"grimaced" poems
I saw you one day and never thought a thing
As we grew 3 years, I noticed
My heart decided to thump faster
I smiled shyly at you and you smiled back
So I asked you a question, over a note
You broke my heart...You won't ever know
I cried when you left, clutching your answer in my arms
Sobbing for days, broken inside
Last day of school, you gave me a hug
High school began and I saw you again
My heart betrayed me, no matter how much I trained it not to
You smiled at me, and I grimaced back
I wanted to hate you, and I let you know
You talked to me, asking why?
I can't tell you, I might cry
I keep a straight face, a bravado to cover my feelings
Yet somehow, I wish you could see a ***** through my armor
I have a class with you
I stare at you, hoping you stare back
When you do, I sneer at you and glare
I confuse myself
I have feelings
Dec 9, 2014
Dec 9, 2014 at 2:41 PM UTC
Cold is the heart,
of the king of the sea,
and none as cold as he.
even when,
Cold is the heart,
that bleeds ice cold water,
Cold is the heart,
that will not see his daughter.
Cold is the heart,
that still can beat,
when all that’s left,
is grimaced meat.
Cold is the heart,
that chills another,
leaving sorrow in it’s wake,
like foam from the rudder.
Cold is the heart,
that see’s no light,
Cold is the heart,
that ebs in the night,
Cold is the heart,
that seeks to claim me,
Cold is the heart,
of the king of the sea.
Feb 21, 2013
Feb 21, 2013 at 12:15 PM UTC
when i told my friend that my new boyfriend loved sports and going out; partying, being loud and obnoxious, she grimaced and said she didn't know why i even liked him. i got angry with her - why did she not trust my gut?
i once told her that opposites attract, so we should be fine. we should have been.
but then came the fighting over little things, then came the mutual devaluation of each other's interests, then came the nights spent on the couch instead of in bed, his drinking. he would always take the books from my hands and throw them across the wall - ******** he called them. he'd always say i lived in my head, that i never gave him the attention he deserved, that he would take a ********** instead of me any time. and at some point, he had me loathing him more than i did myself.
yet, at the same time, i still loved him. it was like an addiction - i knew he was bad for me, but i clung onto him like he was air and i couldn't breathe. there were nights when i really couldn't.
sometimes it felt like he still loved me, too. when he came to the locked bathroom door and cried with me; apologizing over and over again. at those moments my love for him would crawl out of its cave - my heart - covered in blood, battered, bruised, but still standing. and it would hold him, whispering false truths in his ear. i would always forgive him, because opposites attract. it was just the way he was, he couldn't do anything about it.
even if he could, i frequently thought i didn't want him to. not because i was content with his violent outbrusts and alcoholism, or what he put me through on a daily basis - no. because i loved him, regardless of all the pain he caused me. and love means to accept someone for who they are.
but i came to realize that love is quite finite when all negative things seem infinite.
i hated the way we were so different. where i would sit in one place for hours on end, he'd walk around clumsily, breaking things, screaming, slamming doors.
he drove me mad. and, don't get me wrong, i am not a saint. i'm sure i did the same to him. maybe it's my fault that he turned out the way he did - perhaps if he had chosen to live with someone else, his smiles would still be kind rather than cruel. perhaps if i had changed for him - if i was more like him, we would have been okay. but my silence was deafening. i was convinced he didn't deserve to hear my voice. and he didn't, for days. sometimes he asked if i was pretending to be a ghost of what we used to be. i started questioning my previous way of thinking. do opposites really attract?
and i came to a conclusion. they really do. opposites attract, but they are not always good for each other. i had to learn that the hard way.
and just like a ghost, i faded. i left.
Apr 8, 2015
Apr 8, 2015 at 6:23 AM UTC
I never could quite imagine the day
When a creature quite as wry and presumptuous
Would break so serendipitously.
She lay ruptured in the desultory plantation
The Stygian colour of her fur rebelled against the sage of the contiguous earth
And her eyes mimicked nothing but the pain that consumed her current thoughts.
Her body was transfixed in an inert trance
The fur on her hunched spine quavered in a subdued zephyr
Quiet insecurities were hid well in her tranquil pained state.
The moon intently watched me
Waiting for me to alleviate the agonized entity
But solicitousness was blank in my frozen psyche.
The moonlight pierced the fox with intimacy
I grimaced in the realization I had failed the universe
With my perennial void mind broken in vain.
The fox gathered some stoicism
The blessing of the moon granted requital
As the fox proceeded to maul my perception.
I accepted my retribution with ratification
As I was the soul who violated the creature
A skirmish that clung to grandeur.
Apr 25, 2015
Apr 25, 2015 at 4:47 AM UTC
I pledge allegiance
to all the stones in the road
that have given me succor,
to every poet-of-anywhere
who greets me
with wetted, parted lips and open heart,
who greets the sun-rays shared, inching,
opening o'er my yet living,
praying body, reminding me
that I am alive,
that I am warm
that I feel poetry in, on,
cells, all over, deep in my extremities
Most importantly, in my busted heart,
where warmth is stored in a soul restored,
and Life affirmed,
For who knows how
many more times
I will know this,
How many more times
I will able compose this,
Play "measure the future''
in seconds or years and
grimaced smiles over tears,
or just one or the other,
that be willed to supersede;
Will keep you posted
in every realized and many some stillborn poem,
rising with the grand entrance of morn skies,
or perhaps, lies buried neath in each horizon's cemetarial,
and
even those,
that straddle a confusing and confused moon,
of a twenty fours hours existence,
be shoulder-borne,
bathed in
combinatorial equatorial
moon & sun light,
so we can bathe, like Bathsheba (1)
by both,
and delight
at the exact same moment's portent,
no matter,
the disregarded, discarded,
why
we are
who we are
when pledge and plead
allegiance to those eyes that read our scrivenings
nml
Aug 27, 2025
Aug 27, 2025 at 11:57 AM UTC
I spent Thanksgiving
this year
not in the blue-collar comfort
of my aunt’s house,
nestled somewhere
within a well-buried suburb
of a quaint, but un-noteworthy neighborhood
with walls decorated with Budweiser signs
juxtaposed against portraits of the ****** Mary,
where a football announcer’s voice plays like
conservative talk radio
in the background.
Instead, to save the labor
of my weary immigrant grandmother,
we dressed in Sunday best
and drove ourselves in
three well-packed mini vans
to some elegant hotel restaurant,
ideal for people-watching
from the gaudy, art-deco staircase
while pretending to be in the Great Gatsby.
It didn’t feel natural, though,
that beside a modest turkey breast
with cranberry dressing, sat a beautiful
cut of prime rib, carefully ladled
with truffle au juis–
nor beside a humble dollop
of mashed potatoes and gravy,
should there be salmon to die for,
and berries slathered with brie.
The food I nibbled
with bites of nervous guilt,
as the impeccably dressed waiter
exhaustedly refilled our water glasses,
nodding his head reflexively
to my mouse squeaks of “thank you’s”
What monsters are we,
letting these people work on Thanksgiving Day?
Grandma said, calmly, that some people
are just happy to be paid,
recounting
her impoverished childhood
in war-torn Germany—
that to simply muffle
the aggressive rumbling
of a days-empty stomach,
she and her brother
would ****** a handful of
potatoes from a government farm,
not many, but just enough
as she grimaced
at the ever-so-slight mealiness
of her rosemary-infused pork chop—
the woman who couldn’t afford ham
until she became a citizen.
We nodded quietly and
swallowed our privileged guilt,
washed down with
politely cut bites
of perfectly cooked salmon.
May 30, 2013
May 30, 2013 at 3:17 PM UTC
Rush around in circles like a headless chicken running
Diminishing to spirals in a blue encircled churn
Giddying to balance in unsteady equilibrium,
Whilst canting to the left on a gyroscopic turn.
Vaulting to the heavens in gymnastical maneuvering,
Launching into ether in fanatical escape,
****** features grimacing through muscular contortion
With abdominal contractions in a pantomime of ****
Yowling to the darkness in a feline form of vocalness
Hissing through the teeth in a serpentine display,
Bellowing the bellicose of bovine innuendo
And bleeding feet in gumboots on a ****** raining day.
Rush around in circles like a headless chicken running
With ****** features grimaced on a ****** raining day,
Yowling to the darkness with abdominal contraction
In a bovine innuendo of a serpentine display.
Bellowing the bellicose of bleeding feet in gumboots,
Vaulting to the heavens in fanatical escape,
Giddying to spirals in contracting equilibrium
Just a ****** innuendo of a gyroscopic shake.
Marshalg
Victoria Park Tunnel
On a ****** raining day.
7 August 2010
Aug 6, 2010
Aug 6, 2010 at 6:17 PM UTC
in my spotless mind,
i had a blue dream.
deep in limbo.
somewhere in the ocean..
wading.
with my lover.
do you remember?
no?
well, it's cool.
with promises of eternal sunshine,
we wade a little deeper.
he holds me close & whispers in my ear,
**"you're so brave."**
we wade further until we are completely submerged.
floating deeper & deeper,
i felt the pressure and grimaced.
he mouths to me,
*"why aren't you smiling?"*
i grasped his hand firmly and pulled him toward me.
in his arms, we kicked until we resurfaced.
he smiled at me and I smiled back.
we kissed; he tasted salty.
we swam to shore.
we sat on the beach in a tight embrace.
he kisses my hair and says,
**"I live for your love, die for your love."**
I whispered,
"and I do you."
I look up at him.
"pretty bird", he breathes.
**and in that moment, I knew that I was souled out for him.**
{r.r.r.w}
Feb 7, 2015
Feb 7, 2015 at 8:17 PM UTC
"I'm a serial killer" Sarah remarked walking away from Jade.
"I'm dazed and confused, for how are you something so horrid?" Jade exclaimed, Sarah turned back.
"I ****** person after person" Sarah laughed, emotionless.
"HOW COULD YOU!?" Her sister Jade cried out.
"I shed blood" Sarah's eyes grew darker.
Jade paused and drew in a deep breath.
"You're a murderer?" Jade said hesitantly.
"My soul is darker than hell" Sarah grimaced.
"First degree ****** is horrible!" Jade cried and fell to her knee's in disbelief that her sister was a cold-blooded murderer.
"I'm a demon walking" Sarah said interrupting Jade's thoughts.
"No!" Jade said in denial.
Sarah pulled out a knife and stabbed Jade 17 times. She stood up and laughed.
Sarah licked the blood of the blade and walked away.
Sarah left Jade laying in the grass lifeless and mutilated.
That is a serial killers destiny.
Jul 16, 2014
Jul 16, 2014 at 11:40 AM UTC
I found a caterpillar in the road when I took a walk today.
I picked it up, took a picture of it on my finger,
and sent it to a friend.
They responded
Aw, it's so small!
I told him I put it on a leaf and walked away.
But won't you miss it?
He joked, to which I replied,
**He has a home.
Everyone deserves a chance to go home.**
Why do you make sense?
He asked with a chuckle.
I apologized.
Well, now it's gone forever.
I stared at some leaves
and sat on the sidewalk.
No. It's just going home.
My friend grimaced,
noting that I was no longer joking.
Might it be home forever?
If it is, it's lucky.
Is it?
Well, at least it has a home to go to.
I said this quietly,
forgetting to filter my thoughts.
But you found it on the streets.
I sighed through my nose.
**It may have been on the streets,
but as long as it's looking,
it'll find a home.**
I miss its cute little face.
I laughed.
Why don't you go find it again?
With a bite of my lip,
I responded,
**Because I need to find my home.
And it's been taking me a lot longer
than it's taking the caterpillar.**
May 28, 2015
May 28, 2015 at 8:41 PM UTC
She walks on duty, through the night
Of coughing calls and sleepless sighs
And in the dim and pallid light
She stalks the ward with drooping eyes;
Thus patients rest within her sight
Which keeps them safe from their demise
One patient more, one break the less,
As frantic hands prepare the space
Which someone left in such a mess
So now she works at twice the pace
Whilst hiding signs of inner stress
With grimaced smile upon her face
And on that bed, and in the throe,
A deathly pale old patient went;
She held his hand and mopped his brow
His weary angel, heaven sent;
His vital signs began to grow
As she collapsed, her goodness spent.
Dec 24, 2014
Dec 24, 2014 at 5:49 PM UTC
The day that we met, I watched you press a cigarette to your lips and laugh.
I cringed.
How could a paper stick filled with nicotine leaves and other little ingredients
bring a satisfying, calm five minutes?
We talked about how you were trying to stop,
and how I’d never, ever smoke myself,
and how that was a good thing.
We laughed.
Six months later and I haven’t seen your face in over a week.
A month ago, we were lying in your bed talking about how we’d
always love one another and always have each other,
and you pulled out a cigarette.
You reiterated that it calmed you down but I just grimaced.
How could a paper stick filled with nicotine leaves and other little ingredients
bring a satisfying, calm five minutes?
I wanted to ask again, though I know how addiction works.
You can’t really explain it.
All I’m sure of is you always know you could quit one day.
What I don’t know is if you ever really wanted to.
I took a walk to clear my head of the memories of you last night,
to get some fresh air for the first time in over a week.
It was overall ironic because as I tried to forget you,
as I breathed in the fresh Wisconsin air,
I pulled out a cigarette.
I stared at the rolled paper between my fingers,
and I saw your face.
I could smell you through the air,
taste your lips,
and wondered if I could really replace that connection in my head,
if you really should be represented by impending death and
overwhelming scents that never really fade.
I wonder because I know at heart, you were never made of tar,
you’re just sticking to my mind longer than
you ever really intended,
it was just what you were made to do.
I know you were never made to remind others of death,
though I know you wanted to be a few times.
I know you’ve encountered it and
I know you think about it at least twice a week.
You’ve always reminded me more of a sun,
because you’ve always been bright in my mind,
you’ve always been something I looked forward to seeing,
something that warmed my heart just by stepping into my presence,
you remind me of a fresh gasp of breath,
and that’s why I put the cigarette to my lips.
That’s why I lit it.
That’s why I started smoking,
Not to think of you,
Not to try to remember your taste,
Your scent,
But because
if a cigarette became my ten minute escape,
it’d be my go-to,
and you wouldn’t be.
I could get the calm you experienced and not experience you,
I could feel something other than missing you.
When I snuffed out the ****
I was actually smiling.
I felt free of you,
free of the holds your love brought to me.
For twenty minutes,
I felt complete happiness without thinking about you
for the first time since we met.
So that’s why next time we see one another,
when we do become friends again like we promised
each other that we would,
Next time we meet,
I’ll press a cigarette to my lips,
and I’ll laugh.
We’ll talk about how you were trying to stop,
and how I’d never, ever smoke myself,
and how that promise was temporary,
just like us.
Just like the cigarette.
May 21, 2015
May 21, 2015 at 4:47 PM UTC
I signed the DNR form
And steeled myself
As if this cancer were a battle I could fight with my fists
I felt like a man
Standing before the open mouth of a cave marked midnight
Like grimaced teeth and the desire for life were enough
To withstand the fire the chemo caused my skin
It made my skin crawl some nights
I was sure I would wake just bone
Until I looked just bone
Like an ill fitting skin sheet
Draped over a science project
And enough voice to remind whoever heard me
That I was somehow still human
I felt like a man
Who could do this alone or die trying
That if I were given a scalpel
I could cut this out of me
Pull out whatever caused this
It would look like a gnarled black ball
Humming contently
Like lip shushed fingertips
Begging for silence
I chewed on my pillow
Until my jaw taught me to sleep
I felt like a man
At the end of a road
Who finally realized
The difference between battles you fight with your fists
And battles you fight with caves marked midnight
And battles you fight in a sweat drenched hospital bed
That smells like bleach
And makes you miss home
Battles that remind you
No matter what sort of man you feel like
There is always something
That can make you feel like a child
Oct 7, 2011
Oct 7, 2011 at 7:44 AM UTC
I placed my bread to heat for just five seconds--
behold: when I came for it, it wasn't alone.
A mayfly had set up camp (so to speak)
with my wheat bread, my most favored
Amish-baked, sliced-before-my-own eyes bread;
and when I say it "set up camp," I do not
mean anything pleasant. I do mean six thin legs
sprawled long and broken when discovered
and perhaps some melted insides; who's to say?
Something turned inside of me and I'm certain
I grimaced at least a little, and took my plate back,
thinking, disturbed just slightly. How had I not
seen the fly? It couldn't have touched the bread--poor thing--
just rested there, unknowing, to be slaughtered.
*"Mom...Mom...Ahh, uhh, Mom! Mom?"
(mother assesses circumstances, unceremoniously takes a napkin
to my victim, and introduces his corpse to the garbage)
"He probably wasn't in there when I...right?"
--"It probably was."
"But five seconds couldn't have killed him."
I know I am wrong
as I feel the warm grains of my prize.
(mother gives a long look and says...)
--"If it heated the bread, I'm sure it heated the bug."*
I took my bounty anyway--the bread, that is, mind you--
and went to eat it absentmindedly, but found that
now impossible. Sigh. I also found myself
staring, long and hard, then, at half of a piece
of glorious, Heaven-breathed wheat bread,
and suddenly realized that I could not discern
whether or not I was enjoying it. ******
And then I tried to reassure myself by chiding
inwardly, "You're just afraid of insects
irrationally," but maybe I actually
felt that the blood of an
innocent life was on
my hands.
*Why are they so stupid? I ask
no one really, fighting revulsion,
grasping for blame.*
Alas, I finished eating but felt rightly robbed
of some essential part of the experience.
Yet, such is life.
Mar 16, 2012
Mar 16, 2012 at 8:36 PM UTC
I walked in a sea of zombies,
circled a million roundabouts,
wandered
the streets in the reverse.
Nobody noticed me
with my two-week stubble,
my body odor emanated
as I cruised through the rubble,
waiting for twilight.
Dried baby llamas grimaced
while children played jacks
& men sold coca,
green bag mountains of it
stacked high like the cordillera
with chicken bones
lying around,
configured
in all directions,
it smelt magical.
And when
the sun finally fell,
I witnessed
the poverty stricken elite,
totally lost on their own
two feet.
I wanted to relate,
to feel human,
so I joined the winos
on a dark unknown corner,
sniffed the cool air
& could finally relate
to a time in space.
Feb 12, 2014
Feb 12, 2014 at 11:58 AM UTC
I miss her more and more as the sun rises and the moon fades
Slowly she creeps in my mind like a plague infecting my brain
Eating away all thoughts I have created
Only to be consumed by her image
A black storm as it rains down my sorrow
As my smile only hides the pain within
For I will not lay my problems to yours
Therefore you will be blind to my suffering
And fall victim to illusions I portray in front of you
Not knowing if it is wizardry performed by a warlock
With a keen knowledge of the dark arts
Of who must not be named
Or is it all just smoke and mirrors
A fake grin as I trick your mind of my felicity state
Or lack thereof
Invisible as the oxygen we breathe from the trees of nature
As I stare out my window to see a palm tree
That does not belong in the lonesome desert
Only to share its sympathy as I feel I do not belong
To a place where love is cynical and mediocre
Where love means to be physically bounded
I search for a mental connection
As I have with a Being greater than me
Yet when I look for it
I am alone left in my own cataclysm
Drowning in the abyss of a decrepit heart
Flooded by the gates of grimaced faces
As I slowly close my door to my own emotions
And embrace a meaningless melancholy to fulfill others' happiness
When I connect to one mate who shines as bright as the moon
She fades just as such when the physical bond is no more
When the dark energy of negativity subsumes the thoughts of serenity
Then there I lose her
And for me
I am left to think about her
As the sun sets and the moon shines from the darkness
And once again I begin to miss her
More and more
Jul 15, 2014
Jul 15, 2014 at 11:47 AM UTC
Once upon a time, on a site far far away, I would post and not a soul would comment, let alone read...
Minor poet,
I am not even, but odd.
A truth that slaps me unto tears.
I seek your admiration,
admonish your failure to
admonish me, fail me
unto tears.
Your academic hyper-pretensions
gods of overlording silence,
sentence condemnations of the
meagerness of mine deaf,
weary-worn entreaties.
Your ignorance and the
vanity of my weaknesses,
pencil point punctuate my brain,
holes filling up with the
approbation of silence.
Tender unto me
the Onomatopoeia of a concerto of boos,
barrels of bitter alliteratives
regretful rainwater,
send me curses of future inspiration.
immoderate me re my mediocrity!
Try try again, to charm thine eyes,
populate your face with grimaced tears,
penetrate our mutuality
with uncommon verse,
pricking the winter frosted windows
of a enmity and a common enemy.
Another day of self-persauding,
un-succeeding to accept that
successive minor failures,
are undeniably,
a success of sorts,
in a minor way.
A play on words,
as y'all play me.
Mr. Adminstrator, answer me!
Are we not all prisoners of Poetry?
Sep 14, 2013
Sep 14, 2013 at 11:06 AM UTC
Cannibalistic are the teeth jagged in curl and grin. They grip fastened between gums of grime and sin. They prey leeched to toys strung under webs so few. My fingers creeped between their eyes so suffice and blind.
Like storms choked in stark sky and drying rain, my views christen and bloom. Eyes bleached gold, lavish the corners donning streets and side shop. I myself lark on apartment edges and strewn roof tops, balancing death and door bells along my crooked spine. Wide faces swirl in faded lights along morbid streets blazed in night. They the oh so happy and innocent leech the drinks and sway the narcotics. Hand on breath, tongue on tip. It’s so heart full to stare from the roofs so grimaced.
All words muddled in dread, lick their rosy lips, as stare catches the late night shift. All the blossomed couples curl and constrict in arms so selfish I must keep edges sharp and dull in bliss. Balance sways in dim, darkest are the days flattering night and cursing day. I wait amongst the walls above wavering innocence to demand. I shift on roofs so frail and wary that life seeks no bounds as the heights do not scare me. I will slip feudal in their creviced minds, but merely of pity to all their credible crimes. Here the world cries and here the cannibal lies. I break to be broken, but never to die, only to fall within the world’s eye.
Aug 28, 2011
Aug 28, 2011 at 12:01 AM UTC
If you are lacking capital,
You won't show on the map at all,
You wont show on radar as little green blips,
If your bank account can't furnish means for a tip,
In a Washington lobby, to fund a campaign, so
Now the youth have a future, in sutures and maimed,
By a financial beast, that just cannot be tamed, and
It's fed by the folks who are riggin' the game,
A small, opulent group of the fiscal insane,
The ones who observe them have given them names,
They're the "oligarchs," they're the "robber barons"
They're the "plutocrats," and they don't like sharin'
You can speak of reform, but they'll tell you to spare 'em, as
You watch, in bewilderment, grimaced and glarin,' as
They profit off health care, off oil stocks, and banks, and
Control public discourse, with PR think tanks, cause
They own all the media, feedin ya lies, that
Are dressed up as facts, in a clever disguise, so
At propaganda, "take a proper gander," then
Stand and unite, as change demanders!
May 10, 2015
May 10, 2015 at 7:40 PM UTC
The corpse lied untouched,
In the crepuscular light,
her shadow enkindled.
Her kins stood panic-stricken.
Her fidelity was being questioned.
It was time now for the sun to set.
The birds were finding there way.
Migrating
Also,suffering.
And the darkness was about descend like everyday
The shadows seemed to be taking over the grimaced faces
But she however,
Was trying to resurrect her soul.
This was the epitome of her infatuation.
But she had always been an Ailurophile,
Always.
Dec 3, 2013
Dec 3, 2013 at 7:24 AM UTC
your lips were stained red
the first time
you ever drank from a big girl’s cup
you know
the one without a lid
and your mother was so proud
when you still bathed with your little sister
because you were young
and it was okay
she decided to taste the grape shampoo
because it smelled so sweet
and so it should taste the same
and she was curious
and so were you
but she grimaced
and choked
and even cried
so you thought that maybe
it wasn't such a good idea
so you didn't taste it
and remember the time you scraped your knees
because you were trying to be like all of the boys
and so you climbed up the tree at the park
just to prove that you weren't fragile
and you didn't even cry
not even a tear
so they decided you must not have cooties
you weren't like the other girls
you were one of them
and you were the exception
you wore those scars with pride
your lips were stained red
the first time you tasted wine
you were at communion
with your best friend
who called herself a bad catholic
at the age of just thirteen
when your sister was twelve
and just learning about
how smoking was bad for you
she decided to steal a cigarette from your mother
because all of the grownups did it
and you were sixteen and curious
because all of the cool kids did it
and when she coughed
and hacked
and ****** in another drag
you thought that maybe
it wasn't such a good idea
but you both did it anyways
and remember that same year
you wanted to impress all of the boys
so you went to your first party
and it was nothing like in the movies
but you wanted to prove that you were like the other girls
so you drank yourself into a haze
and you slipped into one of the bedrooms
with a faceless stranger
and you didn't even cry
but you wanted to
Oct 14, 2013
Oct 14, 2013 at 1:56 AM UTC
I'll walk down the halls
Hand in Hand
Ready to take a stand
Music of macabre origin then plays
"This dance if I may?"
I wear my best noose.
So obviously Obtuse
This ball
Is the ultimate call
For the crazy's
To have a death day party
Our lives never were so hearty.
Shoes made of razor blades
Bloodied nursemaids
Punch is spiked with cyanide
To evoke a lethal tide
Pop a pill maybe 4
That way there is less gore
Less to clean
Please don't be mean
Knives glitter darkly
Our faces grimaced tartly
Cut and slice
Stab and dice
Blood will fall
And run down the halls
For you see my dear
Do not fear
For in these halls
Lurks the suicidal ball.
Oct 6, 2018
Oct 6, 2018 at 10:26 PM UTC
Safe in my harbor,
docked with you...
assured my heart,
was safe with you.
My turn came to take the crew,
time to part from the dock and you...
looked at you sideways,
but was forced to steer away.
Thought you would lift your hands,
and stop me from sailing by...
thought you would rush to me,
riding past the rough waves...
Felt your pain as you tried to break away,
your agonised look when the ropes didn't give away...
you grimaced and I felt the tremor in you,
as I took every step away from you.
Not so sure when we would meet again,
We would if the storms are kind...
I will brave the winds and the storms,
to rush to your side as soon as i can...
Wishing for another crew,
sail you en route...
What more can I do,
except wishing you would join.
The wait is inevitable,
The wait is frustrating...
The wait is intolerable,
The wait chokes me...
Wish we're merged on our sides,
that way we can move side by side...
Be it morning, be it night,
life would be fun with you be my side...
sunbathing on a sunny day,
fighting the waves on a stormy day,
not caring if the sun dries us,
or when the rain soaks us,
or when the wind tosses us...
Together we will stand proud,
like a flag at full mast...
fluttering with joy,
Gulls bellowing by....
Wish we're merged on our sides,
that way we can move side by side...
Be it morning, be it night,
life would be fun with you be my side.
May 21, 2016
May 21, 2016 at 2:47 PM UTC
*If the lines in my forehead,
be the multiplier of your laughter;*
bid grimaced be my days.
*If the tears that I shed,
be the sugar in your tea;*
let it rain.
*If my yelps of pain,
be the lyrics to your song;*
take away my voice.
*If the cuts on my flesh,
be the curve on your smiles;*
dice me.
*If the blood I bleed,
be your elixir of happiness;*
deplete me completely.
*If the punctures on my heart,
bequeath rays on your sun;*
stab me some more.
*If the failures I commit,
be the perfection of your day;*
wrong me.
*If my downfall,
be your supreme ecstasy;*
I've long prepared my gravestone.
*//So in the end I may say:
I have accomplished my role.
To be the liberation of your morbid soul...//*
My existence . . .
is at your disposal.
Sep 14, 2014
Sep 14, 2014 at 8:44 AM UTC