"gnashes" poems
The Beast, it lies,
The Beast, it cheats,
It gnaws and gnashes at your knees and feet,
Its teeth are long,
Its teeth, they scar,
No person is left unmarked
It size, unmeasurable
Its weight, unweighed
Its whereabouts, untraceable
Its name, unnamed,
But the Beast wears a familiar mask you see
A mask so familiar, so familiar indeed,
This unmeasurable, untraceable, unnamable beast,
Who gnaws and gnashes at your knees and feet
It roams by night, by day it hides
The fearsome beast who lives inside.
Jun 2, 2014
Jun 2, 2014 at 12:04 PM UTC
Playing her parchment moon
Precosia comes
along a watery path of laurels and crystal lights.
The starless silence, fleeing
from her rhythmic tambourine,
falls where the sea whips and sings,
his night filled with silvery swarms.
High atop the mountain peaks
the sentinels are weeping;
they guard the tall white towers
of the English consulate.
And gypsies of the water
for their pleasure *****
little castles of conch shells
and arbors of greening pine.
Playing her parchment moon
Precosia comes.
The wind sees her and rises,
the wind that never slumbers.
Naked Saint Christopher swells,
watching the girl as he plays
with tongues of celestial bells
on an invisible bagpipe.
Gypsy, let me lift your skift
and have a look at you.
Open in my ancient fingers
the blue rose of your womb.
Precosia throws the tambourine
and runs away in terror.
But the virile wind pursues her
with his breahing and burning sword.
The sea darkens and roars,
while the olive trees turn pale.
The flutes of darkness sound,
and a muted gong of the snow.
Precosia, run, Precosia!
Of the green wind will catch you!
Precosia, run, Precosia!
And look how fast he comes!
A satyr of low-born stars
with their long and glistening tongues.
Precosia, filled with fear
now makes her way to that house
beyond the tall green pines
where the English consul lives.
Alarmed by the anguished cries,
three riflemen come running,
their black capes tightly drawn,
and berets down over their brow.
The Englishman gives the gypsy
a glass of tepid milk
and a shot of Holland gin
which Precosia does not drink.
And while she tells them, weeping,
of her strange adventure,
the wind furiously gnashes
against the slate roof tiles.
2k
pain brought on by an apathetic existence
a desire to taste chaos in the flesh
i ***** my soul, dredged from the depths
as death rises, creaking - a gory deity
from my shattered, broken back
gnashes it's filthy, cracked teeth
this barbed, twisted creature rears it's ugly head
as guttural growls wrench free from a torn
throat - wracked with convulsions, sickeningly
sheds a blood and gristle carapace
reborn into rot, steaming flesh sloughs
from it's face to reveal an impossible amount
of needle-like teeth, stretched into a wicked grin
slowly, like creeping mold, the mouth opens
and regurgitated from it's putrid depths...
...a single beautiful butterfly - spun from the
finest gold, inlaid with the most vibrant precious gems
floating on the whisper of a breeze, it lands
on my empty eyes and begins to feast
Feb 28, 2012
Feb 28, 2012 at 4:39 PM UTC
I've always had those moments
when I seem braindead
but really I'm just overthinking
a passed or impending situation
Making two-star dramas and slasher films
I'm the silent victim
that should've saw it coming
in my soothsayer premonitions
Wish I could drop a bag of bones
and let them come up with
the mood I should be in
These small woodland animal spirits
prancing around my world
tell me what's life's deal
and sometimes make me fearful
when I'm in a badly lit room alone
It's not the dark that gnashes
but that which most wants the light
As if, life is about burning your hands
on many light bulbs, 'till some source
slurps up your essence and you're stuck
finding the portal to the next level
fighting and collecting dragons on the way
fighting and collecting dragons on the way
Oct 20, 2015
Oct 20, 2015 at 10:51 PM UTC
As a child the world is beautiful and everything in it,
delicious.
So there we are laughing at cartoons,
chasing butterfly kisses in the wind,
and crying about how "Billy said I couldn't ride his bike because I have blonde hair!"
You have your own bike which makes little to no difference.
Kids are cruel.
Rebel.
**** you, Billy! I've got my own bike!"
Years pass.
We grow and come face to face with reality.
The world is named Billy.
Billy gnashes his black,
tar covered,
teeth.
Nostrils fill with his nicotine masked morning breath as he's kicking your ***
You're awake now,
face down on a park bench burying your own ***** in the dew drenched sand at 10 a.m.
You rip apart at the seams
The wounds of time open in your brain
And you are no longer satisfied.
The ***** you drank to drown your pain becomes you.
A manifestation of time,
age,
and bittersweet friendships
forgotten or vanquished by Billy are forefront in your mind.
Time has consumed you.
Billy has swallowed you whole.
Living has never become more important than when life is threatening to abandon you.
Time is up.
Your savior demolished you.
Liver shriveled,
heart black,
brain dead,
and soul less.
Killed at the bottom of a bottle and crawling
NO!
begging for forgiveness.
Reality strikes.
You once again remember your need for Billy.
Billy, that bad *** with his two chrome wheels and distaste for blondes.
Loathing his existence.
The smell of Billy ever present as the sweet taste of life drains from your tongue.
Slipping has never been more difficult.
Drawing a last breath of bitter air into your lungs as you whisper
**** you, Billy. I have my own bike."
Oct 3, 2014
Oct 3, 2014 at 1:43 PM UTC
I rise to face the fanfare
forged from the instruments of those who watched conquest warfare and famine ride Dictating the rites of god flaunting the colors of their father’s land in scarlet night and burning white crushed in the talons of an eagle I from those who stood in the face of conquest for one moment the beauty of constellations and the strength of iron stood in unity
I stand apart the mountain of those who conceded in the presence of the silken pale rider and his entreating caress
My father watched as his own draped lifelessly suspended like a cruel marionette
I who stood at his feet as he was ushered into the fire home now he keeps a widow company within a ceramic cylinder
I listened intently to the failings of the present the fallen are dwarfed by the towers of man eyes of sullen milk yearning for the fire and brimstone of the yester year to course through cracked and long soured veins
I rise to face the fanfare
here I will stand unwavering in the midst of the roads lit aflame with the bodies of the crucified the persecuted the banished the punished the misfortunate the proud the many the weak the blind the meek the legends the infamous the ill-fated the youth the experiences the living and the undead
here in the palms of giants I will face the accuser as he gnashes upon the bodies of the traitorous there in the center of the unholy realm of ice and tundra he will demand of me to fall upon my knees
there I will resound:
No
Aug 13, 2011
Aug 13, 2011 at 2:34 AM UTC
Time use to only nip
At my slender ankles
But now it gnashes and
Forces me to flee
I am being pulled through time
So quickly I feel as if I
Am traveling through the
Day, each one shorter than
The day before
And before you know it
It will be September and
Senior year will be knocking on
The door I have tried to hard to
Barricade, adding locks and boards
Of weak wood
I am only a young child
But society soon deems me an adult
Capable of a job and work
And living on my own
But I do not want to be
On my own
I want to shrink down and be
Five again, because then
I didn't think like I do now
I didn't worry about the future
College and the mysteries life holds
The people surrounding me with their
Opinions and crude thoughts
And same-sex marriage wasn't a
Huge deal for me
But now it engulfs us
swallows us whole
And I am scared
I don't want to be scared anymore
Feb 6, 2014
Feb 6, 2014 at 3:22 PM UTC
My shadow is long.
It is measured by years
And drunk on my fears.
I raise trembling my hand
Watching my shadow stand
Stretching longer and longer,
Than my body.
(My shadow is stronger)
Than my body.
It severs from me
And gnashes its teeth.
My shadow's smile,
Stretches the mile,
On and on
Cause my shadow is long.
Apr 7, 2013
Apr 7, 2013 at 3:24 PM UTC
There is so much beauty hidden beneath a simple scar.
They hold the mystery or the adventure or the tragedies that make us individuals.
The jagged lines or the straight through cuts or the gnashes on our wrists make us survivors.
There is so much life hidden beneath the faults on our bodies and we hide them to make us feel like we never did the things we did... but why?
Sep 30, 2013
Sep 30, 2013 at 11:21 PM UTC
ive been to singles ville
arguing with myself
in the midst of emptiness
a dinghy in a storm
scattering me
while masquerading as stupid happy
i am a hurricane through a hollow
a penumbra of echoes
hot house of desire
needing a fast *** fix
all fools day
praying for the sin of skin
oh bilious cloud
solitudes toil
bodies dread winter
aching to be touched
maybe a cold slap against plush lips
where friends mean the world
and every slight
dries the heart brittle
gnashes teeth from a rattling jaw
on the verge of panic
a spire a desire
trawling ***** for loves balm
an empty horn
desolated
Apr 22, 2017
Apr 22, 2017 at 8:26 AM UTC
Crack!
Into the black, shimmering pan
Given life by gas
The father fries feverishly
The white cooks first
Pleasing, pure
From a distance
If only we could live so dangerously
The golden hue is what he seeks
The safety of the coveted yolk
The man waits and works
Anxiously, in the grease
His creation beaten, toughened
Chasing gold
Until the white is no more
The pan is encrusted, no longer shimmering
His work is done
He calls to his child,
"Look what I have created for you! Someday I will teach you!"
His son looks on disinterested
He's too young to understand
Yet, the boy is ravenous
He will one day learn this ritual
For now he engulfs his father's work
He gnashes, nearly choking
Eventually it trickles down
Around his throat, and soon around his son's
Where the yolk was always meant to be
...Crack
Oct 13, 2014
Oct 13, 2014 at 3:14 PM UTC
Earthquakes due to a dropped feather
cause angels to fly underground
and demons to flood the skies.
Blood drips upward from crying eyes
while deep gnashes pour tears into the
dampening air.
Twisted words are humble as pie
but nice words are salt to the earth as
the grass cuts my skin.
Arctic prisons melt the sun with
cooling hate while we toy with the
lives of millions.
We never existed.
Mushroom people sitting around
all day, but who would believe you
when you've had too much sugar.
Let your mother pray for your death
as father prepares the swords and
pushes hilt deep past existence.
Apocalypse seems so futile now
as we already planned our demise.
We breathe, we live, we go.
We never existed.
We hide past our views on other
and we make broad assumptions
that were are not perfect.
Say it once, say it twice for
the guardian of Styx takes
all with the toll of time.
Sadness be it a disease or
an undying feeling for all
to bear in every way possible.
We never existed.
Be it a means to a life of
darkness or a life of light
Everything comes with a price
upon its own record.
Brace the darkness and brace
life giving force that compels
and attracts souls to unison.
Give up now or bear with
the truth of all things while
we wait and cry the night.
We never existed through
our own eyes, therefore
why should we start now?
Because. We. Never. Existed.
© 2004
Feb 3, 2015
Feb 3, 2015 at 2:51 PM UTC
The beast is hungry
With an unrelenting appetite
Consuming without satisfaction
This glutenous swine gnashes and gnaws
Leaves no morsels
Only memories
Snatching the very youth from your face
And the minds from those who gave you yours
Extruding your very essence whilst you slumber
Feeds on good times
And takes exquisite pleasure
In dragging out moments of suffering
Yet this beast is desired by all
Pursued without hesitation
Those with wealth and power may never obtain
Those who need it never posses
Those who posses may not use
And in the end, leaves you, alone in a void
Nothing but a fleeting thought
In those who are still being devoured alive
-R
Sep 10, 2018
Sep 10, 2018 at 3:14 PM UTC
A tiny ember.
It nibbles at kindling.
It is now a marble.
It is fragile and weak,
and things appear bleak.
It bites at twigs.
It is now an egg.
Its glow radiates red.
The fire is not dead.
Smoke is revealed.
It gnashes at sticks.
It is now a head.
It twists and spins,
with a crack and a snap.
The twigs grow black.
The ash falls to soil.
It devours the logs.
It is now too much.
It slashes and weaves.
The world cracks and trembles.
The air quivers in fear,
and is dryer than bone.
Sirens wail in the air.
The ground is bare.
Helicopters arrive,
and water descends.
It roars in pain.
The fire has now been slain.
Everybody leaves,
sighing with relief.
In death, it tries.
It leaves something.
A gift.
A tiny ember.
May 10, 2025
May 10, 2025 at 3:37 PM UTC
He prowls,
loose and deadly,
fears,
light and hungry.
But they don't tell him,
NO,
they don't tell
if they're laughing
or crying.
(Aren't they moving their mouths?)
He pleads,
flailing,
wanting to fail,
but he warns them, still,
(Why aren't you afraid?)
they don't stop him.
He should run,
save them.
(Please listen!)
He can't,
and black shields him.
(Stop hurting me.)
Void and
blinding
and gone,
he stands,
towers.
(Don't look at me.)
There are strands
on his fingers,
pulling the bones,
digging,
gripping,
touching,
(Tasting?)
next to nothing
around him,
and black pierces,
picks him.
(Where did they go?)
He hears them part,
then gnashes them,
gnaws them,
his snarls beg from them,
(Where did you go?)
and it panics,
urges,
burrows
in skin
(Get out of my ears.)
They sicken his eyes,
cover them,
throw them,
(Get out of my ears.)
sense leaves him with nothing.
As nothing,
he stands,
(Move.)
he prowls,
(Move.)
loose,
(Move me.)
deadly,
(Make me.)
and fears,
(Warn me!)
light,
(Me.)
and hungry.
;Narcissist.
Dec 10, 2019
Dec 10, 2019 at 9:38 PM UTC
Intentions lay shattered and scattered about
Now remnants of what could not be
The veil rent asunder, revealing all doubt
And the face we tried hard not to see
The beautiful thistle amidst scores of thorns
Still ****** us, and begs us to bleed
Just as the dreams that we still so adore
Sometimes sprout from the darkest of seeds
When even hope falters, and faith seems a lie
When demons rejoice, and angels doth cry
And every step draws the conclusion much further away
Every tear that resides behind eyes
Far too weary to open upon their demise
Will still succumb to the fall despite their dismay
The death of mortality’s endless charade
Lingers on as the lifeless continue to fade
Far beneath the parading of ghosts who continue to try
The cries of the broken a sweet serenade
Such an effortless potion that swiftly invades
The hearts of those who still refuse to die
The phantom progression of wanting the need
Still continues to tear at the soul
Ignoring the loss and the pain as it feeds
Upon every ounce of control
As the broken rise up from the fathomless ashes
Still screaming, and daring to dream
Holding to hope as it wails and it gnashes
Knowing nothing is all that it seems
While our time slips away with each grain through the glass
Our tears come and go, as the dew on the grass
And the frost of our frozen emotions still flees with the sun
We fall, and we rise, sprouting forth from the seeds
Of our failures and losses, and sweetly we bleed
Our journey through dark disenchantment now scarcely begun
Our every dream has been nearer than far
But none of us know just how close that we are
Until we dare to take just one step more
This thicket of briers now slowing us down
But protects the great beauty of what may be found
To be the very thing worth dying for
Feb 20, 2014
Feb 20, 2014 at 1:51 PM UTC