"gorey" poems
I don't mind Sir. Fascist Police, when he's knocking on my door.
As long as he's not mean to me, I'll blow him, for sure.
I know he thumps the other kids, on their maroon-bruised heads,
but police man, he brings treats to me, so I'm not gonna tell.
Mama, mama, mama, mama, he poked me!
Mama, mama, mama, mama, he poked me!
Mama, mama, mama, mama, he poked me!
Mama, why's he so mean?
My best friend, she's such a ***** she calls me slutty names.
I tell her I don't like it much, but she just feels no shame.
Late last night we went out, true to our glossy, lipglossed glory,
and as the eve proceeds, plot thickens, **** gets gorey.
She gets and I get drunk and we both weep,
boyish-looking monsters try to **** with me.
And as he bends me over in the parking lot,
Annie smirks at me, smokes another joint.
I don't mind my apathy, at least it keeps me calm.
I'm content with this lifestyle, my death rate is at a crawl.
And sure I'll get some panics when life don't work out the way that I want.
But the I'll pop some Prozacs, guess I'm happy after all.
This changes nothing, so don't thank me.
We'll wake in the morning, with thoughts in our heads.
Revalue our lives for five or six minutes and then forget.
May 17, 2013
May 17, 2013 at 9:49 AM UTC
Giles Corey
What is there, really,
Left to say
When you cannot trust
The honest pay?
Do you, really
Hear the sounds,
Of the clocktowers
coming down?
I do not, really,
Know the time.
We're just acquainted..
No friend of mine.
No friends at all
Are mine, per say.
Just folks to call,
From day to day.
From day to day,
And dusk to dusk.
There's nothing left
But empty husks.
I'd gouge my eyes
With forks and knives,
If that would bring me
To Saint Ives.
Gouge my eyes
At sight of her
Hopes I despise:
empty aquifer.
That saturate the souls
Of bedazzled bums
And homeless ******
Sent to pick the crumbs.
Great fallen father
Oh, dying mother
What way is water?
Who hid the shelter?
Your sons and daughters
Are frightened now.
They cannot win
They don't know how.
We all have fears
Of how we'll fare
When you say,
"We need more engineers.
To build the cities
And the gutters
And the gluttons
And the guillotines
And the gilded glaves that gorey Giles brings.
To pile the stones
On our frail young frames
As we're forced to cry
To **** our names,
"More weight."
Nov 8, 2011
Nov 8, 2011 at 6:48 PM UTC
Tell yourself it will just be a few drops
Now you don't have the strength to reach for the mop
When will it or I be enough
Quickly, with your hands, make a cuff
Please reach your fingers inside
Keep pushing until with my bone it collides
Whisper your fears into the blood, I promse you can confide
Gnash your teeth on the veins to see what else the body hides
Whatever you find, either love or cast it out
Already know your choice, due to myself being a lout
No anger nor despair
Like the wind, this too will blow through my hair
The same current that carries you to a new story
Will oxidize my scene that was once gorey
Jan 2, 2014
Jan 2, 2014 at 12:48 AM UTC
There was this kid once, who went on an adventure-
to Coborns...
(Let's get this straight, right now, this kid wasn't me,)
Following the gray cement pathway she walked,
But the kid had this thing about bugs...
She never did like them much, but she liked them
Even less squished on the sidewalk with guts-
Spewing all over.
So this odd little kid walked purposefully,
But stared at the ground, so as not to trample one
Of those nasty bugs with her relatively clean shoes.
Well, the one time she glanced at the glistening waters
With birds swimming atop, she heard the noise,
Felt the crunch, of a massive cricket.
She didn't have to see it to know what it was,
Every detail of the pancaked thing was etched
Into the bottom of her gorey tennis-shoed foot.
The rest of the way to Coborns, she felt the cricket's body.
It wasn't stuck to her shoe, she was quiet certain,
But the after-image in her mind wouldn't let
The feeling of the cricket out of her thoughts.
On the return trip home, this girl,
(who, just to re-iterate, isn't me), made sure
To stop looking down when she neared the place of
The squashing. And to this day, she still wont
Look down when walking to Coborns.
May 27, 2014
May 27, 2014 at 10:50 PM UTC
My face is ******
Because I've been picking at it
don't worry I've felt worse pain
and if I had to I'd pick it off again it'd be no big deal
I'm sure it soon will heal
While I'm sitting in this room
And wearing this silly costume
I smear my blood all over the tile floors and on the door
Miss Monah
Took me from
My insanity safe House
So I make a mess
And tear up this dress to make her feel a little more stressed
I told the woman Monah with one eye that I didn't need a babysitter
I asked her to reconsider
Maybe we can just play
But she is stuck not in control
She said it's nothing personal
That some man with toys has sent her
She told me he wants a playdate
So to put me out of my misery she's going to have to **** me
"Toyman knows where girlys go"
She said with a crooked smile all while holding that axe
Her ****** mouth curved up a little more and she screamed
"You didn't check on the child!" right before the blow found it's target a man opened the door could it be
Is that the toyman I see
Will he stop miss Monah from killing me
Aug 20, 2016
Aug 20, 2016 at 2:12 AM UTC
you think blood is cool, do you?
you glorify people killing themselves as if it's neat
you talk about illnesses because it has no connection to you
when someone's shot you laugh about the murderer
(even when it's babies that didn't have a chance at life yet)
because it's all a story to you
it's nothing that will really happen, will it?
it's not real, it's just a story
from the pages of our history textbook
or the coffee stained newspaper from this morning
because it's not real. It's not real.
do you tell yourself that?
as innocent people died, from our town
a young family, gone
and you laughed and said it was funny to you
how can I get it into your head
that's it's real and painful for some people
but not for you.
and then you turn around, and ignore me when I show
you the sci-fi I love so much,
you never think about anyone else
maybe your gorey jokes bother us too
just consider that we have feelings too
and fears, and tears, and hearts
just as much as you
Feb 3, 2014
Feb 3, 2014 at 9:24 PM UTC
I want to know you so much better than I do. I want to see you wipe sleep from your eyes and I want to see exactly how much sugar you add to your coffee so I can make it for you at 3 AM when we haven't slept in days. I want to know how you got the snake-like scar on your neck and I want to know why you don't talk to your dad anymore, or what your mom always made for dinner on your birthdays. I have to learn where your favorite diner is and the gorey details of your worst nightmare. I want to know what visuals your mind creates when you're on acid and why your brother got kicked out of your house when you were 14 and he was 16. I wish you could let me tear open the stitches holding your heart together so I could crawl in and make myself a nest and truly understand who put them there and why.
Mar 9, 2015
Mar 9, 2015 at 12:41 AM UTC
be aware of the sludge pouring from every hole grab the stone that stands alone becoming all the mud tickles the throat no mood since it's matterless plays to love prays wide crawling downstairs the lard breaks slips on itself ******* non existence of all of them ***** fragile vulnerable almost make us count them up the racks the slacks figmented meaty mind-snacks
i wish i could hate them all to be so idiotically radical to explode in infinite gorey fragments of love and lust and sweat
the most potent toxin the one that causes vivid ******* rather than ****** death pity and awkwardness...alas
dear we know so little about love as little as its re-existence outside all poeticality and now we try to convince us in others that we do that we are
your mind one of the best kind make every happily inside the eyes
receive your aethereal caress
Dec 12, 2016
Dec 12, 2016 at 4:49 PM UTC
A is for Arne whose throat was impaled
B is for Barnaby, killed with a spell
C is for Caroline who was stuck in a mine
D is for Daffy, sliced into lines
E is for Enid who was locked in an armoire
F is for Flynn, eaten by a gargantuar
G is for Gallus who was thrown in the winter
H is for Hilde, died of an infected splinter
I is for Ingrid who ate a sack of bearings
J is for Jona whose attitude was daring
K is for Kleinn who stepped on a shard
L is for Lars whose intestines were barred
M is for Max who flew alone to the moon
N is for Nelkir whose execution was coming soon
O is for Oliver whose body was twisted to death
P is for Plinny, burned by a fire breath
Q is for Qiara who died of a nightmare
R is for Ralph, committed suicide in despair
S is for Stefan who was lost in a maze
T is for Torlief whose blood was traced
U is for Ulfric who was burned at the stake
V is for Vera, swallowed by a snake
W is for Walter who ate himself
X is for Xenya, cursed by an elf
Y is for Ysagmor who was buried alive
Z is for Zach who failed to survive
Jan 5, 2018
Jan 5, 2018 at 1:28 PM UTC
to consume is to live
the simple rule of nature
you must **** to survive
whether it be plant or animal
the intricacies of such
matter not
for it boils down
to eat or be eaten
and such the humans reign
in their self-glorified manger
of sparkling cities
and flashing lights
but carnage appears
creates gorey rumors
and speculations
tend to run amok
ambitious chunks of flesh
torn from fragile bodies
the teeth of a human
but the spirit of a monster
death rattles through the streets
on the bones of the fallen
self-preservation
tugs its followers behind
putrid stench
rotting antlers
skin and bones
and blood
the wendigo has arrived.
Dec 11, 2018
Dec 11, 2018 at 3:14 AM UTC