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Max Neumann Nov 2019
take me away from this journey
i am trapped in the land of placelessness

blind / hypnotized
route 36 / bolivia
deaf / treated with ultrasound
simultaneously

scarcely knowing
what all that means

i am feeling the rising of blood
a wave of heat like sandstorms

inevitability: willful / knowing / aware

i am putting myself at risk of dying
long ago i read about the risks and consequences
of my ******* abuse
pervaded them intellectually while

my heart remains deafly because
of *******
bitter
sear
aflutter and in panic

there is just:

one life
one heart
one body one man

man what are you doing?!?!
i am hollering into my inner
embracing the envelope
obsessed over bitterness
numb love
in the dungeon of plotted heavens
lofty as never before
is where i am running away from:
every day

in the 1920s there was a man
who they called "koks-emil"
he sold ******* in the nightstreets of berlin

the national archive has been keeping
a picture of him doing business with
two girls out of gangland we
can't see the face of the one standing left only  
her back

however her companion typifies precisely
what the drug creates in our souls:
a form that can not be imitated
like the effect of the drug

a form of longing and greed in the
girl's face

longing and greed
balancing each other
not one of
these states predominates

while beholding the girl i am becoming
horridly conscious
about myself
horridly about

my relationship with *******
my affair with *******
my love to ******* this
sounds sick?
indeed it is

we call it
suffering from an addiction

we call it
suffering from a dependency

become clean.
i wish you willpower
wish you strong luck
wish you peace at last

the rate of relapsing
******* users is vast
during the night

when the wind is
breezing mildly

when the stones of the cities
are breathing out the heat of the day

while you are
sneaking over the streets

while every street corner resembles
the very one where
koks-emil used to sell his product

while you are sensing the smell
of bitterness

while you are being preoccupied with
her face: her longing her greed

while you are experiencing
yourself:

more deeply
more soberly
and more knowingly
as before

while you
are reaching out your hands searching
with kidfingers for koks-emil

the guy with the warped corner of the mouth
the reliable / greedy one

the one who is always ready

a salesman has to be available for
every second of your longing
every second of your greed

koks-emil: your world is made of black and white
your hat is grey its bonnet is vanishing as your
shivering hands

hands that spread capsules
hands that grap at bills
hands that you use to brush away your sweat

**** between the lipps
shabby coat

koks-emil your spirit
blows through inner cities like gas fumes
a grin on your face coming from
lurid lights

you became immortal
you underwent rapid decades
you were an addict
you created addicts
you served addicts

the ****** expression of the girl
your child-like customer
remains for

all for everybody with a
*******-addiction

for all and for everybody
who depends on *******

for all and everybody
who is clean from *******

for all and everybody:
longing and greed

rest in peace girl
Based on true events.

Today is a good day.
Emilie Vang Dec 2021
he used his hands to touch around my pure bare smooth skin
and told me it was supposed to feel magical,
but what is magic without a shinny golden lamp?
he rubbed it three time and continued.
he told me that i was a princess, untouchable to others, but him.
set on a perfect seated throne.
that seat was made just for me.
he ignored every blood drip drop
and shoved the glass slipper in as if it fit.
he whispered into my ear
and told me, i sounded like mourning birds chirping
as i screeched horridly being poisoned by an apple.
it felt like a needle pricking in and out of my skin.
laying there in eternity, still and steady.
wishing i could forever sleep.
but how can i sleep forever when he is the beast that has held me captive in his castle of words?
“the princess is supposed to kiss the frog and he will turn into a prince.”
i kissed the frog.
no.
i did even more, but he was nothing like their stories.
his story was different from the books.
he told me it was my fault that i was a singing siren.
i was just too desirable,
so he had to pull me out of the water and show me something new.
it's kind of based on disney princesses, which ones can you point out?
Graff1980 Jun 2015
How can we not feel Adam’s pain
See the features of this creature
Tortured by people’s disdain
And not weep at his wretched state

Frankenstein’s creation
From his strange life equation
Electrical innovation
In that once marvelous now dead age

How can we not feel Adam’s pain
The child with no real name
Only a borrowed nomenclature
To define his human inhumane nature

Torches and Preachers calling for his head
Love denied never finding peace
This so called beast could rip us to shreds
Tear our flesh asunder and squash our heads

But when he speaks racked with life’s pain
A horridly embellished mirror of my own
My defenses break opening the floodgate
And the monster makes me cry
Jennifer French Oct 2012
And I am sick of phone calls
From people long left,
And of this anxiety,
Which I won't forget.
Cold sweats and shaking myself.
horridly awake,
Horridly aware of you;
A memory of the past.
Tearing me ever slowly,
ruining my mind.

But I will find some comfort,
In the future first.
******* in the cool stiff air,
My hands filled with tears.
Then I'll become a monster,
In ways I'm not proud.
This is who I've become.
All that I hated.
At last my heart relaxes,
Release to the bed.

He rolls over with a sigh,
Arms wrapping 'round me.
I can feel his heart beat slow.
Suddenly, I am home.
All oceans would this navigator discover
seven seas in seven years did he roam
whist sparkling stars in the heavens tried so hard
yet this broken navigator could not get back home

So he bites on solar winds and sails
to a place of many days of doldrums
this place so stagnant and most morose
he had to his sins, has to wait with his kin within

His crew are that hard of salty seafaring kind
with maps written on their faces cracked by sun and salt
they his, had only ****** smells and shells
call them hero's as seven seas they did horridly sea's fought

This was his last voided slipstream event
these mariners by the cut of their gibe
prayed to an Egyptian Hero some call Alligator
for he is the first and last of Navigator

So whist this captain of mapped minds falls
his company will care for his last orders
for they have witnessed in ancient tears
and the breaking of the navigator

Oh fly the flag and be proud
live poetry with passion long and loud
let your heart embrace this creature proud
whist you watch the breaking of the Navigator


By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris



By NeonSolaris
© 2013 NeonSolaris (All rights reserved)
Pax Jun 2013
To think or just blink - something click, then link
a pink fluid runs in the sink, it stink of raw ink
I did a sharp clink
And I laugh like a lunatic
The stinging click makes my brain tic
Then someone wink, I panic
Horror runs in terror deep in my fatty exterior
my heart roars its pounding beat as I roam in fast feat
I struggle for self-control calling all my self-patrol
Holding my reality intact in which for now, I lack
Insanity pulls my multiple personality
Questionable mentality
Shake, shake rapidly
now I dance stupidly
all attention now is in me, then I ran horridly
someone pinned me, I scream endlessly
something pierce my skin
a sharp quick pain
a fluid sips through my veins
rushing, calming every stiff muscles, then once more I leap
then my heart stops its bouncing beat
my craziness slips into a silent sleep!



*© Pax
Thomas Van Pelt Nov 2012
Does this matter?
This horridly confident walk birthed from the wide open black mouth.
And the bellies of frogs painted across the damp stretch.
Look not on my fur my sleek winding back-
My claws are sharp.
My, my, my, my am I not vile enough?
We'd beckon to the night and its surrendered kisses-
Black!
Black feline tarts, free yourself, dig your members deep into the...
KM Ramsey Jun 2015
it's possible to lose yourself in loneliness

at some point
my solo reflection that
gazed back into
glassy hollow unequal pupils
began to claw hungrily at the glass
bated breath fogging the
thin membranous divider
keeping back the
unadulterated
most abject terror

that wooden grain
geometrically containing the
image who must stay
hidden in the holy of holies
or risk the ruin of all
things

she beats against the glass
that wraith girl with the
sutured mouth and
blinded eyes
and skin who cries out
for the slice of liquid mirror shards
and grasps the edges
of that rectangular prison
jagged pieces sliding sensually
keys into forbidden locks
surgically opening
the red liquorish vines
pulsing with a viscous
pungent poison
just underneath
onion paper skin

her nails scrape lead paint chips
off the crumbling frame
and i take them into myself
sewing them with the care
of a grandmother's arthritic hand
into the warm moist black
i can ever count on

she falls
like a newborn foal
glistening with those
maternal fluids
the literal matrix of life
hesitant steps on the
feet from that other dimension
where laws diverge and
perception is not relative
but horridly absolute

how can she manage
that leap which
knocks me straight out of my body
astrally exiled from myself
and filled to the brim
with a ghost girl
marionette
with painted sanguine smile
and strings attached
at each one of my joints
moving me with a flick
of some nameless fear

i think i spent too much time
trying to reconcile
the foreign body whose
defection left me howling with
a fiery bloodlust and an
insatiable hunger to vaporize those
staining contaminants
those long chain fatty acids that
deposit like stones in my pockets
weighing me down to the
river bed
whose mirror still reflects
the graven image of
a sinner-saint
whose sallow complexion
demonstrates her devotion
and in her death
faith
though her sacrifice was no
crucifixion to relieve me
of any of my
transgressions
or prevent me from
besmirching the god
i'm not sure i totally believe in

how do i give myself to you
and banish the apprehension
that comes with the
crash landing of me into
this corporeal form
stolen from me ages ago

how do i tell you that
when your hands trace
the curvaceous line of this body
that it feels like a fire's touch
scorching me to the bone
burning me at the stake of
my inadequacy and simultaneous
excess

it's too much.
Pen Lux Aug 2013
This page is terrifying,
        and now it is mine.
There are no rules on this page,
        my eyes are all that see it.
        My pencil greets it with my hands stroke.
        My movement takes it where ever I please.

I would like to enhance my style with technique.

People:         my greatest fear
                                 &
                     my greatest love
                         intertwined.

Often times I mistook that love for hate, yet
looking back upon the reasons, I realize how
vain they were. How horridly timid I was to
let the truth, lies and rumors all become one.

How silly the grief of things.
         How rude of me to focus in on them.

As if the plague was the cure to the madness
engulfing me as my friendships grew and
declined in number so rapidly. If only I could
say that I knew what I was doing.

How glad I am to say that I was not.
         How glad I am to say that I learned to move on.

I have learned, at that.
I will bloom at winters end.
I've been going to bed early. Waking up at 5am. Reading, drinking water, pondering, meditating on life over coffee with myself. Sitting on the back deck to indulge in my life's wake. Seeing the Moon to say goodbye before she greets another. Greeting the Sun. Fire's grasp on surrounding forests give me grey skies. I hear the water planes fly by just as I am inhaling a different kind of smoke into my lungs, I hold my breath, reach for the pencil, and write.

Here is what I wrote over the course of two mornings.
I've actually picked up a pencil and a blank page and remembered what my passion was.
I have neglected blank pages in fear of making mistakes.
To be a pen, truly, I believe one must master the language of the pen in pencil, so as not to "jump the gun".  

On another note: I want to apologize for not responding to each comment. I used to be more avid, yet it seems that I have lost the ability to share as freely as I used to. I've become a hermit to my path and have begun to be led astray, simply because my sufferings are something I have been making a priority to suppress. This site does wonders for my writing and my confidence in it. Which can also lead to a deep fear of writing something my readers won't enjoy. While on a walk I considered the facts and gave myself a once over and realized, for lack of a better phrase, "Who the **** cares?" and, "I shouldn't."

Which is true, no one should.
We're all here for the same reason: Poetry.
What's not to like?
We all have our own unique styles, and they change.
We all learn from each other here. For better or for worse.

Thank you all for your time. For those who read simply the poem, or just this... or both.

Write on.
E Dec 2017
A heart that is gold may hold
But a heart that is clear shows fear
For everything inside is displayed to show
How much I’ve been feeling so horridly low

A heart may be there
But not in despair
And calling it weak
Or empty and bleak

Does nothing for you
And they haven’t a clue
To which it feels
To have your hopes slowly peeled
Off the bone and skin
So take your complaints to the garbage bin

I’m not being petty, or stupid and naive
But problems will fall like the brown autumn leaves
And now they are blackened and rot and decay
And I want the sun blotted out and to go far far away

My heart is in tears, but I need not express
For a suffering fool does his part to best
When he admits quietly and with wise dignity
So do shut up and come back when you see
That this is no exaggeration
Merely a human’s limitation
To how far emotions can go
Yet you still whine, “SO?!”

I’m done with today, I want to black out
And I can’t do so much as emit one quick shout
Because a suffering fool admits it quietly
When his one true love is shredded before he.
Heartbreak is a b*tch.
Evynne May 2013
Sitting here
Staring at the floor
Ransacking my stream of consciousness for
At least one solid thought
To write down
On this horridly clean
Piece of paper

I am tired
And alone
And entirely useless
(die, die, die)
Anywhere but here

Let's get out of this place
Go somewhere far, far away
Let's get in my car and
Drive and drive and drive
Until we forget why we left everything
But each other
Behind
In the first place

We might be dead by tomorrow
Come on, love
Let's go while we still can
TD Rucker May 2014
My mind had started to slow.
    Reverse this process
                     Let me go
                              Fast
My lungs become a freezer
           To hold the
                           Fire Ice
Close my eyes and feel the crystal-
                                     -ized
Ether poison of horridly wonderous taste.
         Feeling better
Not fast enough in my haste.
   While this is nice
              I want to FEEL the
                         Fire Ice
Rock to powder
               Powder to lines lines lines
          Lines that lie
With the promise of power
                Exhale, inhale
The burn I yearned
     Tears
            Feeling better burning higher
      From the
                            Fire Ice
K G Jul 2015
Have you ever been blamed for something you didn't do
You feel violated of your own trust
Sometimes you don't even know the situation
Being blamed for something you didn't do is like a chain on you
Weighing you down from being sane
Propagate and profligate why your life is horrible
In your dreams, you run horridly
Beforehand you were happy
Therefore now you are worsening
Day by day
Have you ever been blamed for something you didn't do
MoMo Nov 2012
Her eyes are hollow pools
Through which you think you can see the bottom.
What you think are the glittering
Smooth pebbles on the grainy bottom are really
Just the backs of the horrible monsters that swim
On the surface of her tattered soul.
Just. The surface.
Farther down, past those horridly
Beautiful creatures, in the darker,
Colder waters even more things swim.
Blind to everything, but the destruction
Of the few drifting remnants of
Her true self.
And even further down are the
Bones of her lovers,
Her family,
Her friends…
The people she never wanted to be
Dragged down,
Drowned. Along with the emotions
She never should have had.
They sink, slowly, in the silt of her consciousness.
Some with grim-bone grins and silent screams,
Others with spindle fingers reaching
for a surface they’ll never see again.
Vallery Oct 2023
Glittery sunlight seeps through the gaps in the leaves, shadows dance on the soft grass around me. I lie on the warm earth, breathing in the fresh air. I run my hands through the flowers sprouting besides me, noticing the pale yellow and pastel pink hues, the butterflies flittering among the flora. As i sit up i see that I'm in some sort of forest clearing, a small grassy area encased in a wall of thick trees...


"It's beautiful isn't it?" he said. Who he is, I haven't a clue...
I stand myself up and confusion washes over me. I don't see anyone else present, I'm alone, so where'd the voice come from?
"From me, I'm behind you."
I turn around to face the man with the disembodied voice, a strikingly handsome man dressed in a silk white button down shirt, shiny white dress pants, and white shoes. his features are utterly appealing and instantesouly comforting. Can he read my thoughts?
And with that he lets out a chuckle, "Yes, I can. Please, come with me"
I hesitate for a moment. I'm not sure I can entirely trust him yet but still I follow him anyways. We walk across the clearing, in to the wall of trees. A short distance through the forest brings us to a beautiful river with crystal clear water and lily pads floating about. "Have a seat dear," the Mystery Man said, his arms outstretched towrds a wooden bench shaded beneath some trees. As we sit he begins to speak.
"I know you're unsure of your new environment, but trust me when I say you're in good hands. My friends call me Luci, I sort of run this place,"
he gestures broadly at our surroundings.
"Now, you're here because you asked for help, is that correct?"
Suddenly all my memories come flooding back...
"I-Yes, thats-I asked for help," I stuttered.
Luci stares into the distance, possibly carefully searching for his next reply.
"Dani, I am willing to help you. Here, take this. I've made this just for you. A special concoction of joy, sobriety, peace, and release."
He hands me a small vial containing a clear liquid. I uncap it and a sweet floral aroma fills the air.
"All you have to do is drink it. You know, Death is a beautiful thing, most people are afraid or angry when Death comes around... You are different, Dani, because you welcome Death with open arms. You called my name and I delivered, you can trust me, you can always trust an angel, even the Angel of Death."
He grabs my arm and forces me to drink the liquid.
The sweet smelling potion leaves a horridly bitter taste behind, causing me to gag and retch.
Death sits quietly at my side, watching me fall to the ground and writhe in pain, all with an ugly grin on his face.
The pain is unbearable; I feel as though my skin has been covered in acid, my head feels like it may combust at any second...
Death begins to laugh.
Hes getting off on this, I know it. *******.
"Now, now, Dani, don't blame me. You're the one who wanted this, you're the one who tied the noose, not me. I saved you, now you owe me."
With those last words I give in, I had asked for this, I desperately wanted this, I needed this.
With the acceptance comes the release, the final breath, the final end.

I have been saved by an angel named Death.

Im finally free.
Janelise Dec 2012
bubbling underneath a smiling surface;

burning through my dimpled cheeks.

a feeling of frustration

unbreakable and deafening

making me see colors horridly beautiful

stealing the sleep from my eyes

and the quiet from my busy brain.

i hate this feeling,

this stagnant desperation.

its like a boulder breaking my spirit;

a red fashioned murderer of my inspiration.
Ysa Pa May 2015
If you may give me permission
To ask and to give reason
I would gladly take the opportunity
To give me a bit of jubilee

As I do my best
To fulfill my quest
I only have a few requests
To my life's guests

It is not to treat me nice,y
Nor to treat me horridly
It is to treat me how they wish to be treated
Whether its with disregard or respect

If you treat me how you wish
Then I shall return the favor
But if you dare mess with me
Just imagine the resulting horror

If you are doing something
Wake it worthwhile
Whatever is happening
Put on a smile

Value each moment
Because all things end
Learn to love and to forgive
In life, good things must be conceived

Most importantly
Is to please remember me
Because I would never forget you
Even if time goes beyond infinity
(strike while the iron's hot,
else...up prize cold hard steel Goldfinger
rewind: the following case in point).

Believe me you (stranger out there
along the information super highway),
perhaps feeling comfortably numb,
which I (personally experiencing futility)

vainly searching for Nirvana) attest
to be more appealing that flounder
(like a Phish out of roe jeers waters),
this Pink Floyd wannabe (actually live

ving an absurd existence as an A1 Deep Purple
People eater among a Band of *******)
oft times doth Abandon All Hope, when
this close (a hare's breath - imagined

by thumb and index finger nearly touching)
pinching that elusive Golden Silence),
when in the throes (up raised hands
signifying Abhorrent success) hopelessly

striving to summon forth a measly poetic
creation only to Rage Against The Machine
(Ablaze In Hatred) horridly glomming fruit
less endeavor, (a far cry approximating A

Blue Ocean Dream) extremely at wits end tide
feeling the painful impact re: classic mind
paralysis vis a vis Abnormyndeffect (whereat
most diagnoses an Abomination at best,

(strongly resembling, and easily mistaken
for gingerly feigning good knight two step
A BoogieWit da Hoodie), thus mental health
specialists advocate best ditch writer's block

as an Aborted effort gone south (by About a Mile),
yea...Just Above The Golden State (The Ruins),
when...with a whoosh A Canticle for Leibowitz
manifests and Jethro Tull appears waving a

magic wand while issuing Abracadabra birthing
from out The Breach of Silence inspiration met
with immediate backlogged literary juices, and
sudden Abrogation viz A Broken Silence, where

what appeared as a budding **** fantastically
heralded breakout New York Times best seller
collapses into a Uriah Heap of absentmindedness
twisting within psychic wind Abysmal Grief pain

full Acceptance of Absolute Zero literary talent
with strong considerations for an Accidental
Suicide Usher red via shocking the body electric
with maximum AC/DC self selected Act of Violence

deadening this once Acute Mind eve vent chilly Beck
conning Adam and the Ants, the Addiction Crew, and
most Petty full Heartbreaker i.e. A Death in the Family
unexpectedly engendering A Different Breed of Killers

who (Like the House of The Rising Sun nemesis),
essentially a Phoenix villa fied Gorgon Twisted Sister
faintly resembling a cross between Golgotha, Adolescents,
and Adonis, when...Who should appear A Dozen Furies

hence fomenting A Dream Too Late, Adultery admonished
by an Adult Mom with a doctorate in Advanced Chemistry,
and physiology of A Few Good Men inexplicably trans
forming into A Flock of Seagulls After Dusk matter of

fact After Forever leaving an Afterglow Against Time,
a veritable Air Supply ample enough to solve every
Algebra problem posed by Alice Cooper easy enough
to solve by average Alleycats, Stray Cats and Also Eden.

I hope you enjoyed Altered Images (ideally while in an
Altered State) Among the Oak and Ash during A Month
of Somedays assigning Amorphous Androgynous (A Pale
Horse Named Death) naysaying A Positive Life!
SelinaSharday Aug 2021
Don't take a girls pearls
Then crush them under your feet before the world.
Don't  get her secrets.
And leave her with regurgitated regrets.
A fool disguised as supreme.
Is a horrid being.
Desiring to verbally abuse and emotionally curse a woman.
Don't look good on your walls hall of fame.
Don't tell a woman she's the victim of mental abuse
When you turn around to destroy her for your use.
You claim the rank as a romantic. Turns out your only a writing lunatic.
Ahh we woman are what makes ya tick..
Why toss out beautiful portraits that seems to fit.
Women beware he will turn around and destroy a face of perfect.
In a schemed dairy of exaggerations during
his verbal adjudications thrown fits.
Oh shh I won't tell of persons staled
marital woes of 100 years in unfinished separated fools bizness.
Fix that spilled spoiled milk real quick.
It's gotten too thick.
Keep spinning those wounded male ego's of lies.
Be proud the Queen of unbothered sent her tid bit of replies.
Your words are to be splattered as flies filled with nasty disgusting lies.
Achoo the paper you used is to be sneezed on like tissues
achoo laugh out loud LOL guess there's no maturity.
Hey Q  U will be back fa meh HORRIDLY.
I'm seeing forgery attempts for a real man.  
Seen verbally abusing the female congregation.
Then trying to romance us women without hesitation.
No wonder you're in your situation.
If you want to address everything I say.
Let me ship a box of lipsticks your way.
We can have a good old girl fight any day.
Hope yah can tell, I'm not tryna slay ya too well.
Mwen dezole---"I'm sorry"!
Should I say less, say less, say less or close the Door.
I could say mo say more!
Nah I'm going to close this blocked yo a** door.
You are not what I come here for.
No need to be salty wave a white flag and retreat have some seats.
Don't worry grand Rose Oh I see you. You see me too.
Now peace on from this Queen's inner beauty outward shine,
Don't try stealing mine.
#@Done...I just had sum fun.!! Bye now stop fussing son.!!
&@Stayed.Shardayed.Darling!! s.a.m 2021
Say..Mr. ahh Your delivery shows yah misery.. Hah again I'm ya rused mused.. ya should pay me, @how yah poetry comes fa me.. how silly you be. lol
Hala K Jul 2015
She painfully stares and achingly gazes deep into the emotionless eyes she has never gotten use to no matter the intensifying years she has cowered under. The angelic smile graced upon her lips frowned into a languishing glower as she hears those melancholy scowls scrape out of that precious voice of yours. Her disappointed expression increases as your desperate urge for any type of detrimental reaction given off from the girl you claim as a meaningless soul, undeserving for the commendable respect you rarely bestow upon others. She lets her tears and her worries for you fall free as the aching and coldness of your heart evoked a tremor within the chasm of her abdomen. She argues and she begs for yourself to be disengaged from that fabricated character you have devoted yourself to be as the more aggressive punches and afflicting kicks are thrown onto her, causing greatly aggrandized worry and doubt to enter her mind. You’re consummate and jubilant days instantaneously flipped onto dark and lugubrious lifestyle, disowning as destroying your own inestimable life, only cumulating it much more powerfully. She screams and shouts, forcefully advocating the torment you have horrifically rendered to, horridly allowing the agony to tear through the apprehensive of her benevolence as your congenial laughter antipathetically snapped into one of your fallacious growls, attempting to intimidate her happiness, hoping for her contentment to vanquish in mid air. She does all of this, all over again, all stronger and harder than ever before, and all for one last time. Anger and frustration fuels in her veins, the gruesome expression stuck to your face sickening her, shaking her head in disgust. She puts aside the repulsive torment given to her by your own repulsive hands, replacing the ringing of insults and profanity unhesitatingly escaping the once innocent mouth of yours into a deep and miserable concern for your once prized anima. She does this all one last time, pointlessly hoping for a once in a lifetime miracle to occur. Her optimism and determination drives her adrenaline insane as the last sobs propel out of her throat. Every method has been used and repeated, each and every one has been desperately thrown to you with acrimony and exasperation furiously blasted within the hazardous mixture. Her courage dauntlessly roars as she holds her head high for the first time in eons, aggressively shoving you aside, clenching her fists as you potently stumble to the ground. She shrieks and she wails out all of the years kept flinching from the abhorrent tone in your voice and mewling down on the ground out of her system, leaving you to whimper as she wails her impetuous yet venturesome thoughts out, growling you to duck behind your face, fear and guilt forming in the pits of your stomach. Not one conclusion is left unsaid, and not one suggestion and avail is left cooped up in her brain. Every single retreat she'd always longed to respond is now out in the open for you to hear. Nothing is left implied as she finally walks out on the dismal of what you may call an existence, starting a new life as the last one of her blubbering's are fallen, and the final of her words are spoken. Her sigh breathlessly leaves as a deep involuntarily moan fleets out of her mouth, breathing in the new sight of the free air she'd never been allowed to see, only dreamt of the exemption of exerting from the trap she'd ruthlessly been obliged upon. Releasing herself from the punishment of concealment demoniacally lavished onto her, the once little pathetic and worthless girl bawling her eyes out to sleep is no more as the new confident and obstinate self embraces the atmosphere around her, spreading her power among the distance as she walks away from the cruel life extemporaneous for her. A genuine smile, one not embellished upon her lips for quite a while adorned to her mouth, completing the gratified glint in the sparkles of her eyes.  The throes and torture are no more, and the distressful past once drearily presented is once again, blissfully no more.
Shailesh Otari Jun 2014
Cycle of life moves ahead
clouds of thoughts fog my head
weary feet reach their goal
yet dryness permeates my soul
reflecting on the path behind
dark alleys haunt my mind.

Wildest dream meant longest miles
I started with the widest smiles,
game was I, walked it all
reached here without a fall
but now I feel everything gone
sullen emptiness fills bygone.


I see no mistake
I see no wrong step
where then did I fault
why did my joy halt
and so horridly I sense
this emptiness immense?


Why did I dream such?
Why did I toil so much?
What did I get, I wonder,
in hollow reasons I wander
only to find that although I've won,
I was following the horizon.


The child in me dies
the wise in me cries
as I glance my quixotic chase
I realize my empty race
I squandered my time, lost my dough
But worse are my spirits; were never so low.
Apr 22nd 2008
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2021
what should, could... what one would otherwise
do-not-do...
when language policing is so enforced
that i just... have to... punctuate a stutter or
at least suppose so on
a racial slur, a slurp-up stricken by ice,
and cold... and if lambs had elbows...
this modus operandi of post-colonial peoples
this crucifixion self-laceration
hard-on... which i want a taste of:
bad person, forever... murderer...
since there was no censor at work
around an added G: for giggle's worth...
and an existent R - although in english
there's no trill of it... no thrill, of it so...
nay bovver...
'aggis neeps 'n' tatties...
      otherwise the swede of the suede
is a bit like digesting blue & shoe...
once upon a time two bottles of wine
and i'd be off my rockers in
a little town in Essex where the women
are as fine as nuns and
sooner a cow-*****-******* for milk than...
Juan a-hey-presto... stand... night...
unbearable...
the less *** i've had the more
this... one-armed gambit does... the more...
of the trickery...
not overloading on the use
of a definite article...
but... it's so much easier to curl a hand
into a makeshift ******...
solipsistic *** lives... of... mostly men...
a bit like... regressing / seeing double...
homosexual ***-lives in literature from
the 20th century...
******* literature from the 20th century...
heterosexual antics of men
in the 21st century...
almost a: gleich scheiße,
           anders deckel...
                dekiel.... almost a loan word...
           living in close proximity of: zee schwaben
haben saschisch... aben aben...
perhaps the grammatical
juxtaposing is akin to ancient
Latin, my concern for: anders deckel
or deckel anders...
   same ****, different cover... cover's different...
overstating a fact with
a... conjunction or is it, is, the it...
preposition of... the it is is... Beckett's last
lunch... an hour of sunshine...
keep all chalky 'andy...
beside the apostrophe and the hyphen-conjugate...
glue's not glue:
blue is blue...
green is green...
but there's also... grue...
which is not... y'ella...

          a bluegreen: present grew:
for not yellow...

and i will... entertain... language policing...
over... slurring... past punctuation markers...
like... every time i see a choc-sensation...
no offense - you want the manure skin analogy...
because choc is counter-productive block...
well... let me get on my one remaining
good knee and play tongue the custard
for a Malcolm Noble...

     i would just hate to appease...
it's so ******* boring i'm turning into a boorish
**** of apathy...
by some lineage of argumentation
i've heard the lazy etymological
"argument" that...
from the Caucus... a ****-asian male...
the argument: Paul's a pole...
a pole a Paul's Paul...
            what's missing in... less than germ-
-anic...
                   like it's so simply
Slav(e)...

         less a ****** show & tell a whitey
clad in a bleached ghost necking-tie...
off-on-the-offensive...
   i.e. attack...
      there's a klaus nigge...
      a deutsche photographer...
there's... nigh-ger-ia...
            there's also a Nigh-Ger...
  giggle glutton... gargle... growing pains
in both groin... und gut...

cages i see cages i see tongues in iron
maidens i see souls in hell
and thoughts in limbo...

sound capture... i want to scoop some letters
as almost dead:

  ж = зъ = ż...
    imagine my disbelief at the lack of
orthographical aesthetic...
it only took a dot above the Z
to encourage...

perhaps in braille
perhaps in katakana:

         ⠛⠛⠗

         but letters as atoms of sound...
or methane...
ta-
         ma-
                      -ah
                                   -e contra -eh:
the tetragrammaton my vowel
catcher...
         no surprise of a fire...

hence the surd... like an apostrophe...
extending the saxon
spelling of words into compounds
in the field of chemistry...
a herr adams that wealth of the nations
shamed
jean-paul sartre... lived with his mother
because...

i'll have to leave it to stutter...
overtly punctuated...
no, no surprises...
it's a slur like it might be allowed
for urbanites
and listening to wap folk...
but no: wrap it up
on the horizon... already excluded...
so back to no drawing board...

spikes-up mein jerky chin of a Lee
and says: it's n'ah ah... LEAN...
****** my tongue is harsh but
not towing some unfathomable tie-up...
it's byzantine bilingual
but not... schizoid-teasing-afro-affluence...
like me taking a stab
at living in... h'almighty: Ghana...
visit... Raw-Andy... the Rwandese... plumber...

whereas the romantic affairs
of men are mostly... linear...
the romantic affairs of women
are... overbearingly... cyclic... thus...
what thus?

i'm strapped to a gimmick
and a pseudo expression of lingo...
i'm spineless... death-core....

replenishing the walking abortion(s)...
this ****-job of a man
this scrap heap of egg
and nullifying shells...
like this gargantuan homosexual
**** would never begin
or end with a flower-eater
quest for...
              a drunkard's ****, side...

there aren't enough hours in a day
to want to... beside having to...
listen to bbc radio 3...
once upon a time there was
me guilty of a radio 4 escapade...
but... where there's a t.v.
i'm pretty sure there's no fire-
                           -place....

like the old addition of curating
an attic space: might it be an "also"
cave... without ridicule...
underappreciated...
undermined... this tongue that
does the waggling...
like slurp majestic of floral pattern
*****... well...
i'm tired of the sort of freedom
thus, presented...

here comes the bundle... the bulge...
heaving criss-cross and X's
at the ha ha: stubble pin-point...
yahoo fro Idaho...
this whittle sort
of green patch of land 'n'
h'america..

    my yours truly...
       delving into shelved
secrecies of gluck-winding-back...
clock... there's the admiral...
the hour of our wait...
                the ice creasing a shallot being sliced...
the agony of the wait... the agony
of a yawn... the elongated

tears over an onion...
         if i could claim ownership
for a woman to deposit her
scrutiny of mortality...

yes, this shadow,
yes: this noon...
yes this dwarf of me in shadow grit
drifting toward an apart...

onions for the peel...
i tend to forget what and where
was... "fun"...
i'll hardly want to be left
having inherited
some variation of bias
with either children
or a grandiosity of grand-
   (angwy prefix lady said
so: sock 'em in)

        here's too, a forward...leisurerly
issued: from an Ottoman outpost...
i'm a bad man...
thought language police...
i'm a bad man...
i was inherently bad...
i'm bad i'm bad
i'm terribly... horridly...  anaemic... so...
self-lacerate moi...

cages in their 'eds...
language like afghan
******'s plenty..

better target practice with
those khaki attired
mustard clad foe...
to hell with the **-**-hoes...
i forget what's inclined by stressing
the dynamic of beta...
alpha resources...

as the crucified man said:
if i am not the alpha...
i'm not going to be
the BETA-BUCK-DELUX...

i'll be... last... omega.. "junction"...
yes... i'll be that... just that..
omega malph.
rootsbudsflowers Nov 2015
I get so mad.
I don't know why
I wish that I could stop
Myself from yelling at my mom
And glaring at my pop.
At times they don't do anything
(I said I can't explain)
Yet I react
So horridly
(I can't help but complain)
They don't deserve my anger.
They don't deserve my rage.
So I will write my madness out
And leave it on the page.
Lua Orion Jan 2015
sweat rolls down his spine and the cats tail will sway to the pace of the nearby pocket watch, ticking down time til the world shall end and the sun will beam through the windows and the babies will scream sounding like birds ripping souls from the worms that lay low to the cold hard ground in the middle of fall and I promise, darling, oh I promise the clouds will cry tonight while the moon beams comfort the girl with that red long hair, who sings so horridly the boys go blind from nonsense. and that moment, her father will cry while sipping his whiskey and her mother will take one too many pills to ease the pain knowing her son will die and her unborn will never grow again. like flowers on the mountain tops, nothing will be revoked from your paradisiacal grip that carries the world on a stick.
don't miss me
Alyssa T Jul 2013
I once stayed up so late
the crickets turned into birds,
And I once sobbed so horridly
That the headache lasted days,
But I never thought
I'd love anybody so much
That they thought
I was lying.
Sometimes Starr Oct 2017
The darkness...

It used to be a place that i could hide

A comfort pit.

But now it has pierced the full howl
Of the undertow of the falling world.

I feel the wash up rising above my chin
To take me under.

I tell myself if i hold steady
It will be worth it,
I will be great if i just hold composure

But that's just not true

The younger are passing me now

They know not to make the same mistakes as me

They look down at me with passivity, passing

The Weeknd is singing, cooing from my phone
You're only looking for attention...

I am smoking a cigarette bummed from my brother, it feels surprisingly
Worryingly good after a few days
Of not smoking

At that moment, thinking i have pierced the safe darkness and gone fully crazy, not stable when im sober

Deep into the wine

That the fox let out a curdling scream and it agrees horridly with my curdled soul

I fear mediocrity

I have lost the game of life

I am 23, and

It is too late.
Help.
celey Jul 2015
i like touching the bumps on their arms as i sniff and finally allow my face to drop
moments like that are drenched with such genuine pain and sincerity and silent understanding with still nodding of heads
how horridly beautiful, those moments are
bumps on arms touching horridly beautiful moments drop face genuine pain sincerity understanding
k e i Aug 2020
i’m sorry. i know i’m four days late but quit talking to me in that annoyed tone. hear me out, i got caught up with deadlines. i drove here as soon as i got them over with.

no just kidding, i can take your annoyance because i showed up late like always over your cold silence. perpetually cold. can’t  ghosts talk? or haven’t you at least learned how to drop objects, knock on walls or change the channels on tv? sometimes when the lights in the dorm’s foyer flicker i quickly think it’s your new way of saying “sup”. then i’d remember the building’s decades old. it could just be some unfixable maintenance problem or perhaps some other ghost.

i hate you for that. we used to talk about how we felt like never truly belonged in highschool. we promised to go to the same college and be dormmates and be there as we got used to our new lives. my roommate finally showed up a week ago, a month too late for freshmen week and all that orientation ****. she’s cool and plays bass in a band. i think you’d get along with her the way she’s a morning person and takes up archaeology like how you said you would.

i can no longer listen to movement’s daylily. paramore’s last hope. all time low’s therapy. pierce the veil’s hold on til may. because i just end up thinking of how i’d make you listen to them whenever you’d call because the urge was getting strong again.

all those times we talked about dying and death and planning our funerals. ****** we were so horridly morbid. i didn’t think you’d actually pull through with it-out of the two of us, you were the one wary of things unfound in your comfort zone and i was the one who took risks. but hell, now i admit my fears surrounded death or atleast intentional ones. i wish i didn’t doubt a single bit that you’d do it.

yours was almost perfect by the way. you wore that white lace dress from your favorite grandmother and the mortician gave you purple highlights. they didn’t put your playlist on because hell, no one could take the upbeatness of the guitar rifts and the drums but the five of us let it go on loop thrice after your burial, drinking on the hood of my car, toasting to our tears. the groupchat doesn’t get flooded with memes anymore. believe me, we tried so hard to have things not change because that’s what you would’ve wanted, for us to keep going even without you.
but **** that, it’s ******* to even pretend;
how do we get past this, past you?

you pierced a permanent gap in what the word platonic soulmate meant for me. i hate you. so, so much.
but i don’t. because ****, you’ve finally chosen yourself like how i always told you to after each breakup you went through with all those ****** guys but i didn’t mean it like that. i can only hope you’re happy in your heaven. we detested that but i would like to believe there’s an afterlife for you. that’s what you deserved all along. i hope it’s one with moshpits and parents who give you earnest attention and neverending halloween.

here. i brought you paper roses. i used blue vellum for this. mind to give me an a+ for effort?

i have to drive back, it’s getting dark. and yes i’ll drive safely and text you when i reach the dorm. i’ll have a spare key behind the picture frame, if you ever wanna drop by.
Derek DM Nov 2017
Cocked
We point our bold fingers into shelves of our dangers and horridly
plow Through the triggers of now where we only can serve the the
greater number with nerve in old style blue steel in which nothing
can heal            only
take it                back
now I think they
are ready to
know that
the greater
the number
the quicker
the slumber
So sick of the violence
Marilyn Monroe was like a door **** because everyone got a turn:
spooks, gay wops, greasers & tunnel bums who were keen to learn,
even day laborers, migrant fruit pickers & coal miners eager to earn
as Marilyn's 'scribed tranquilizer regimen was of no mortal concern
'cause it was Norma Jean's lithium intake that no one could discern
anymore than the Unabomber's gripes seen by Alexander Cockburn  
or the clinically-constipated pretentiousness of nut-job Bruce Dern
who holds far less star appeal than a gator-****-covered swamp fern
or a petit jury of unscrubbed, chitlin'-lovin' nitwits about to adjourn
into the night life of ******, their ponces and mamas horridly stern
who were evicted by the Empire Hotel Group of the Hotel Lucerne
whereat a politico can parlay sick-leave *** with a volunteer intern,
in a meeting room spread eagle on **** carpet near a V.F.W. lectern
for a thrilling roll of tattooed *** wiggle, tanned hip swish & churn
Thiomersal makes serums kick ***, so we'll long for what we yearn
to eat doves, hawks, wrens, rooks, robins & the greater crested tern

— The End —