"gruesomely" poems
love
its a beautiful thing really,
its brutal, its strong
it so deep, and so heartwarming,
and at the same time,
it makes me want to cry, scream
pound my bed,
punch the white cement wall until my knuckles are ****** raw
and the wall has a display of reds.
it makes me want to break an elegant expensive vase, and crush it in my hand.
its destructive, desired, dangerous,
and yet
i want to laugh
i want to sing
and dance!
dance to oh what a night
dance with my yellow watercolored pillow case, with my favorite pillow stuffed inside
oh, love is so peculiar isn’t it?
its spectacular,
and its like standing in the middle of a ballroom
where dresses and suit ties of different hues reflect the chandelier light hanging from the ceiling,
an array of rainbows cast on the walls.
and yet, theres an emptiness…
one I’m afraid i cannot fill, and rely on you to.
its like standing in an ocean of chaos, of excitement and watching it from afar at the same time.
i can see myself swimming with the sharks, yet i am a bystander
as the thread of my life is strung tautly,
i watch myself bleed, gruesomely torn to pieces
i watch as the water darkens from spilt wine,
the wine that was once salty becomes sickly sweet around me
but i continue watching myself become bones stuck in their teeth.
its like being in an aquarium, encased in water,
and yet, still not a part of it, a distance, yet, a proximity
i watch myself drown through the looking glass, unable to help.
the sign says don’t tap the glass, but i pound and pound.
I am the only one watching myself slowly slow, and slowly stop.
stop breathing, stop fighting.
love is holding your breath, being cautious, yet careless.
Its diving recklessly, unsure whether to be sober, or drunk,
and being both.
its like seeing myself on a high diving board, the water beneath is so deep,
it seems to never start, and never end at the same time.
I can see myself, on the edge peering over,
scared to take a leap of faith,
yet relived i can still feel the sharp breaths,
nervous stomach,
because it means i can still feel, i am still capable of human emotions
i thought had left me long ago, before you.
Mar 18, 2018
Mar 18, 2018 at 9:07 PM UTC
Under the tree of the university
A shadow was gruesomely cast.
The branches made too much shade
And there grew no grass.
No one would lie under its wood
Down beside its trunk;
It wasn't essential, there was no potential,
Claimed the revered monk
But late at night you'll find him lying in the dirt
Wearing a Paisley Poplin Shirt
The click of the gears define his years,
A cycle on a chain
A cloud of sand thrown by his own hand
Hones forth his pain
He blows seeds of dandelion weeds
****** a ****** field
And he pretends that he intends
To reap this horrible yield
Because unintentionally he subconsciously convert
To one who wears a Paisley Poplin Shirt
Covered in rust, a blade he adjusts,
His mind remains unwrung
The words to speak were too **** bleak
So he cuts off his tongue
He'll be finished when he's diminished
These humanly sights
If there's no vision at the end of his mission
He'll gouge out his eyes
And Helen Keller takes one of her old ragged skirts
And fashions him a Paisley Poplin Shirt
Why must we be obsessed
With the unseen
When we know we cannot
Make something out of nothing
And to those of you who think that you cannot be hurt
Stones go thru a Paisley Poplin Shirt
Aug 23, 2017
Aug 23, 2017 at 2:49 AM UTC
the poem i resist digs deeper into my chest like a buried soulmate. it grows blurry and distant until i can’t find the sharpness of it, but i can still taste how it made me feel. the feeling becomes a dull hunger. the distorted memory of a bite. still gnawing, lost, hopeful that i will give in to my undoing and gruesomely reveal the bloodied shadow of a bluff that has been called home. neither of us can sleep. my teeth ache. when the sky turns purple with torment, i end up in the woods, collecting feathers, consumed in the uncaging of a fire that will never catch
Dec 3, 2021
Dec 3, 2021 at 9:50 PM UTC
I abuse words verbally like my voice is Bobby and the dictionary Whitney/
Like a literary hyperbole properly arranged to explain this deranged brutality perfectly/
Force the English language to work for me like a particularly dark time in history/
Optimistically take the tongue twister trickery and aggressively attack a vocabulary vocally and personally/
Not physically but a barrage on your psyche, almost psychedelically/
Use words medically, like a surgeon I expertly plant thoughts whispered softly but assertively/
Moving letters like chess pawns to express thoughts masterfully and creatively/
Gruesomely grotesque but gorgeous thoughts written down beautifully/
You can't help but hear the perplexity of mythoticly placed words with comradery/
An oddity with the audacity to raise the bar and up the capacity/
Because what comes out of me has to be exactly what you see because it is me/
Not just a part of me but all of me/
I'm not a fallen tree sitting in the forest silently, quietly all by my lonely/
It's just the opposite actually and factually/
I will attack with a dialect so violent you violently retract causing you to react cowardly automatically/
I don't even have to lift a pinky, leave it stinky/
Let my words linger there in the air like **** smoke, thick and sticky/
Periodically come back to peek and see if you've figured out the mystery and found the key/
One that'll decipher decisively what it is that I've let out of me and spread to all humanity/
I could never have planned it, see, it had to happen naturally, organically if you will/
And not to build it up falsely but I honestly, back then, didn't have the ***** to let it out of me and it cost me considerably/
So now this mastery I hold of word delivery bestowed to me gets jotted down feverishly/
With an intensity equal to none inside of this ******* century, can't censor me/
Got a consistency that forces me to constantly cross the border of insanity repeatedly/
Time only to watch my talents as they literally wither away for all of eternity/
Such a tragedy to see such agony but please, no apology brought on by sympathy/
Just let me be as I drift farther out to sea to a place you'll never see/
To let these words mold me into someone you could never be/
©2018
Apr 6, 2018
Apr 6, 2018 at 4:00 AM UTC
She sits at the dinner table
Flattened lips
Tightly-fisted hands
Neutral face
She is disgusted
As she lifts the spoon to her mouth
Immediate remorse fills her body as the taste buds get the first feel of the warm food
She is disgusted
As she continues to eat, she can see the food turning into fat traveling to her cheeks
and to her jaw and to her arms and to her shoulders and to her chest and to her stomach
covering the bones that she wants to pierce through her skin
She can see it travel to her thighs, largening in size, making them touch, covering the huge gap that she wants situated in the middle
She is disgusted
She gets paler and paler with every chew and every swallow
And so to escape this torture, she lies and tells her uncle and aunt that her stomach is upset
and she feels sick
But she wasn't lying
Because her stomach was truly upset because it did not want to be filled
It wanted to stay tiny
It wanted to stay beautiful
It wanted to be more beautiful
She goes straight to the bathroom and locks the door
Washes her hands before sticking two fingers down her throat
Removes them once she feels the disgust rising through her esophagus
Closes her eyes as her upset stomach throws away everything unwanted
She is disgusted
She secures the lock in her bedroom
Thinking maybe it will keep the demons away
Or at least long enough for a second of sanity
But they are too gruesomely evil because the disgust that was once in her throat has now traveled to her wrists
She criticizes how her wrist bone isn't showing enough
Disgust travels to her chest
how her ribs aren't piercing enough
Disgust travels to her hips
how her hip bones aren't showing enough
Disgust travels to her thighs
how the space between isn't big enough
Disgust travels to her fingertips
Tension building up in her palms
The demons' silence turn into screams
She gives in
Picks up the knife
and writes an new poem on her body
I
am
disgusted
Oct 1, 2013
Oct 1, 2013 at 6:37 AM UTC
If you've ever broke out into hives, you would understand what it would feel like to be one.
If anxiety has ever stripped your veins,
If inspiration has ever lacked the blood leaking from the depths of you that explode like title waves against rocks, you would know what it would feel like to be stung.
I've realized I haven’t been aware of transfixed rage and clenched hands trying too hard to hold on to something that loosened its grip a match and a half ago.
The fluid in my liter told me it was never really meant for cigarettes; all they ever do is deteriorate.
There is blood covering my sheets and evidence to cover up my gruesomely blank eyes.
Everything is coming back to me and it makes me wonder why I've ever given up.
They say that words sting and if bumblebees killed themselves after hurting someone else they’d be a lot more like me.
This is ripped and crumbled paper in the form of a mental breakdown.
You have composed me of jolting pupils and false accusations.
I’d rather be writing in my journal.
I’d rather be scratching down illegible ink marks than doing what I’m doing right now.
If you can hear that, it’s the sound of windows breaking.
It’s the sound of your heart forcing itself to shatter
It’s the sound you make when all you want to do is become a drone to vivid darkness and a loss of senses.
I would be a lot more like bees if their venom could actually put the living in their suitable graves.
I am substituting pain for pleasure even when I feel nothing at all.
I don’t want to be a bumblebee anymore.
Mar 17, 2014
Mar 17, 2014 at 9:42 PM UTC
I know I write about you
And my love for you
All the time
But, the truth is, I'm afraid
So very scared
Because I've been
Down this road before
And it ended
Quite gruesomely
Quite abruptly
So every time that I say it
Know that I mean it
I truly love you
But my words
Will always be tinged with fear
Though everything within me
Adores everything about you
I will always dwell in anticipation
Forever on the edge of my seat
For fear of losing you
I've given a lot
And so have you
Though I'm sure you more than I
This love is all that I need
And so I'm very very afraid
Apr 14, 2014
Apr 14, 2014 at 12:22 PM UTC
The road to truth has many immure & acquiescent turns
Many tough battles with fire has left marks from many burns
Gruesomely the darkest hours of life are in the nugatory lies
The state of mind conforms with with deception as it so complies
It repeats on and on in the wild confines of a diabolical sequel
Its seems life is so riddled with impractical & daunting ways
People with poisoned minds, so narcissistic & shameful as it stays
To intersect with a soul of opulent loyalty & truth is seldom & blessed
But the severity of impeccability & prevarication having a fine line,
is a realization so strongly stressed...
©Michael P. Smith
Mar 17, 2013
Mar 17, 2013 at 6:31 AM UTC
Glare at me
Shine down upon me
Violate me
Flare up the forbidden
Knowledge that dwells in the emptiness
Of a faded paper that travels into the vast
Infinite tunnels of obscurity
A creation
With no name, no soul, no divine plan of its existence.
This thing that travels through our soul and into our hearts
Crawling and infesting light to darkness
Purity to impurity
Love to cruelty
Beauty to sorrow and darkness
Its origins is unknown
It can not be birth by the ritual of life, but made through the unnatural nature of creatures that walk on the dirt of this blue & green sphere
Fear is its foundation of life
To breathe in the leftovers of fresh marvelous gifts
That is abused and taken for granted
Tainting its integrity to forget morals & ethics
Creating a putrid foul smell that suffocates it’s only means of life, forcing it to consume its unholy gift just to grasps a bit of air just to breathe life for survival.
It is unholy
It is an accident
Sometimes we’re not aware of it until it’s too late
We cry that we didn't create it
In vain we shout, “We are decent”
In reality, we’re nothing more than greedy infested
Corrupted sinners
Who lust for power over others!
And God has left us!
Left us in this wasteland
Deserted us in the unknown darkness
Where no one can find us
Little by little
We reach our demise
One day will cry in agony saying, “ I've regretted this life” at the final moments of life
Where you’re being slaughtered gruesomely
By what we created
Repent has no meaning
Suffer dearly
Because you created your hell
And now you must deal with it
Remember, it’s your second half
You've created.
Die with it.
Jan 17, 2013
Jan 17, 2013 at 10:41 AM UTC
Stolen words from my mind
Quickly turn to make me blind
With fear in my eyes I turn away
I’ve lost all the words I wanted to say
They reek of death and disease
Then again it’s the dark side I please
If darkness could speak would it be my voice
If life were mine, would it be my choice
something dark within me seeks its way out
could I stop it if it made me scream and shout
in agonizing pain as my insides decayed
would I turn to a husk, gruesomely displayed
upon some freakshow wall above a fire
or would I be made into piano wire?
put in tune with others like me
as we played a dark gloomy symphony
while a vampire danced with his soon-to-be-bride
would I find courage to jump out or hide?
doubtlessly now you think I'm insane
otherwise you'd have words to blame
but you know by now they cannot control
the entity me, though I am not quite whole
speaking of holes, why six feet under
its not like the dead would awake with thunder
enough idle chatter, I know why you're here
to take me away from my mansion this year
shackle me up like my words said you would
tie up my wrists to posts made of wood
i'd laugh in your face and declare you a fool
your torturous ways will only make me look cool
Feb 24, 2013
Feb 24, 2013 at 9:22 PM UTC
Her eyes were two deep pools
And she was enticing you to drown in them
The water just looked too pretty to resist
So you jumped, but you forgot how to swim
And when you’re pulled under it’s too late
Those dilating pupils are a bottomless pit
And you’re a wilting rose in their darkness
You’ve been watered down into nothing
Eyes blue like the core of a flame
And true enough, you were drawn to them
A firefly burned gruesomely by the light
You couldn’t stay away; still and silent
Held mesmerised like many before you
Your throat parched for one sip
Regardless if water is polluted with apathy
Shameless; you’re drunkenly in love with it.
Hush now, don’t take a drink
Your lips may be cracked and bruised
But she is your poison and a slow one at best
A little boy like you should know better
Than to play with dancing, unruly fire
It burns, it burns, it burns
And the marks remain on your skin
A warning sign: “I was here first”
Sep 18, 2014
Sep 18, 2014 at 12:00 PM UTC
Excuse me, can you spare a minute
To hear all about Chaus?
She's a raving, mad poetess
And she's looking for some love.
Now, please, if you'd just listen
You'll understand it'd be no chore
She'd listen to everything you have to say
If only because she wants to write once more.
I apologize in advance if she seems too desperate
It's just been awhile since she wrote something from the heart
So it'd be absolutely wonderful if you could make her love you
And the rend her heart irreparably, gruesomely apart.
I hope that didn't scare you away, it is a scary request
It's just, she can't find her inspiration
The future of a poetess, an author, rests on you
We've already tried games, *** and vacations.
We're more than willing to compromise
If it would help, maybe she'll be something someday
In fact, that'd be a lovely way to break her heart
Lure her in with love, then steal her money and run away!
Unfortunately, you must audition for a callback
Well, no matter, I'll leave you with a contract
Should you decide you want this job
You must leave her anything but intact.
Aug 5, 2013
Aug 5, 2013 at 9:48 PM UTC
You speak,
there's a fork in your tongue.
I placed it
as gruesomely as I could,
just as you did with knives
in my back.
Your words,
simple myths,
spewed it
so horribly.
Your words,
mediocre myths,
yet so credible.
They should be recorded,
passed down,
as you pass on;
down.
Hell beckons you.
You remove the fork
and I see your horns
how could you have hidden them before?
Aug 27, 2012
Aug 27, 2012 at 9:51 PM UTC
From the underground pit that conceals treasure
The treasure that has been cursed
What the curse is no one knows
For no man has seen it
Until this very gruesomely dark day
Which brings the winds of change
Wretched pit, that has brought great sorrow
These pitiful lives we now live
Dec 16, 2014
Dec 16, 2014 at 11:06 PM UTC
It seems
you've managed to gouge out
another chunk of my heart
...
took your time
to make me feel it,
every bit of it
...
Wormed those fingers of pain
right in
...
down to nauciously scraped
nerves
...
dug in so deep
must've been so ******
to find it was hollow?
...
Oh sweety,
with your forhead
planted in your palms
You look so lost?
Didn't think of the cost?
did you?
...
Oh,
how well
in our misery we soak
one day king of hearts;
next day broke!
...
you didn't think
id let it go
so easily did you?
...
I have a habit
of scaping the mess
under my nails
...
love is such a
gruesomely pretty colour
...
Cheer up!
...
I feel so much better!
...
now that I've taken
a good chunk
of yours.
Oct 30, 2013
Oct 30, 2013 at 10:06 AM UTC
Im hearing it all,
Yet still im sitting here thinking,
'Hah! Life? What are you to take mine?!'
But still it plays in my mind how the rusty bridge i cross to get from on day to the next,
Is starting to crumble as slowly and painfully as my mind is breaking.
It does seem to mean that im going insane,
Deing what i want to try to get through a day of my life.
Its not as it seems to me to be that which was mine,
But now its not, it is someone elses, or someTHING elses.
It has no name or shape, and yet it seems to take away from me minamaly.
It chars my soul with te fires of hell,
Yet it gives me the cooling water of the streams to cool me.
It still seems to take,
Though it still does sooth.
It does appear as though im done, but i have no concept of time here i my life,
Im snapping back to take life head on,
Life pushes me to the edge yet i grab it by its gruesomely ugly and spiked tail,
To drag it with me into the spiraling depths of my own despair.
Jul 14, 2013
Jul 14, 2013 at 7:15 PM UTC
After glow of writing
Is there nothing like it
Pen jabs my hand
Splits my skin
Spills my blood
Red stuff of life
Fascinates so gruesomely
Don’t understand why
Don’t question
The laws of this world
It will always rule
She is no Louis the Fourteenth
She is no Napoleon
She is no Stalin
She is no Nero
She will always be
Accept it
Move on
To the words
A mere “l” separates the two
For a reason
The reason of power
The two have it
No one else does.
Dec 1, 2012
Dec 1, 2012 at 1:23 PM UTC
Snowflakes feather down from the sky in delicate ferocity, not knowing their imminent destination, but certainty hurling towards their death.
I wince as the mass slaughter of snowflakes is gruesomely displayed on my windshield.
Amongst the blustering winds each snowflake is traced and clustered with it's own design.
But the meticulous sculpting of these snowflakes serves no purpose as they all meld together creating the sugar kissed veil of whiteness.
I trust that if I were to be a pinwheeling snowflake that your peach caressed skin would preserve me for what I am if only for a brief moment to absorb my recherche crystal formation with appreciation.
Dec 4, 2016
Dec 4, 2016 at 5:32 PM UTC
She's a witch, stripper and succubus
She's had a house drop on her legs
But she's back at work again
She's out tonight
She's not the joking kind
She's not the joking kind
She'll turn the water into wine
And lick the acid off your spine
She's a *****
If it's beauty she wants it more
If you've wanted she's wanted more
You better give her all control
Or prepare to sign away your soul.
Death cadence and a touch of darkness
Burning dance the chimera shakes
Electric funeral in morning
Circus demons celebrate, she has no answer for it
Something overly personal again.
This is it, she's after the smell the wind.
Sanguinated faces peer out
Through the aching inches of suspended skin
A human being lacks the fortune, to supply the drugs that let the monsters live, she's close to death, it's something that the men can't resist.
Into the night, growing gruesomely, growing without knowing she writhed, she's suspended by evil and time
Jan 31, 2017
Jan 31, 2017 at 6:46 AM UTC
My greatest sin of all
Was to watch you shamelessly call
To those against whom you stood tall
And do nothing as I watched you fall
Into the depths of corruption and pain
Where one is soiled by the drops of rain
As they deform you, to become but a stain
In this world of the dead, of the gruesomely slain
At this point, I wish not to repent
I simply want to embrace my hellish descent
Because if you are a stain, then I am a dent
But I have a message that I wish to be sent
To the world, as a parting gift;
"Now that your saviours are rotting adrift,
Your towers will burn, and your houses will rift
And you will receive a death that is swift."
Jul 31, 2017
Jul 31, 2017 at 11:44 AM UTC
The difference between intimacy and lust
Love and tenderness
Lines so fine that they are difficult to proceed over
I don't lie to myself about why i break to tears
When you press your lips to my scars
And say that i am more than my mistakes
I don't pretend that i don't miss the heat of your embrace
When i am alone in a dark abyss of loneliness
The look in your eye when you see my fresh ****** mistakes
Embarked in my skin , gruesomely
And you look at them , like you have healing in your eyes
Thinking that the harder you look
The less pain i feel
I still want to die as i tangle my limbs with you
Still want to cry when you brush your tongue over my teeth
Still want to drift off to hell when you tell me to rest
I loved you
Way before my demons decided to make an appearance on my body
It doesn't matter who i am
Who i was
But who i am with you
Is what matters the most to me
Because when you turn away from me
Forgetting all we went through together
All the endless sticky nights entwined on the sofa
All the brisk winter days snuggled in the car
Your absence will be more noticeable
Than ANY of my wounds
Mar 22, 2018
Mar 22, 2018 at 11:24 AM UTC
every senseless thought
you are not dead to the mind.
reading to you from my fingertips
your destiny lies in a drought.
aimless and lost
you are blind
I am not mute,
I am not naive to you
I am anything but practiced
in the art of fixing your soul
everytime it breaks.
You, to me.
We are one salvaged being
Chained.
Gruesomely punished.
We are it.
But you are forgotten.
You are one sad, sick person
You are the one.
You will not make it.
But me, I am just blind.
Feb 3, 2015
Feb 3, 2015 at 2:48 PM UTC
there are monsters
at the end of our
most scenic streets.
still, we must travel
them and see those monsters,
shining our light in their
eyes.
some of us may exsanguinate,
or be gruesomely crushed by
uncaring or misguided jaws.
yet, we must remain steadfast
in showing ourselves to be,
each one, a phoenix,
a thunderbird.
We must rise above such
simple and foolish a
construct as hatred.
We must show those monsters,
at the end of those streets,
in those dark corners,
that we do not fear them,
that we will overpower them,
rising above them,
meter by meter,
stanza by stanza.
We must be the embodiment
of what we do,
we must be poetry.
we must bring our
light into all
those dark places,
we must never, ever
relent.
***
-JBClaywell
© P&ZPublications
Oct 7, 2017
Oct 7, 2017 at 1:40 PM UTC
This mind can dream of a thousand stars, a sea of galaxies from here to Mars
This mind can dream a thousand deaths, gruesomely freakish till I awaken with scars
Nov 1, 2014
Nov 1, 2014 at 8:20 PM UTC