim as night.
They say it's just darkness,
but they can't see your eyes.
You mutate reality,
and I only help.
"Can I get better?"
I say; and, farewell--
It's like my demon and I fighting, you know?
Idk, I'm weird.
All feedback is welcome and appreciated
PamCom Jun 2018
There is nothing in space,
Only pieces of debris,
Like this shooting star which,
When it collides into Earth
At 14 kilometers per second,
Will leave nothing but a 98 feet ****,
Enough to permanently wound my heart.
Nicole H Oct 2018
my body is a pond

pondering body of



a pastime of skipping stones

rippling raphes

limping lips

collapsing clavicles



pop a lilac on my iliac crest.



how many hops can you make before sinking in my ****?

how many stones can I take before drinking from your stash?



[Stone skipping (or stone skimming) is the art of throwing a flat stone across water in such a way (usually Sidearm) that it bounces off the surface, preferably many times. The objective of the game is to see how many times a stone can bounce before sinking.]

*

my wellspring is a floodplain floodplain floodplain floodpain.
Oct 2, 2018
zebra Nov 2018
her happiness is everything
her pathos; be kind with cruelty

blood and tears, a royal jelly
merciless kisses like blazing pyres
she cries through a night prayer

my push pin princess;
a crimson petal
nerves edge;
jutting ******* seeking cleavers kiss

to serve
to serve
to serve

smiling for a relish of wasps
she knows she is loved
a loved red faced surprise
**** mouth, red chirping sparrow
wax teeth melting
succubus, **** flower

gratefully crushed under foot
toes like musical notes
little pearl ruins  
grave stones
whipped cream butter cookie in chains
stipule corridor
**** plume
serrations gush, a singing Dahlia
ripped rose, thorned and curt
plush flames
her skull a throat

her liturgy
weeping, licking gods bulging ****
wakes her inside
giving her religion
a  crucifix of *****
**** of heaven
a burning church possessed

drooling supplications
lustrous saliva web drapes trembling downward thighs
a glutinous chandler
melts like silk around ankles
crystal silt on scorched heels

to serve
to serve
to serve

her happiness is everything
her pathos; be kind with cruelty
I love pervy pixie
Graff1980 Jun 2017
The city sounds of ordered chaos, the constant wave of people crossing back and forth like a human tide. Strangers cut in and out of their tiny groups and barely miss colliding. Honks and bleats hasten the crowds pace as they race to cross the road. Some people stare at their phones, others watch the road but no one looks directly at another human being. Somewhere, near here and in-between there just off to the side a stranger sits mumbling, barely coherent.

“Watch me.”

The age lines run so deep into his skin that they might as well be built in. White stubble paints a drawn slightly sunburnt face. Deep dark blue eyes scan the city life for some unknown relief.
A red line catches his eyes, followed by a childlike voice singing playfully. “Watch me mommy.”

Tiny matchbox cars race around a shallow hole. The little cars cross dips and dirt ramps increasing the young boy’s excitement, as he mimics his favorite show. They crash into a partially exposed root. “Brrckkkeeech bccccch.”A fake explosion sounds. Dusk begins to fall as the cars settle into their makeshift cereal box garage. Smiling and dusty the boy crosses the small road, then the tiny parking lot, and comes home.

Long ***** white hair falls messily across the man’s worn face. All but a few awkwardly placed teeth are gone. Some are yellow while others are darker and rotting. His breath reeks. The emaciated figure feels the cramps of hunger pains. A brown speckled haze clouds his vision, followed by a slight coldness and dizziness creeping over his body.

“Watch me.”

Cardboard swords clash in a titanic battle of good versus evil.  Until the young victor jumps upon his sawhorse stead. A yowl of pain sounds as his tiny sac is smashed. The pain jolts upwards and inwards causing temporary paralysis. Thin legs scrape the wooden brace dragging chips of paint down with him as he falls off his fake saddle. The victor is defeated by pain. A few seconds later the internal pain passes and he is up and at it again, running straight for a large tree. At the last second he swerves barely avoiding a painful collision. In his mind a red cape swooshes behind him as he flies off to save metropolis.

The summer heat draws pit stains on the old man ***** orange tee. The neckline is stretched and has an almost circular pattern of moisture. Barely able to move, his sick stench draws the attention of flies. Bugs buzz by almost as frequently as strangers walking by.

“Watch me.”

Tears fall from the tiny child eyes, as he stumbles in pain. A deep **** runs red with lines of falling blood. His mother picks him up and carries him to the neighbor’s car. She whispers soft word of reassurance. The tears eventually stop.

The man clenches his chest. Pain permeates his being. His breath is lost. He stumbles falling harshly against the cold grey cement sidewalk. Tears fall. He reaches for strangers pleading weakly for their assistance. A foot smashes against his left side, causing more pain to flame up; while forcing him to edge of the sidewalk. The crowd keeps moving.
A stranger snarls “get out of the way you ***.”

“Watch me.” The old man whispers as he recalls his mother’s warmth. Soft kisses planted on his forehead. Sitting in the dark living room safely snuggled next to his mother as a scary storm rages violently against a small house.

“Watch me.” He cries. His voice, obscured by the city, fades and is forgotten.
Travis Green Dec 2018
The pain was falling from the sky
into the core of my soul, rough-edged
splinters carving an exploding ****
inside me, the drumming wind beating
against me, as thoughts of you came
creeping over me.  I remember when
we were as one, how our bodies rose
in timeless eternities, harmonic
tranquility, the serene sounds of
nature surrounding our nation,
the beautiful flowers and rose
bushes blossoming into sweet
enchantment.  We'd walk alongside
the beach and breathe in the cool
air and sparkling seagulls swimming
in the sea.  I'd feel your thin hands
interlock with mine as we smiled
at the glorious kids dashing across
the glittering sand, cheerful cheeks
full of life and adventure.  You'd
slowly turn to me and grin, I love
you my precious queen.  You
are all that I need.  And I'd
sink inside those words,
thinking about how lucky
I was to find the perfect guy
like you.  Then, I'd kiss you
on your lips and reply, I
love you too my magnificent
king.  Now I'm standing
here watching the movement
of the landscape shift in a
web of broken harmonies,
the grey-scorched pond
sinking below zero degrees,
the tears rolling down
my face as I think about
what happened to the
love between us.
Graff1980 Jan 31
Dangerous dragon eyes
burn the stars
and scorch the skies
as the warrior lets
her silver blades fly,

Bronze skin
battle maiden,
******* in chainmail,
spear and shield
on her back
as she tracks
the beasts
who attacked
random villages.

Like a Valkyrie
she walked past me
with death on her breath.
All power and confidence,
she passes on to face this
monster in the darkness.

She moved like
a ballet dancer
rushing in
and striking him
in the place where
his scale skin was thin.
then rolled back
before the dragon’s attack.

Fire and fury
bare skin scorching
forcing her
to retreat
but only for
a solitary
second.

Claws cutting,
tail swinging,
scales scraping,
scratches stinging.

The ground
running
with the blood of
both combatants.

One arm
a ragged mess
of jagged flesh.

One dragon eye
destroyed while
sulphur and smoke
choked the breath
from her parched throat.

Long neck charging
as she parried
in a twirling fashion
letting the dragon’s head pass.

It moved quick
but she was faster
and matched that *******
primal fury.

Short silver
sharp dagger
nested itself
slightly above the neck
as the force of the animals
violent
movement
cut itself
making a long sick ****
as it lunged past fast
and finally fell
in defeat.
Anatidaephobic para siesta,
on the park bench w/ the child molesters:

eyeballs eyevory as Arctic detergent,
amid shingle by De Beers are REMurgent.

Whitsands of some incroyable Bermuda
(white man even his own intruder,

upon cetocephalic theta depths,
that whistle crystal Dixie, seahorses for clefts).

'Peas have great individuality,'
but peristerite is this sea,

not peagreen.  A pickpoctopus of preag
(pre-peag more offshore than 64,000 leagues),

klepto Neptune mudlarks the silica,
into his limelylit hypothermia

sleeves shells, like the desirable hermitcrab Earth
of my astrally orarian self.

My gaze stolen by tealeaf tides:
samphire, sapphire, squid's suckereyed .

Under the sea, there is no CCTV.
But guilt is a silk meat to the nee-

dleeyed nostrils of PC Jaws;
feefifofumes slip faded scabs' pores.

He's not a panoptopus catching your tentacle in your mouth,
but squaloid cop whose own gob's a ganch.

Phaser intangible thru verdantique,
Policeshark! does davyjonestowns deek.

On a fishing expedition in shipwreck slums,
whose 19 new tenants are pinklewickers from Morecambe,

but they're innocent as God's goslings, so Policeshark!
capriciously octocuffed a gangster's mollusc

- by 'octocuffed', I meant crunched the suspect's stu-
diously nonevolved backbone in his beartrap bazoo.

After flossing the caries of noble cause corruption,
moody maccarelics had snubsnouted selachian

policesharkraid! an octopus's gardengate,
& half a McCalf, knee, did he confiscate

- minus the 'confisc'.
His beat is wide & his beat is deep, from Frisc-

o to Portalprints,
Constantlynubile  (Instantbeau) to Pawsmith,

from pertly lisped Perth to hellsmiled imorteen's
imaginary Miami, styrofoam unicorn shoreline.

& traversing isthmus now wasthmus, Lemuria,
where  the wreck of the Sargassoworks lies similar-

ly submerged, sunk by Cap'n Sanforisedbeard,
nautical vagabond who thought he'd blagged a pond,

but was wonking all the angles on the sextant,
till mainsail was mainly flailing like an introvert

among many reprikates of Rik Mayall. Policeshark! swam
thru turquoise ****** of amino acids, liquid farm-

yards of forms not yet strangely familiar enough,
where plankton are those new clear vitals' scurf,

or Creation's intelligent designer stubble.
& Creation's archeozoic goosepimples are bubbles.

For around Policeshark!, waves may turn time-
twiddlingly wavy: Zeit's gristle to the Sein-

shark, the Aardshark, the Wailsnark, the Sharchetype
worrying my liminal jugular like a vamp-

ire scarf. In the blink of the eye of the
Policesharknado!, Policeshark! the merciless mer-

monitor has done his bloodhound rounds,
reset his primordial aura dial, outswam Ground

Zerocean brane, that damp original,
even aquathreshed the 'bi.ven.' in that bilateral

venture 'tween surf 'n' turf, Sinbad the Flavour.
So as to spyhop above cursive of rips & rollers

to stake out this shorehugger, whose Shutter Island discs
sirenade not of Portalsmith, Bizzyhandyman or Frisc-

o, but of a more prosaic 'mare where sharks go quack.
So rage, Ol' Cuntsea, Thalassa you ****!

Big blue wobbly ****, Red Label Sea
of my unconscious! It is mens rea

for which Policesharks! frenze, pinprick of shame,
but the dreaming animal's meat is not game.

I am Ruestungminister in his Argentine cabana!
I am God in His Gondola!

& the Policesharkcage! is the cordon sanitaire
of my not really being there. Or here.

I'm Shore Ryder splittin' for a sun-Ken-
tucky, para siesta passing for a con-

tent Tuesday come to pass like the rainbands
that wore Ray Bans were disbanded by whitsands

fresh-CV-not-cream-scroll-brill, yet
inadmissible as Icarus giblets

or a mohican of gills' nullity.
O Policesharkbait! paltry

as dismembered Freudianism of carnal lagan!
Less catabasis & more embasan.

A dreampoet about to jump the Policeshark!,
awoke to the trope of a Savileville park.

Was it a dream within a dream within...
TL; DR, Policesharkfin!!
'embasan'  (Filipino)- to wear clothes in the bath
"The exploits of Sir Harry Flashman VC as he tries to outwit Michael Collins, assist the notorious Cairo gang, avoid ****** Sunday,charm the Irish ladies, and escape with his skin intact.

A nod to George M Fraser!



Old Harry Flashman stood in Dublin Castle as a monocled spiv eyed him cautiously.' You'll do your duty, sir, by God you will ! or you'll be handed to Collins and his murderous crew of ignorant paddies. His Majesties Government will disown you and abandon you to your fate, if you betray your colours and turn Turk. It will be the gallows for you, as it was for Casement, if a treacherous bone in your miserable hide breaks bread with the enemy. I can reveal to you that one of our agents, Jameson, has just met his maker in Glasnevin Cemetry. Too close to Collins, **** it!, he must have dropped his guard. That won't happen you though, Flashman! You are going undercover, and you'll have an excellent cover story too. Lloyd George wants that despised Irish Organisation infiltrated and destroyed. You will be watched closely by my dear friend Hoppy Hardy. A finer fellow you won't meet. He has kicked some green arses I can tell you, and would we had more of his kind! ****** fine fellow indeed.

I could only stand there, blanching, and my guts turning sour listening to that drivel. I was no spy and those ****** potato eaters were on the warpath! Give them the ****** Country, I thought to myself. Old Harry couldn't give a **** if they flew a Green Flag over Buckingham palace or paraded their colours in Winsor Castle! The Irish had their Irish up and had the Country in a state of terror, and Flashy was to be a go between for King and Country?
I wanted to retch and felt nauseous at the thought. Even as I stood there nodding as my cover was being presented and my arrangement to meet Michael Collins outlined, I could only think of that poor deluded fool Jameson.Lying in the damp soil of Glasnevin Cemetry, of all places!
A bullet in his head and chest for his troubles. Flashman, my boy thinks I, you will shake hands with the Devil and won't be leaving Ireland in a wooden overcoat. Even as that idiotic spiv spoke from his safe leather chair, I was working out my departure plans and Collins could go to ****. As usual though, it never goes to plan for Old Flashy. I stepped out into a cold November chilled night air as Christ Church cathedral rang its bells. A gun was cocked and an Irish brogue said' Into the side street, nice and easy friend and we'll have a little chat, won't we? My innards churned and I looked for an out but I could see I was well accompanied.

Now Gentlemen, what will we talk about? said I as my mind raced to collect my thoughts. I felt I could brazen it out and was ready to blow my cover if I could save my skin. 'We'll do the talking, friend!' were the last words I heard before I was violently coshed on the head and relieved of my wallet.

***********
When I awoke Hoppy Hardy stood over me and I was safely quartered in the Royal Barracks. My head pulsed with pain and Hardy was rabbiting on. 'Well done Flashman, you held your nerve old son. We had our eye on you all the time old boy! I wanted a taste of your mettle although i didn't expect a blatant attempt on you so soon.Our sources tell me you enjoy a violent engagement with the enemy. Good news for you, the paddy who coshed you is in the next room.'

'We know he's an agent for Collins and you missed all the fun of the shootout when you were unconscious. Come on and have a look at how we run things here'.

As we entered the isolation room, I saw they had given the prisoner a good dose of the discipline stick and the blood trickled from a severe head ****. At least the ******* had a headache to match my own I thought. He was in a bad way and Hoppy gave him an unmerciful boot to the nether regions and let out a scream, which put the fear of God in me immediately. 'Once again you Irish *******! What were you doing breaking curfew with an unauthorised weapon! Who gave you that weapon? This was followed by a stinging slap to the prisoners face. This was pointless in my view as the fellow was clearly incapable of response after the boot he received. It made me think I was in for the same treatment if the Irish boys adopt the same tactics.it was all I could do not to flinch as Hardy unleashed a flurry of blows on the unconscious rebel.

**********

Charlie Dalton was in a rage as he spoke to his brother Emmet. ' One of our lads, Frank Fagan, was taken last night! We were following an English lad, and his bearing was suspicious. A right cocky one parading the streets like a Lord of the manor. We had just coshed him and were about to take him to Crow street when Hoppy Hardy and his thugs made an appearance. We had to shoot it out but Fagan was captured.
Emmet listened and stunned Charlie with his response. 'Fagan's a traitor and has served his purpose for Hardy. Wouldn't surprise me if Hardy kills him with his own hand and dumps him in the Park.
' What are you talking about? Emmet! Would you listen to yourself! How the **** do you make that out ?
' Because I told him ' said a voice and in walked the Big Fellow himself with the bearing of a bull and the shock black hair combed to the side. Michael Collins stood in front of the brothers.
' The Brits are playing silly buggers again and a new agent is in town! I want all our boys to keep a close eye on him and no one harms a hair on his head till we find out more about him. Let's play along with the ruse. I understand his real name is Flashman. The pride of the British Empire. A British Lion is it? We'll make that boy roar when we know more.

******************
Fla­shman was handed a Brandy and Hardy toasted ' Your good health old Boy! and broke into a big guffaw of laughter. Flashman didn't like the black humour and swallowed hard and racked his brains for his next move.

************
The Cairo cafe on Grafton Street was my meeting place with Captain Gunnery who was instructed to walk me around Dublin and introduce me to the City. I could see his nerves were shot and he had the fear of the demented in his eyes.'Welcome to Ireland, sir, he whispered. Watch your back at all cost, trust no one, and treat every approach from any of the natives as a potential threat to your life. 'The Irish are a shrewd lot,as dangerous as a cornered rat.They are also experts at holding a grudge. The mood is treacherous since that failed insurgency in '16.We made a ***** of it executing the ring leaders.The massacre on North King Street is still sour in their mouths.
Cozying up to the Germans after all we did for'em. What did they expect?

I could only nod and wonder if I wasn't already marked for a ticket to the next world. '

'Anyway, we're going hunting now, Gunnery said then, and you and me will be dressing up for the party.'That's right, he whispered with a haunted look in his eyes. 'We're donning the Black and Tan gear and raiding the Mansion House tonight.'

' Are you having a laugh? I blurted and looking every bit as startled as a nun inadvertently walking into the gents. 'We'll be well numbered, said he, and give those green ******* a taste of hardship. I gave him my best manly look ' Do me a favour old boy, walk me to this building, on Dawson Street you say, and let me have a look at the battlefield beforehand eh?

I needn't tell you, dear reader, that I wanted to examine the terrain and take a mental note of my escape routes while I still had my faculties.
Just as we were leaving, a good looking middle aged woman, who I thought was giving me the glad eye, bumped into Gunnery and pulled a gun on him.
No words were uttered as a loud bang floored him immediately and he was on the ground with a gaping hole in his chest. She gave me a look and pointed the gun at my manhood then suddenly redirected it to Gunnery's head and blew it to kingdom come! As cool as you like, out she walked.
I made a run for it and the ****** ***** thought I was trying to get a hold of her. I could se she pulled the gun again and aimed to take a shot at me. ' Sweet Jesus ! I cried and as I made a dive for it, I felt a God Almighty sting in my ****.' You ****** *****! I passed out, as you can imagine with a bullet in your rear flank and still I knew I would be seeing that little ***** again.

***************
A passing patrol of Auxillaries marched down Harcourt Street on their way towards St. Stephens Green. Looking down, from number 6, Michael Collins observed them closely. He knew two of them by sight and smiled to himself.
' Go back to Blighty lads, while ye still can'. Across from him were three members of the Squad; his chosen gunmen for assassinations. Three of his twelve disciples, although he had many more in reserve. **** McKee, looking every bit the revolutionary, with his long leather coat, heavy moustache and proud bearing stood facing the men. He was a Finglas man from North Dublin and Commander of the Dublin Brigade.

' Well ****, said Collins, who took out Gunnery? Who put a gun in that lady's hand?, God bless her! There's not a man here with the nerve to pull off a stunt like that. Find out who the officer was who chased after her and got a bullet in the **** for his troubles.We believe it was Flashman'. A burst of laughter broke out among the men.' Well we may laugh lads, but I believe that gun-woman is an agent for the Brits.Gunnery was a becoming a loose cannon.He couldn't keep his mouth shut.' Didn't we know a raid was imminent on the Mansion House because of him!' 'His own mouth sealed his fate. Let that be a lesson to ye! '

'Now, he said to Liam Tobin, get cracking and find out who that woman is. We could do a girl like that ourselves and if she's still in the Country then I want to meet her.' Yes ****, we'll get the background. I am off to Crow Street now to check our intelligence.

'Intelligence is it ? said **** What about that officer Flashman? Who the **** is he? Why was he with Gunnery. The word is he's no weasel. He took after that Gun-woman quick enough. Flashman, what kind of a name is that? 'The Brits must think we're right gobshites altogether naming an officer Flashman. Let's keep our eye on him closely! He's in the infirmary in Kilmainham. Maybe we can pay him a kindly visit and see he's settling in. Another laugh broke out amongst them.

Right **** said Collins. ' Let me see the list of names we need to eliminate and take out that picture of the Cairo gang. 'Take a good look at lads, we'll be sorting those boys out soon enough. If Lyoyd George wants Ireland that bad then let him see the price he's going to pay! Ireland's not for sale and we won't be tenants in our own ****** Country!

**********

' I was lying comfortable, all things considered, in my hospital bed with the nurses swooning over me. Incredibly that ***** did me a favour. Witnesses reported how I gallantly chased after the assassin without a thought for my safety. Even Hoppy Hardy had called to my bedside and said as much!
'Well done, old chap! Another feather in your cap eh! A pity about the location of the wound though. Don't fret, the official report says wounded while pursuing the enemy.This means you will have to lie low for a month at least. Did Gunnery, the poor *******, mention the Black & Tan uniform to you? He did eh! Jolly Good!

Now Flashman, you are going on vacation to the Rebel County Cork! I knew a chap like you would dive on an opportunity like that. The Irish have formed ' flying columns' and are taking the fight to us in that treacherous City. We'll teach them about ambushes, by Christ, and you Flashman will be right in the thick of it.

I smiled faintly and looked at Hardy with an anguished expression.
'If you don't mind Sir, I'm feeling a bit drained and your news is most welcome. Do you mind If I close my eyes and rest a bit?
' Forgive me Flashman, I've been inconsiderate old chap! You take a rest and have a speedy recovery. You'll need your energy for the Cork campaign!

' **** it already! I thought to myself.I don't need this reckless boys own mentality and nuts like Hardy putting me in the front line. For God's sake, I've never even been to Cork! What did Hardy say? Rebel County!
I felt sick to my stomach and turned over in my bed. I litteraly had a pain in my ****.

Down in Kilmichael, Co. Cork, a young man named Tom Barry was putting his men through their paces.
A nod to George McDonald Fraser creator of the wonderful Flashman books.
DEW Mar 2018
The waves undulated as if
they were the backs of 100 wriggling worms
The sky shed tears as if
a 1000 angels wept for the death of hope
black clouds roiled, sparking with fury
casting lightning down upon the mire
but below, upon the sea,
a miracle was set to transpire.

A boat rushed down and over the waves...
Back and forth,
a juggler's ball tossed and turned it appeared to be.
Yet, despite the malice,
and the seething spite of the sea,
the boat was safe
snug as can be.

And in this boat was a silent baby
his eyes stared out into the turmoil
he did not understand the frustrations of the elements
how they wished to smite him where he lay.
Despite the twisting of the boat
he did not roll, nor did water coat
his soft cheeks, his baby blanket
he passed on into sleep,
into dream he
went.

He awoke to battles raging about him
the crashing of thunder
was the desolation of a mountain
the world knew war for the first time
deaths in the billions, no pasture without crime.

He stood as a man
with bearded face
skin like the earth
armor embraced.
He realized he held a mighty weapon
it gleamed in his hands
power coursed through his veins
down to his soul
up to the heavens!
A beacon of light he seemed to be
but heir to destruction he truly was.
He did not know what power does
to the feint of heart
to the well-intentioned...
He struck the ground amidst the battle
the whole Earth shook, oh, the chattering teeth!
The mountains lumbered to form again
as if by the shovels of skyward giants!
The battle paused for the barest of moments
the awe was palpable
like a kingly feast
but the people's hearts hadn't forgotten the pain
their hate surged up, like volcanic bile
despite their peace present for a while
the massacres began again in earnest
perhaps more so than before his deed.
No one knew the power he wielded.

He still had hope, he could do something!
But what greater act was there than mending mountains?
His heart was up to good,
but his mind couldn't ground him.

"I must stop their wanton annihilation!"
He roared within himself,
"Are they not my people? Am I not their savior?"
He went to the most heated battle
struck the air with his weapon
and every person's foe was replaced by their loved ones.
The battle ceased in an instant.
Each person stared in utter disbelief.
By what power had this happened?
It was said that mountains climbed back into place,
but what could summon loved ones,
even from the grave!
The fighting ceased despite their hatred,
and the stories magnified in flavor.
Many who were hungry
for peace from the storm of violence
fed upon the hearts of those in doubt
they claimed they knew who stopped the battle
they hoped to mobilize a peace effort.
He gathered these hopeful souls
banded them together so their efforts became tenfold!
Soon enough, the stories crept across the lands
across the seas
and underground.
For once, hope had purchased ground,
but hate, when cloistered, beaten back, starved,
becomes ever more malevolent,
ever more conniving.

He did not call his people an army,
he called them the Samaritan Initiative.
They did not fight their war with weapons of battle,
they fought with hands that mend and bind,
they saved the sick and the dying,
they uplifted the oppressed and those denying.

As time passed, his efforts grew,
but someone used his deeds as currency,
mobilized the scandalous, the warmongering,
someone hated he who mended the broken...
Someone plotted his demise.

He led his Samaritans across the world
each place they touched was left whole again
and though war still did reign, rotting and true,
he did not tire to end the end.

A new beginning he hoped to create,
but whispers that he was a fraud began to sate
the ears of those whose purpose it is to doubt peace,
they sowed the malice back into the healing wounds
soon enough, his power began to abate,
therefore, rumors seemed to be true.

He grew restless when he was barred from homesteads
barred from cities,
even countries!
Somehow these echoes of forgotten civilization rose
only to defy him
and he smelled someone's stench in the air.
His weapon yearned for someone's death.
For once, it did not wish to mend, but break,
and he felt spiteful all the more.
All the adoration he had garnered
had blinded him from his true purpose.
He sought out the taint that spread its tendrils.
"Someone."
He said,
"Is ruining my... empire..."

One day, while regrowing a desolated forest with his weapon,
someone came to see him.
She smiled at him, marvelled at his work.
"Who are you?"
He wondered, suddenly charmed.
"Someone you know..."
She grinned.
He spent weeks distracted and curious about her,
what was her riddle all about
and why did he feel her in his heart?
She did not seem to threaten or scheme
in fact her presence was a dream
and he yearned after her like nothing he knew
his mission delayed
his plans askew.
Many around him questioned him saying,
"Who exactly is it with whom you're playing?"
He would blush,
"Oh, someone..."

One day,
she did not meet him at their lover's spot.
She did not appear for a week, then another.
His mind began to churn about the months.
Since when had he last sent forth his healers,
or mended cities and silenced weapons dealers?
He began to be suspicious of her
he could have summoned her with a flick of his weapon,
but he dared not discover if she really were foe,
for if he should break, what can he grow?

Eventually, she appeared again,
smiling broadly, like an old friend.
He then knew the anger that so many harbored...
Oh, the twisted things he felt by her abandon,
the sheer weight of his turmoil felt too much to bear....
So he ****** it upon her without any care.
His voice was louder than a church bell,
flashing out across the forest where they would meet.
She cried out in fear
she ran from him swift
he chased after with guilt he couldn't lift.
He found her weeping by a well
on his knees he apologized incessantly.
"How could there be darkness in you,
the mender?"
Her question struck him in all places tender.
Doubt crept into his addled mind.
His weapon's glow flickered
his conscience was blind.
Surely not now should he have such trouble?
Could it really be so simple to pop his bubble?
"I love you more than I can bear!
When you leave me,
I begin to tear."
She nodded and held him close to her.

Someone watched from shadows not far,
they saw his frailty,
like a door ajar...

The months passed and he went back to work
new cities to grow and malice to mend
people saw him more for the savior he was
even though the rumors of fallacy were abuzz.

A special time became the moment of his life worthy of note,
a marriage to the woman whose life he knew by rote.
They consummated in the night and in the day.
Time seemed to stretch on and shrink all at once.
His happiness was a thing of infectious charm,
but all that glittered soon became alarm.

Upon returning home from time spent mending the broken world,
he returned to find his home
covered in blood.
He knew whose blood coated the walls.
Bones, ground into paste, smothered pictured frames.
Flesh reduced to pulp covered the floor.
His mind fractured in no way subtle.
The light of his weapon winked out with no rebuttal.
He wept uncontrollably in fits of despair.
The world seemed cold, frozen over,
desolate of love or laughter.
"I can't bear to live."

Someone crept in through the doorway.
"It's a shame, isn't it?
No man is greater than any other,
yet no man is born equal.
No man lives without love,
but every man dies alone.
Maybe you can understand now,
why we deserve our own genocide...
Maybe now you'll let us fight to the death,
and have our peace that way!"

He looked up and,
despite the pure evil that stood before him,
he did not see that.
He saw someone lost,
someone abused,
someone desperate for truth,
any truth.
He saw someone fighting to love something,
anything.
He saw someone forgotten by loved ones
after committing acts that person was unable to avoid.
He saw a frightened being
lashing out at the world
in the hopes that the suffering would end.
He felt boundless compassion.

"I have no power left."
He said.
"No power to mend or bind.
No power worth your scorn."

"I'm going to **** you now."

"If I'm to die,
I hope my blood is enough for all who suffer."

"You're no messiah! You're just a lie we all want to believe!"

"If I was just a man...
I would have died when you killed her.
I would have hungered for torturous retribution.
But you have broken no one.
You're someone who needs to see your own suffering
out in the world
to justify the injustice dealt upon you.
But for every drop of effort you put into destroying her,
I wish you never experience my pain.
I wish to mend what drove you to break me,
so no one else may be harmed by you,
or anyone you inspire to deal death."

"No, I defeated you..."

"You tried..."

The weapon flickered.

"No, no, you can't feel love for me...
You don't have the *****."

"I have very big *****."

"You think you can love me?
After how I destroyed you!"

"If I could be destroyed,
I would already be dead!"

The weapon burst forth with light!

The killer realized they were someone foolish
Someone lost
Someone in need of healing.
For if "he" could not be broken,
surely there was hope.
If he could mend mountains
bring back loved ones and unite lost families
grow cities from the earth itself
grow forests from twigs
and deny a cold-hearted killer
the satisfaction
the honor
of seeing the fractures of a shattered soul
in blood-red, swollen, tearful eyes,
perhaps this man,
this one man,
could reveal what love is
to the killer's own famished soul.

He saw something shift in the eyes of that tortured someone.

That's when he realized...
That's when he understood.
He had the thirst for solving puzzles,
but humanity is not a machine,
it is a collection of gears
each just as vital as the whole,
for the whole does not exist without the worth
of every individual.
And to ignore an individual like this...
Someone who stood at the center of all the woe,
the evil,
and the tragedy in the world.
To ignore them would be to throw out the puzzle completely.

"May I mend you?"

Realizing they were someone facing an open door,
that person nodded.

He struck that person with his weapon.
Light flooded out as if by the sun itself.
Time seemed to stop.
People looked up in wonder of the light.
The very winds halted,
seas stilled,
nature perked up in unison.

When the light faded, he saw himself staring in a mirror.
The man in the mirror had blood-stained hands.

He stepped across the threshold and hugged himself.
His darkness hugged him back and the blood seemed to vanish.

"I forgive myself for killing her."

His darkness melted into a bulbous, gooey form and sank into him,
as if he were some kind of sponge,
leaving no trace of the darkness visibly.
He accepted within himself that he was capable of
unimaginable evil.
He accepted that he had control
and that he was responsible for the health and sickness
of the world.

Around him, the world began to shift.
In fact, it appeared to melt into liquid
and splash around him.
The liquid became clear, like the ocean.
It splashed and slid,
rocking him about.

Light flashed!

The baby awoke, curious about the world around him.
His boat had touched some distant shore.
Flecks of water spotted his cheeks and he laughed.

A couple crept up to the boat.
"I swear I heard a baby," a man said.
"You're crazy," a woman said, "Out here?"
The couple looked within the boat
and found the baby smiling at them with his
toothless, innocent smile.
The woman held a hand to her chest in awe.
She tenderly carried the baby out of the boat
and rocked it in her arms.
The baby laughed.
The man reached out.
"Not that hand!" The woman said, "You just cut yourself!"
"It's okay, no blood anymore, see?"
He pinched the baby's cheeks.
The baby touched his hand.
His **** healed in an instant!
"Woah!" The woman yelled.
Feeling for a scar where there were none,
the man stared in wonder at the child.
"Honey," he said, "This kid's got potential..."
This poem sort of came out of nowhere.
It does sit on the border between a poem and a story.
I've been fascinated by the Poetic Edda and the Iliad, how a poem could be hundreds of thousands of words long.

So here's my little poetic narrative.

Enjoy!

DEW
Katie Oct 2018
If tomorrow I shattered and fell, pieces skimming across dark secrets
Through the thick fog of my broken heart, the damp heat of desperate whispers
Would you gather my jagged edges, and hold me close until you bled?
Drown in that seductive ******, the digging of hard lines into flesh
The intoxicating raw agony like wildfire and the wetness of crimson liquid
It tears at old wounds, gnawing and ******* at bone
A mad beast too long caged, ravishing itself from within

Would you let me mark you with my teeth and tongue?
Rough and hard and lingering
A whimpering plea, breath ghosting over scars
Uncovering the smothering labyrinth of your release
Soothing away shadows of the cold and sharp blade

Would you help me swallow the suffocating lump in my treacherous throat?
Forget the dull fever of words left unsaid
Yearnings buried
Tears of blood left unshed
As the merciless flames tingled beneath weak fingers
Would you bear witness to the raging fire inside me
The warring instincts, the fierce longing to engulf and devour you
Destroy you as you destroyed me
As this toxic void between us became my most exquisite form of torture

Would you let me drown out the numbness?
Fill you with pain, and peace and rage
Slash at your adamant walls, the pillar of steel you’ve become
And banish the biting chill gusting from your icy core

If at dawn my own prison cracked
And the harsh porcelain surface screeched under quaking talons
If the watery depths of the gaping bowl enticed me deeper
And you could see the insatiable itch twitching in my wrist
If you saw nails plunging into my own gullet
Coaxing and tempting the gurgling lava to dry lips
Determined and sinful, like a lovers’ sigh

If you could hear the filthy slap of moist skin, sickeningly ****** in its lethality
And the frenzied spasms of a retching savage
That yields completely to the pounding rhythm
To the animalistic beat of the tribal drum and the eager cave below
If you saw the burning inferno of tears stream down  my cheeks
Would you trace soothing circles upon my back?
Would you lay awake at night, staring emptily at the swirling blackness
Drowning beneath regret and confusion
Skin a flaming wasteland of death
Like I did for you

If they could all see the wretched creatures that cling to me
The incubus that rocks me back and forth
Lulling me to that macabre slumber of death
And whispering sacred screams into lovesick years
My saviour and tormentor, lover and abuser
If they could hear those sickly voices, see earth through my marred eyes
If they could feel the anathema of our thoughts
The loathing and self-hatred
The disgust of one’s own skin
And the monsters closing in
Would they still laugh?

If mother could see the ink sprawled there
Across the overstretched canvas
Of fat stuffed thighs
Each word a puncture, a proud and gaping ****
Would she still dare to strike?

If they knew for themselves
Gluttony itself has a taste
Could feel the poisonous **** slither down throats
And the comforting familiarity of its dead weight
Would they dare meet the molten daggers of my eyes?

If the lifeless blinking light is no longer enough
When the hollow words on screens do nothing
If I grow tired of the scraps you toss me
And the ravenous hunger hatches
Would you join me in destruction?

When both our demons are unleashed
And the skies cry black tears of anguish
When the makeshift smiles finally fade
And we walk among them *****
When they pay for their assumptions
And mother Earth howls for her loss
When angels flee their impending judgement
And there is nothing left but dying embers
Will you sit atop a throne with me
And embrace the madness we once feared?
For M,
You know who you are, and you know me best
Ariel Feb 10
I just wanna say *******.
But I still love you.
You shouldn't have touched me.
Look what you've done to me...
Ever I now ever gonna be happy?
You were already broken...
But you didn't have to break me...
Now I play the game safely..
And never feel too closely.
I walk away too fast
Because I'm hurt from my past.
I want something to last...
But my heart isn't healed from the ****...
I'd love to burn your memory to ash...
And say *******...
But **** WHY DO I STILL LOVE YOU!
sushii Aug 2018
big
There is something looming over my city—
The city of my mind.
Something way bigger than you or me or the world entirely.
Oh, how I tried to protect my desolate little town.
(Where my home is all around)

There are things I can’t show you, fair confidante.
There are things in my city that even I don’t want to see.
(Don’t check the graveyard, too bad I go there everyday)

The corpses of past love and remorse
Tend to like to
Take a little walk
Outside of their burial spot.

“Watch out for them,” I say.
But you don’t seem afraid
To traverse the uneven roads of my mind
Everyday.

Oh no, I’m afraid you’ve run into the criminals of innocence—
The killers of that childlike luminescence.

You fight them without being phased,
But can’t you see the festering wound?
If bubbles over like a steaming cauldron—
It swells like a soon-to-be mother’s belly.

Every time you slay a threatening man,
The wound is opened further.
Seething,
Teeming with bacteria,
The wound rots,
And when I notice it, it’s too late.

You have bored a **** into my desolate little community


Unknowingly.

An **** mark
On my broken heart.

But it’s okay.

For it’s time to start another day.


and the state of my body

                                     is that of


             utter

                               d
                                       E

                                   C
                  a
     y
nivek Oct 2018
The night hides around the corner of the day
now short and shorter still
light battles the coming winter
and we here on top of the world
spin and tip away into the stars
into the black dark, the black black nights
where day is a fleeting **** of feeble warmth.
Let et Scar Dec 2018
Sweet 16 was when I found myself roomed in Cerritos psych ward,
2 other girls roomed with me,
One kinda like me,
I still have a piece of her converse sneaker logo as a suvenir of my teenage years,
The other girl was a beautiful girl,
Who cried everyday,
And slattered makeup before going to bed,
A beautiful girl with a stain in her smile,
And a **** to her ego,
I sat in this room and saw many come and go,
I'm still stuck here....
With a suicidal mind a flow,
Self esteem sunk low,
Taste for life gone bland,
Took this hand full of pills,
Hope to sleep at last... FOREVER.
Didn't happen,
I'm getting stuck with needles on a daily,
Monitored my food intake on a daily,
Anorexia nervosa won't let me,
But the girl at Cerritos psych,
She still my roomie and others are gone....
Then back,
Then gone again,
The pretty girl at Cerritos psych,
With big eyes, full lips and gorgeous brunette hair,
She's still stuck in Cerritos psych,
*** daddy told her that she's **** and she's worthless only has a use for one thing,
And to this day I wonder if she ever saw her reflection??
Has she finally seen beauty within?
Or is she still stuck in Cerritos psych ward
Ameliorate Jan 9
I have hair dye all over my face, and yet haven’t been able to recognize myself in months.
It all hurts, knowing that what you felt was supposed to be forever got derailed somewhere along the line.
You aren’t mine, but I’ve been holding on desperately hoping that you’d come back to me.
That first month, the year and a half that followed.
I guess I believed you when you said you weren’t going to date anyone anytime soon.
8 months isn’t soon, but it’s pouring salt in wounds that haven’t healed.
That wide **** over an excessively bleeding heart.
Hopeless.
Romantic.
But never with you.
Hopeless.
You gave everyone else so much more than you gave me.
Hopeless.
I don’t know how to come back from this... pain.
This feeling that I was never enough through the unfolding of our lives.
But seeing you wrap your arms around someone else, when I craved physical affection from you and you couldn’t give it.
That’s the worst part.
The idea in which you can be happy without me.
And they keep getting younger.
Twenty six.
I guess I’m getting old, thirty in a few months.

How do I bring yourself back from months of heartache after you?
bur more importantly, how do I manage to still stay friends with you while you date someone else.

Will the hopeless romantic be anything less than hopeless?
And when will someone love and dedicate time to me?

— The End —