"incased" poems
By Arcassin Burnham
At times, when times,
When I fight beside the people I wanna trust it ends bad.
Making rumors,
rumors that'll make you **** yourself and ruining things that you had.
Quiet and shy, shy now even still incased in the big old brute of a shell.
I've been hurting inside, inside of my mind, lost in this mean matrix,
Can't you tell.
My exes lie beside me, keyword lie,
And I will never trust another girl again.
Filling pieces, pieces of my heart I threw in the trash in desperate dens.
Love is another form, forms of weakness,
Don't you let it all go to your big head.
Lives are on the line , the line of destruction and you feel your life is so dead.
Feb 26, 2018
Feb 26, 2018 at 9:05 AM UTC
Watching night step-sitters staring at each passerby
abiding time as if counting sheep stepping with the city's cadence
Hearing sirens alarming in their BEWARE BLARING;
persistent fearfulness for evil and citizens securities
Staring-walking-bodies searching a barren land prostrating
before the great needle
Patched streets and decaying sidewalks by flooding night lights lay surreal
DECAYING fingers of poverty playing its fingers into every crack, crevice; into every pore, into every cell member
into one's whole being
Sounding the hip-hop generation street corners of hustlers
jiving away the night
The hustled and hustlers' overwhelming struggling for power; being surrounded by red brick and stone; being incased in poverty
Pounding city hysteria;
at times laying silent in sleepless depth
by the waning gradualness;
anytime readying itself to ERUPT
Aug 29, 2014
Aug 29, 2014 at 9:39 AM UTC
the child recieves his paper
****** backward by the one in front
flip the three pages flippantly
one : intimidating . . two : boring
the third adorned unexpectedly
a longer -than seems can be usually- grown hair with a clump of green root
sprung out and slaughtered, down across the width; stuck above the questions beneath
how could he not have seen?
a pile so viscous and obscene?
does everyone else have one???
are they holding their disgust beneath?
he looked up at the teacher.
A look of vigilance his face bequeathed.
B ut now it sprung out almost pus like
a faint smile,
a teachers calm reprieve
he then leaned back on his chair in comfort
drooping his head back
his nostrils flared now toward the child
the hairs brustling from inside, all locked up in a ***** days remnants
all foul
and long
and dehydrated
like a swamp now sunned crisp; reeds on a stale bank
drawn in he felt uneasy
unable to cease to stare
incased inside the world that spawned
in the swamp that lay up there
in the cavernous orifices there
then he saw the teachers eyes, his gaze it
stuck on him, the teacher began to grin
further back his head leant
his eyes jaundiced
his teeth tanned
his face pale
his grin outstretched and thin
Oct 17, 2013
Oct 17, 2013 at 6:38 AM UTC
The world of a lonely child,
Is a world of pain greater than any,
The child may seem happy,
That is only a face,
A masquerade of emotion to only blend in,
As the years fade and he becomes an alien among children
It is too late,
the loneliness that has lurked in the shadows
And blocked by imagination,
Has escaped,
And incased his heart in darkness,
It squeezed and turned,
Harder and harder,
With no escape,
The child suffers,
He may be kind,
He may be diligent,
He may be caring,
But he is marked by his loneliness,
A mark even greater than the scarlet letter,
A mark scarier than death,
No one would want to be his cure,
Because they are afraid of the mark,
Even though they are its weakness,
The child will grow evermore alienated,
Until he is incapable of blending,
And too reserved,
to reach out, anymore,
He is no longer a child,
But a fully grown adult,
Ready to leave and face the world,
Without a single person to call a friend,
Forever marked with loneliness,
He is cursed to be
Alone.
Dec 13, 2015
Dec 13, 2015 at 1:22 PM UTC
You see a kaleidoscopic spongesque speck pushed into a blur over your vision,
Sitting on air & feathers.
You sit on air rather than feathers,
Incased in drywall,
Surrounded by your worldly possessions,
Drowning in sweat,
Suffocating from air,
The hum of coupled fans waltzes’ into your skull,
A metallic mind prints mass media
Via a melodramatic faux-vintage situation into your skull,
There’s the pitter-patter of post-traumatic pondering in your skull,
A Mexican Coca-Cola clutched in your left hand,
Phillip-Morris owns the pocket on your breast so that they sit closest to your heart,
Pabst Blue Ribbon has carved rights to your liver,
You have an over analytic sense of humor and well-being.
Now you decode your day.
Now you chastise your intuition for lustful engagements with shadow people.
Though you have no qualms with this,
You enjoy yourself from time to time.
But cannot you imagine a more climatic proposition,
In a less disposable universe?
Where corners are cut,
Shoving dignity & quality out the door
Is where impractical risks are made.
However,
All you ponder now is the blur pushed into the edge of your eye.
Perhaps it is a microorganism rendezvousing with another microorganism.
Though they would have no concept of predetermination.
Jan 24, 2013
Jan 24, 2013 at 11:04 AM UTC
white as snow,
cold as the tundra
as high as everest
thats where she rests
surrounded now by
the thoughts and prayers
soul to gentil
life to short
younger cousins older now
held so close on the last walk
heavy to carry
heart and soul incased
angel on earth
finally free to fly
Mar 25, 2023
Mar 25, 2023 at 4:26 PM UTC
though clouds cry
tears fall gently
I am amazed
I watch intently
I am under the sky
the storm begins
staring with rain
from sad clouds
incased with pain
he is under the sky
begin letting out
their terrible sins
a whirling wind
as faith spins
I am under the sky
twist of fate
sun shines through
rays extend down
it is new
he is under the sky
the storm stops
and clouds still
I watch silently
from atop hill
I am under the sky
I watch the violent sky
that is al I do
because storm or not
he is under it too.
we are under the same sky
Jun 24, 2014
Jun 24, 2014 at 12:27 AM UTC
I survive off Energy,
not negative vibes,
but Positive watts
it sustains my life force,
and uplifts me
to the highest of heights
high above the ceiling,
venturing pass the stratosphere,
until i find myself conversing with celestial beings,
the feeling of feeling,
leaves me open
to all manners of interpretation ,
We are who We are,
when you become vulnerable,
Emotions run ramped explosive like
The Birth of A Dwarf Star ,
anything outside the realm of good intentions ,
I back track , and revert to that of a hermit turtle incased in my shell,
NO ONE ALLOWED !
In the sanctum
not until i can tell the outsider means me no harm
They just want
my charismatic company
& electric charm
May 16, 2015
May 16, 2015 at 7:49 AM UTC
on every girls sixteenth birthday
traditionally,
her mother would drape a necklace
crafted out of silver
around her neck
and one day - she'd do the same.
no one would hear her whisper her wish,
due to the chorus of birthday melodies
escaping her loved ones lips.
she'd hug her mother
and dance with her father
until they went home.
but her parents had died too young
so she draped a necklace
crafted out of rope
around her own neck.
she couldn't hear the singing,
for she lay six feet under ground -
the height at which her father once stood.
but it didn't matter,
as her wish had been granted.
she lay hugging herself,
incased in wood.
she could sleep at last,
blanketed in a layer of earth,
for now - she was home.
Aug 30, 2013
Aug 30, 2013 at 5:52 PM UTC
I'm sick of dancing around in your pretty words,
Waiting for the truth; your point,
Say it as it ******* is,
Don't polish your words you negative ******* creep,
My heart doesn't bleed,
because your words, they don't hurt,
Your cheesy sorry songs never made sense,
Put down your diamond mask,
And give me your putrid words,
Try your hardest to hang me with them,
I swear, I swear I'll wriggle out of that ******* noose,
Don't ever think I'll crush and cave,
From your useless opinions,
You mean nothing to this brick incased heart and soul,
Don't be silly,
Your stares were never more than spotlights,
I love the ******* spotlight,
You're trying to destroy me?
Yeah... You and what army?
Jun 4, 2012
Jun 4, 2012 at 9:02 PM UTC
if youve had to think about it,
youve not felt it. youll never know when,
or where.
when is maybe right down the road,
however the the where is only seen before its told.
speaking of this treasured feeling,
trapped brain drinking till steeping.
its never dispersed,
its the f$@"in jealous of me,
feeds the more greed i am,
means describing how much i need.
you, how bout maybe that is my thirst.
i would have to wish this feeling upon my worst enemy,
only just so he can lift his cursed.
that mother 4@£er is now apart of an anemone.
a blood runingg trigger on trying more remedies,
that will never leave the heard. my only feeling is for you,
is its the suggestions never blurred, maybe like a seven letter word,
written on my skin,
never burning ink like tin.
feeding soul demons like that incased in
a bin.
spending every liability
and factoring flavors of interest bigger in numbers for our worldly driven.
teaming
feeding
only seeping
never sleeping tweaking
while speaking
and thinking.
Oct 8, 2013
Oct 8, 2013 at 10:03 PM UTC
I'm not in a good place, it's written all over my face with a permanence I can not erase
The ace up my sleeve turned out to be a joker with my super imposed face
Lost in the twisted maze that is my head space, I'd chase the cheese but it'd be a waste
Fear infused with a terror base so potent you swear it almost has a taste
The dark haze of my past short circuits any new interface
Filled with a technology way out of date but never had the means to replace
I watch the life I thought I'd be a part of race by at a dizzy pace
But it always made time to come back 'round and knock the taste out my mouth like 808 base
Then leaves post haste without a trace before catchin' a case
Just one more missing personality cold case, chalk it up to another looser fallen from grace
They say to pick yourself up by you boot straps, I'm always breakin' the shoe lace
Bet they didn't think I'd use the bootlace to replace the slipknot necklace I misplaced
The bright young man with aspersions worth the chase now incased in blue skin wearing deaths face
©2023
Dec 13, 2023
Dec 13, 2023 at 6:43 PM UTC
Swaying in each others arms
Dancing cheek to cheek
Sweet lyrics whispered
Making ones heart miss a beat
Rays of sunlight shimmer down
Gliding across a daisy covered ground
Abundance of birds everywhere
As we dance in the meadow
Messy breeze tousled hair
The season is changing
Autumn leaves float to the earths floor
Keep holding me close as we dance
some more
Sun descending cotton candy clouds way up high
Hues of orange and red fill the sky
As the hues of colour fad away
and darkness descends on this beautiful day
Incased in your arms is where I shall stay
Stars like diamond dust cover the black canvas of night
As we dance in the meadow
Guided by silver beams cast down from a full moon light
Oct 11, 2021
Oct 11, 2021 at 11:40 AM UTC
Sometimes I think I'm not from this world.
I can't understand how to connect with humans.
All my wires are tangled, frayed and broken.
My brain is forever fizzling,
I'm short circuited and twisted up.
I have a constant headache from just processing how to live.
But all i ever see are cryptic codes and error alerts.
It's exhausting feeling like you're made of metal.
I have this hard, steel shell and I'm incased in it.
I don't know where it came from.
I feel like a scientist's test subject.
What happened to me in those test labs framed who I am today.
I talk as though I'm automated.
Stuttering and zoning out like I haven't been charged for weeks.
I'm begging you to hook me up to your mains support,
make me feel real.
I'm introverted and alienate though my insides feel forever exposed.
Every 'emotion' I feels like fresh scar tissue,
it hurts so much to feel.
My cognitive heart can't take it,
I'm malfunctioning at any given moment.
Would you please be my new scientist, I know it's a lot to ask.
In fact I'm terrified of scientists, so let's scrap that.
Would you please be my alchemist, I know it's a lot to ask.
Could you conjure up a potion to turn me from alien, to faery.
I'd rather live in a fantasy world than these extraterrestrial plains.
I'm sick of floating within a barren atmosphere,
take me to enchanted wooded lands.
Use the glitter in your eyes to cast a spell,
fill the sky with stars and comets,
I just want to smile without an aching jaw.
I think you can help me.
Oct 20, 2017
Oct 20, 2017 at 7:58 PM UTC
So many thoughts to write,
without the voice to place.
So many thoughts with which are left unspoken,
cloud the heart left incased.
Perhaps these shackled thoughts
interlaced themselves around the tongue,
for no words can be spoken.
With the look from his eyes,
all the words border the bridge of her lips,
held shut so tightly,
and silence becomes once more.
To fathom the power of thoughts,
can be tested with the reign of time
raging behind them.
How long has it been?
The days escape she who is held
within the grasp of his eyes,
and to what is this compared?
A lock without a key, maybe...?
At one time,
it was time to run.
However, now,
with arms open in welcome,
the thoughts are here to stay.
For when his eyes look through once more,
the words,
"I love you"
will spill from her lips,
once too afraid to speak.
Oct 15, 2015
Oct 15, 2015 at 1:56 PM UTC
As she walked through town
She looked around
Only to realize
She was alone
Incased in her sadness
Looking for a way out
And by abandoning sadness
She would have nothing left
Dec 19, 2014
Dec 19, 2014 at 10:32 PM UTC
On god's paved Earth
the holy men are wrong
they preach to broken glass
buried under flesh and skin and fabric.
We should all be crying; mourning
the bleeding Earth in the Gulf of Mexico
belching out its own poison
but. I am concrete.
wishing tears would run down my face
screaming into the Forest "You are all that is holy"
and the holy men are wrong
the preach unto each other
under money and control and the american dream
redefining morality to suit your needs.
they ignore a pattern so simple
a pattern found in dirt;
bred in dirt
for intelligent life it is strange
that we are the only ones who do not know our meaning.
the amoeba knows
because Life is simple, and It is simple.
do not believe the holy men
even if your thoughts are shards of broken glass
even if your insides are incased in concrete. like mine
it makes me so sick, but i Know
and turn to your naked body saying
"You are all that is holy"
Jun 13, 2010
Jun 13, 2010 at 11:35 PM UTC
Hello hello,
Welcome to the show
Good luck getting through the impossible to get through MO
One long typo
A hypocritical, defeatist manifesto
More stupid than ******
Misplaced gusto,
SUP BRO?!
Possible becomes unreachable then unthinkable
Undeniable failure is sure to follow
First name familiar with the mental hospital
A revolving door install
Biggest chart right up toward the front of the file being that it's alphabetical
A tragic life, only ironically comical
Spine stained yellow
Same as the teeth, thanks Marlboro
A nose incased in a thick brown crust on the face, smack dab in the middle
Cornered with a dunce cap and a little bit of spittle
Condition has always been critical
I do take it personal
Can't show, can't let them know it hurts even a little
A forgettable imbecile with a needless purpose and a fleeting soul
Held accountable but it's not balanced or rational
Equal? I guess maybe, but not equal to anything favorable
Decent into madness unavoidable
Some of you are only here for the spectacle
Swerling around the bottom of the toilet bowl
Forced sabbatical
Out of sight, out of mind so I've band all travel
Departure and arrival
Business and commercial
An attempt at better has been abysmal
Wouldn't have made it past the pilot if it were a show
You would just know it was shiit though from the overflow
"You've made your choice" but not by choice, it's never that simple
©2024
Jan 31, 2024
Jan 31, 2024 at 6:35 PM UTC
Small child, hiding behind a harsh cut fringe
Fans her hand across the window
Feeling the brightness dance underneath
her tiny fingertips
So watchful
So fearful
She stares hungrily within at
the writhing figures incased, suspended
in interaction
Laughter
Anger
Life
The window feels cold, yet
she can sense the warmth within
and it fills her aching bones with promise
The handprints fades from the window
And the door tentatively opens up
The girl breathes a last breath of fortitude
and steps inside, opening her head and heart,
displaying, placing within vulnerability,
Hopeful
Unstoppably hopeful
That there'll be people who like what they see
I just want them to like me
Oct 12, 2014
Oct 12, 2014 at 5:57 PM UTC
I could no longer persuade myself to endure the pain.
I would drive a knife through my soul until it pierced the coldest edges of my heart so it would never beat again.
In my mind laid inestimable secrets, knowledge that bled from my romantic wounds & It would be selfish to carry this jewel with me to the journey above.
Previously abandoned by the soul I should be with, I felt my essence had been stolen, & as I laid on arctic rose peddles dying I now knew the answer to her repetitive question, "What is Love?"
Love is a gamble, a casino incased by a plethora of overwhelming emotions in which bets are not negotiable, you have to be all in.
You either win treasures you've only witnessed in fantasies or lose all that is you & fall into the darkest corners of your most horrendous nightmares & watch your spirit deplete from within.
Love is going to a restaurant & saying you're not hungry because you only have enough money for her to get every thing she wants to eat.
It's gazing upon God's greatest gift to me, drowning in those chestnut eyes, & to be hungry no more because the sight of her bliss is a taste that indescribably sweet.
Love is sitting and watching Pretty Little Liars when the second round of the NBA playoffs is on with the largest of attitudes & her happiness overwrites your own distaste.
It's not caring who's around, staring into her eyes like seeing my first car for the first time & never wanting to look away, to feel no shame to express my affection and gratitude for her in any place.
Love is a change of currency in which forgiveness becomes more valuable than pride, & sometimes even forgiveness isn't enough to cover the debt. Love truly is a gamble that can leave your pockets, soul, and amorous heart sore.
The absence of love can lead you to desire an absence from life, with knife in hand & tears of aura descending from my eyes I drive the blade through my aching heart & Strange, it hurts no more.
Love is.. -Dash Pinder
Aug 1, 2015
Aug 1, 2015 at 11:47 PM UTC
On every girls sixteenth birthday
her mother traditionally would drape a necklace crafted from gold around her neck,
and one day - she would do the same.
No one could hear her whisper her wish,
due to the chorus of song escaping their lips.
She'd hug her mother, and dance with her father
until they returned home.
But her parents died too young,
so she draped a necklace crafted from rope
around her own neck.
She couldn't hear the singing,
for she lay six feet underground -
the height at which her father once stood.
But it didn't matter, for her wish had been granted.
She wrapped her own arms around herself,
incased in wood.
She could sleep at last,
blanketed in a layer of earth.
For now, she was home.
Dec 29, 2013
Dec 29, 2013 at 11:12 PM UTC
I'd leave a perfect world
by my own virtue it would seldom ever grow
I watched this, your flag unfurl
Never though a match could make me feel so low
I stand and watch it burn
Crushed by the silence you began to show
There is no lesson learned
I walk away, yet you don't watch me go
Step inside see my life from my own perspective
Witness my infanticide
Crumbling cursed, each new notion rejected
I am my one true love
But still infatuation leaves me feeling breathless
Unfit unfaithful holy one
Did you belive you could disconnect me
This city has a gun
Evidence is mounting all against me
Witness the setting sun
Smoking skyline sick, and watch it fall free
Counter terrorist far too late
My toll I took, all I could take
Robbery of the first degree
First degree burns
God you're so **** pretty
There was always a disconnect
This life promises to be full of discontent
And regret
Make no mistake
Every time I set something fake
Into concrete and incased
My free will it was faux
I let my emotion lay low
And now I'm going
Sorry about the mess, man
May 2, 2017
May 2, 2017 at 7:09 AM UTC
The stream
Runs rough
Beyond the towers of brick and mortar
A bridge of crumbling red concrete
Incased between the leaves, and rivers stone
I give
My trust
To the leather reins,
The horse that clops the uneasy terrain,
The decaying stones threatening to give way
I pour
My Mind
Into the rivers blue,
As if to feed the salmon,
Gorge the trout.
I slosh
My Eyes
To the rivers shore,
The edge of sludge and scale,
The currents of clay.
Feb 28, 2013
Feb 28, 2013 at 9:58 PM UTC
Eloquent drivel of madness that accompanies love in its most sadistic form. The eloquent forms of beauty that accompany thoughts of her. The righteous madness that consumed me into loving and loathing her in my being. The addled heart so weary, full of mistrust and agony. The defense of no one will ever be aloud this close for there purpose is to pain to me once again. Distance kept hearts are freed from pain but loneliness still remain. So for that my heart will forever be incased in this lead armor box I've created to host forever more.
Posey 2014
May 18, 2014
May 18, 2014 at 3:50 AM UTC