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m lang Aug 2023
i’ve been shielding myself endlessly
for an inevitable end— that,
while i knew it was always coming,
eventually,
it doesn’t stop the reality of tomorrow
impaling me, breathless.

on one desperate hand,
i’m begging and wishing
for just one more day.
one more moment before you go.
the other hand holds gratitude.
five years with you was more than i could have ever dreamt.
life went up and down-
and sideways
in every which direction,
but you stood in the middle with me
and we held on to each other.

as the last five years dwindle
through a reel of memories
into our final moments,
i am filled with tears—
pouring from my eyes and from my heart.
love is pouring from my heart.
love for you,
for this lifetime we lived together.

you are my greatest love.
and our love story continues,
even as this chapter is closed.
i wrote this in the early hours of 8/26 and initially wrote tomorrow, and by the time i finished the poem, tomorrow became today- hence the title.
Jasmine Marie Sep 2015
I was a little black girl
growing up in the land of white picket fences,
lacking my own,
but fenced in by those who had them.

If I was ever to make it over those barriers,
I’d have to let go of a few things.

So I disowned my ***** hair,
and refused to listen to Chris Brown
or eat watermelon or fried chicken in public.

But I was still weighed down by my consciousness of being the “other”,
the outsider trapped on the inside,
the oil slick in the ocean
still not buoyant enough to stay afloat.

And in all of my futile attempts to surpass them,
I just ended up impaling myself
on those white picket fences.
Glottonous May 2015
Unfounded urgency draws
Us out and toward impaling claws.
Body fails on desert shore
Where charging fog unravels with no sea to ride.
 
We cannot imagine coast
Tearing through our raging ghost.
Nor can we remember or
Forget this comfort of eternal attrition
 
Reaching skyward ever, more,
With all earth’s heave behind our roar.
The bleak sunlight quiets most;
Drained survivors drawn back toward retreating silence.
 
From out here. Quiet yet reserving might
For each war against shadow-giving light.
And each dark day we still reach for the moon
As persistently as in illumed night.
A nostalgic poem.
Drawn to death like a sick moth to the flame,
The topic's toxic, turn and tossing,
Teeter totter for days,
It seems to follow me, a hollowing,
a carving of hearts,
Darkness trailing, gloom impaling me,
I'm falling apart.
There's art in death, not that it's pretty but well orchestrated
Amidst a somber tune, a hopeful light,
But in the core there's hatred.
An elegy of emptiness..
  A ghastly, dark symphony.
And when I die, please don't cry..
  Just sing for me.

I let the ink spill like i sliced an artery. Then i drink til, my mind's an anomaly.
I think ill, solitude's so ******* me.
On the, brink still, it's a lil disheartening.

But I keep writing anyways.
Believe me, there are many days,
Thinking of a way that I could find to cope with.
The fact I lost someone that I thought I would grow old with.
Sometimes life just isn't fair
And in it, there's no favorites,
Cherish every moment,
Smell the roses, you should savor it.
Night wanders into day
dew upon a grass bed
the sky shatters
into a million pieces
sunlight impaling
a shield of clouds
the air of warmth
fills the lungs of birds
with the song of joy
and my weary heart beats
in tune to their happiness
the ignite of will
to lift myself up
from between this rock and hard place
to soar as eagles do
higher than high
conquer life
Lately my reality has been a buzz **** to all my dreams. I find myself fighting hard everyday not to slip back into the prison that is depression and anxiety, but to remain free. Sometimes all hope seems far and in between, but still I rise. Not of my own strength but that of God's. To Him I owe the greatest thanks and to that of my family and friends, as well as the beautiful souls who read my heart's words and return kindness, lend support(my insta and twitter followers), and last but not least, of self; all refusing to let me give up but pushing me to survive.
The Dedpoet Jan 2016
Emptying memory:
        The sun does not block out
The stars,
        The soul did not absorb them
The water vanishes the fire,
       Petrified light,
Executed dust of old flesh
      In a tomb of earthly thoughts;
The Sol centrally corners the eye,
     Blinded by the word
In a litany of days,
     Crushed hopes fall on nocturnal
Flesh,
     Old as Cain and Abel
As smooth as assassin pagans,
        Kissing the eclipses
In a fit of rage on a wounded bird,
     Theatre of peoples
In a cosmic garden
     Impaling moons
And guillotining the planets,
      Eating fire on burning lips,
A thirst for living water
     And a wisp of gentle air,
A swarm of deities with
Overgrown origins in a circus
        Of faithful,
    The sanctum was exploded
With idealistic dogs licking
     Their own *****,
The amphitheater of man
     Stained with repetitive slow thoughts,
Drunk with light
Hidden in shadows.
People.
.
Yeah, whoa! I must be out of my mind!
I've been running for miles just to make it on time.
Yeah, who do you think that you are?
Making me chase after you, but never getting that far.
Yeah, whoa! I must be out of my mind.
But, why must I fall in love with you tonight?

Yeah, your gravitational pull used to pull me along,
but tonight it's just impaling our song.
Whoa! We'd go...

Chorus:

Round and around
on this ride we call life.
Up and down, girl, Hey! We're out of sight!
And we can do anything that we want to do,
because nothing else matters when I'm with
somebody like you. (somebody like you)


Eighteen- I was out of my mind.
Nineteen, just another simple rhyme.
To do anything that we wanted to.
We'd play hide and seek, and I could never find you.
Yeah, then we pretended to have this all figured out.
It's like one, two, three, four.
L O V E
Whoa! We'd go

Chorus:

Round and around
on this ride we call life.
Up and down, girl, Hey! We're out of sight!
And we can do anything that we want to do,
because nothing else matters when I'm with
somebody like you. (somebody like you)

Yeah, now we're in our twenties
and we're still loving life.
Seems we're driving in the fast lane
just trying to get it right.

Whoa! Yeah! We must be out of our minds.
Always looking for trouble, but somehow staying alright.
Yeah whoa! Was I out of my mind
to look for somebody like you?
And yeah, we'd go...

Chorus:

Round and around
on this ride we call life.
Up and down, girl, Hey! We're out of sight!
And we can do anything that we want to do,
because nothing else matters when I'm with
somebody like you. (somebody like you)
Mitch Nihilist Jan 2016
years of negativity
like seeing your
reflection on the other
side of the glass barrier,
I never looked both ways
when crossing the road
because of years
of being blind
to anything that
came close,
waking up
felt like finding
a new strand of
cancer somewhere
every day,
I heard nothing but
voices, I knew I
was hurting myself
but I never stopped to
look both ways,
I realized it wasn’t
just me that I was
impaling with sadness,
sometimes darkness
shines light on life
more than light itself
ever will,
at the bottom of
every bottle my heart
would sit and drown until
I ended up swallowing it
back into my chest,
slowly the whisky
is veering from
being stained red,
every mirror
reflects more than just
a face,
it shows a past
so dark the
background
is the focus,
instead of looking
at the rocks beneath
my feet crumbling
I’ve been taking steps back,
hands like blenders
left on too long
are reaching towards
pulling the plug,
looking both ways
has always been
a problem for me,
but I  finally
caught a glimpse
at what happens
to the left and realized
that change is right.
M E Ronan Feb 2021
My heart is hanging upside down,
A soulless blood spitting,
impaling morrow,
as it casts a shadow on him,
one becomes a killer,
the other one a game.
John Douglass Nov 2013
I look to the moment when I see you smile
I feel the energy when I sit beside you
I tie my tongue in my mind
the knots like clots
stop my thoughts
impaling me on the sword of desire
the fear of rejection freezing to ice
the lips that await
as you apply appeal
so tender, so moist
their touch will surely thaw
my tongue you will draw
into the warmth
exploding the sensors
adding fuel to our fire
yes! decimate me
send me to shreds
reform me then melt me
that I may ooze forth to blend
within you once again
Angels are indeed visible to the naked eye , they can be found in majestic pose within every precious photograph , work of art or wildflower held by young hands ..
Each drop of rain in a Summer shower is a heavenly host that blesses our very hour ..
A consecrated beam of light impaling the morning fog proclaims the mighty sword of Michael leading the weary through insecurity and darkness ..
An elderly couple that occupies a park bench , children busy with games , laughter , eyes that sparkle with wonder and merriment ..
The carefree chatter of evening songbirds , the Holy Ghost that fill and nurture a wounded heart ..
Nature's morning songs .. The reflection of God's blue eyes caste across a mountain vista duplicate the Choir of Angels performing psalms on the outskirts of Zion , atop the very Walls of Jerusalem , the trumpet echoing across the Earth from the Pool of Bethesda* ...
Copyright December 11 , 2015 by Randolph L Wilson * All Rights Reserved
Warren Gossett Oct 2011
The dream haunts me
often, far too often, building
in intensity but is initially
disguised in absurdity and the
nonsense of a young man's lusts
with an old man's deficits.
This woman-like entity,
ill-defined at first but forming
voluptuously, emerges from
swelling curtains. She moves, more
levitates, toward my bed, buoyed
by what I don't know, but angelic-like
it would seem. Or perhaps
an Aphrodite reincarnate?

Oh this goddess, what pale
skin, as Parian marble, full bosomed,
jutting *******, ***** that
beckon, nearly drool, and pursed
red lips beaded with sweet
juice stolen from the wild cherry
tree beneath my window.
Far too much clarity for a simple
dream. But such a dream! And what
seething testosterone I feel!
I am become a hedonist, raging,
pulsing spermatozoa, renewed
of time and youthful energies.

Nerve into nerve we join, ecstacy
compounding ecstacy, bodies wantonly
impaling the other on this love bed
to the result that each cell of our
individualities melds. We are indistinct,
yes - as one, and any ****** impulse
between us is shared to the point of
utter exhaustion, depletion. I am
nearly drained of life, it would seem.

Then, as it always must,
the scene changes, Act II.
Inexplicably, shedding a ******
serpentine-like skin, she slings it away
and drops limply upon me - entirely
skeletal, dry cartilage, sinew, lifeless,
sexless, motionless. The horror
of a diabolical hollowness
stares through me, and I am
suspended, fully terrorized, in
this paralysis. So, this is
succumbing to the Succubus?
God, my dear God, that I should
never dream again!

--
All my lived tales of fading breaths draws nigh,
Haloed crowns adorn the individual fruited hills upon...
The mountains awakened Sighs.
A mortally wounded man faces the travails of his last STAND;
A lost soul crawls up
Into the transitory steps of that heroes climb
To that journey's expected repose.
The deeply torn,
Impaling obsidian sword carries its own burden's weights.
Upon the in between space of
Life's and Death's meeting scene.
That soldier man comes finally to the
Mountain top's giving being.
The bursting soul in its moment's release,
Departs its earthy reside.
Death pervades the foggy rites of ended life.
His haloed name is now declared!
His haloed crown of the majestic ages wears his divine head.
He walks anew on the grounds of Angelic dreams.
A new path reserved
for only his haloed Wise,
His haloed Eyes!
Revealing the prize of the Cosmic Scenes,
Where the Master guided my cares and resided in me.
Now walks besides me holding my hands closely for all ETERNITY!
Amen to Eternity's Version of Me!
Life Goes On and time for you to flip the page.
Flipping these pages is what the living continues to do.
This is the stories of mortal Truths!


(C) Copyrighted
The Moments before death and the eternity waiting for you afterwards.
birdy Apr 2021
Opinions,
Knives impaling frail muscles.
Their weight becomes,
Much to cumbersome.
zebra Mar 2017
she viewed the sword blade
coming out of the floor      
and whispered      
i need this            
pulling her ******* down      
    
watch me drill my self to death
for you my beloved      
her ***** swollen      
drooling      
******* and eyes radiant      
as she sauntered to the upright blade      
carefully placing her **** over it      
looking at me sweetly      
saying      
i should do my ***      
don't you think      
smiling      
yes please do it slow my love      
i want to savor you my darling      
          
at first she stood over it      
on flexed tippy toes      
careful to position herself just so      
running her soft fingers over the blade      
willfully cutting them      
and slowly bringing her slender slit hand      
to her lips          
with pink tongue licks    
like blood diamonds      
in cherry red saliva      
swallowing          
and then smiling      
standing over the tip of the blade      
          
she said      
holding my self up is such a bother      
im sure if i let go      
gravity will help      
this blade  
slide right through      
tender little me      
ooooooooow      
          
i asked      
do you want drugs for pain      
no she  protested      
i need to feel  
every stitch      
every tearing inch          
    
she lifted her arms      
like a ballerina      
forming a rainbow arch      
looked straight ahead      
unflinching      
and descended slowly upon the blade      
our eyes transfixed upon each other      
her face resolute      
perspiring      
giving way to a hideous twist        
she a contorted kabuki      
a raging storm    
languishing    
in hooked embrace    
of Eros and Thanatos    
a charmed grotesque        
          
trussed in a gauze wrap      
****      
**** the little *****      
she called to hell      
blood and a little excrement      
slid down her milky thighs      
a helpless resignation          
          
am i pretty yet      
she quivered      
as she released her stance        
and let gravity      
do its ghastly work      
    
shall i finish this she asked      
for dark thrills embrace          
yes do it i called out          
tears falling like sapphire mist    
undo yourself with grace    
          
she extended her arm towards me        
with her sweet blood drenched hands      
and then in slow motion      
she fell through the blade      
up her center      
like she was      
buttery gruyere      
blood gushed      
face ivory white      
twisted      
the floor washed    
in pomegranate and rust      
puddling at her feet      
          
she whispered      
im dead soon      
let me have      
jelly ****      
i slipped in her mouth        
she looked up tenderly
aglow like      
midnight on fire          
          
i grabbed her drooping  head,
forcing her downwards      
impaling tremulous mouth and throat      
her eyes fluttered      
and blinked      
as she drank me      
    
and then a long stare      
eyes wide    
a grateful gaping horror  
before leaning into the blood stained floor      
a slumping spire  
dissolute        
thumping like an echo      
          
im hypnotized      
as she looks on blink-less  
a mesmerizing shell        
as if to say        
ohhh my darling      
am i not your sweet clamoring      
***** of death          
still loving you  
in my reckless way      
use me my love            
devour me          
          
she dissolved      
like white sugar    
in the heat of summer balm      
uttering          
her last words      
as if pure spirit      
        
there are those who dare      
to give themselves permission    
to entwine      
desire and death    
an eroticism rooted      
in the irreducible discontinuity of life..      
          
i consumed her entrails      
i licked the blood and excrement from her tender feet      
i ate her tongue and eyes      
i pulled her off the sword      
dragged her leaking corpse    
over my naked  body      
like a blanket          
to drown my self      
in her death      
caressing her till darkness came over me      
          
let them find us i whispered      
in her sloping      
hollow mouth      
our bodies fused in each others      
her corpse melted over mine      
like blood butter      
          
dread on dread      
o so dead      
princess perfect and i in bed
My poems remain explorations of the subconscious ******
If i where a film maker or a novelist  you  would see me telling a story, although i admit to my paraphilias
These poems  are lunar anamorphic streams of consciousness from the deep chaotic subterranean glitz of transgressive  impulses we all share
Read them if you dare...You might find that part of yourself that you don't want you to know about and then again  you may feel more complete some how if you do....I always loved that dark thing that sleeps with in me
#death  #***  #adult  #explicit  © zebra    love poems • death poems • sadomasochism poems • ****** poems • explicit poems
vircapio gale Jul 2012
pierces deeper                               
                                                                ­           than a lover's cynic scourge
impaling orifice of epistemic fruits                                                           ­           
                                                                ­                       appalling so to rather choose      
a flowing coat of blood,                                                          
­                                                                 ­         an existential itch      
of ripe,                                  
                                                                ­                     strawberry scabs            

     at least here, i can pirouette a shower
over all i think i've done,
attempt to paint the 'seen'
a pinker tint of womb-rose red:
she beats her heart into a blazing whirl
of painblooming over saying and the said.
wheels of joyspeed lose their path
as digging hands, tearing nails
grapple harshly at the roots of hair and other roots;

in the earthy darkening
you've found something...
                                                  yo­u have lost all things
you have found love, trapped love
                        eaten love
                  expelled love,              become love                     and destroyed love

   )))"i love you i love you iloveyouiloveyouiluvuiluviluvui<3ui<3ui<3i<3u<3<3<3"(((

some love was not love, some love was all love,
some love was yours and some was mine, some of
your love was my love, some of yours was all love,
some of mine was yours and some was all. period
some love speaks for some and all,
some for only some,
some for only all,
all love is... part of overcoming fear
all love is- (enter plethora of other meanings here)
all love... Is. period, period, period,
i wretch to define,
to cubicle with verbal caging
                               your unbridled                      spheroid knowing,
                                                  a patient                      sonar-esque acceptance
             that truth-hunting in the midst                      of love means: to suffer,
for all who love and seek to know its underside,
to continue ****** clawing in and out,
to shout for answers
like existence never lied.
all love is this/
for some and not for others,
it was this and now it's that:
i think of you, i'm changing,
i feel you, i'm changing,
i'm changing, i feel you are
there, a part of me, some part
of me speaking to all of me,
some poetic voice, some spiritual thing
beyond just 'spirits', 'things',
'meanings',
'sufferings',
'truths',
'hearts',
'blazings'
into different
swirls of wheeling joylists lost into
another us that is,
was and isn't us "forevermore" but finds us here again, unchanged
Terry O'Leary Apr 2013
Clouds, the clouds diffuse a sad and somewhat somber hue;
Wind, the wind bemoans her loss of reins and calm control;
Crows, the crows flee men of straw, sleeves slapping at the wind;

Grass, the grass defends with blades, impaling truant gusts;
Rain, the rain descends aslant from angry ashen skies;
Stones, the stones repulse the pearls, exploding tears of gloom;

Woods, the woods assuage the angst of misty brooding trees;
Leaves, the leaves desert their branches, dropping one by one;
Fields, the fields imbibe a quaff to quench an arid thirst;

Streams, the streams meander, hushed, to distant vapid shores;
Breeze, the breeze intones a tune, a mourning monody;
Sands, the sands, in chaos, dance across the dappled dunes;

Shades, the shades appear confused, alone in lurid haze;
Mice, the mice discern the dawn, their beady eyes ablaze;
Clouds, the clouds diffuse a sad and somewhat somber hue.
Don Bouchard Dec 2012
Three Nails (...)
Not so many as to denounce
A job done to make me well.
Three rudimentary spikes to nail
A man's own flesh to wood.
Three nails cannot
Seem so much to proffer;
Human efforts complementing
God's sacrificial offer.

A self-inflicted crucifixion?
Yes, I would do my part;
Would do me good, I think,
To offer up an offering to God.

So let this painful work,
Human endeavoring,
Perfection capturing,
Begin.

A simple thing, I think,
To hoist and hammer
Nails into myself,
A manly job to undertake
Impaling self
To spare my God
A little work.

The first, perhaps
Most painful...
To stop the feet
Their wandering ways,
To give me pause for just a bit
To meditate in pain
And to reflect or to project
Myself in better ways.

                  .

Then on to nail number two,
One hand to hold the nail
And one the hammer.
The pain intense
Impacts my good intent.

                       .

And yet, I've nailed number two,
And finding where the problem lies,
I have no way to nail thrice.

My living flesh begins to writhe
Its will-ward way,
E'en though in sky-ward
Agony my soul now wails.

Then I remember
Someone said,
"Your crucifixion stands
Upon a different hill,
Hangs on a different tree."

                   . . .
Though I can never end my flesh,
He paid my debt for me.
Amitav Radiance Feb 2015
Free the heart of prejudice
Unleash the mind from impaling thoughts
River of life, poisoned with lethal ideas
Do not bleed unto death
A stoic existence, between the dark alleys
Life will never be the same
Give freedom a chance, breathe the exuberance
Robert Guerrero Sep 2013
He drank till his liver was dry
He smoked till he breathed toxins
He was a pack a day smoking alcoholic
Like a loaded 45
He had a hair trigger
Soft touch and he exploded
His fist would shoot from the sleeves of his shirt
Impaling her chest
Planting themselves in her ribs
Growing bruises on her face
She made a vow till death do they part
Not knowing it would be her death
That made him realize he needed help
fray narte Dec 2022
Such a classic mortal blunder to lay
my spine as it erodes, graceless, inelegant
on Galatea’s cold, ivory arms;
such delicate carvings can never be human, look human,
feel human under my lonesome bones.

I long to see you flinch and break
into fine, liquid, rain of dust blinding me,
covering the walls of this room
in a blameless shade of white: a new asylum ward
for my kind of insanity,
you say.
It envelopes like light around my awe
and my forlorn limbs,
tangled with Galatea’s unmoving ones.
I look for comfort within brittle carcasses
scraped of everything they could ever give.

The quiet persists eerily.
But here, Pygmalion’s gifts remain untainted:
the apex of auger shells, the beak of a songbird
the blunted ceriths, the rusty chisels
all impaling my spinal bones.
Yet the sculptor’s kisses, long erased,
the careful carvings, long defaced,
long reduced into a Grecian ruin.
I bury my body on your arms yet they find no rest
against the ghostly pleas of mammalian tusks.

How many for your fingers?
How many for your hair?


Tell me, Galatea, were you carved to bear the weight of
all the sea salt I swallowed as I drowned?
Soften under my meandering thoughts; I long
to see you flinch and break — like all the dead elephants —
any reminder that you yield pliantly to the voice
of the love goddess, that you were once turned human.
Break now, your solid arms, under my own collapse
over the sea foam caught on fire.

I am no longer bending and weeping to pick myself up.
Here it all goes down and ends:
my bones,
and yours,
burning,
snapping.
Nothing —
nothing less glorious will last after us.

— Fray Narte
written October 18, 2022, 1:35 pm
Samuel Jan 2011
I ask for too much help
Not help in the traditional sense
As in
I don't have a knack for falling down wells
Or impaling my hand on a fork

But I do tend to impose on people
And then they shy away

I am the man who lies through his teeth.

So I saw this ******* the side of the road today
And she looked at me and asked if I could fix her car (life)
And I said I can't (I can) but I don't want to.

I am the man who doesn't care.

And in the distance the smoke rose from all these fires
That sprung up from our embers
Our wishes

I am the man who doesn't make sense.

I am the man who is opaque.

I am the man who is gone.
I don't want to take responsibility for this one.
People often say that the reason for art is to make this lonely world a little less so.
Summers are always lonely.
The sun gleams down in its bright, intimidating gaze
No! Don't expect me to have fun
I'm not being called to do any of the sort
I'll open the shade, and put out a rug
Just for a touch of color
But that means nothing anymore. No to me.
Not in my ever-hazing shades of dullness
All paling--impaling everything I live for
The stupid things I value
In a meaningless collage

But oh! You said I am loved.
Why don't you sample this world I give you now
And we'll see how long your selfless chivalry can trek on.

*I'm sorry.
Kelsey Aug 2018
I cannot breathe

My nostrils caving in on themselves
The sensation of impaling arrows piercing my chest

My body is heavier than it was
A minute ago
When I wasnt thinking
About
My breathing.

Twidling fingers
The twitch of my jaw
Restless legs: a mind of their own

This bed doesnt feel as comfortable
As it did
When I wasnt thinking
About
Relaxing.

"Just breathe"
"Its all in your head"
"Sink into the mattress"
"Dont look at how late it is"

My mind is much louder now
Than it was
When I wasnt thinking
About
My anxiety.
Amnesia
Empty space
Dear god where have I gone?
Wait, stop, rewind
I don’t remember believing in you, I don’t remember you ever helping me
Do you forget my prayers like I forget the verses of my favorite song, your name uttered every chorus, the search unending
I don’t remember gentle kisses, warm hugs, spoonfuls of cold medicine my throat closing on it’s self because the taste of rotten grapes bleeds down like thick blood
Sticky, unending, nasty, dripping, does it even work
Is there something to give me back my memories I can’t find, will it taste as bitter as the memories, or will it be a sweet relief like water or a spoonful full of sugar
“A spoonful of sugar helps the medi-”
*******!
A spoonful of sugar isn’t going to let anything go down smoother, it’s just a lie to mask the stabbing pain of remembrance that leaks into your mouth and mind, a path you didn’t carve yourself
Those memories, they aren’t good, they aren’t sweet
they drag you through hell and back, the flames licking at your chest until they burn through your flesh to reach that fragile heart sitting in your chest
Your chest
It holds the most weight, they tell you your shoulders hold up the world, the world isn’t as much of a burden as your life is
Those memories forgotten, those remembered, those you live in this moment
Those weigh more than everyone’s expectations and lies told to you so they might sleep better at night
Remember that time you stood on the edge of a hill, sharp metal shrapnel staring back at you unblinking, a cold tiny hand holding yours while you say your last goodbyes
but that’s not what was running through your head, or the words of your scared classmates, no
It was how much the falling, tumbling, scratching, impaling, digging, and breaking would hurt
But you wanted that pain didn’t you?
A small child at the age of 8, ready to accept death, a term you shouldn’t even know
It wasn’t the last time either
You’ve held pills, blades, liquids, anything you could get your hands on
They’ve all weighed down your conscience until you scream in agony, a sound that rips from your throat and leaves a trail of red upon the air
They fall and tumble to the ground, hastily picked up before your parents come home to see them spilled on the worn down blue carpet that covers the bathroom
Wait, stop, rewind
I want amnesia like air, like Jack Daniel's to a drunk, like ******* and **** to a drug addict, to my lungs, thirsting for air because they have enough trouble getting it in the first place
It’s not as if all your screaming helped or anything
So just shove it down my throat, watch me choke, but not like I’m dying, oh no, like I’m craving more and I can’t swallow it fast enough
Give me my amnesia
Hooflip Aug 2014
Why ya come around,
Knockin on my window?
Rain rain go away,
Come again another day.
Little walkabout
Roll in, Storm out
Whistle Whistle, Windblow
Grit teeth, Tin-foil
Humble Rumble
Sunshine Spills upon the soil
Cotton sails away
Safe in sound and I'm still,
Making Noise.

La Da Da Da's

Well wisher, wish bigger
Grave digger, dig quicker
Cuz it's all in the statistics.. right.
Les't ya missed it
Then it's really all quite,
Insignificant!
Now if you wish to catch a fish, ya simply need to sink your hook
Impaling bait on anchor weights, take a break, read a book,
Take a look, inside yourself, remind yourself to check the knot you tied yourself
It's gotten loose, your food is on the move,
You're singing

La Da Da Da's

Rain, Rain
Go, Away
Rain, Rain,
Go, Away,
Why ya come around
Knocking on my window?
Knocking on my window
Knocking on my window
Why ya come around?
Why ya come around?
Why ya come around still,
Making noise.

La Da Da Da's

Da Da Dum.
Listen to the song here:
https://soundcloud.com/thehumbleloud/noise-thehumbleloud
Tasia Howard Nov 2015
I'm sitting in my room surrounded by paper *****.
I've got a binder in front of me and my pencil is poised.
I'm out of ideas and my boyfriend is distracting me.
He keeps taking my binder and poking me.
He keeps breaking my pencils and crinkling my paper.
I'm tired and cranky.
He leans close to me and tackles me.
My homework flies everywhere.
He lays on top of me and whispers, "Fun time."
I feel a sharp pain in my stomach.
The lights go out.
No one is here but me and him.
I hear shuffling noises.
I scream as I feel something impaling my rib cage.
I should've listened to my mom.

I wake up panting.
I should've listened to my mom.
Because I didn't, I'll be living my nightmare every day.
Jodie-Elaine Jun 2020
If I had to say something now, in this moment of a great nonsensical sense of loss it would be that I too, can’t stop falling in love but am stuck in the 1950s, I can’t carry a tune or stand in line so there is very little hope, they said hope was the last thing in the jar, and when the lid slammed shut, we were saved from it all. That earth angel knew what she was doing, wholly like a lock of blonde hair from Doris Day, when she set the paper moon on fire, and I guess Bobby knew it too, when he dunked it underwater, hoping to send it somewhere flameless and soggy, beyond the sea. I cried into the moon, tripping over my slippers and I put my head on the bookcases’ shoulder, Paul Anka and Chubby Checker themselves couldn’t quench the tears, I was twisted you see, and I didn’t think it could be the same again. Time to put the cardboard cut-out down, the picket signs chopped to fences and I dragged my toes, I fell in love with the plastic walls, the table I built and a thick, encompassing sense of home, like a teenager in love, I don’t know why they did it but the high crooning voice of Lymon helped me unstick from the walls. Some spirit of left creativity, me and my bereftment belong together, tied when Ritchie Valens dropped us down behind the chest of drawers, I yelled to grab a hand, but it fell quietly onto the curtain pole, impaling itself. Nathaniel entered the room, came looking but answered the ringing with a “Hey, Mama” and left. I couldn’t save my own last dance, I didn’t know that I was it, it drifted and said it would meet me someplace. It said it would meet me when the air clears, it’s getting late and tonight I look something dear and washed up. I miss you so dearly, send me. I hadn’t known that that would be it, this impressive but horrific amalgamation, and I’ve been here for too long.
The screen is dark and blank, I can’t see anything past it here.
Here in this empty space where it all was.
Stream-of-consciousness poetry heavily inspired by music
Jamie King Apr 2015
It's a rain of needles.
Silver skies, the ground
red with blood of a friend.
was I the spikes falling down?
Piercing tears
Stabbing the heart
Impaling the skin
Tearing apart, a bond forged in wars.
Am I now beyond foes' walls?
Hope smothered whole even so
there is still hope...
I'm sorry:(
Star Gazer Feb 2016
Silver armour defeating deafening silence,
Arrow heads impaling against metal,
He stood there withstanding the violence,
As war and gore on soil starts to settle.

Fatal finish for violence over words,
As the sound armour dings and rings,
The only noise the soldiers heard,
Were the sound of death, violence brings.

He was dressed like a soldier in battle,
But he had a gentle beating heart,
His mind never once did rattle,
When they used violence to tear him apart.

His words resonate in the soldiers soul,
'You don't have to use violence to fight,
And in this world being whole,
Means finding the bright light'.

"Violence is never the solution,
  It's a lesson that never changes,
  It should not belong to confucian,
  But then again humanity rarely changes"
Andrew Rueter Nov 2017
I take flight
With all my might
To be your kite
Following you wherever you go
To be part of your ebb and flow
People think I ingested the wrong pill
Because up here I can't see the roadkill
And float over the pitch black oil spills
From the end of your string
I become king

There is an approaching storm
As you deviate from the norm
And discontinue acting warm
Your lightning strikes
My metal pike
Electricity tears through my thin fabric
As I dream of a tranquil casket
And you want to grant me my death wish
I guess that's why they call me Icarish
For flying to close to the rain
Only to constantly feel pain
To distract me from the shame
From those with unknown names
But familiar bigoted flames
To me you both are the same
Once I go against the grain
You tell me to stay in my lane
High above the gravelly ground
Where you can't hear my sounds
Of impaling wailing
Because you're bailing
Letting go of the string
You become king

I am a kite floating
Spending night noting
All my many mistakes
That caused these breaks
But despite trying my very best
The wind provides a difficult test
After I am battered into tatters
My hopes couldn't be flatter
So I start to feel it doesn't matter
When my dreams came true then shattered
The wind solemnly sings
Of distant powerful kings
But I cannot fly anymore
In my broken kite form

— The End —