"godawful" poems
“‘i really can’t explain water,’”
she told me gently,
“‘i can only say it’s hard to breathe,
but god is it worth the smell.’”
by the time her drunken voice went out,
i realized we weren’t talking about the rain anymore,
she once fell for me
and i once fell for her.
never again,
i vowed,
the day she made these godawful tears pour,
but here she is,
and i’m hoping i won’t want more.
we were a match made in the middle of a school,
i never thought i’d be thinking how could she be this cruel...
things change and feelings do too,
“but baby one more thing,”
she said half asleep,
“never forget that i love you.”
Feb 26, 2018
Feb 26, 2018 at 2:05 PM UTC
I must
run,
escape from all this.
I need an oasis
to get me away from this desert,
this cruel, godawful desert.
I can't survive,
always living in a daze,
just breathing in and out.
Why can't my oasis appear?
my mind is a gnarled, jumbled mess,
of unfinished thoughts, evaporating sentences.
Why can't it end?
the pain, the suffering, the state of perpetual fear,
the sleepless nights, the hazy days.
My oasis,
is self inflicted, like my pain,
so why am I gone before ever seeing it?
Nov 20, 2013
Nov 20, 2013 at 9:36 PM UTC
If God don't like ugly
God don't like me.
Which is why
I'm so unlucky.
It's like my money
telling jokes in my pocket
because it knows it's funny.
I live in Texas but
My days are never sunny.
They are much rather gloomy
and the darkness consumes me
until I get a bit wreck less.
Faded
till I'm speechless.
Smoking
till I'm breathless.
Til my mind isn't restless.
Sippin the devils elixir
made me far from quicker
but I feel deathless
because I'm high
off of **** and antidepressants.
God don't like ugly
and the people
walk about corruptly
in this world of vanity.
That grips the sanity
til it produces
a lack of empathy
for its fellow man.
This world of vanity
has me trapped
In my own reality
because I'm not
appealing to the eye
and my words
not appealing to the soul.
Still dress to impress
to catch a lost ******* soul
lackin control
to ride this ****
like a slippery slope.
God don't like ugly.
If God don't like ugly
God don't like me.
Like a ******** child
that's he's forgot about.
Made in his image
but far more warped.
Who realized his potential
and leaped from the porch.
Into a sea of fakes
trying to achieve an image
sharp as a sword.
Just as mighty as the lord
but they always come up short
because they are mortals
between the portals
of heaven and hell.
So the paranormals ******
the brains of the godawful children.
Until everything is up for sale
including their soul.
To feel a feeling that will never bail.
This life has been hell.
Yet, we bask in the heat
of the moment.
When temptation rains upon us
we always lose focus.
How can we resist it
when him and his enemy
sent it.
If God don't like ugly
God don't like me.
-Klash
Oct 23, 2015
Oct 23, 2015 at 1:10 PM UTC
My fingers roll around the handle
Holding tight, I twist
Slowly, I make my way around the can
All of the sudden
Her hands
Cover mine
Stroking, squeezing
Not guiding
No
Not guiding
But
Her, warming up
Me, cooling down
Yes, freezing me
With the knowledge of what is
To come
With her other hand
She makes a fist
And punches straight through my sternum
Blood sprays and
Shattered fragments of my ribs
Litter the floor
Reaching in
Her poisoned fingers
****** my heart
Leaving behind
Black prints
Red streaks
Evidence
But only I can see it
Within seconds
My spine is tingling
Every muscle in my body
On edge
This gaping hole
These fingers
Draped around,
Constricting the one thing
I thought she couldn't touch
Yes,
It's too much
I am ice cold
I am about to close my eyes
Forever
But before I can succumb
The air in punctuated by a palpable
Pop!
I lift the lid of the can
Set it off to the side
And pour the thick liquid into the ***
The stench is overpowering
It crawls it's way all over the room
Cramming into the very crevices of the wall
Behind me
Above me
Beneath me
I can not escape this smell
I am smothered in a blanket of this decaying odor
I am boiling up
Hot and steamy
With every inhale
My nose is filled with the tendrils of this pungent aroma
Soon I can feel it
Gnawing through my flesh with no set course
I can do
Nothing
I am at the mercy of this smell
It will do with me
Whatever it desires
Please, finish!
Her voice breaks through the fog
Scratchy and distant
But there
You need to finish!
Again, it comes
This horrendous voice
But I don't want to
I know what will happen when
I finish
I know
And I don't want that
I will never want that
I am sick to my stomach
Really, I am
You make me sick
You and that godawful smell
I can't even pick up my spoon
All I can think is
Tomato soup is served
Way too often here
May 9, 2014
May 9, 2014 at 12:55 PM UTC
Arcane rumblings bellow out from the infrastructure.
The secrets swell out from the wealthy infidels. Their water has broken.
The top-hat henchmen gather their whiskers.
Stuttering shock and leaking their whispers,
vulcan-loud.
The wise old casualties know all of what’s to come,
so they pack their sacks with their old guns
to fortify their army of one.
The news skips the billions of ignorant families
condemning daughters and sons to an army of none.
The first bullets abandon their barrels,
the kick-off to pain, from poise.
Eager to byte flesh, fur, faith,
eager to make some godawful noise.
The following blasts are a metallic symphony
Quickly looming, swooning,
booming into cacophony
in shrill-major.
Blood spatters pavement, under marching feet,
is dragged, looped about the streets in a homicide calligraphy,
paralyzing the squinting mercenaries.
Out come the canons,
dancing on their wheels,
silencing the gunfire,
spinning on their heels,
dissenting the sonata with rifle-explosion accompaniment.
Warrior sighs greet the late auxiliary:
armadas sing in baritone
while civilians scream soprano.
Children cry in alto.
Blood flows in legato.
Today some of us will die
so that the rest will open their eyes
to an oversky, cloud-bloated with lies.
While down below we blaze away our requiem.
And by the hand of this same melody we die.
Here lies humanity,
fashioning,
always,
a bellicose smile.
Sep 19, 2012
Sep 19, 2012 at 10:55 AM UTC
i remember again why i hate the summer as the jeep jostles on the bumpy dirt road to the river
my shorts ride up over my knees and i have to keep my hands splayed over my thighs so you won't see the godawful things i carved into them years ago
the music blares and skips like my heartbeat does when we hit a pothole and you go flying into me
you laugh, leaning against my shoulder like it's nothing to you
i laugh, the heat of the day creeping into my face because you're everything to me
i stammer out something dry and everyone laughs
you look at me, the glitter of the sun against the river quite clear in your eyes and in your smile
you tell me you smile with your eyes and i believe you
i adjust my sunglasses for the third time but by the time we arrive in a cloud of dust and laughter the sun is already behind the tree lined mountains
May 10, 2015
May 10, 2015 at 11:05 PM UTC
as a whole I have
{been listening to your godawful racket}
ruminated
for an entire rehearsal number
{though it felt like six}
and have a few things I would like to address
as a
{brutal bandslaughter}
kindly input
for your improvement
flutes
{come on now,
have we ever heard of a tuner}
great job, watch your pitch on the A, though
again
{scratch that, where's the shotgun}
...right.
clarinets
first parts play
{no, stupid, you are SECOND part
you got demoted last week
when you couldn't play the riff in
measure nine}
wonderful, now could we take it from letter B
just first clarinets, okay
{FIRST clarinets
FIRST FIRST FIRST
god where's my coffee}
right. let's just move right along, shall we
oboes
oboes, I--
right.
let's have that F again
{you're flat you're sharp and
both of you
just plain ****
okay, one at a time
{oh my LORD my ears are bleeding
who the hell invented this thing}
you're a little sharp
can you fix that
...your reed is old
{you bought it last week}
...you've got spit in it
{you just took an entire twenty measures
of the last movement to
pull out your swab}
...someone broke your horn.
right.
okay French horns
let's hear the G
Apr 27, 2010
Apr 27, 2010 at 1:44 PM UTC
You tell me one thing one day
and another thing the next.
What takes the cake is
you turn around and wonder
why is it that I'm perplexed.
Even the ugly has its place,
what is ugly to one
is beautiful to another,
that is , once you get past the face.
A silent psalm does surround
a starry angles glow,
wiping the tears of fears. Stand tall when you can.
And see that it is you that has you bound.
While here, in the mechanics of the mind,
as it matters. Some of us just aren't
mechanically inclined.
So while many move forward, hordes are left behind.
A Book talks about this big war of Spirit,
and its stress is that it is no game.
No politics physical or not can steer it,
there will be no passing the buck, no pointing the finger in blame.
No longer am I walking with my head in the stars,
my feet are flat, right on the ground.
I put my ear to the track and hear
that heavy chunk of metal, with its painful mournful sound.
I can say that there are other planes,
yes, I can think that if I please,
though every breath that I breathe,
I'd rather announce to my world that I'm just not out to feed.
Like it has a pain or purpose that arose out of some need
of something that just had to be said.
That sleeping dog that you kicked only had a snack of grass
before he laid down to take his bed.
You had been nudging him with your boot and now
he is awake and he yelps and then vomits on your shoes
before he commences to growl.. and that godawful Hell will be back,
and it's going to extract One Blood Curdling Howl!
The Universe is saying in no so uncertain terms
That I had better hold back, that I had better take heed.
It isn't just me that gets cut,
no it isn't, no, all others bleed.
All those ****** good loving deeds
that hath spawned better life that I don't know about.
On the other shoe, all those hurtful, hostile things,
those things that gave Hell for many to carry... hell for many to tell.
Never is it one cause, one reaction,
and oh, my thoughts and actions,
and the shame that comes,
coming in fractions of degrees.
Then, a breeze broke the solid heat
and quelled the sweat and quenched the thirst.
You can toast the twisted souls
or you can have them cursed.
Oct 31, 2014
Oct 31, 2014 at 9:23 AM UTC
*Las Vegas is *****
Las Vegas is mean
Don't swim in Lake Mead,
Your skin will turn green.
Be careful on the Strip
The tourists are brutal
You can't avoid traffic
All efforts are futile.
Las Vegas is *****
But the suburbs are clean
Yet no one can drive
Their expensive machine.
I hate Las Vegas
This town is a drag
It's hot beyond reason...*
I was going to continue this poem in verse
But hatred doesn't stick to measure
Hatred cannot be contained
And hatred is penetrating
And hatred lives in me.
When I see the signs of this godawful town
And I want to slink out of my skin
And bleed out on the tarmac.
Jul 4, 2013
Jul 4, 2013 at 4:26 AM UTC
She stares past as her life flies by,
some memories sweet
while others dissatisfy.
She remembers she was 8
and her dad pushing the swing
with muscular ease
as her hair swayed
with the honey-suckle breeze.
She remembers her 15th summer
racing on through
bringing with it raging hormones
and ***** boys.
She remembers bitter tears
shed on mother's caring shoulder
when Robert said that they were over.
She remembers prom and
mistakes she made
and the boy who never again
glanced her way.
She remembers the agony
9 terrible months later brought
for a tiny, screaming baby
and she remembers the love that grew
in spite of the pain.
She sits on that bench and
quietly remembers her child’s firsts:
teeth, words, steps that grew into strides.
and her only regret: only the man
with his godawful pride.
She climbs on the bus
gently grasping the hand
of her bright eyed
and well-loved child.
And this child,
this child,
who is wealthier than most
for the child knows only of
love.
Mar 29, 2013
Mar 29, 2013 at 11:42 PM UTC
The leaves were just at the very peak of their color
and the air was full of change
Seasons have come and gone
and still I cannot forget his name
Sometimes we have to let go
of those godawful memories
In order for our heart
to forget the pain
Darkness will try to ride up on
its darkened horse from behind
Some days I just ride it out
Other days I beat it back down
All that animosity makes us go blind
I have to remind myself that I am not back there
I have to remind myself to just breathe
Nov 2, 2016
Nov 2, 2016 at 3:02 PM UTC
Small HP playground,
So many Godawful writers,
. . . Recess is over.
Oct 21, 2014
Oct 21, 2014 at 9:49 PM UTC
this noisy head i live in
it just never quiets down
theres some motherf#@ker screaming at two am
about some unpaid bills or parking tickets
and some other idiot going on and on about some girl that left
somebody is always throwing trash out in the common area
little bits of some ancient relationship
small parts of some old mystery
just want to tell em all ''will you all please shut up"
stop that godawful freakin racket
some fool on the roof shouting poetry just when your drifting off to sleep
another idiot in the basement throwing monkey wrenches in the works
always somebody causing some kind of ruckus
just want to scream
"can we PLEASE get some peace and quiet for five minuets"
this crazy head i live in
i want to move
to some nice quiet country house
where you never hear a sound
peaceful with birds chirping
where i can get some rest
not this confounded noisy head i live in
not this apartment building of lunatics i call a mind
Oct 7, 2014
Oct 7, 2014 at 6:40 AM UTC
I’ve been thinking
And I don’t know.
I’ve been thinking,
And I just don’t know.
There’s no point in pretending things will change.
I think things might change,
But we won’t.
None of us will ever change.
I won’t, she won’t, you won’t.
We won’t. We are all awful.
Me, her, you.
We are selfish, hopeless, and clueless,
Respectively.
And we are all stubborn.
And human.
We wear that as our alibi
But anyone would tell us that we are guilty.
Life doesn’t fix itself.
It doesn’t break itself either.
People do that.
I was tired.
Emotional baggage
Weighs more than you’d think.
Heavy hearts aren’t fun to drag around,
Especially when you know that other people are so
Free
And have room.
I am sorry that I burdened you with my words.
That is all I will apologize for.
I’m sorry I brought it up
And I’m sorry I let my fingers fly
And make words and phrases
That conjured up
Emotions
and thoughts.
I am not truly sorry though.
If I could go back, I would do it the same.
Because I am selfish. That shouldn’t surprise you.
I cannot deny that speaking now was better
Than forever holding my peace.
And now you are a bit less clueless.
Win-win?
I think so.
You probably don’t.
Not understanding
Is no longer an option.
You will think it is stupid
And juvenile
And that is okay.
I am stupid
And juvenile.
And I think that is okay.
I am telling you now in plain English what I want you so badly to understand:
You and I are fundamentally different.
It’s as simple and complicated as that.
This is me. I obsess.
I put everything I have
Into everything that I do.
I clamp onto things hard
And I do not let go
Until my fingers go numb
And holding on
Becomes a hazard to my sanity.
And even then,
Sometimes,
I keep holding on.
I am emotional.
So emotional, almost to a fault.
Actually, to a fault.
My rationality and emotionality
Are constantly
Fighting
For power
Over my personality.
You know that.
I am a storm.
A godawful storm.
But I’m done apologizing for that.
Because I like what I am better than what you are.
Nov 27, 2011
Nov 27, 2011 at 1:50 AM UTC
Standing there,
on the cold, damp sand
in the open air.
Hearing the gush of the waves
Crash against the rocks
and roll onto the shore
-Gently kissing your feet.
The Coldness is overpowered
by the emotions and relief within.
The light finally begins to rise,
The skies grow a blissful blue-
in contrast to the regular, deeply darkened grey;
mirroring the colour within your mind.
Feeling your hair ****** forward
along with the black crow-
The long residing and awaiting crow.
The final release,
Resulting in the return of
light, tranquility, and peace.
The final release
of this Dead Weight
-constantly on your shoulder,
Weighing down on your chest,
and fluttering throughout your mind.
---
The final release
freeing you from this
Godawful, hell of a disease.
Mar 29, 2019
Mar 29, 2019 at 6:07 PM UTC
Such an easy feat it must be, no?
I'm talking about my little brother's show.
More or less, he keeps bragging.
Take it or leave it, won't stop nagging.
But I ain't got nobody next to my seed
That's going to be leeching on me in greed
There still feels like a brother's near
And if it weren't for him, I wouldn't have fear
It's a godawful show, too
Props made from parts of the loo
Actors made of cardboard
Falling onto the hardwood
The denouement was a bore
The ****** made me snore
But I had to give him credit
At least it wasn't his script, he read it
As I sat in an uncomfy chair
Watching him talk about current affairs
I got called up by myself to dinner
And declared myself a winner
I got no siblings, I got no brother
I got no father and I got no mother
I got no grandma and pops
'Cause that's where my tree stops
The show goes on, I stay on stage
Make a few jokes about minimum wage
I sit in a chair in the audience, too
Watching cardboard actors and parts from the loo.
Sep 14, 2014
Sep 14, 2014 at 2:48 AM UTC
My brand new life and social game
forfeited in godawful shame
forgotten by default foreshadowed and defeated.
arise again.
Move mountains,
Move seas,
Spread peace,
Remain a friend.
Risen again i will fall
I will never stand tall
But i can rise up again.
Jun 7, 2019
Jun 7, 2019 at 5:55 PM UTC
I wrote poetry tonight of sunsets and ponds,
worthless topics in light of the state of the world.
Just ended a hospital stay...needed to be mellow.
But this godawful earth gives me the heebie jeebies.
Forced confinement that came with cable t.v.
I wallowed in insanity and stupidity that seemed
to have no freakin end
We are teetering on so many brinks, but what was on?
A series about a guy makes a chain of hamburgers
on the family name...
Watched them play on a lawn big enough to choke a goat,
swim in their waterfall pool and frolic in designer clothes.
A series about mansions that cost millions of dollars
and could each house the homeless population of this town.
Freaking carbon combat boot prints.
Worked all my life.
Me and my three cats struggle - disability does not
buy mansions!
The world in on a precipice so **** scary
God himself can’t tip it back.
Korea, Iran and all those Isis ******** that put
bullets in the heads of six year-old boys.
And they show wanton consumption - reckless regard
for the land - don’t tell me they earned their money
and deserve to have obscene disregard for others.
When the rich have to pay their fair share...
when life is equitable and no one goes hungry
or sick
or without education...
Then maybe it won’t be so sickening.
Jul 28, 2015
Jul 28, 2015 at 9:05 PM UTC
From the time the boy could stand
his Dad had brought him on the Seven.
To see the Mets they both would go,
before he'd even learned to throw.
All through his childhood and past his teens.
They'd entrain to their field of dreams.
Their Mets found many ways to lose-
most years they had godawful teams.
So soon it was his time to go.
Children grow and Time flies they say-
His son now has his place downtown
A few short miles and a world away.
Opening day is a magical land
That once more found them in the stands
Cheering loud, their voices hoarse,
as their team booked yet another loss.
After the excitement of the game
waiting on the platform for their trains
The two men hugged with obvious affection,
then entrained in opposite directions.
Jul 6, 2012
Jul 6, 2012 at 5:38 PM UTC
Only an angel can know there's love to find behind closed doors
In time you'll know when you're ready for more
Though you have not a lot to say, let me roll the
stone away
Through you I am saved...
Thank the good Lord
For those godawful things
That brought you to me
Feb 25, 2016
Feb 25, 2016 at 10:40 AM UTC
You are like the sun.
Sometimes spots and rays I get glimpses of under the shade of trees; calming.
You always held my hand. Sleeping, walking, do or die situations. No matter what, when and where, the spaces between mine were always filled with your fingers. You always gave it a little squeeze, an assurance that you would always be there.
Sometimes warming heat against my skin; weirdly pleasing.
You always made those extremely goofy faces and told those godawful jokes. Anything and everything just to make me laugh. You always put my happiness above your own.
Sometimes full on heat burning me at every touch; afflictive.
Like every other couple, we had our bad days. You were always painfully honest, could never tell a lie. You couldn't help being mean but I knew you were telling the truth. You always did.
But days don't last forever on Earth and stars have long yet inevitably doomed lives in the universe.
You loved me deeply. You loved me so much, too much and that was exactly the problem. You loved me so much, your love was an outcry, outflow, an explosion of affection. You loved me so much that one day you just stopped. Neither you nor I knew the reason. Was there even one?
The sun will set and die, gone temporarily and forever.
I never thought we would come to an end but no one ever sees something like this coming. No one is ever prepared for heartbreak, loss, grief. No one is ever prepared to say goodbye but you deserve one. Goodbye, my love. Today, tomorrow and beyond.
Oct 8, 2016
Oct 8, 2016 at 3:22 AM UTC