"implodes" poems
The drug
The high
The confusion
The craving
The withdrawal
The brain feels overwhelmed
The noise creates chaos in my mind
The silence I seek
The alone time I need
The anxiety kicks in
Struggling to breathe...
Overthinking creates an addiction, to the things that cause mind suppression.
My mind is noisy, with thoughts of occurrences that have happened, and some not.
I try not to depress myself, but mistakenly think too far in the future, then get disappointed because expectations have not been reached.
Busy, distracted, chaotic, and unfocused.
I reach no end to where my mind goes...
A path of little thoughts that creates an explosion and downfall.
I crave the drugs to give my mind a rest.
To give it a sense of peacefulness...
I have failed lifes tests.
Tense, tight, my mind implodes.
Burn my thoughts and bury them in ashed coal.
Cannot sleep
Cannot close my eyes
Always in a state of overthinking...
Like my brain is constantly blinking
Nov 7, 2016
Nov 7, 2016 at 10:00 AM UTC
Time collapses between the lips of strangers
my days collapse into a hollow tube
soon implodes against now
like an iron wall
my eyes are blocked with rubble
a smear of perspectives
blurring each horizon
in the breathless precision of silence
one word is made.
Once the renegade flesh was gone
fall air lay against my face
sharp and blue as a needle
but the rain fell through October
and death lay a condemnation
within my blood.
The smell of your neck in August
a fine gold wire bejeweling war
all the rest lies
illusive as a farmhouse
on the other side of a valley
vanishing in the afternoon.
Day three day four day ten
the seventh step
a veiled door leading to my golden anniversary
flameproofed free-paper shredded
in the teeth of a pillaging dog
never to dream of spiders
and when they turned the hoses upon me
a burst of light.
7k
I have been avoiding this for a long time.
Simply because I know how hard this will be.
Trying to find the right words is an impossible task
Every time I try to confront these overwhelming, hidden emotions my universe implodes.
Suddenly everything becomes meaningless.
Void of light,
Void of sound,
And void of emotion.
The only thing that is left is me.
Just that a ‘thing’.
Lost in everything where there is nothing to be found.
I try to force my way through this haze of confusion,
This inability to understand my own emotions.
This inability to let myself feel.
This ability to bottle everything up, and
This ability to stray so far from home with no trail leading back…
My tears are my only guide.
Full of everything that I have felt and have not let myself feel.
In them lay a world of understanding and clarity that will constantly be out of reach,
For we cannot read our tears.
They are tiny messengers with no message to deliver,
Even if we could read them, there would be nothing to see.
Always left to our own devices, our own thoughts, on your ‘own’.
In the midst of loneliness we must remember we are not alone.
The world is crawling with billions of people,
Chances are someone is willing to listen, because
We cannot read our tears.
Nov 8, 2012
Nov 8, 2012 at 5:53 PM UTC
I thought that stars were for the sky
Muted lights beyond my reach
Until your galaxy flew by
I sang to them with no reply
Hollow nights and there in each
I thought that stars were for the sky
I could not find an answer why
And so rejection I did preach
Until your galaxy flew by
A mystery that dares defy
The laws of nature wise men teach
I thought that stars were for the sky
My sense of love in short supply
I was a lonesome owl’s screech
Until your galaxy flew by
Your nebula no gold can buy
Your gravity implodes my speech
I thought that stars were for the sky
Until your galaxy flew by
Apr 27, 2014
Apr 27, 2014 at 1:00 AM UTC
He handed love in bruises,
kindness came in loads.
Every time he touched me,
a part of me implodes.
"Face the other way."
"Can they come and watch us?"
Muffled screams in pillows,
a spreading chain of blotches.
A paradox of feelings,
'cause I wasn't treated fragile;
but I'd never felt so broken,
and never faced something so
hostile.
-tdf
Oct 10, 2013
Oct 10, 2013 at 10:10 PM UTC
The emotions of a human
Can be lightly
Played and strummed
It can resemble the steady beat of a heart
The sound cannot be replicated
Repeated or duplicated
Once the disturbing melody starts
The highest strings
Penetrates the mind
Representing the sadness and anxiety
For now you are quite alone
The shrillness will increase in strength
But will remain dark in tone
The lower strings
They are the loss of hope
Relaying disillusion
These strings are taut
Specifically for you
In my composition
I will most certainly use them
To complete my vengeful melodies
The strands I pluck and choose
Shall be your life's situation
For you, my sly one are the harp
And I am the musician
I strum the strings one by one
In a familiar rhythm, you know
I am smiling at your rapid demise
As your heart implodes silently and slow
I will continue to play you
Throughout your life
My tunes filled with retribution
Have no doubt
We both know it is true
You are the harp
And I am the musician
The strange and eerie song I play
Notes chose for their intent
For all the damage you have caused my dear
The strings I choose will represent
Now I perform this song
For your blackened soul
Upon which there will be many lesions
Till the echoes of this music
Shall drive you into madness
For you are the harp my darling
I am the musician
This poem is copyrighted and stored in author base. All material subject to Copyright Infringement laws
Section 512(c)(3) of the U.S. Copyright
Act, 17 U.S.C. S512(c)(3), Tammy M. Darby
Nov 23, 2013
Nov 23, 2013 at 6:01 PM UTC
There are those who
despise tight spaces
who hate confinement
at least in their own basement
There's some truth
I concur
I need room
not some gloomy tomb
still there are some
who are confined
by the dust below
and the clouds above
they desire
the width of the equator
and claim
the height to the stars
but in the end
with all man as a subject
with majestic skyscrapers
and treasuries filled to the brim
their death creates borders
implodes skyscrapers
and loots the coffers
alas, as they started
in incubators
they remain claustrophobic
in coffins
the world is not enough
because we are not enough
Apr 9, 2015
Apr 9, 2015 at 2:57 PM UTC
.
Cohesion has been fragmented,
merely an old dissolved memory.
A shroud darker than pitch black
heralds the omni-directional strangler,
seeking to crush the fragile neck
and slowly asphyxiate the minds reality.
The turbulence of mute non-existence,
trapped in an endless glass sphere,
a cold snow-globe paper weight,
screaming for the end of the world.
Terror dissipates all common sense,
the inner head explodes and implodes.
A wracked skeleton of fevered flesh,
the violated remains,
beautiful and torn,
left,
when the butterflies of darkness
******
the fire.
© Pagan Paul (2017/19)
Jan 26, 2019
Jan 26, 2019 at 7:15 PM UTC
It’s a beautiful mystery
This cosmic playground we find ourselves
drifting, waiting, searching,
for guidance.
And answers.
To galvanize,
our fear with love,
life with death,
tears with joy.
Yet through this beautiful mystery,
dreams come forth,
from the cave of darkness.
The world is clearly crystalized,
I feel my being, mysterious and pure.
Yes, this beautiful mystery strikes at night,
causes sleepless daydreams,
of what might have been,
had fear not guided life.
Mystery provides meaning,
and at my end of days,
when my tiny universe implodes,
I had meaning, through a beautiful mystery,
so the beautiful mystery,
is me.
Mar 9, 2016
Mar 9, 2016 at 12:25 AM UTC
Stop me if you have heard this one before.
"Boy meets girl."
Stop. Erase.
"Boy meets girl in a trivial pursuit."
Stop. Erase.
No, there is no meeting at all.
Boy never meets girl, as meeting implies brevity.
A meeting is held in a conference room.
A meeting is not felt to the very core.
A meeting is no flower on the brink of bloom.
The reality is, the world ceases to spin on its axis.
The sun flares at the sight of her.
The moon implodes at the sound of her.
Mars and Venus collide at the touch of her.
All while constellations dance like moths,
Hovering far too close to a flame.
There is no pulse, only rhythm.
There is no break, only bend.
There is no rescue, only flailing.
There is no beginning, only end.
Now boy is standing at the center of a great divide.
And girl disappears, abruptly as the tide.
Stop me if you have...
Stop. Erase.
Jul 2, 2017
Jul 2, 2017 at 8:18 AM UTC
Become medieval when the rain starts –
put coins in my corset, they are pure gold & evil
and show the men using my Thanatos drive:
I could not care if they want me,
I could not care if they hated me alive.
Rather the leaf upon dress-breasts much as
a muzzle, came from a box of cardboard slits
opening like lady-legs. I bribe the thrash with my
whispers & wheels, promise to soak up sky’s tears
but she certainly prefers the black ash haul.
I bring myself to the top of a volcano, its arc,
convinced that it cannot soot me,
not in the rain: such scorch is unreachable.
There is this protruding spiral in the center,
going dark, a pupil. It eats my hair-ribbon and I
sweat, but I am upon all terrains of the Earth
prepared to fall into a clutch, the gold stain my skin
before peeling by storms, how plague-like I seem.
Could be on my back when it implodes –
though my skirt would not appreciate the mess,
I think the idea fine. I am already pink, red’s better.
Wires and flushed cheeks will be what they find,
the men, knowing that I could not care.
And I did not; it was not less than a shot of
lightning stuck under a petticoat, frilled for nobody
but the volcano who turns ********* to embers.
the rain that beasts eyelashes to amputees.
Nov 12, 2012
Nov 12, 2012 at 12:43 PM UTC
when a nation implodes into a civil war,
it is heresy for other nations to intervene,
i didn’t hear of the french intervention
in the english civil war...
or a german intervention in the french civil war...
****** didn’t invade spain, and no african
nation intervened in the american civil war...
or mongolia invading russia via siberia
to save the tsar...
but i guess the concept of
globalisation changed all that,
when western nations forgot that they have
professional armies... while syria
has a liechtenstein / gibraltar army equivalent...
former postmen, cooks, bakers butchers and lawyers
turned professional “footballers;”
i can draw you a dairy cow in crayons if you like,
oozing blood: if this view is too complex to digest -
they do it with passion...
your soldiers do it for a paycheque, get it?
Nov 19, 2015
Nov 19, 2015 at 9:43 AM UTC
She screamed obscenities at the stars
and cursed them out
one by one.
But how do you offend a star?
You can't tell a star,
"Go **** yourself!"
Well, you can, but what good is that?
And honestly, who wants to see ****** stars
pleasure themselves?
You can tell a star,
"How about your core gains so much mass
that it can't stand your own weight,
so it implodes,
and then neutrons bounce off your inner core...
and you explode!"
But really,
how poetic is that?
Anyways she kept yelling and yelling,
expecting some response,
and I could only assume
she would not shut up.
Oct 4, 2010
Oct 4, 2010 at 9:11 PM UTC
The hourglass stands empty
and cracked
Sand merging with tears to form
salty mud
A girl made of glass vibrates with
the violent
energy of rejection and sighing,
she implodes
Sends pieces of herself flying
jaggedly
To embed deep in the blinded eyes of a swiftly
moving fish
Like fire clarity sweeps through him and filled
with remorse
He turns to find her already broken
and ruined
Nov 2, 2012
Nov 2, 2012 at 1:24 AM UTC
Inhaling, hushed, from hashed cigars
my mind implodes in Malimar
where Naiads bathe in caviar -
I dream of dwarves and three-eyed tsars.
The captive kiss of Princess Mars
(who talks in tongues at seminars)
burns red beyond Her blue boudoir -
I writhe within Her pale peignoir.
Her Maids gloss lips with cinnabar,
bedizen cheeks in dusts that mar,
serve teas beside the reservoir -
I sip them from a samovar.
Disguised in smoke and lamps of spar
Her Genies gender gold dinars,
evoking flames in ginger jars -
I plea before the Commissar.
At Princess’ neighbourhood bazaar,
white shadows slip through doors ajar
to drape my dreams in ash and char -
I long await the Avatar.
Her Merchants (preening, proud Hussars)
paint pretty scenes on VCR’s
while sailing ships to Zanzibar -
I strum the strings of warped sitars.
Her Prophets sometimes cruise in cars
else while at each and every bar
to speak of space and time bizarre -
I pass my pride for small pourboires.
Her Necromancers trace in tar
tall tales of wisdom flung afar,
transported by the Registrars -
I hitchhike on their handlebars.
Her seers conjure repertoires
where She and I are on a par
in infinite surreal memoirs -
I sometimes sense the void is ours.
My Princess never sees the scars
cut by Her whispered “au revoirs” -
I often wake to ask ‘who are
these Gods that sail the distant stars?’
Aug 12, 2013
Aug 12, 2013 at 6:49 PM UTC
genuine anger, that implodes?
kinda makes
you sleepy.
been listening to too much
lindsay ellis: drinking...
in vino veritas verbatim...
ghost writers?!
you have to be kidding me...
kovalski!
- yes sir!
inquire about
the *bookovski
method*!
- the hyphen is
counter to the concept
of a prose narrative
in paragraph form,
translated into poetry:
fwee! fwee!
jittering away,
like a sparrow might!
**** me, does anger
make you sleepy...
if anger implodes...
that's like...
the... ultimate
sleeping pill;
it's a friday? some *****
taking
place in central london?
thank god i'm not thinking
about picking up and marrying
the scrap-heap of counter incels.
all i seriously wanted
was to become a bus driver,
the route 5...
**** anger is so exhausting
when it implodes and
does, but "doesn't" have
an outlet...
you don't teach kids
martial arts by kicking
one of them in the *****
and watch them curl up
like an oyster exposed to electricity
asking, or rather, demanding:
is there a kojak, a liver, a brain,
and an altogether in there?!
like an echo into a cave...
imploding anger:
makes you sleepy...
like the adversary of adrenaline...
or the emperor's throne room scene
music...
oh look...
yet another yawn
attempting to lodge itself
into the gob of a chimpanzee -
caught on camera,
"supposedly" laughing;
then again...
it would refer to the:
bankrupt broadcasting corporation,
given: sheeee shaville;
well... a sort of... oops?!
don't worry, you have ********
it's like the new niqab...
seems a bit... pointless to **********
if you've been circumcised.
Jul 20, 2018
Jul 20, 2018 at 9:51 PM UTC
Inspired by: Toilet Tisha by OutKast
Spaced out
Brain out
In space
Checkin stardust
My timewaste is
Just a journey to the center of my soul
With the far reaches as my goal
And the cold wastes as my place of solace
Feelin soulless
Pacin in my brain
Shy away from sane
My plane doesn't fly
It hydroplanes on to other planes of existance
With no assistance
Sliding on a rainy runway
It's a jetplane with a runaway
Who close his mouth
When he's got the most to say
But not enough hope to pray
He implodes
A black hole
That warps him
Warms him
Like frostbite
Deadeyed all night
But he's never felt more alive
Lost in the thoughts of another life
Based barely in reality
Impressionism over realism
Is it really healin him or killin him?
That's the question of the hour
Sittin in the head till it spoils
Goin sour
Green eggs and ham
With a side of sacrificial lamb
And extra power
Now imagination junkie's
Feelin weak as his soul slowly
Drifts back
Drips back
In to his irises
To the land of the living
While sipping with Osirises
Feeling riotous
While his lips split
Dry with the taint
Of the fountain of youth
Sittin there rotting away
Without use
Tryna meditate without medication
Racing to slow down
Before the "Why?" in the road
Cuz once he gets there
He knows
He'll never know
Oct 4, 2012
Oct 4, 2012 at 3:58 PM UTC
I remember that night
when our stars aligned
the memory still fresh in my mind
attraction at first sight at the speed of light
our worlds collided and our universe was created
the synergy of our chemistry
it mattered mentally so it metamorphosized physically
we didn't make each other, yet, we created us organically
like two atoms coming together
the explosion implodes literally
manifesting something that didn't exist
creating something that consumes you entirely
Apr 8, 2020
Apr 8, 2020 at 1:29 PM UTC
A cube exists around me.
A cube of darkness closing in,
A cube of walls unknown;
Walls that are endless and confining.
A cube isolated and alone.
A cube of turbulent motionlessness,
Intertwining in my veins,
A cube of perpetual poisoning,
A cube of living death.
Light does not enter it,
Nor does it escape.
Rather, it is ****** in,
And implodes at sanity's end.
Sep 26, 2017
Sep 26, 2017 at 5:29 AM UTC
I get sick of cliches, I get sick of the tropes
I get sick of affected twits and how love had them on the ropes
If I let myself breathe the same air as everyone else I'm gonna choke
I can't help but breathe her in and feel I've gone beyond the scope
Of my, simple visions of destroyed inhibitions
and I, can't help but get nervous how she changes up my focus
Can I, convey this handedly while knowing understandably
That I'm leaning on a danger to a core that I've exposed
We've leaned down for contact, she pushed me I push back
The pressure on our hearts has potential for explosion
The languish I had locked inside interior erosion
Implodes, he dotes of notes he'd wrote to quote a query quietly
Distrusting of emotions, just a quiver can inspire me
Fearing no enemy, fearing no evil entity
Fearing only connection and if I'm wasting my energy
Love brought me happiness but it stirred up the cobwebs
Little demons laying dormant til I explored them in every form
in every figure in every norm til they've distorted my performance
But as pandora's box was 1st class special ordered to my doorstep
I dove in straight for signs of hope, a passing look could soon afford this.
She voices her fears, connections lost by the distance
I'll bridge the gap to defend her, no need she says with persistence
She's scared of monotony, she gets scared of the tropes
She gets sick of affected twits and how they leave her with no hope
If she's forced to breathe the same as before she's gonna choke
I leaned in for contact, I push her, she pushed back
We're two shades of the same Wavelength
Our angles just refract.
Apr 21, 2014
Apr 21, 2014 at 12:42 AM UTC
Somewhere in the distance
we sense there is something
calling us out
and no resistance
is as strong as
seduction
I can't resist a pretty boy playing the guitar
Just make me go wild, losing my mind
no one is perfect anyways, so why don't
waste some time until we both find
ourselves in the dark
I've never felt so alive before
in the nothing of our chaos
as we slowly reach the core
all implodes in shards of aeons
Why am I dreaming of someone like you?
There is no way of knowledge
and no such thing as emotion ...or love
only sharp daggers, temptation and I pledge
let me go, lift you spell and stop stealing
my sleep
And for the second I close my eyes you are mine...
Jul 10, 2014
Jul 10, 2014 at 3:30 PM UTC
Who would I be if perfection is not attained?
A total failure.
Nothing but the absolute best is expected of me.
No room for errors.
One mishap and my world implodes and
Hell fire incinerates the satisfaction of my previous
Successes, meaningless if not prolonged.
Oh, rescue me from my acute addiction to praise.
I need you to tell me how excellent my work is,
Or else I will relapse into insomnia, kept awake
By my reeking incompetence.
I need you to remind me how wonderful I am,
Since achievement equates to my identity.
Strip away the accolades and I am a carcass
Starved by my bulimic tendencies.
Never sated. I must do better. I must be better.
I want to make you proud.
I want to be worthy.
Can’t you see? I live for your approval!
Some say you learn from mistakes,
That they help build character.
Ha! Mistake? What is that? Sounds disgusting.
Nov 21, 2015
Nov 21, 2015 at 7:12 AM UTC
My sister got married today
I'm so proud of her for finding a great man
My sister gets married next year
I'm so happy that she found a guy like him
I hope I get married
So they can say that they're happy and proud that i found you
I love you until
The sun explodes
The moon erodes
and the earth implodes
Forever and Always
Sep 27, 2025
Sep 27, 2025 at 10:34 PM UTC