"gro" poems
Their screams of terror
Their cries for help
Their weeps of sorrow
Their the voices in my head
They have grown so old
They have become so loud
Now they echo all day long
I just wish for them to gro silent
The voices in my head
Grow more and more reckless
That I can't even think
Of the consequences to my actions
But no matter what they say or how they say it
They love you just as mush as me
Yet you dont see the love in my eyes
And you cant hear the songs that they sing
The voices in my head
Maybe sweet and comforting
But most of the time
Their sick, demented, and twisted
They argue over whether or not I should
Put a gun to my head
And all but one agrees
For me to pull the trigger
That one voice who cares
If I pull the trigger
Is the voice of reason
It's your beautful voice
The voices in my head
Are they wrong for wanting me dead
Are they right for causing my insanity
All I know is that I can trust them
Every second of my time
I spend listening to their screams
Their cries and their weeps
I realize why they do it
The voices in my head
Echo my pain
Because they know it
And know my demons
The voices in my head
Have never seen my heart
Yet they know the truth to my lies
And the tears not in my eyes
Of all these voices
Yours is the loudest
Causing me to put this gun down
And think of a better way to end it all
The voices in my head
Tell me you the only one
I can and will ever love
And the only one I can't hurt
But I feel as if
The voices in my head
Want me to be hurt
Due to the pain I have dealt
I beg of them to stop
And let me live on my own
To die on my own terms
But they continue on
Then I begin to notice
That all these voices
Are the voices of those I have hurt
Except your one voice of reason
Could it be
That all the pain
Not only my own
But the pain of others
Is the reason to the voices in my head
The voices in my head
Laugh as I piece together
A puzzle to bid to understand
A puzzle not meant to be pieced together
The voices in my head
Grow louder and louder
Even as I fight with them
I realize why I write about war
Because the biggest war is with myself
As I reach for the gun
To end their eerie laughs
I know it will bring satisfaction
So I load and **** it back
Squeezing the trigger slowly
Darkness engulfs me
The voices stop
Peace I don't have
As tears roll down your cheek
Another life I have wasted along with mine
Jul 20, 2012
Jul 20, 2012 at 8:20 PM UTC
.
A hard-on
doesn't count
as personal gro
wth.If you want
to hear the pitte
r - patter of littl
e feet, I'll put s
hoes on my cat.
This isn't an off
ice , it's hell wit
h florescent lig
hting.How do I
set a lazer prin
ter to stun? I m
ajored in Libera
l arts. Will that
be for here or t
o go? Too many
freaks, not eno
ugh circuses. I
have a comput
er, a ******** a
nd pizza delive
ry .Why should
I leave the hou
se? Stress is wh en you wake up scr
eaming and you re alize you haven't fal
*** asleep yet. I like dogs too . Let's exch
ange recipes. And yo u r c r y b a b y
whiny- assed o pinion is? Al
low me to intro duce my selves.
Nov 1, 2014
Nov 1, 2014 at 2:00 PM UTC
The black, iron God arm punched
placid-blanched clouds, and dangled
cat cable down to lemon-vested men
with chalkboard faces.
*Basic algebra, today's date, daily
syllabi, God-fearing anecdotes,
and the evils of homosexuality.*
Fornicating with other dudes
is like moving Jesus' rock
with your condom'd *****
Let sleeping dieties die.
We find them buried deep beneath
**** ceramics by T.V. criminals,
rapists, murderers, buzzers, free-
lovers, angelheaded sweethearts.
They have nearly four dollar souls,
barely enough for a Wilpo dinner
at Hepburn Diner. #2 breakfast
with one cup of Columbian cartel
coffee with a pinch of whole milk
to take the edge off, so he won't
be gripping the booth vinyl when
a "freedom" flash cop car passes.
Police cruisers are just bigger bicycles
that we're afraid of, sporting cereal
box baseball cards in the spokes.
Cops were the kids that needed help
their first time fresh off training
wheels. Training academy training
them for low-speed cat chases through
flower beds.
Sweet daffodil, you didn't have to die
like this. You could've drank straight
from the pitcher at a stranger's dinner
party potluck, seen the guts of a New
York highrise, shared the coke left
beneath a woman's botched nose job.
You could have been more than this.
You could have been more.
You could have been.
You could have.
You could.
You.
You, daffodil, stamen-down
in Miracle Gro and dog ****
could have been more.
Nov 12, 2014
Nov 12, 2014 at 1:06 AM UTC
Det skal være dig og mig. Og, hvor skal vi gøre op med systemet. Vi skal gøre hele verden til vores. Efteråret/Efter året kommer næste sæson. Det bliver med solskin, det bliver med måneskin, og det bliver med dig, og det bliver med mig. Du er min blændende stjerneregn, du er mit lykkeland. Her vil jeg leve, her skal jeg opleve og udforske, undersøge det hele med dig. Kysse dig på hver en trappesten, røre ved dig på alle gadehjørner og kramme dig på hver eneste plet af grønt græs med solskin. Jeg vil nyde dit smil og fortabe mig i dine lysende øjne. Du skal se mine fregner blomstre, og jeg skal se dig gro. Følg med mig, inden det er for sent, og vi glemmer hinanden i hinanden, så det ikke er spændende mere. Spring nu ud min blomst, min kærlighed. For jeg er træt af vinterens 202 dage, som har forfulgt mig. Let's get lost. Tø vores frosne hjerter op, mærke varmen i lyset, men det er mørkest inden solopgang så skynd dig. Find mig. Fang mig.
Mar 19, 2016
Mar 19, 2016 at 6:14 PM UTC
to buy a book at half-ten with
no time wasting. go back, await
instructions ‘cause ****** will
have their trinkets, with novelty
of accented voice. and i once
would talk often of a love – let’s
separate that word from *****
often of a love, but am rare to
fall to elaboration. and through
contemplation the soul may
ascend to knowledge of the
Form of the Good, penultimate
object of Knowledge but not
Knowledge. and often writ of
this love, writ of what was to be
then and never now. never to find
affirmation in fleeting memory.
oxymoronic oblate of the mind
– this soul. attempting for attainment
of Kenosis. shambling i wandered,
rambling i wandered, and humbly
wandering on to pluck till times
and times are done. and
the dogs of this life have re-
moved dearest effects. in turn, sho-
wing the vanity in materialism.
end turn, showing futility in ret-
ention and the sun's continuous gro-
wth forcing abatement of winters’
vespers. cradling a gourd filled with
oil from the skin of ages, to reflect
micorocosms of preceived death.
those silver apples of the moon. and
when vespers return in color, when
the ground aches tensing muscles.
this love, if only the conjunctions
had been denied. perhaps by abor-
tion of if, then could have been a
block for now. these times found
oblate of memory by zealous self-
truth of the wronged past, and
humbled by skewed memory of
the hermit on unseen path for
Kenosis. unseen growth of
those golden apples of the sun.
May 15, 2013
May 15, 2013 at 10:05 PM UTC
Ayr ye scurvy turnpike,
turn yer eyes from me!
The beauty of yer blizzard blue
tears me flannel heart.
Ye bake me mind into applesauce
that hotly drools on down,
me stomache is dissolvin-
all me courage ye have drowned.
Ayre ye wretched rogue of lies,
no one could be so fair.
Must be an imagination demon
with soft an tender hair.
When yer tongue tangs sharply on me lips
me life is drained and dying.
shut that song of love ye sing
that sets me soul a flyin.
Ayre ye **** banshee
Don't never let me go,
Grip me with yer slender claws
so closely we can gro.
This world can't stop yer fire
were gonna burn it down,
with nights of satin passion
were gonna paint the town.
Ayre me ***** of wonders,
ye know I keep ye dear.
I thank ye for yer nightmares
that ye give me every year.
Feb 5, 2010
Feb 5, 2010 at 10:56 PM UTC
In{peace}ner
Yet again, I a(struggling)m to sleep,
Yearning for m(soul)y to keep.
Day by pa(day)ss with no remorse.
Death scouring the lands on his tire(horse)less.
There was Mar(First)cos,
There was Ka(Then)in.
De(coming)ath is for all of us,
As morale beg(wane)ins to.
Shots are fired in hot spu(sporadic)rts,
du(I)ck for cover as my shoulder hurts.
Blood flo(down)ws my arm as I grasp my gun,
I close my eyes as my comr(run)ades begin to.
I am paralyzed, planted in the ea(bunkered)rth,
My comrades car(me)ry as they flee.
I fig(sanity)ht, refusing to see my own worth,
As bullets fly by, in an endl(torrent)ess of maniacal glee.
The pain sears, racing through mi(my)nd.
Muscles, tissue, bone, to unw(beginning)ind.
Con(crosses)cern my comrade’s face,
As he looks at my pai(disgrace)ned.
Earth spews the gro(from)und to my right,
Launching us into the thick fum(air)ed.
I scream again as my pa(rears)in its roaring might.
My vis(fading)ion as my body lands on my earthen lair.
whi(Death’s)sper then did creep,
His bre(cold)ath in did seep.
I no pa(feel)in as I know its time,
To join m(mates)y, out here on the Rhine.
May 7, 2012
May 7, 2012 at 8:44 PM UTC
For years I've been your
Pretty, pretty china doll.
With pink lips, permanently set
Into a half-smile.
But inside, my china heart
Broke a long time ago
And the blood, it
Threatens to seep through
The cracks that you made.
I'm dreaming, dreaming.
And in my dream the
Mirror shatters.
Catapulting a million fragments
To the floor and little Lily
Is there. See?
She's playing with the shards,
Hands bleeding.
She pulls them to her mouth
Like her teething rattle.
Blood, dripping down her baby gro.
And you laugh, you laugh.
I watch your chest rise and fall
I can smell the whiskey on your breath.
I, I take a plump pillow and
I press it hard over your mouth.
The porcelain mask starts to
Slip, it slips. It falls to the ground
And splits, it splits.
You don't struggle and your chest,
It doesn't rise any more.
Now I rise.
I walk over to Lily's cot,
I check her hands and they're
Fine, they're fine.
I kiss her mouth and my
Tears drip, drip down her baby gro.
Jul 13, 2011
Jul 13, 2011 at 2:59 PM UTC
It's a good time -- (the anger's just for show)
Hunger & death? -- who knows if it's really there!
-----
Amid the fairy tales ; amid the gro---
tesque , macabre insinuations, -- where
•
Mistrust cuts to the depths of the heart's blood
& we don't believe in what we hear or see
-----
When all we feel real is misunderstood
& we "fight for freedom" but are not free
•
Little lost child ( your anger's just for show?)
Hunger & death? -- my god! Such stories!
-----
Told by idiots! --- what do you really know?
We would ask you but we're much too afraid
••
••
Little Mary & Joey in my sight
In the streets by day ; in my dreams by night
Dec 27, 2013
Dec 27, 2013 at 2:56 PM UTC
Growl growl ru
mb
le rumble gro
wl
(my belly protests my healthy
lifestyle)
Dec 18, 2015
Dec 18, 2015 at 8:15 PM UTC
jeg har altid været en klimafamilie for sig
som var jeg en matematisk ligning
uden at ville det med vilje
har fundet ro i genbrugens hjørner og lofte
haft for stort et hjerte til at ødelægge et andet
væsens væren i verden
væmmes ved andre menneskers fryd og grådighed
myrd den æd den
måske jeg bare har udviklet en allergi
for industriens masseproduktion. usynlighed. ensformighed.
efterspørgsel efterspørgsel
kopivarer
Basic *******
undskyld hvad sagde du lige der?
elsker broccoli fordi det
minder mig om små træer
får ondt i hjertet når
et skal falde for at en klods af beton kan
gro og vokse sig stor
af økologiske grunde
industri industri
dobbeltmoral og hykleri
Nov 29, 2018
Nov 29, 2018 at 12:17 PM UTC
Mit hoved
Synger negative tanker
Fodrer min nethinde med
Grusomme scenarier
Dræber hver en lille blomst
Jeg har plantet
Før de nåede at gro fast
Nov 15, 2013
Nov 15, 2013 at 8:46 PM UTC
mit ambivalente flyvske sind
skiftende mellem svævende og faldene
mine drømmescenarier todimensionalt
men alligevel så åndssvagt livagtige
forhåbninger og forventninger
som fatamorganiske spillefilm
forårsblomster sprang så fint og nydeligt ud
da græsset var vindstille og månen på halv
visnede dog inden længe
afblomstrede
kun en kunne gro
den anden forfalde
når sollyset bliver erstattet af skygge
og belyser andre jordforbunde væsener
forsythiaer og syrener
de syv mørkerøde rosenknopper
dyrket med al din uvidenhed
Sep 5, 2016
Sep 5, 2016 at 5:38 PM UTC
og det var sådan en morgen
hvor solen strakte sig i hver en
strengformet sene
jeg kunne mærke sygdommen
havde forladt min krop
jeg lod aldrig tanker omkring
dit spindelvævssind gro fast
i længere tid, vidste det ville
sætte sig som ar på sjælen
den slags man påstår ikke kan
smitte ved berøring
den slags påstande jeg påstår
de forkerte mennesker har påstået
du gjorde mig mere syg end rask
rev celler i stykker og efterlod
bidemærker langs min rygsøjle
jeg græd oftere end jeg grinte
sommetider med tårer i øjnene
andre gange med metalsakse
i håret og øjne af granit
jeg glemte helt hvordan det var
at være alene
da du havde forladt min krop
jeg glemte helt jeg var sindssyg
Jun 7, 2015
Jun 7, 2015 at 1:07 PM UTC
På en lunken forårsdag
Kom jeg i tanke om alle dine tekster
Du fik mig til at lære dem udenad
Nu kan jeg aldrig mere læse samme genre
Og dine valmueviolinmelodier nynner jeg
Stadigvæk når jeg spadserer ad Nørrebrogade
Lader mine negle gro sig i vildrede
Så uanstændigt smuds begraver sig i lagene
Klipper jeg dem nu, glemmer jeg hvordan man cykler
Er i ubalance, i trance
Lad mig indse et liv levet på empati
Sjældent fremstår utiltalende
Apr 28, 2019
Apr 28, 2019 at 10:40 AM UTC
?¿?¿?¿?¿?
were you ever there
>? <
sometimes
i feel
like
our
friendship
was a
green
leaf
that
left
love's branch
green
.
.
.
yellowed
in the
sulfuric
air
.
.
.
and
disintigrated
as soon
as it
hit
the
gro un d
soulsurvivor
Feb 10, 2015
Feb 10, 2015 at 8:34 PM UTC
Jeg er ikke bange for at gro op
Jeg er bange for at rådne op
May 25, 2015
May 25, 2015 at 2:46 PM UTC