"harshened" poems
Whisky, I neglected you
For mushrooms and amphetamines.
For ket and **** and LSD,
And Mandy too, to name a few.
Needn’t I have looked so far
To be the greatest of cliches.
The drugs and raves led me astray.
For writers, scotch is more on par.
Half your bottle drank away,
Half full in my state of mind.
Every sip; sublime and kind,
Every **** a harshened spray.
Now I’m stuck, a drunken haze
Has washed and swept the ways of rhyme.
In its tide is also time,
As by the sun, the night decays.
Whisky, polished, final sip.
Like the bottle, I am dry.
So, I tried, to write not high.
This poem ***** I’m off to trip.
Aug 21, 2018
Aug 21, 2018 at 9:07 AM UTC
Sockets laying low, like a swing with to much rusted chain.
Corneas harshened with florescent grass viridescent and sky aquamarine.
Snout pointy as the tip of a lustrous knife silver blade, and facing diagonal like a canon before fire.
Two ample, pale, cushions, keeping guard about my mentum.
Little brown chocolate chips, melting upon every inch and centimeter on my countenance.
A mane full of lingering threads colored chestnuts.
Physique of Irish, pure skin filled with angel kisses.
Two stubby branches hanging in action, waiting to be reactivated.
And two vertically challenged limbs, pudgy and not operational.
My presence, positioned vertical, gazing into a transparent sea of glass.
Oct 7, 2014
Oct 7, 2014 at 9:31 PM UTC
The demonic doubts demand demolition as
Corruption cries to conscious construction
Like a magician with tricks up his sleeves
The Art of Illusion, to trick and deceive
When it comes to masks the masquerade wont last
The cracks of time pushing future, past
And presently resembling the arch-nemesis assembly
The crafting of crows to call back serenity
With harshened voices, hoarse from hearing
With blacked out eyes and sores still bleeding
The information stream no longer receiving
Dull and numb they succumb unfeeling
Death, destruction and ****** demise
Shuffling heads down and lowered eyes
To touch the spawn is to provoke what lies
Further than six feet under buried heights
To fall so soon is to embrace your doom
We all have clocks that cluck their tunes
A cuckoo clock that counts down too
Moments from eternal midnight you bloom
A lunar flower, lunaticus spores
You feel the rush from opened pores
The fear irrational yet perpetuates your heartbeat
The hands line up and the springs they squeak
Laying down and without a sound
The judgement of time, a crown renouned
A wooden box to return to Earth
What Earth condemned to live and learn
May 23, 2017
May 23, 2017 at 4:12 AM UTC
I can see the poison dripping off your tongue,
As “Your too fat” cut deep,
I can see your fangs protruding,
You speak with disgust “ Are you transgender?”,
“You're not pretty enough” slither across my ear drums,
As your lies “long hair and makeup makes you pretty” make a fool out of me,
Your scales blister my heart,
As you use me up and twist me into a little doll,
I can see my blood spill out before me,
When you strike with harshened words **** yourself” .
I can feel the venom coursing through my veins,
Up from the wound,
Towards my mind,
Someone please **** the venom from my wound!
So I do not become a snake of society!
Jun 4, 2018
Jun 4, 2018 at 3:12 PM UTC