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zebra Aug 2016
on the first date
she confided in me
i have a chromosomal disorder, disorder, disorder
i need love and pain strangely mixed together
my elixirs
i suffer reality distoooorrtions
a ghastly Vatican of ****** compulsions
my soul is black matter
my **** a seething cauldron of despicable desire
my *** cries for homicidal cruelty

mold me into a *******
fold me like a two dollar beach chair
the wrong way
tear me to bits
unwind my intestine
eat me like a blood ******* ghoul
make me squirm like an anime victim

i thought oh finally a soul mate
with soul

strange as a Dionysian mad hatter on hallucinogenics
hot girl creeping
grimacing at me
meandering conjurations by ****** contortions
stunning impersonations of a Fellini impaling
shes a famous artist
keeps broodish bowels and blood tampons in stainless vitrines
spot lighted
ready for her debut at the
Museum of Modern Art

she blows torrents of snot like ****
her beautiful desperate tongue searching the upper lip
a salty runny viscoses snack
oozy
finding it finally with her frenetic tongue
feeding her gooey ****
with wet fingers
oh yummy yum goo
up her *** too

first smiling then hideous scowls
exposed teeth
posing with a knife
wana see me cut my self bad boy, she taunts
wana see my impersonation of pizza with extra tomato sauce

blood blood *** in the be in the bed
wipe it up with ginger bread

some how she miraculously bulges her eyes out
then performs, ******* lips as if a minnow in a fish jar

pointing to her ***
giving me that **** hurt me twisted look
how about a peanut butter jelly ******* sandwich
with a side of ****** feet
**** and **** on toes
its especially prized this day of the month
as her **** tears like a vampires mouth, a torrent of blood
pouting **** with white red stained thighs that break a mans heart
*** nothing at all she quips
just a little accident
do you like it?
as she glares like an invitation
to play slip and slide bare foot in her puddle of blood

oh she made me *****
my cherry red **** having a nervous breakdown
from apoplectic horror gasms
a dose of heavens hell

i want her
she is voluptuous like a dozen venomous snakes
copulating in warm soup dark water everglades
she is slither theater

curdling screams
then muggling *******
brought on by the first belly stab
falling to her knees
looking up shocked
mouth gaping
eyes wide
grinning
glance steady
holding holding holding
the belly cut
a cacophonous modern dance of agony
followed by rapturous convulsing *******
that went on and on and on

get a bat she implored

she is a real ******* movie star
the Greta Garbo of *****
a dark jewel
a must have
a hell wife
goddess of dread
a ******* *** genius
my best girl ever

fused by desire
we kissed like **** loving catholic priests
in adoration of their savior
young boy *** castrato hitting the high notes


she looked up with desperation
eyes with glittering tears
and said
are you my black knight?
do you know how to hurt a girl
are you my
Vex Mallus
Dr Satan
Marquis De Sick
Nick Nick
Dark Officer
Remus the Werewolf
Dom Sugar Daddy
Pit Bull
Tommy the Tummy Gutter
5 o'clock Shadow
London Cabby
Amputee ******
Uncle Surgery Gone Wrong
King of the Carpathian Vampires
my sweet kissy Kitten

ooohh yes i said
i am all that for loves sake
albeit twisted
i am what you crave.. your no taboo lover boy
your ******* licking foot slave with a razor in hand
a bubble of poison between my legs
your homicidal suicidal cockealiciousness

she said good,
now that we have that settled
can we go out for dinner
ill be dressed in a jiffy
if i can find my dead skirt
of soft white gauze
with that lovely motif of dread red
and my precious toe tag jewelery
My poems remain explorations of the subconscious ******
If i where a film maker or a novelist  you  would see me telling a story, not judge me, 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
Steven Hutchison Apr 2014
Stand close to me
I want to remember us
right here
right now
in that dress you’re wearing
in this light
or with a filter
ya, probably with a filter
we will immortalize this moment
in digital eternity
put ourselves in the back pockets
of all our friends
let them see us
we will become stars tonight
and though the skies are full these days
of lite-brite impersonations
I’m certain we will burn into forevers
I haven’t really noticed where we are
let the world fit itself into the top two corners
of our rectangular existence
like it matters anyway
I need to remember us
tomorrow you won’t be here
we won’t be here
wherever here happens to be
tomorrow I will hear myself again
with those lonely songs and cold hands
of an all-too-present reality
I need you to stand close to me
if I look back and see the world in between us
it will look too much like the truth I’m avoiding
tomorrow I will need to convince myself I’m living
and this will be my arm-length testament
there was a time and a place when we were smiling
pushed close together behind nostalgia inducing filters
if we can look convincing tonight
dress ourselves in starlight
block out the world behind us
maybe tomorrow I’ll believe it
shout your picture into my hollows
before the lonesome deepens
I need you in my back pocket
for those days my lonely soul gets wordy
Robyn Dec 2014
Hey Papa, it's me. It's been a while. I get it. I don't remember your voice anymore. I forgot Nanny's a long time ago, but I kinda hoped I'd be able to hang on to yours. You turned 79 yesterday. We had chocolate cake from Haggen, the kind you like. I couldn't eat any. But it had a snowman on it. You would've liked it.
I'm almost 17 now. There's a lot of things I wish I could say to you. A lot of things I wish you could say to me. I only knew you for 10 years. I'm jealous that Kellie knew you for 16. She got more time with you, more trips to Long Beach with you than I ever did. She got more time with Nanny too. Much more time. I only got 6 years with her. When I think about it, she was almost a stranger. I don't even remember her accent. I didn't even know she had one. Dads impersonations in stories aren't enough for me. His impersonations of you aren't either. They make me laugh but I hate laughing at people I don't really know.
If I really didn't know you it might make it easier on me. You'd really be a stranger. But you weren't. I hugged you and spent time at your house. I remember your cats and your TV and your pile of firewood. I remember our dish of York Peppermint Patties. I remember the piles of leaves in your yard that Kellie and I would jump in and I remember your tiny lake. I remember our treehouse. It was really Kellie's treehouse. But I liked to think I'd get my own one day. I didn't.

You wore think glasses and you never took off your hat. You smoked for 60 years and my Dad was your only child. You had 4 step sons that you raised but I don't know them all. I never met Michael. Did Nanny cry when Michael was born that way? Did she blame herself? Or the nuns at the hospital who crossed her legs until the doctor got there? Could she feel Michael struggling for air? He died at 38. He really is a stranger. Uncle Al lives in Maine, I haven't seen him since you left us. Uncle John used to live in Marysville but he and Aunt Pamm live in California now. He's only my second favorite uncle because he's really the only other one I knew. He's in remission from lung cancer. He still smokes. I'm not sure what he's trying to get rid of by doing it but it's not cancer. Aunt Pamm is a Buhddist I think. I don't really know either of them.
Uncle Brian and Aunt Terri came to visit on Tuesday. After a couple cigarettes Dad and Brian started talking, like always. They sat there and shared memories as if it was just them in the room. We all watched like they were on TV. They talked about you and Nanny. I laughed and remembered little about you and even less about her.

Kellies married now. His name is Tim. You'd have really liked him. He's tough and funny and kind. He hikes and knows how to weld and forge and build things. I was always jealous of her, you know. She had the boys, and the height, and the talent. She's a better artist and a better singer. She learned more from you than I ever could. She always wanted to. I wanted to play with my toys and watch TV while you taught her how to split a log and identify plants and grow carrots and use a machete. I hate myself for that. I'm the indoor cat that gets fat and drains your bank account at the vet, Kellie was the outdoor cat that brought you rats and squirrels and knew how to hunt. I know you loved both of us, but I wish I would've been there with you like she was.

I wish I hadn't ever seen you cough of blood at the dinner table. I wish you'd lived longer, to see me in my formative years, to tell me all the stories Dad tries to. I wish you could've told me what you thought about Nanny getting baptized on her hospital bed weeks before she left. I wonder if that had any affect on you before you left. I wish I'd known if you missed her. I know you did, I would've liked to hear you tell me.
I wish you could've met Ryan. You'd like him too. He's funny and sweet and lovely, he's witty enough to keep up with you. And he loves me. I wish you could see it.

I know you loved me, no matter what kind of cat I was. I know life was always hard for you. I know your sons gave you hell and I know you lost your brother and I know you had it rough and I know you watched your dreams get crushed over and over but you were, for the time I knew you, an amazing grandfather. My first thought of you is always a hazy ghost at the edge of my life but that's not true. You were always there for me. I would sit on your lap every Christmas while you read me The Night Before Christmas. You gave me presents, good ones, meaningful ones. You built me a dollhouse. You slipped the Sunday comic strips from your newspaper into my cubby at Sunday School every single week. Somehow. You made Kellie and I a treehouse and a little boat and a little plane. That plane is in my room now. You came over for dinner every week after Nanny died and you ate with us and laughed and hugged me goodbye. The week you died, maybe even the day before, Dad led me down the hallway to your room, to say goodbye. You were weeping like a child and you hugged me so tight and told me you loved me. Your hands were thick and calloused and heavy. The wedding ring that was on your finger, and the one that was on Nannys are both with me now. I take them out sometimes and hold them. I can't tell if the smell of cigarette smoke on them is real or just a fading memory.

You were a blessing on my life, in the way I must have seemed a blessing to yours. I know you and Nanny are together again, I simply do. I know I will see you again, Tom Hazen. And when Dad tells the story about your Jedi powers, or the stort about Nannys time as a cocktail waitress, I'll laugh and I won't feel like I'm laughing at strangers. I love you too.
Sorry for the length. My Grandfather passed away 7 years ago this March. I was 10. His 79th birthday was yesterday. He hasn't left my mind. I had some things I needed to say.
Meditations and French Fries

I sit watching you nibble on some Mickey D's fries,
And taking sips of your milkshake,
Your two hands grasping the cup as if to make sure
Nobody could take it while kicking your feet,
That barely touch the floor, and humming.
This makes me love you more than I already do.

Your eyes move up and stare at me and I look at you,
Searchingly, but you cross them,
Making those crazy eyes that make me smile
And then you let your lips curl into a smile matching mine
And show the small fragments of your teeth and you are beautiful.

You are so content with sitting here, with oily salty potato slivers,
With impersonations of milkshakes, and more importantly with me.
I love you, and your tiny teeth, your short legs, your belly.

Everyone says you resemble me, all your ticks, your mood swings
Your ****** expressions, your desire to learn, your sweet tooth.
You are a copy of me, a miniature me, but you are not really me.
You are my brother, my blood but not my copy.
I see the differences between us, the different upbringing, you know what
A childhood means, you know fatherly love, and for this I am thankful,.
I wish you more than me, more knowledge, love, confidence than me.

I wish Mickey D's is better too, and that the economy doesn't go bust
And that you could afford some fries and a milkshake for less than 10 bucks.
Mateuš Conrad Jul 2018
/                       in that mock charles III voice
or the end tip
of scar's conversation:

i'm afraid i'm at the shallow
end of the gene pool
:

  ****! and i thought he said:
dream pull!

you'll get the drift
when i try to compare, with compensation
the music to the rhetoric
of pachebel's canon in D -
and what almost every,
EVERY! english politician
does when speaking...

   nough-t'ah-b'lee
      kenneth, sir(!) kenneth, clark,
y'ah...

such a fudge, listening to the raj
post scriptums take or even
have airs as to be "rightly"
in the inheritance line...

           i've heard one story,
                entitled:
   can i please! please! have that tragic
aspect of life without
you thinking i'm a 12 year old lying?!
did i send any ***-pictures
over the phone?
   no!
             i bought a ******* ***** mag
before it all became:
       free, online!
    i know what rose cheeks is...

              it's not a ******* croatian
game of chequers!
   no, i seriously prefer this spelling,
even above the alternative noun...
since i associate that with: drowning,
or ****** ale;
                           n'est-ce pas?

f'aaaaaack...
        and i though english was bad
in terms of clarifying syllable intakes:
to the letter...
      
   phonetically?

                                           neß p'ah?

tongue for the eyes,
  tongue for the street,
   tongue for the language,
eyes diverted:
        
     who can blame them...
  they're only as good as a television
camera allows them to be,
to, put on a show...

   then **** away the rest of
the afternoon in a pub
    "concerned" about affairs of
     the state, or, "the" people...    

only in england do the politicians
ask the public to take them
seriously...
         back in the ukranian parliament
politicians throw
punches at each other,
as they would, with a choir encore
of a rendition of a hopak!

   theatre for the trans-rich:
that's politics, and i don't know how
i've been ****** into this quasi-******
syringe of "living", a, "life"...
            
eh... kenneth clark's elocution
    inheritence, compared to
                        pachebel's canon in D
as a joke...
         simpleton that i am:
                         a **** is still a ****,
and funnier -
    given that comic genius
    began and became
                            laurel & hardy
(albeit i find
       lee evans to be funnier)...

funny is only funny when a baby
can laugh...
         the rest?
     something akin to the joy
of feeding a giraffe in a zoo...
    
    which isn't exactly as much fun
as feeding raw meat to a domesticated
feline...
        slick, tounge tickled off a tip
                     of a knife.
tracy Jul 2014
You have always been unpredictably cool and golden retriever status loyal. You hid in closets with me when Mom and Dad were yelling and you held my hand through each silent treatment and each “let’s sit down, we need to have a talk” moments. You came to me when you needed help reading and to pick out clothes for school dances.

You were the first person to laugh at all my jokes and the first to tell me that that dress did make my *** look big—you were also the first to remind me that I was beautiful, especially when I didn’t believe it myself. You didn’t stop crying when I hugged you, but we’d both just end up in a teary, sobbing mess because when one hurt, so did the other. You put up with my obnoxious free-spirited ways that collided with each of your organized, to-the-point methods all these years and never once questioned me. You had my back even when I was in the wrong. You believed in me when no one else did.

You grew up to be amazing. Whatever you wanted to do, you did it. You studied and you learned and you just grew into this person that I knew you could be. You’ve had a number of set backs but your ability to keep moving forward is what makes me admire you. The world is at your disposal—you are now in control. The dreams you’ve had for a while now are finally coming true, and it’s because of you that they are. I couldn’t be prouder.

Your attention to detail always fascinated me. You never forgot a single appointment, a birthday, a dollar loaned, where Dad left his car keys—whenever I was lost, you help me find my way again. Although you’re the “little” sister, you’ve always been the one I looked up to.

When people walk all over your heart and took you for granted, I was proud of you for standing up for yourself and removing those who aimed to bring you down. Although you lost a number of friends, you never lost yourself. You found solace in those who truly deserve to be in your life, learning a lesson that took years for me to learn.

To this day, there’s no one who can get under my skin more than you do. There’s no one who knows better than you what buttons to push with me, but there’s also no one who knows better how to cheer me up after a long, exhausting day. Fighting with you is more aggravating than with anyone else—the world is only correctly in place when we’re in sync, so kudos to us for not being able to be mad at each other for more than a few hours.

We used to say that if we weren’t sisters, we probably wouldn’t even be friends so I’m glad that the universe blessed me with someone like you. I can’t imagine sharing parents with anyone else, because who else could do what you do? I thank my lucky stars that I have you around, because with parents like ours, I’ll need someone to talk about whatever embarrassing or nurturing or cute or terrible or weird or unfair thing they’re up to next.

What else can I say? Even though you’re 3,000 miles away and we’re about to begin the rest of our lives, I know that one day we’re going to be the weird old ladies on the block still listening to the Backstreet Boys and making bad impersonations of our relatives.
Christian Reid Oct 2014
Making manic impersonations
On a momentary scale
We ride on the echo of cymbals divine
Decanting data into philosophic wine
Perceptive perspective manifesting matrices
Unknown --
Uncontrollable, undeniable, imminent &
Haphazardly perfect;
The essence of our yesterdays & tomorrows
Etched, in passing, into the
Particulate framework
-- Momentarily --
& yet
-- Eternally --
Manifestations cloaked in the veil of time,
Laced with intentions self-concocted,
The tides exchange,
Endlessly blurring the line between
Creator and Created
Rollercoaster Jan 2021
Shadows are impersonations.
They move around
In the sneakiest of ways.
Lurking and inching and cheating.
Trying to escape the mirror.
The darkness died when the hero won.
It didn’t.
It just followed them, lurking to get back.
The core is darker of the fake.
They’re dark,
because they tell them of the time gone by.
In monochrome,
the color died, it lives in the real world now.
I don’t have a shadow.
I am one.
Poetic T Jun 2016
We were frolicking through the streets, amusing ourselves
with what was noting less than bliss.

"Points mean prizes my friends,

"Knock the door go on,
"You do it man,

As they walk up to the door one is smiling the other of a
nervous disposition, "relax man,  they discuss the doorbell
or the policeman knock?
The knock is better louder of course attention grabbing
but then other neighbours will hear its echo and curiosity
will awaken them to phones and regrettably police.

The door bell is rang, but not a murmur so repeatedly
they tap it until luminosity awakens and words of
profanity dripped out like a leaky tap. "Dam,
Looking at each other, as hallway lights emerged and
footsteps danced down the stairs a melody of F's P's
and a kaleidoscope of others painted the air.

If I had a swear jar on this house I 'd be a rich man,
as he unlocks the many bolts. "Not a trusting man I see,
The door takes an age to open as we wait eagerly and
then he grinds it open slower than a snail in a race
with a bullet we start to get frustrated.

"Foot meet door, door meet foot,

As the door releases back and the chain is deprived of
its clasping the gentlemen is thrown back not with a
racket but more like slow motion. Then he hits the floor
Like china thrown from a fourth storey balcony.
Then there is silence, "Check his pulse man,
As one of them linger over him listening to what
ever sign of life is left and then like he was reanimated
from the dead he lunges forward and grabs a clump of
hair. One laughs while the other one screams in a girly
kind of shrike. Composing himself quickly, one swift
five knuckle plant and again the gentlemen is out cold.

"You scream like a girl man,
"Did you see that, it was like one of those zombie flicks,
"Ye right, your just a wetter ma man,

As they stood over the man, now joined by his hysterical wife.
Luckily they always carried a roll of duck tape, you never know
when this will come in handy. As the other wrapped it tightly
around her thin lined lips, and the storm became a drizzle of
crying murmurers. Looking at each other knowing that this only
works in the dark they thought of ways to awaken the sleeping
beauty?

"I'll punch him, "Really that got us here in the first place,
Pondering on thoughts one skipped into the adjacent room,
"Dude what are you six,  A silence of embarrassment lingered
as into the kitchen he rummaged through the cupboards like a
homeless dog in the litter bin. Looking in the fridge he found
what was needed.
"What ya going to do rub it under his nose that kipper stinks,
"Some thing like that,

He unwraps it gagging at the odour that perforates the air,
"How can you eat this it smells like a prostitutes well used bits,
The woman smirks in a half terrorized quarter amused mumble.
As he nears his prey fish wrapped in a hand towel, whiffing it
below his nostrils. This isn't working the thought, "F#ck it,
Raising his arm up in the air he slaps the unconscious gent clear
in the chops. He stutters awake in confusion wandering what
was happening then in realization he speaks in ferocity.

"What the hell you doing my house, violating our residency,

"Now that's we like the feisty ones,

An edged smile greets the bound hostages, then the rules are
read out, "Are we listening, the untapped swear tin is about
to release a tirade of profanity on both so they bind his mouth
with what is needed (Shut Um Up Duck Tape) [tm] then silence
is blessed on there ears and they begin quickly to explain the
happenings they find themselves in.

"Why you slumbered we went through your thinks,
"Madam that was quiet a section we found in the bedroom,
"Sir are we on the limp list, there are tablets for that,

"Rules stick to them and maybe you'll survive,
"Not and a lot of bad things can happen,

1. Try to alert anyone they and you die.
2. If you try to escape we have family members addresses
we will hunt them and end them with no hesitation.
3. Have fun as your life depends on it, be imaginative.
4. We have rid the house of any and all knives and blades
5. creativity is the master of invention, you understand.

As the old guy rumbles on trying to speak, he un-tapes
his mouth and listens to his frustrated rabbling's.


"How we know you'll not just **** us,
"This isn't our first or 26th no 27th in fact rodeo.
"There were six of us unfortunately there have been
winners and losers on both sides,

"We are but three lonely shepherds now,
"Three I only see two?
"Our friend is outside guarding the entertainment value
of this diverting fun tonight,


And then without words he said two his playthings,
"You have to the count of 100 to hide to do what must be done
make your peace fight or die its your choice,


They untapped there mouths as to not be muffled of sound
easier to hear on the ear if there crying in fear, and with that
the gentleman gives a capture a five knuckle tap.

"Good shot, and good on you, now run dead man walking,

They both scarpered hand in hand, love will **** you the
other man thought as he watched them run like rabbits.
1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9,10.................100,
You wouldn't believe it but a hundred seconds takes
quite a long time in the aspect of what were doing.

They at first play games as stomping upon the laminated floor,
so many had ran when they had done this, Idiots. but these
two never flinched, hats off to there courage. Then tactic No2,
we know where you are, were going to come to play with your
insides with our loving blades they like to penetrate you deeply.

As wandering feet did walk on the cold floor they heard the
scurrying of ill footsteps, "we have a rat scampering beneath
our very feet,
Both with smiles lingered on the basement footsteps
and slowly descended as what was waiting clambered around in
aimless wondering. Both thought it was the lonely cowering wife.
Not as once thought as the swear box in the darkness gave birth
to profanities and in the midst of our arrival he was weeping like
a new born child. Our knifes were his voice as blood silenced it.

We wiped the memories of his last lingering moments from
the existence of his blade, this fool thought he had strength but
in the end it bled out faster than others before him.
But wait a moment what about the one that blubbered her
fear in a cascade of tears where was she hiding?
"I can smell your fear it sweetens the air,
Both separated to find and cull the last of this herd.

"Please don't hurt me,
"I'm all alone,

He snuck through the hall way hearing here speech in the
darkened bedroom. His knife drawn, to plunge into its
awaiting pray. heading towards the cupboard he thinks
the prey is getting easier these days. "Found you, as
he opens it wide to find a tape recording on repeated play
and a note saying heel *****.... A confused look on his face
till blood seeped silently down his face. In rage he swipes
missing her by millimetres, then she says one final word.
"These are $500 shoes, and gouges it deeply into his throat.

Screaming in gargled silence, his last sight was her giving him
the finger and her foot gently crushing his throat. She got her
manicured fingers and gently grabbed her neck, cracking the
stress out with each crunch.
"There were three little pigs now there are two...
"Oink, Oink, she giggled in nervous thought.

He stood on the stairs shouting in a lulled voice his partners
name, but with no echo of voices he knew that the game was a
foot and another of his clan had paid the ultimate price.
So the husband with all his voice was a lamb to the slaughter
but the wife, the quiet ones are always the ones to look out for.

He was more cautious now that only the two of them breathed,
they were both the prey but who would be the winner of this contest?
he looked upon the box emptied earlier in haste, the gun?
looking inside a note was penned in scribbled in quickened haste.
"If your reading this well done you found only one of my guns,
"BANG,

He jumped back in embarrassment, he looked around in case the
other was lingering in silence behind him. But no one was there
to his pride and ego he sighed out loud. now was the time to seek
the prize, the hunt was needed as in the next room he found the
still warm but deceased comrade with the heel still in his neck.
"That is so not your colour my man,
He thought there isn't many places to hide in this house, yes it
was larger than the pervious ones but that was half the fun or
was It half there down fall?

She crept within the walls this house was of the cotton days,
hiding those needing escape, through the mirror she saw him
wanting nothing more than to end his life.. but she had no
weapon, or was that a false thought as there were the old swords
Sitting ideal in the loft. They were still sharp as she had found out
not but a few months ago. Paper cut my ****... it needed six stitches
but that had now healed as she subconsciously ****** her finger.

He was getting agitated at the aspect that he maybe next,
but brushing aside that thought he went into the mode of hunter,
seeing if odours of perfume lingered in the air but noting greeted
senses except the smell of blood festering on the air.

"Come out and play I haven't got all night to linger in this place,

She could hear fear in his voice he tried to hide it beneath his manly
fasard that was crumbling like a weather worn cliff on the presapace
of collapse. She was a very varied woman that they didn't know,
fear had collapsed her in the first moments but now that had faded
like a sunset, she was a ventriloquist by trade in her youth quite the
entertainer. But she was retired and welcomed the rest, but no time
was there to catch a breath let alone to breathe.

He was starting to think, he should count his loses and leave.
then he heard voices but not from one spot but other places in
the house. Unbeknown to him there was an intercom system
and she was throwing her voices though out the house.
"Who is that , what do you want, How could there be more
than one? There was only two he thought, were  they wrong when
they entered this house? A lone wolf that needed the blood before
his blood was spilt.

She was happy that she took out one with her skills, now it was
the other two players turns she was going to quarter back slap the
hell out of this final invader of her sanity. But how could she play
him? Her husband was dead, she knew that for a fact they were bragging it through out there gloating verses. This was her moment
to show who the wolf was and that they were the sheep herded to
the optimistic place of the final ****, her or them.

She saw him silent and still, she had never seen him this weak, but
this was his chance to save her skin, she found fishing wire, and a
pardon the pun, a broom you know where that went to keep him
stable and up right. The intercom crackled she played his voice
over and over again she used to drive him crazy with he
impersonations of him, it always brought a laugh but the were silent now.

"Come on think I'm dead you cant **** anger you child of
pathetic consequence,
  

He feverishly thought of moments past was he dead?
they had gutted him like a fish, how could this be.
Phoning the cover outside he said this was his play and
if It ended he was exiting stage left. One final voice spoke
that he knew the rules if he was to exit then he was to end
his existence, there were rules for a reason.

She was had it planned the recorder the fish wire and that broom,
saying her apologies to her dearly departed but it wasn't anything
strange those toys upstairs weren't only hers you know.
Calling over the intercom, "Lets party you, swear box was
blessed with over a hundred coins the tirade of vocal words she
expelled on the air waves. He recognized that expel of vocabulary
as that person he ended not so few hours ago and confusion ignited
on his features to what the hell was going on in this place.

Stepping in palpitating haste he descended in slow motion, not
with the vigour of what was replayed earlier in the night.
"I killed you once old man I'll do it again,
But fear was expelled this time not courage of the **** like before,
He took played his fingers on the wall to find the switch.
No longer did it enlighten the surroundings, he was in darkness,
and then before him he stood, but he cant stand he had gutted him
and no one comes back from that.

"Who says I'm dead, your just a poor excuse for a mummies boy
go on cry ya little...,


Then in haste he lunged at the oldd man, not thinking straight.
fear and anger eclipsed ratinal thought as he sang his blade into
his skull. Cold eyes stared back, then he realized It was a trap,
He felt it but it was not as he thought he would have felt his
skin screamed out in tears of crimson. A sword was visual
through the front and back of his own self. He swore at her
knowing his time was moments away. she spoke from the dark,

"Its not this that's going to **** you, remember what you found
in the bedroom,


"Oh come on lady just plunge the blade in again I cant move,

But she didn't listen  as she bludgeoned his face with it, different features greeted with each impact till his features were just blooded and
he no longer moved anymore. Her face was a collage of blood from
those she had ended, holding her husband in her arms stroking his
remaining hair. Kissing him on the head she gently put him down.
Opening the porch door she spoke out, "I have ended this playtime
I am the queen of this house, the others are still, static you going to
end me now?

"Rules are rules I'm sorry but I must leave you now,
"Congratulations for winning your life,
"Sorry you lost whoever pasted in the game,
"Know if they had walked out they would have been dead,
"Rules are rules,

There was silence, then on the doorstep she rested her bloodied hands
on her knees and tears of fear, of courage poured out.
She was the winner of this even though she felt totally lost.
Sirens were heard in the distance and she just sat there still....
2684 words wholly poo... this is my longest most difficult write to date.. thanks to all who take the time to read it there maybe a few grammar mistakes but I`m so tired it took three days to write...
Kate Elise Oct 2010
My life shattered in pieces
I scramble to put it back together
before anyone sees my weakness
the master of disguises
I put on a smile and shove my feelings to the side
I dare not be vulnerable
I mask my imperfections with impersonations
I ask you-
put me back together
make me whole again
please
I need your help to show me
show me it’s ok to be me
tell me that im beautiful
worthy
Its not like me to beg, but I have nothing left
I am broken
be the glue that holds me together
heather leather Feb 2015
i could say you were brown eyes and coffee,
that you were both oceans of happiness and tsunamis of pain
i could say that you had the best taste in music
and the worst taste in people;
but then I would only be telling the novel-like trauma
that comes with loving you

so instead i will paint the image of dark sunsets
and black and white vinyls onto paper;
i will take photographs of unopened cigarette boxes
and spilled coffee tables, i will record the sound of roaring
laughter and terribly loud sobs
and then i will put it all together so that i can
accurately describe you

you with the boyish smile and the terrible
french accents, you with the curly hair and the
bad impersonations, you with the most beautiful mind
and my heart

it's ironic actually, how i use you as my safety net
like my grandma does her rosary;
although i doubt her rosary is killing her
like you are killing me
what even is this
Em MacKenzie Sep 2018
Ten thousand words dedicated to everyone and everything in my life,
illustrating everything from love and happiness to heartache and strife.
I never think about jotting down much about myself except for what ills me,
so I’ll use this space at my own pace to try and explore each concept that fills me.

I like night much more than day,
it’s quiet and there’s more to what people say,
‘Cause even though I’m a good liar honesty is refreshing.
I like my music loud and long drives
but I always want to know where I’ll arrive,
It’s not that I’m a control freak but I don’t like to be kept guessing.

I’ve got an amazing memory,
you probably could quiz me,
I know almost every lyric to every song before two thousand and five.
And I’m strangely good at math,
in fact it still makes me laugh
that I was on the honour roll after missing 80 days; I didn’t even strive.

And I really love dogs,
elephants, penguins and frogs,
I believe animals are angels that live amongst us.
I love summer’s weather but winter’s clothing,
I can wear a happy mask or I’m always moping,
It’s not that I’m fake or depressed, I’m just like gold covered in rust.

I smoke like a chimney
even though I can barely breathe
and I love to dance when no one else is around.
I’m good at impersonations,
I can mimic a singer from each generation,
but it makes me question how I myself sound.

I like colourful lighters and pens,
my favourite numbers are all before ten,
And I can keep going on but it might get troubling.
I like to make everyone feel as ease,
And I like hanging out under trees,
You can call me Em but if I love you you can call me Emily.
Decided to spruce up the page with something not completely full of depression or sappy love. Not a good write by any means but it was done quick and as means to get the edge off.
The United States on many levels is a messy affair. Often this plays towards its strengths - a heterogeneous glob of skin colors, backgrounds, opinions, personalities, and characters over the past 240 years has helped shape a cultural, political and economic haphazard semi-benevolent, oft-belligerent empire not seen on this planet before its creation.

We would be idiotic to think that these past two centuries, and nearly a half, have been without some outstanding contradictions. We could pornagraphicly chart how glorious words from the Declaration of Independence have been ******, again and again, including “all men are created equal” and how people have the right to “throw off such Government[s], and to provide new Guards for their future security” when such governments do not serve the will of the people.

We could start with how a great portion of the founding fathers were slave holders, then we could move onto less touchy subjects like most were rich and all were white (and had penises). Sure, we could write that stuff off - you know - the times, the course of history, blah, blah, blah. And all that is true. America has had its Frederick Douglass, its Martin Luther King, its Sacagawea, and Chief what's-his-name, along with all those famous Latinos and Asians they teach us about in grade school we remember so well.

But then, we turn towards those other two hundred odd years where the United States’ culture and politics hung black men and women from trees like strange fruit or burned them alive atop hateful lumber, committed genocide against Native Americans and buffalos with guns and blankets, while also overtly and covertly murdered and overthrew leaders and regimes in Latin America, Asia and the Middle East for resources, power, and influence. Then there was that whole thing where we herded Japanese people into pig pens before we massacred somewhere around 200,000 of them on some island in the pacific with big bombs we had immigrants create for us. To be fair, they started it.

We could write that stuff off - you know - the times, the course of history, blah, blah, blah. And that’s true.

Lean in a bit more and you’ll smell a bit more sweaty *******. Pull yourself up by your bootstraps kinda stuff.  Just like how the current President started off with nothing but a multimillion dollar loan from his daddy to kick off his economic empire. Just like how anyone can succeed in America as long as you work hard, which is why minorities in this country control a majority of multinational corporations, hold a majority in both the Senate and House of Representatives and why every white kid in America grows up aspiring to be either Black or Latino because their parents say “it's for the best.” Just like how America has the best health care, that’s why America has the lowest infant mortality rate and the healthiest people who never ****** each other with 2nd Amendment guns or commit suicide after killing their families or classmates.

Are you writing this down? I am.

Perhaps we could turn to ourselves (I’ll play the overly judgmental overlord who doesn’t give a **** about your feelings or my own personal hypocrisy) ready? How about the shallow puddle of desire we hold in our hands that we mindlessly scroll through and tap and caress and coddle and cling to like an obsessed sociopath? That thing that connects us but deletes us from the here and now? That thing that traps us into a circle of impersonations of ourselves?

Hold your head just this way, smile just like that, clench the jaw just so, a little less cleavage, a little more flex and tuck, bribe the kid for a smile  and - SELFIE! I am a happy, successful, wealthy, witty, charming, sassy, badass ******* genius party hound, bound for success and glory and please like this post or photo or confession or rant or meaningless comment about my mundane life. I need to stay connected.

Let’s drop the phone. I’m still the overlording hypocrite. How about we talk about the polished mirror we strap to our heads by leather, stick, and string and leave dangling before our every step and twinkling eye? We ***** and moan about the drive to work, the long flight, the uppity moronic ******* at the office. On the other side of the mirror a drone strike just killed a mother’s son. Did you vote, do you care? We bemoan the ****** pay and mindless work we’re given in a corporate service driven economy lorded over by overpaid ******. Move the mirror and look in the distance, a dictator just mass murdered his own people. We wallow in self-pity, no one sees our potential, our worth. At the stoplight downtown, hold the gaze of your fellow American asking for a buck - what’s he worth? What’s yours and why?

Okay, how about this? We stroke the ***** and ***** of our own deflated morality by inflating the stupidity of others. Mr. Jones lost his job and slept with a woman not his wife - oh, my. Mrs. Jones chopped off his ****, how unladylike - oh, my. This might be where we avoid the mirror we’ve strapped to our heads by stick and string. I’d never do that, never done anything like it. He deserves what he got and she’s off to the psych ward for sure. Yet, we guzzle down the *** of lurid stories steeped in “other” people's faults. We’re all in the **** video now, and everyone’s acting *****.

Let’s not pretend anymore. Humanity is America and America is messy and often ugly. But there, in the chaos, gleams an oxymoronic hope to do better. To be better. I am as small as my mistakes and shortcomings but as towering as my dreams and ideals. We cannot change or erase our past stupidity, but we can be so much more tomorrow. I want to be an empire of hope, a mountain of kindness, a river of acceptance, a field of peace. A good father to my daughters, a loving partner to my wife. A man that lives.

Let's not write that future off as blah, blah, blah.
Arcassin B Dec 2014
By Arcassin Burnham


Sing songs to you like I used to,
Frank ocean impersonations,
You use to bring me gold and silver virtues,
I was your sensation,
And your satisfaction,
And your pleasure as well,
She laid roses on the coffin in the fires of hell,
I use to lay next to you on the way to your house,
Slowly tilting in your bed,
I'd never sit in the living room on the couch,
Kisses on my neck,
when you needed to,
I used to say,
darla,
I cherish you,
If anything I wanna marry you,
And take you on expensive trips,
And lay you down in queen size beds,
And take you virginity away from you,
I needed you like bonnie,
I hope you get it,
My bones and my flesh and soul,
Could hardly bare to take it,
Were all grown up now,
So where's your confidence boo,

Were all grown up now,
So where's your confidence boo,

Were all grown up now,
So where's your confidence boo,
Saved up on a lot for leggings and shoes,
She said just to impress you,
Not knowing if you'd take me back,
I don't mean to intrude,
Retaliation left a mark on my back,
I remember you were rude,
If Ignorance is bliss,
Then shouldn't love be (evol),
And if you let me explain,
Then you know this is a sequel.
I missed you Darla ....
Kelsey Mar 2017
The President of drowned immigrants.
President elect of white supremacists.
President of "Climate Change is a hoax."
President of the Muslim registry.
President elect of uneducated ignorance.
Commander and Chief of disability impersonations.
President of Plan Parenthood's funeral.
President of Grab em' by the *****.
President of "Taxes are for losers."
President elect of bear infested schools.
President of the United States of America.
Natalie Jan 2018
She saw God in the things like her morning creamer and the shape of the clouds during summer
But not much past that
Because when it came to showing love and giving people what they need
She wanted to sow a barren field without planting any seeds
She wore her faith around her neck instead of on her sleeve
If it wasn't for the Infant of Prague on her dresser and those Rosary beads
I would have no idea what it was she was trying to teach
All of them are unwilling to admit their imperfections
Because all the repercussions are held back by their holy impersonations
Their sins will never fade and their souls will never be saved and the devil won't be tamed
By her crucifix collection
I'm sure the Lord is much more forgiving than she made Him seem
She takes every communion drop and lets it fester poison in her bloodstream
God turned the water to wine that made its home in my lungs
And while He took away the rain, it still made me flood
Because knowing I made it through His downpour wasn't good enough
My hands are folded in a prayer, but they're covered in my blood
Praying that He will come to my pity party and fill me in on all I've missed
That He'll take me into His arms just so I can feel that He exists
But Satan has been writing my invitations and my Lords not on the list
So lets toast this wine that kills us and celebrate dying young
Because the devils watching me, and he's got a silver tongue
And of all these Bible stories, I don't know which part I prefer:
When Judas sold my God or kissed him when he left
Compared to silver coins, I dealt Him in for so much less

They'll hold their noses high and boast their goodness to the sky
I know that I'm not perfect, in fact, I'm who they criticize
They spit on me and cast me to the side
because those who sin differently are worthy of no pride

Her church may close its doors and throw me away
But it's okay
I don't want to worship like she does anyway

I still see God in the fall breeze and in the dying autumn trees
But not much past that
I'm writing love letter to my Saviour with a marker on red helium balloons
Each one holds an apology
I hope I hear from Him soon
levi eden r Oct 2020
you are the outside of my box,
the voice outside of my head.

those three words feel like home and these eggshells aren't as scary and
in fact, they're imaginary.

it's late nights. squeaks. bears. bad jokes. good jokes. impersonations. i love you's and i love you more's. reading you poetry. cheeks turning red and me covering my face even though you can't see it. coming down together and then sighing together, "i love you".
7am crying together of one of the most beautiful moments in life.

he was right, there are voices outside of my head too and yours beat mine like a marching drum.
"i love you, i love you!"
tiptoeing and eyeing down every move,
you smiled every time i inspected your brain
and
hi, yes, is there something wrong with me for how calm i can be about all of this?

every night you grabbed me from each side of my face,

and no, no, there's nothing wrong with me.

this is trust, this is loving, this is love,
this is new!
i forced myself to break the cycle and i thought breaking down my walls would force me to meet .... something else, someone else.
but it's you,
it's you!

i looked at you like i'm new to this and i am and am not.
you see, this heart has been passed around like friends chain smoking outside of a bar;
smaller than before, more beaten than before, everyone taking their turn.

but, i'm not that cigarette everyone takes a drag from anymore,
i'm not broken, you taught me this.

now you're sleeping on the other side as i watch the sky turn from black to blue to yellow to Us.
and i'm learning and you tend to this bruised heart even when you're not around. it beats for everyone but tonight, it's for you.

i miss you by the way, i know i told you a few hours ago but i'm telling you again how when you talk it looks like the sun shining through a tree's branches. and when we tell each other those three words, i feel secure and it's true. this is all true and new.

this is healing. this is stepping away from everything but what we are Together.

i can hear your breathing slow down as you drift away and i can hear the birds chirping outside. i'm tired and sleepy but this moment is too beautiful, this moment of pure love and pure joy.

this is healing, this is love.
healing ... finally
Kaliya Skye Nov 2020
I can't be the panacea you've
made me out to be.
I can't be the antidote for
what ails you, but I've tried.

I've tried so hard to heal
what I never hurt,
and it wasn't enough.

Where you see my name, I see the words:
"Down The Rabbit Hole."
( I ache for you, but hate your guts. )

I don't know how
you still have a hold,
but I never learned
how to let
go.

Wrote of red strings?
I was bound by you,
but you never showed me the truth.
*** smoke and mirrors,
that's all you gave
to me.

That,
and a selection of songs I
listened to
until they felt like my own.

And it was all fun and games
until you kissed me
to every song
I ever loved.

( How could you do something so evil? )

I can't get the taste out of my mouth,

I can't un-see the oranges you left to mold
On the kitchen sink.
Just like me,
Still waiting to be held or thrown away.

Just like me, growing green with envy
for who is seen for more than just
her packaging.

"What's the cute way to do it?"

Your impersonations hurt like Hell.
So cute. So beautiful. So glad I'm here.
So glad to see me stay a few hours more,
But you never heard me sing.

( Unless it was a song you'd play. )

Never a word meant for your ears alone.

You always thought
my poetry was about you,
so I'll gift you with this.
Bottled up pain;
The feeling of knowing the meaning too late.

I hope you're satisfied—

I only wanted you to understand.

But you've only ever ran.

My white rabbit; my Peter Pan.

When I needed you, you never came.
But I sense you, coming back.
just some thoughts
Lady with the Glass Heart;

I see right through the savage act
saying that you don’t want love
but you still wish that the one you love
will one day love you back

Lady with the Glass Heart;

I’m reaching out for you but you reject me
fearing that I’m gonna love you incorrectly
don’t want love but you still dream
for that one day to come
when someone loves you but won’t leave

Lady with the Glass Heart;

with all the savage impersonations
you’re used to being alone & you hate it
yet you still dream for that one moment in time
when you can finally love again
& your dreams come true of being his bride

Poetic Venom
Darison Strange Jan 2020
Behind this puppet's shell
Is a soul made out of strings
Slowly unwinding with each pull of the line
Dancing to the tune of life's expectations
In mimicked impersonations
Of who I should be.
One day the final string will come
And there'll be nothing left inside
Just an empty puppet dangling
From the end of my lifeline.
badwords Sep 16
Transported, in a sense
2-D impersonations
Filter of a greater lens
Constructs of imagination

Not my vacation-destination

Last time I took time off
Frontline COVID-Commando
Three days of pay the cost
When conscious, a window

I'll never smell or taste the same
But, a digital life, vicarious
The dreams the fever ordain
Sold. I buy. Delirious.

Scenes, terrifyingly unreal
Circles formed of trees
Giant's Causeways, I feel
Beauty behold but, not me

Desire without possibility

Derinkuyu, Underground City
To float just to survive
No witness, a fantastic pity
Biologic passive income contrived

The places I'll never see
Like waste in a bin
Will fill up eventually
Karmatic 'start-again'

— The End —