"hysteric" poems
West wind, a ***** lover,
goes round and round,
tickles the trees in bloom,
that go hysteric with delight.
Mar 5, 2012
Mar 5, 2012 at 6:12 PM UTC
Roller coaster...
it propels you to the zenith of ecstasy
to hurl you surlily to the pits of agony.
It mocks your senses,
turns your sensibilities upside down,
pounds your heart to panic bewilderment.
It dishevels your tranquillity,
shoves you to a hysteric frenzy,
pushes you into the dark world of insanity.
Still, we cherish the thrill of its madness,
outwit each other
to jump on the bandwagon
that takes us to the holes of delusion!
Sep 23, 2018
Sep 23, 2018 at 11:59 PM UTC
This is why the teacher punishes you
for reading too far ahead.
I've worked hard to swim out here
and I just feel hurt and alone;
drifting out at sea.
Being a radical means always
having to be the hysteric or the sensitive.
Apologizing even when
you know you're right.
Being irrational,
when rationalization means
accepting the dominant ideology.
Always having to be wrong,
because of some "crack in your armor"
or some blemish on your record.
Being the biggest ******* in the room,
not even because you want to,
but because you have to.
Alienating everyone.
Capitalize on who you are,
and you can smother everyone eventually!
Your profit is such that you
can push everything away!
Sleep easy knowing you were right.
Sleep easy.
Jul 7, 2014
Jul 7, 2014 at 10:48 AM UTC
I've never been shy
around you before
But today
oh, so suddenly
My knees have grown weak.
I cannot steady my
breathing pattern,
nor my trembling lips.
Unable to speak,
I can only mumble.
Hysteric words explode
in my mind, but
all I can say is
Hi.
Oct 17, 2013
Oct 17, 2013 at 10:38 PM UTC
Embraced my chaotic waves
My mess after madness and
Braved my sullen storm
Reaching out your hands to
Accept the broken me
Calming my hysteric nerves and
Eagerly sailed along
Deep in the darker side of me
Mysterious our horizon may be
Even in these surges of uncertainty
My soul felt a different you
Only one who truly understands
Ripples of memories behind, that
Even my dimmest night will end
Jan 18, 2022
Jan 18, 2022 at 8:41 PM UTC
I ponder of something great on a sonderous level can a man a sentient being ever exist like an omnipotent being
am I just a subsidized being is the vanity of a self-absorbed world
the pneumatic indifferent fascist question my legitimacy so I question the society of a world more cold and more active than an incestuous birdy and the bee
They question an artesian hand slightly smaller than the average man yet the
significance of the difference in that artesian is not the manic who refused me
embarrassed me
rumored me
****** me to a dark inexsistant inbetween
the coldness of a lover never to be
because she is in league but out of reach
like a lion her simple minded pedagogy has left her to everything and everyone
as she is not mine and I am not hers just the birdy and the defective bee
a farce love story the ending of a never beginning trip why o so dramatic
because I just can’t help falling in love with one
a selfish self absorbed vanity in a repugnant world disgustingly this pedagogy stays to me like glue on this dying bee
this is true of our starcrossed unrequited drug induced comatose that put me into this ponderous level
the inevitability of what truly will never be yet for some reason these
sounderously significantly radical thought I ponder just like a pneumatic bot
have you ever felt this lost
this cold dark nonexistent in-between
a limbless sentient rushed in the ever invoking might of hysteric emotion
I ponder this cold and warming toiling notion
The one like a lion can you and will you requite and love me
Feb 28, 2014
Feb 28, 2014 at 8:44 PM UTC
Welcome to this magical place
The one down the rabbit hole..
Where little girls drink wine and pop pills
Every ounce of innocence is lost in this place.
Welcome to this magical land
Of all these beautiful creatures
And some deadly foes
Welcome darling
For you will see
This magical place isn't what it's made out to be..
It's dreadful and dreary
Its mentally hysteric
There's Rabbits on crack
A queen with a fetish for chopping off heads
And a guy named the hatter who tells a riddle of a raven..
A raven you say?
And Why is it like a writing desk?
For no one has an idea, the mans gone mad.
The best people are apparently..
Only in this magical land.
Jun 6, 2014
Jun 6, 2014 at 2:04 AM UTC
How full of animation he was
when he talked about his hopes for the future
Blood brothers like "Teddy" & "Stray Cat";
Street rockers in the night, dancing for tomorrow
How right as rain that unique freaks should
Be too classic; Like **** Floyd"** with their
Hysteric glamour
How he kept the times exciting, (wild dancers)
And the information fresh (delivery staff)
Combined like graffiti, it said
Affected rocker rabbit rules the world
Made in his own image (take it easy, naysayers)
He's got it under control
How fast they ambush members only
With a speed to exceed mach
Let's enjoy their technical tennis,
Unique cheerful events like these are
What's to come
A baby winks at him, that's how he's sure
(And he writes)
Rude beats for the creatures of the night
Like how their young minds lead a
Casual amenity life
For all the heart broken kids and lovers
A global excitement (try it you'll like it)
Doing back flips to the sock hop
He made such an interesting excuse about
Why we was late
(Only experts) mix the drinks and shine the knives
So a person created; "Artificialman"
Will save his soul,
Please don't cry, the night dew
And wet sneakers are quite enough for now
Plus the plans for the future,
The Midnight Move
Feeling the darkness and never forgetting
The joy of singing together
How full of animation he was
When he sang of his exclusive adventures
Jun 6, 2013
Jun 6, 2013 at 4:42 PM UTC
Catatonic inscriptions etches through my textile discernment
Insidious cycles of turmoil encased within a festering distress
Uncertainty obscures my comfort into a chaotic complacency
Transforming the subtle movement of thought and bewilderment
Through the re-occurring sequences of paranoia and my uneasy psychosis
Haunting the whole of this psyche and the mental state I've come to fancy
A tell-tale apprehension of merriment and contentment may be a dismal reality
All the while being obsessed with the unfavorable outcomes I conjure within
But, I can't get enough of the disarray that breeds within my frail skull
So distant from what I feel in the ecstasy of my self-selected normality
The meek proposal of sanity has little to hold against these crooked grins
As this chaotic thought process leaves rationality as a vague ideal to null
Expansive introspection has no limit to what is perceived as validity
And, to be enveloped in the ambiguity and delusion of fact is so enticing
We all know that we've all come to recognize the fabrication of our own truth
The futile attempts to obtain an immaculate conviction in pure solidity
Is so wondrously perfunctory and constant as the life that i'm living
That I dread the day of departure from this hysteric observance of aging youth
May 22, 2013
May 22, 2013 at 10:58 PM UTC
Booming voices, and broken glass
Tuesday at 2am, Thursday at 4pm
Hysteric laughter, backwards ball caps
Scribbled writing that doesn’t even make sense
Birds trying to fly but falling instead
Headlights piercing through the foggy darkness of dawn
The realization that entropy is unavoidable
Ash grey, lavender, forest green, misty rose pink
I am struggling and haven’t yet found my kitchen sink
A piano slightly out of tune, papers falling to the floor
Glazed over eyes, cracks in the sidewalk, all of this what for?
Steaming cups of black coffee, met with desiring needs
Full moons and unanswered questions
All of these, I happen to be.
The power of silence, the power of identity
Thunderstorms, moments of chaos perfectly intertwined with the silence,
Unmade beds, messy hair that falls into your eyes.
The ever-moving cold gray skies and beauty of the sunrise
Out of place tiles on bitterly cold linoleum floors
I am not perfection, in any way, shape, or form.
I fall from grace routinely, my bones ache and tremble
And when I fall apart, it takes me a while to reassemble.
Like gunshots muffled by the noise of the city blocks
I am not perfect, nothing special ever happens.
I am broken, I am misplaced and unwanted passion.
I am the raw energy that shoots from my fingertips
The tumbling words that constantly fall from my lips
That I cannot, nor would I want to control.
Galaxies and constellations grow in my soul.
I am, nothing more, than all that I have listed.
I am mistakes, dark times, unnoticed and forgotten moments.
But I am also a smile after a long cry, (don’t worry) your identity has not been stolen.
Mar 12, 2018
Mar 12, 2018 at 2:48 AM UTC
I still hope
That even my tiny hands might shape something
Great
But I sit in the mire
Playing with mud
Deluded by such grandeur that I am
A worthy creator
Shake my fists at God
“I am better!”
“I can do just as good of a job as You!”
All the while sinking deeper in the filth
I surround myself with
Hysteric laughter
“I can be God, I can be God.”
But my tiny hands can never make
Never make something of worth
Lasting through the ages
Laughter fades as I bow my head
Murmuring,
“I am God…”
Sink lower into the mire
Neck deep
“I am God…”
A pile of sloppy clay in front of me
“I am God…”
But what can a *** tell of its Potter?
What can a painting say of its Painter?
Can they say that they outshine the Hands that shaped them?
Can they say they are the Hands?
Nay, they only reflect the glory and the beauty of the Creator.
So help me, O God.
Because my pride is dragging me down
I am but a beautiful ***
Molded by an even more beautiful Creator
Still being molded
My tiny hands can do nothing
On their own
But even tiny hands can do great things
With big, strong hands to guide them.
May 18, 2014
May 18, 2014 at 10:03 PM UTC
Its so warm in this room
But why are my limbs trembling?
Tears are rolling down in this bright room
The hysteric's kick in and rushing
Searing pain in my chest
And gasping for air is getting difficult
Locking myself in this bathroom while i'm getting so stressed
Family is on the other end of the thin wall remembering my thoughts are not so innocent
It wells up in my head what everyone calls danger
Then there is no more reactions, completely disconnected
My body is now like a stranger
The worrying thoughts targeting my daily life as expected
Trying to keep the world out with music
With all the maddening loss
What is with this endless panic?
Its just another big anxiety attack I have to come across
Jan 23, 2014
Jan 23, 2014 at 9:17 PM UTC
ALL THE WORLD'S A STAGE
PEOPLE ACTING AT EVERY PHASE .
REGARDLESS OF CASTE , CREED ,COLOUR OR AGE !
ARTISTS CHOOSE THEIR SUBJECTS AND CHARACTERS
CREATING MASKED SLAPSTICK'S , OUTRAGEOUS , RIOTOUS ACTORS.
ALL THE WORLD'S A STAGE !
AT THE ONSET PLOTS WERE SIMPLE , STRAIGHT AND PREDICTABLE , INTENSELY FOLLOWED BY
DISGRACEFUL INTRIGUES , CLEVER TRAPS , FIREWORKS AND SHIPWRECKS ,
ANYTHING THAT PROVIDED PRETTY ACTRESSES TO GO HYSTERIC ON STAGE AND POWERFUL HEROS TO NEVER AGE .
ALL THE WORLD'S A STAGE !
NOW THE WORLD IS SET ON FIRE ,
NOT WITHSTANDING NOSTALGIC DESIRE REPLACED WITH DIPLOMATIC DRAMA .
MOMENTOUS STUDY OF THEIR PARTS ,
MELODRAMATIC , GRADED PLAYERS REPLACE ARTISTS WITH NO HEARTS .
ALL THE WORLD'S A STAGE !
PACK OF EDUCATED PERFORMERS TURNING INTO PROFESSIONAL TROUPES.
NO MORE EMOTIONS , NO MORE COMEDY . OH ! IT IS SUCH A MALADY .
HATRED , COMPETITION AND TRAGIC ENDS ,
MARK WORLD'S STAGES WITH THE LATEST TRENDS .
ALL THE WORLDS A STAGE !
POLITICAL FURY , DIPLOMATIC JURY CEASED THE ARTIST WITHIN .
THE STAGE IS GRIM ,WITH TEARS ROLLING IN A STREAM.
MERE PUPPETS DANCING TO THE TUNES,
MAKING DRAMATIC SCENE AFTER SCENE .
FUTURE IS AT STAKE UNCLEAR AND UNCLEAN.
EACH PLAYING A MIGHTY ROLE ,
EACH PAYING A HEAFTY PRICE
LEFT TO THE MERCY OF THE WISE ,
CREATING A VERSATILE ATMOSPHERE FOR ACCOLODES TO A DYING ARTIST , BLOGGED WITH FOG AND MIST
WITH PEOPLE ACTING AT EVERY PHASE ,
ALL THE WORLDS A STAGE !
© Mrunalini .D. Nimbalkar
Apr 13, 2019
Apr 13, 2019 at 10:22 PM UTC
you held me
in what seemed to be my darkest hour
consoling me, rather passionately
as the car radio contradicted
my hysteric tears
you breathed,
"i'm here."
you frowned
at my tear-stained knees
and held me tighter
the vehicle came to a stop-
and as did your masquerade
you left me
with nothing as little as a goodbye
but your shoulder was soon covered
in a mass of curly blonde hair
she looked back at me in my sorrow
and gave me a wink,
"you'll miss him tomorrow."
Dec 26, 2013
Dec 26, 2013 at 9:30 AM UTC
Doesn’t matter how long or deep
True intentions are so hard to keep
The aftermath of trusting
Is always your faith rusting
In the head of the pisanthrophobic
Doubt will always play the *hysteric *****
No hearts will ever pass through the filter
Because they all deserve a spot in your litter
Aug 7, 2014
Aug 7, 2014 at 12:22 AM UTC
You standing there-
quiet-
composed-
beautiful.
The shock of breaking is still
crystal
clear.
"Forget about me."
You say those words,
smiling.
You say those words,
easily.
Without a hint-
of-
pain.
...But won't forgetting, won't leaving,
won't that be a form of betrayal?
I wish I could hate you.
I wish I could cry, right here, right now.
The tears don't come
A memory that hurts-
"Who would you die for?"
You awkwardly fidget.
I force a smile.
"Just kidding!"
I don't miss your pathetic, relieved expression.
A memory I treasure-
"I'll stay with you until you find happiness."
Your gentle words;
I could do nothing but cry.
But, hey-
is it okay to fake, to lie, to sin,
to keep the one you love, need, beside you?
But now-
all I want is to fulfill that wish
a little boy made on a dandelion a long time ago.
Rain starts falling.
Hysteric rain.
I used to think..when I was with you-
This kind of happiness should be illegal
"Thank you."
You smile-truly,
and start trembling.
It's faint-
but I see it.
I want to cry.
"Thank you."
You expression is all I've been looking for, all I need.
I want to cry
I won't run away anymore.
"Thank you."
I'll take this lesson you taught me to my heart,
and continue walking on that clear glass road.
I want to cry
You leave.
And finally, I cry.
Tears of sadness,
Tears of breaking,
Tears of despair,
and
Tears
of
joy.
Truly, thank you.
Thank you for everything.
Apr 1, 2013
Apr 1, 2013 at 8:32 PM UTC
i cut the black ribbon that connected our hearts
next day-
i see you here with a girl on your strong arm,
one of my best friends.
you traded whispers in my dads maserati
for chilling on her torn couch
it's ******
my veins are fried,
frontal lobe is hysteric
instead of crying myself to sleep,
i decide to put on a politician's smile
and swallow my robitussin pride
you tore my ribs open
inhaled my smoky lungs
so i take your weaknesses
and fashion them into insults-
nearly as painful as the ballpoint pen you shoved into my heart
i bet you're telling her the same **** you told me
ver.
ba.
tim.
copy paste
you can't recreate what we had
Feb 13, 2014
Feb 13, 2014 at 8:27 AM UTC
I sat,
hands folded in my lap,
legs crossed,
like a good girl would.
I sat,
head ducked demurely,
contrite expression in place,
like a Catholic to confession.
Then the judge,
or priest,
or God
banged his gavel,
frightening the silence away.
I glanced up
and met his eye.
His scowl faltered
only for a moment.
Then his voice rang clear,
"Guilty."
And silence rushed back into the room.
The shocked hush
resounded in my ears
like the boom of thunder
scream of a banshee
wail of a mourner.
It rang and rang,
echoing, amplifying, echoing.
I couldn't take the deafening,
clamoring
silence.
I sat,
head tipped back,
arms spread wide,
like Jesus on the cross.
I sat,
hysteric laughter spilling out,
rocking back and forth,
like a madman in the street.
Nov 2, 2011
Nov 2, 2011 at 8:01 PM UTC
Live off of last night’s
sugar rush street lights
ignore this hysteric
canary—the enemy
and tune in the tin-foiled
rabbit-eared radio—
we’ll dance to the broadcast
of our last night
on this Earth.
Jan 29, 2019
Jan 29, 2019 at 8:29 PM UTC
I always wondered how long I could hold your breath
Hands wrapped like ribbons on your neck
No signs of forced entry since I let myself in gently
I always wondered how my feet will feel on tile flooring
Stained red when you didn’t stop me
Just wanted to write down some notes and your arms were so appealing
I always wondered how I’ll look bathed in blood in the moonlight
Will it look blue with the night hue?
Pity you didn’t let me try, your cries made me lose my appetite
I always wondered how it’ll taste, human flesh from your face
Only the most honorable will be selected
The rest thrown to dogs since they didn’t fit my palate
But of course, I only wondered
I am only hysteric not psychotic your Honor.
© Sofia Villagrana 2018
Mar 31, 2018
Mar 31, 2018 at 2:53 PM UTC
Odors build up from a session of
sleep-work-sleep-work-sleep
[suicide in slow motion]
that seems to cycle
without hesitation
and soon
naturally.
Well fed big cat, poking at the
starved hysteric hyenas with
a 3 foot cattle **** Laughing.
Avoid eyesight.
Contact.
The hand that feeds holds down your throat;
the invisible hand masturbates your false ego,
your sense of self is attained by
radioactive superpowers achieved
through the assault of arachnids,
or the bite of some exoskeletoned predator.
What gives you incurable illness provides you
with some naive interpretation of life as
"endless shining light of warmth and love."
Yeah, well tough **** for the dead,
and please, less noise from the dying.
I broke a lantern in a vivid hallucination
I had in my sleep. Inside was the scripture
of a fortune cookie from
"Golden Dragon" on lee road.
It read,
"Life is made worth living."
Jan 26, 2015
Jan 26, 2015 at 11:42 PM UTC
I saw God in a cheap motel
& He said I was trying too hard
He told me I should lighten up
But I was too preoccupied tracking time through vibrating echoes in the air
Rapidly evolving and devolving
And screaming out of my ******* head
My consciousness deserted the hollow husk of self
And like a gas, expanded to fill the room
Shattered the shit-stained windows, and expanded to fill the world
Laughing skinless skulls filled up the tessellating skies
& their hysteric soundwaves penetrated the oceanic depths of my mind
Where Machiavellian machinations revolved ceaselessly
Circling unattainable ends
I need to release the pressure
But my consciousness has grown so colossal I no longer know how to **** it
I **** out all the venom & vinegar I drink
And my lungs refuse to give in to poison fumes
& I cry out in frustration
Will I ever meet God again?
I wanna tell him I lightened up
Nov 4, 2014
Nov 4, 2014 at 12:38 AM UTC
The city
First fire
Then an ashtray
The hysteric
Rat race
Fabricant fanatic
The best fantasy
Ban fear
Fiery free
The Canary case
A trash can
Transiency aches
Three faces
First near
Then far
After years
The absence
Terrifies her
Oct 12, 2016
Oct 12, 2016 at 9:36 PM UTC
I saw the asphalt bleed when the dim lit car sauntered to a stop
The dark suited men in the shadows watched
I heard them call the name, words that shake trees in windless wood
Late twilight froze and stolen away, bagged, shaken; lost in so many words
Dark was the allusion of trust, how they let me see when miles out of town
and the road lights were off; some cosmic joke
Would that I could have run, or awake in panic, or die of the same
Would that the arrival didn't seem so tame
Who are you that you know my name and I not yours
and why do the servants wear so many smiles
Come, we see the great pieces and hear the master's song
Said he to me, and I followed speechless in ware
These great walls crafted by our kind - centuries ago, we watched them too
The eye
Great eyes see
Fascination of the mass in drab cloaks, chanted; smoke filled rooms
Centralisation of hysteric suppression in form of communal spirituality
and I saw you there, I know your face
and you see mine, the eye
What rooms! What rooms I saw-
Those that see so much more
And ushered away to the interrogation
Where masked men spoke and I convinced myself of dreaming
or foul play
Instruction became clear, sipped the tepid water
How hazy the memory is
That they made this of me
The black coat, an eye
Seeing
By the shadow of the old factory
Listlessly my eyes scan the sedentary street
To see the secret that separates
or hear the siren song of the society's scene
Apr 18, 2014
Apr 18, 2014 at 9:56 AM UTC
I think I'll take a walk to find the beach.
-the ocean locked my breath and since I'd thought the wave that cleansed me
I've been drowning.
The air is always fresh in hales
through my throat but never reaches
deep enough.
Hysteric, how I try to breathe
when sand is in my lungs.
And with no tide- just gentle winds
to trace the edges of my wound
To let me know that I'm not whole.
In Hell's persistence, hot or cold,
the pressures dance beneath my chest.
They run in fear of facing what may change them,
Angry that they're chased,
and that they run.
till underwater takes them high enough
beneath the light, beneath the waves.
In wave-less depths they crack and space
will crush them into holes in teeth of rotting suns.
Nov 25, 2014
Nov 25, 2014 at 12:45 PM UTC