"infamous" poems
I crave emotion like I crave pizza
But I can't have it
I can't let myself devour every ounce of love that comes my way
I can't become dependent on the infamous L word that has broken me
I'm emotionally anorexic,
But sometimes I'm bulimic
Sometimes I'll hunt down my prey, and **** them dry of their love
I'll crave it until I'm stuffed full, and then I'll purge it out
I'll tell them I hate them,
I'll tell them to leave forever
I'll push them away until I'm broken and sad and alone
And anorexic again
Until I'm back where I belong, in the corner of my room
Crying, sobbing, craving affection, but not letting myself have it
Because I don't want to be fat with lust
I can't gain a single pound because if I do
I'll be weak.
Nov 30, 2014
Nov 30, 2014 at 2:40 PM UTC
Enigma entity’s ethology entelechy as it relates to clairaudience clairvoyance.
Everyone has a personal futurity fatidic or existential metaphysique.
What we need is a universally acceptable form of id conclusion.
Unfortunately we can’t even agree on the social stigmatisms of ego’s expression.
We are relatively extraneous interpolations of adhesively practical extremity that succeed in a hierarchy of functionally integrateable forms.
There is no functional deontology, even though its visage would seem to portend cogently fecund probity for all.
We are not ethereally sublime, we are corporeally preternatural.
Objective is individual; obligation to each other is not a mandate.
Though many might find it inherently indispensible to some it impedes success.
The depths of debauchery this debacle ensues are almost intrinsically endemic to our race.
How am I going to get there becomes more important than ‘what are we fighting for’.
So, if there’s no unity of purpose how do we decide who we are fighting for.
Will it be good for all or lead to oligarchy and subjugation, the seemingly inescapable byproduct of capitalism, the inherent decadence of socialism.
It’s times like this that make me love the constitutional fortitude of Americanism.
Theoretically I have an inalienable right, hypothetically this leads to anarchy so I’m not allowed to mess with your rights.
This is mandate.
The republic for which we stand.
Mendacious tales of unity, not merely the obstinate tenacities of I, but also the cogent fecundity in the infamous we-ness of us.
Sep 12, 2018
Sep 12, 2018 at 6:04 PM UTC
The day you died I went into the dirt,
Into the lightless hibernaculum
Where bees, striped black and gold, sleep out the blizzard
Like hieratic stones, and the ground is hard.
It was good for twenty years, that wintering --
As if you never existed, as if I came
God-fathered into the world from my mother's belly:
Her wide bed wore the stain of divinity.
I had nothing to do with guilt or anything
When I wormed back under my mother's heart.
Small as a doll in my dress of innocence
I lay dreaming your epic, image by image.
Nobody died or withered on that stage.
Everything took place in a durable whiteness.
The day I woke, I woke on Churchyard Hill.
I found your name, I found your bones and all
Enlisted in a cramped necropolis
your speckled stone skewed by an iron fence.
In this charity ward, this poorhouse, where the dead
Crowd foot to foot, head to head, no flower
Breaks the soil. This is Azalea path.
A field of burdock opens to the south.
Six feet of yellow gravel cover you.
The artificial red sage does not stir
In the basket of plastic evergreens they put
At the headstone next to yours, nor does it rot,
Although the rains dissolve a ****** dye:
The ersatz petals drip, and they drip red.
Another kind of redness bothers me:
The day your slack sail drank my sister's breath
The flat sea purpled like that evil cloth
My mother unrolled at your last homecoming.
I borrow the silts of an old tragedy.
The truth is, one late October, at my birth-cry
A scorpion stung its head, an ill-starred thing;
My mother dreamed you face down in the sea.
The stony actors poise and pause for breath.
I brought my love to bear, and then you died.
It was the gangrene ate you to the bone
My mother said: you died like any man.
How shall I age into that state of mind?
I am the ghost of an infamous suicide,
My own blue razor rusting at my throat.
O pardon the one who knocks for pardon at
Your gate, father -- your hound-bitch, daughter, friend.
It was my love that did us both to death.
6.6k
Her face displayed a smile,
Her skin made out of false matters,
She painted herself in gold.
How beautiful where her skin,
Her skin striking in the sun,
The paint shone bright,
And inchmeal, she melts.
How could you paint
Plastic out of gold?
Have you dreamt of a world
Filled with her infamous thoughts?
Have you lived in a world
Where her existence
Is just a living nightmare?
Beings? Night terrors?
All because of a
toxic Barbie doll.
You sit by my wooden dresser
There in the corner of my bedroom.
Sweeter you look in front of me,
Than the way you chatter behind me.
Every piece I hold onto,
Thee steal and smirk...
Doing it as if I have not yet caught.
You loved taking my heart into your palm.
Breaking them into pieces
And would make ******* out of them.
What a waste for me to let you
Break it for me.
Call me bossy,
Maybe I’m just clever.
You could be so jealous
I guess I’m just smart.
Do you have those brains, too?
I’ve heard you had none.
You’re pulling me down,
While you had nothing to brag about.
The best of me,
Oh that crap of yours,
I give it my all,
While you had none.
Responsibility, what a word.
Recalling the first times,
You seemed to look innocent.
It was memorable
for you never liked me,
Neither did I.
“Best friend”?
It is such a believable name,
Isn’t it? But, I don’t remember it.
“Stop being my friend”
****** then leave me behind.
I would not be the one doing it for you.
Opening your diary,
While you never read mine.
You ask how I was,
I answered, “I’m fine.”
Your concern? Angelic yet fake.
Look now who’s a Barbie in her smile.
I am not playing puppets,
I just knew what to do.
I just had a lot of things in mind,
Wishing you told me yours.
I saw those words you held against me,
“She’s this girl and she’s that.”
You little ****** don’t be such a brat.
My mother taught me gossiping is bad,
Why do you do it to me?
I looked like a villain
but I was just a victim.
Oh, I learned in my life...
How I could say “no”,
It is brave, little one.
And to learn is to never trust
And to never talk to a Barbie doll.
Oct 29, 2018
Oct 29, 2018 at 7:43 AM UTC
The infamous Cuban fog
Roll's of the ceiling
Arroz on Pollo
*** and ice
Flamenca tunes serenade
the
crescent moon
Decadent
bites
Celebrating
Havana Nights
Nov 13, 2018
Nov 13, 2018 at 2:38 PM UTC
I've called this ghost town home for far too long.
Spent my nights drinking with the dead.
Each sip cementing their existence in my head.
Listlessly taking shot after shot.
Whiskey,
the water of life,
commemorates the spirit of the deceased.
One
for those who passed away in peace.
Two
for those taken prematurely.
Toast number three shall be a farewell to me
but I am not ready to no longer
be.
You see,
if I were to dream eternally
and sink deeper down the fiery well,
those infamous nine levels of hell,
I would forge fresh footprints through the ash covered ground.
Walking with boots of compressed gunpowder,
the trail I leave behind is always primed to catch up with me and
spark the time bomb I walk with.
The seconds
tick
tick
tick
away.
The clock is always heading toward zero.
I tried to be a hero for many,
yet couldn't save myself.
My desires put upon a shelf.
A self inflicted penance handed down from the only one
I was foolish enough to call
god.
I am too far gone to be saved.
Grave stones mark the decay of my hopes and dreams.
The etchings on each marble tablet will eventually fade away.
The soil I am to be buried in must be overturned if anything is
to grow where I could not.
Mother nature always finds a way to nurture even the worst of her children.
Like any good matriarch, she refuses to accept anything less than her child's full potential.
Even in death.
Though I refused nourishment and love,
mother earth still holds me close.
Embraces me in a final attempt to squeeze the last drops of good which
were buried deep and thought to be dried long ago.
Ignoring her guidance, I've lived as if I would never end up six feet.
Deep were my thoughts,
dangerous my actions.
Though I lived as if I couldn't be defeated,
my first true test comes as I fight for control of my soul.
Angels and devils are now my judges,
each making their case for my demise.
The scales of destiny weigh my past actions.
The outcome holding my future.
So I'll fill my glass one final time,
and toast to those who left before me.
I'm coming home.
Mar 21, 2014
Mar 21, 2014 at 10:01 PM UTC
I envy those who can eat without conscience
I long for the infamous day when "things will get better"
I strive for an impossibility that I can feel within my reach
I expend the necessary energy to achieve a negative net
My mind rattles with number and limits
Counting the minutes 'til my next meal
Portion control and restrictions
Fighting the urges of binges
They say I'm just skin and bones
But what I see is all I'll know
Jul 24, 2014
Jul 24, 2014 at 10:51 AM UTC
Zeus, your predilection for banishing Titans to Hades...
anathema of them--revolt was theirs of you...Titanomachy.
Enter Prometheus, second generational Titan, brother
to Atlas--Prometheus of whom Titan revolt at first ran
no fire through his veins.
Thus, Zeus was well pleased and employed Prometheus
to put earth to water, water to earth...as to yield man.
As so man was, and was unto Prometheus...a fondness
entered him of them.
And in of passion Prometheus' veins were run through
with fire...fire fought fire--thus Prometheus reached out
taking hold Zeus' lightning.
Hid in a hollowed fennel stalk, to be bequeathed unto man.
Torrents of fire now ran Prometheus' veins, and in a fit of
infamous mockery presented Zeus with two packets of
slaughtered animal parts.
A hubris was born in Prometheus that being so halved
God-man gave itself fully to that polarity...he gawked at
Zeus and bade him choose between the two packets.
One of ox meat and innards coated in stomach lining, the
other of ox-bones coated in its own abundant fat.
Thus Zeus chose, the wretched lesser of the two...
inconsumable ox-bones coated by fat.
A charged and terrible air cut and heavied all direction,
pointing assuredly that Zeus was one given over to the
surface of things, a psychological casualty of his own
vanity.
Zeus overcome with Prometheus' disaffection for the God
of him struck at Prometheus' family.
At length, this assault could not, would not put asunder
Prometheus from the ground he stood.
A certain Haphaestus was summoned by Zeus...whose
directive was writ in torment.
Chain Prometheus to Mount Caucasus...where from on
high a sackcloth cloud shall shake loose an eagle, whose
homing hunger shall have only a taste for Prometheus' liver.
Day in, and day out, that accursed ***** shall be the
bounty of itself!
Jan 17, 2012
Jan 17, 2012 at 6:06 PM UTC
Between your poisonous smiles,
Your heartless jokes and your
Razorblade Smile, I fell for the
Person I thought I saw:
The One
The cuts made, still hurt
They haven't closed up yet
Just flesh wounds but they,
They sting. They burn. It's
Been a day and that thin red
Line, the mark of your possession
Is still on me, marking me for
The world to see. You're my
Obsession, the world's Pariah
But they all bow before you
Wouldn't dare say a word in
Your presence, except to beg
At your feet for your cruel
Double-edged mercy. A day more
You reward them. Throughout
Eternity, you taunt them. The
Price is so heavy, yet they pay up
They can hardly resist. The price
Of Humanity, of Greed is fatal indeed.
The unchanging constant wherever
I may go. The Universe itself is
Undefined, except for you and your
Kin: Change. Time wasn't ever as
Constant as you; its fickle nature
Is as legendary as your promptness
Change was never as evident as you;
Its subtlety as infamous as the
Pungent, dark
Air you leave behind
In the lives of humans and animals alike.
Oct 16, 2012
Oct 16, 2012 at 1:22 AM UTC
Revolving in oval loops of solar speed,
Couched in cauls of clay as in holy robes,
Dead men render love and war no heed,
Lulled in the ample womb of the full-tilt globe.
No spiritual Caesars are these dead;
They want no proud paternal kingdom come;
And when at last they blunder into bed
World-wrecked, they seek only oblivion.
Rolled round with goodly loam and cradled deep,
These bone shanks will not wake immaculate
To trumpet-toppling dawn of doomstruck day :
They loll forever in colossal sleep;
Nor can God's stern, shocked angels cry them up
From their fond, final, infamous decay.
3.8k
Strike the match!
Light the candles!
Conspirators gather 'round!
For we have come to eradicate,
the world of the old,
the useless,
the weary,
and the crowned.
Watch the wax!
Drip down so fast!
Let this drop seal our order,
the world of the chaotic,
the frantic,
the paranoid,
and the crying soldier.
See the flames!
Light the faces!
Of all who gathered today,
the world of the noble,
the sinner,
the suspicious,
and the people stuck in dismay.
The wax stops!
It drips, no more!
The infamous clock strikes twelve,
the world of the lights,
the candles,
the flames,
and watch as they drip the other way.
Look, those candles!
They melt in reverse!
All that work was sent backward,
the world of destruction,
the pain,
the confusion,
and the candles never burn downward.
The candle has melted!
It's just wax!
It had cooled on the table,
the world of the conspirators,
the liars,
the cheaters,
but the flames were always stable.
Dec 18, 2014
Dec 18, 2014 at 1:43 PM UTC
you acknowledge a concept
no matter how you do
and when you grasp onto it so easily
you now know it is time
to critique the painting
to write the song
to film the scene
etcetera
in order to express to one another
means to lose what you knew
at one point you played around
to only discover all harmony
but to only tear off a piece
and feed that alone to the others
once it was mastered
was as if everything else was forgotten
buried back into the depth's of your heart
to never be found again
unknown beauty
infamous tragedy
Jul 25, 2014
Jul 25, 2014 at 5:36 PM UTC
DUMPY TRUMPY
Dumpy Trumpy
Sat on his ****
Lumpy Trumpy
Infamous ****
He is not a friend
To the left or the right
And has no live dog
In the political fight.
Dumpy Trumpy
Pats his own back
Bragging how he is
Way ahead of the pack
Of half-witted politicos
With nothing to offer.
He thinks he will win
On the strength of his coffer.
Dumpy Trumpy
Made a big jump.
His gold plated ****
Made a sickening thump.
He waved his money,
He figured it’s enough
To sway the competition
No matter how tough.
Dumpy Trumpy
His Mussolini face
Deaf to the meaning
Of public disgrace;
He figures that even
If the GOP rejects him
He has lots of money
He’s sure will protect him.
Dumpy Trumpy
Plays to the stands
Of wingnuts and crazies
In disgruntled bands.
He’s sure if he curses
The current regime
He can be President.
At least that’s his scheme.
Jul 20, 2015
Jul 20, 2015 at 6:26 PM UTC
Fierce and bloodthirsty I am
and I'm always on the run
I'm an infamous but legendary man
and I'm always on the ***
No mercy do I have for those
Who attempt to bar my way
through the seven seas to my treasure troves
In life and blood they pay
Captain Redbeard
I will **** to make my name
Captain Redbeard
I will **** to stake my claim
Captain Redbeard
I'm a man of cursed fame
Captain Redbeard
and I will die alone in flames
Once a commander of the Navy
I went renegade when they betrayed me
and now there is no hope of escape
for the traitors who pray each day for safety
One for the admiral
One for the king
Two for the governor
and more for the Queen
When the Crimson Captain
Horror of the Seas
Finds you, your fate is bleak
Captain Redbeard
I will **** to make my name
Captain Redbeard
I will **** to stake my claim
Captain Redbeard
I'm a man of cursed fame
Captain Redbeard
and I will die alone in flames
Apr 5, 2015
Apr 5, 2015 at 9:04 PM UTC
After a thoroughly enjoyable weekend
Which involved watching an animated science fiction thriller
Followed by a Football World Cup Final
Which turned out to be even more thrilling
I had to face the dreaded prospect
Of returning to work on a Monday
Yes, the notorious villain of the week
Which can ensure sleepless nights
Even for the strongest souls
Well, the day was actually not that bad
To begin with, at least
After a hot bath
Followed by an even hotter cup of filter coffee
Prepared by my dear mother, as ever
I had a simple breakfast
Consisting of a plate of chapatis
Mixed with some rather tangy marmalade
Thus, I was ready
To face the grind of work
Or at least, I thought I was
The reality turned out to be as different
As apples and oranges
It started with a few phone calls
However, the response was not flattering
Thus, I headed to lunch
In the hope of making some progress
In the second half of the day
However, I couldn't have been more wrong
The phone calls failed to achieve their purpose
As I was unable to obtain slots
For the interviews to be scheduled
Moreover, I was dealing with multiple stuff
At the same time
Which proved to be even more difficult
Than obtaining a seat in one of the IIMs
Time was playing a cat-and-mouse game with me
The closer I got to him
The more he would evade me
As the hours flew by
I kept meandering aimlessly
Without achieving anything tangible
By the time I finally got the hang of work
It was already well past 6 PM
And I felt as though I had wasted more time
Than a certain Sunil Gavaskar had done
In his infamous innings of 36 not out, off 175 *****
In the inaugural 1975 Cricket World Cup
Thus, I was thoroughly relieved
When the day finally ended
Returning to work on a Monday
Especially after a thoroughly enjoyable weekend
Is never good
Full stop
Dec 19, 2022
Dec 19, 2022 at 10:59 AM UTC
At seven I heard the story of Peter Pan;
Growing up wasn't part of his plan.
I wish he'd fly through my window sill,
When the stars are bright and the lakes are still.
I would ask him to take me to Neverland,
Where growing up has always been banned,
And never planned.
I'd never have to hear my parents fight,
Everything would finally be alright.
He'd take me through the sky in one big leap,
Over rivers and through mountains steep.
Second star to the right.
Straight on till morning; through the night.
To Neverland.
I'd meet the infamous Tinkerbell,
I knew we'd get on well.
I’d hear her jibber-jabber,
Among the laughter.
I could see Mermaid Lagoon,
As we sink Captain Hook's platoon.
I can join the lost boys; form a family.
Away from the land of the ****** my ruthless reality.
Meet the brave Tiger-Lily,
We could be perfectly silly.
And meet the crocodile who tried to **** time, eating a clock.
Tick tock, tick tock.
I may be able to find a treasure trove.
Maybe I can make a home in a cozy cove.
Peter and I would be as thick as thieves,
I’d make him a crown of leaves.
We will live forever.
To age, we will never surrender.
To live will be an awfully big adventure.
Too far from Peter, I'd never venture.
All you need is faith, trust and pixie dust,
Or you might just combust.
You just have to believe
and you will never have to grieve
and no one would ever leave.
I'd never have to be strong.
I'd never have to care for long.
So let us begin the journey.
To Neverland.
My timeless eternity.
My fantasy.
My delightful daydream.
My bittersweet destiny.
My dreams of Neverland have yet to cease.
And I am already in my late teens.
Feb 27, 2017
Feb 27, 2017 at 2:22 PM UTC
the Sun’s about to set,
I can hear Jaguars in the uncomfortably near distance,
and I’m thinking they can come and get me I'm ready,
because Death by Jaguar wouldn’t be a bad way to go in this instance,
It would be glorious,
the kind of death that I would not protest,
I’m ready for my glory “Jaguar Spirit come and get me!”,
lead me to the Underworld and introduce me to this infamous character called Death,
yes,
I’m ready to go,
but apparently God isn’t quite ready for me yet,
see this isn't my first subconscious attempt,
at expediting my inevitable destiny with Death.
Still as much as I beg,
and as lost as I feel,
I find my way out of the jungle,
and stumble upon a Guatamalan encampment where I’m fed a good meal,
oh well,
maybe next time I shall be food for a Jaguar,
and then through my sacrifice I’ll become a legend,
and my story will get told and my poems read around future camp fires,
The Tale of The Poet Who Took Death by Jaguar,
as traumatic as it sounds it honestly wasn’t a bad way to go,
or so he had thought while finding himself lost,
alone with no one but that Jaguar deep in the Guatemalan jungle…
∆ Aaron La Lux ∆
Oct 22, 2016
Oct 22, 2016 at 7:41 AM UTC
His words hypnotized me
Unbelievably, unexpectedly.. always
"I'm so sure about the powers of the Zodiac", he said,
But two capricorns are too much alike
Our horns entangle when we show our infamous pride,
Yet we're much more than that,
The passion, the lust, the everlasting craving!
He is a stranger, a shadow, a fantasy,
And he never misread my thoughts
He found them lingering in the voice I never spoke
He's the stranger I need
How could such an insignificant creature rouse me this way
His inspiration shifted my thoughts, my words, my beliefs!
We mold so peacefully, full of hate, and lust
Two strange capricorns afloat
He talked to me in metaphors I needed to understand,
Every syllable leaving me speechless yet provoked
Moving my mind, he conquered my body,
the way his instincts taught him to.
Oct 31, 2012
Oct 31, 2012 at 2:56 PM UTC
a pretext to the international audience..i am posting this as my rendition of the infamous tales of friendship turned love times...i tried to translate it into the universal language but it would fail to do justice . Yet if there is someone who would like to still understand what this will all be about ..message me and i shall give u the essence..happy reading :)
-----------dost ya zadda?----------------
ek ladka aur ladki kabhi dost nahi ** sakte,
keh gaye buzarg sab,nahi samajhti peedia
kis baat ka hai sharmana aab, par kaisi hai ye deewangi , jo dikhati mujhe pyaar aur tumhe dosti kitne kam samaye me hum kahan se kahan pohonch gaye , aur iss douran ham ek dusre ko kitna samajh gaye. tumhari bechaini samjhane ki , aur meri shiddat tumhe samajhne ki, chaand aata ,tehelta aur chala jata par hum na soote,jab log jaagte hum soote ,kya din the voh. in mukhauto ke peeche chupi jo asliat thi,jo unchui thi ,tum chu gaye , aur bass dil me bas gaye mahine guzar gaye aur kuch kehne ko dil chahta hai , par kya ye sahi rasta hai? kya ye mujhe aapne ghar pohoncha dega , ya banjara chod dega? najaane kab ye faisale aagay aur mujhe tumse door legaye jis dosti me aaj tak kuch nahi chipa ..aaj usme tijoria hai ... aaj usme gussa hai ,aag hai.. aaj isme gussa hai.
Apr 30, 2018
Apr 30, 2018 at 1:26 PM UTC
Celebrities make poor politicians.
Poor politicians become celebrities.
Click. Clique.
Jan 24, 2019
Jan 24, 2019 at 10:25 AM UTC
This is my debut
This is not up for dispute
I have a few things I want to converse with you
God gave me a gift to share with you
Anything and everything of life is beautiful
I’m what you call a living miracle
My essence, my walk, my talk, and my ways
Puts the evil doers to shame
Greatness is my name
Shaakira Rahnae
S H A A K I R A R A H N A E
Only for the ones who can’t read
I’m everything the maker created me to be
Living my life but reassuring I live out my infamous dream
So that little boys and little girls can seek their destiny just like me
No more fearing
More overcoming
This power I contain you can’t take that from me
ONLY GOD CAN!
Humble and sweet, yes that’s me
I’ll have you adoring the way I speak
Every bit of five feet plus three
Natural hair and petite
Living eccentric and free
Use my thoughts to eat
I repeat
This is my debut
This is not up for dispute
Thank you
Apr 9, 2014
Apr 9, 2014 at 12:23 AM UTC
I saw her everyday
As I walked home from school
She would stand against that same “No Smoking” sign
I never really understood
How she could stand against that sign
And disobey it everyday
Or maybe she didn’t understand it
I mean after all she did stand there
In her fishnet stockings and 5 inch heels with money slipping out of those stockings
Smoking
Just smoking until there was nothing left to smoke on that ole cig
She smoked that thing religiously everyday
As if it would make her immortal
Although, ironically, it did the exact opposite
Maybe it’s like her
So stereotypical
But maybe she’s the exact opposite
She stands in those infamous heels and fishnet stockings
Like a stereotypical *****
But maybe she just got off her minimum wage part time job at the costume shop down the street
Maybe she’s not a stereotypical mother
But that doesn’t mean she’s a stereotypical ***** either
And she’s also not a freak nor an outcast
Just because she is NOT a stereotype
She’s just a person
Just a woman
Standing at that same “No Smoking” sign
In her favorite 5 inch heels and fishnet stockings
Who likes to smoke so much she may even think it’d make her immortal
Jan 22, 2017
Jan 22, 2017 at 6:55 PM UTC
14th Feb 2014
They are all around us,
within, without, above, behind and before us;
Fanning the flames of the famous, the wealthy and fortunate
with secret agendas and infamous fame of their own.
I throw a stone
send it crashing through houses of glass; I see their
comings and goings in the Grove of Bohemia;
drinkers and liars; role-playing fraternity fools.
There are rules.
It takes more than just peeing at trees to be properly manly;
secrecy more than life is at stake when the fodder is human,
throw off your cares to the punitive furnace of hate.
Such ill-fate
that begets our world leaders, hatched out of a tangible darkness;
parasitic, calamitous, venomous world-gobbling evil
Mammon, devourer of souls, will preside at the feast.
And the Beast,
Fourth Beast of Daniel, squats at the head of the table,
fabled for pitiless torture of souls in transgression,
slavers and gloats over innocence lost and despoiled.
Feb 14, 2014
Feb 14, 2014 at 11:07 AM UTC
I’m nervous, simply waiting for you to snap me
like a twig.
I’ve bundled my feelings, my loves and hates,
all those outspoken words
and all those silenced words,
into a little gift-wrapped, topped-with-a-bow
gift
for you.
You will accept it.
It is what comes after, when it reaches your nimble hands,
that frightens me.
You weave your skill so well,
like knitted discord inside, I can feel
when I reach in to see if I’m all still there.
Under many dark moons,
you leave your shadow to keep me company.
It walks beside me, keeping my head whirring on into the
small hours of the darkened dawn when
I see it
at the foot of my bed
watching me sleep.
You told it to crawl into all the tight spaces
inside me,
with me.
It reminds me of you, endlessly, always,
breathing your name as I surrender to closing my eyes,
vulnerable lying before your peering shadow,
it could stop me breathing in a heartbeat.
Only you, sweet devil, can keep me falling so hard
so fast,
shedding myself trailing from your bed to mine.
I linger in the smell of you wrapped around my clothes,
taken off in a hurry as your words,
sizzling spitfire,
hand-made cuts and invisible haemorrhage
shatter me to pieces
easy enough for you to pick and keep in
your bed until you are finally finished
with me.
All I feel is the burden of myself,
when I really have no burden to hold.
I’m a phone running out of battery when you need it most.
Filled with a frenzied panic, a slap of frustration passes your face
to use against me all that bottled irritation.
If I don’t touch you back you will
wield it against me,
blame for insensitivity, a slowly seeping coldness
I can fight off under your roaming form
in a shady light of fear.
Your emotional abuse is a character.
It has a body, limbs and hollow face and it can bruise me
with a single touch.
I never leave my body open with you.
And to what end do I let you paint me with your manipulations,
your scheming tactics
your irrevocable evidence I’m worth nothing more for you;
like a girl’s doll known to be too pretty,
putting sticky residue inside their goals at night.
So use me with your infamous fingers.
I dare you, do it.
Again.
Aug 14, 2016
Aug 14, 2016 at 2:22 AM UTC
Almost happy now, he looked at his estate.
An exile making watches glanced up as he passed,
And went on working; where a hospital was rising fast
A joiner touched his cap; an agent came to tell
Some of the trees he'd planted were progressing well.
The white alps glittered. It was summer. He was very great.
Far off in Paris, where his enemies
Whispered that he was wicked, in an upright chair
A blind old woman longed for death and letters. He would write
"Nothing is better than life." But was it? Yes, the fight
Against the false and the unfair
Was always worth it. So was gardening. Civilise.
Cajoling, scolding, screaming, cleverest of them all,
He'd had the other children in a holy war
Against the infamous grown-ups, and, like a child, been sly
And humble, when there was occasion for
The two-faced answer or the plain protective lie,
But, patient like a peasant, waited for their fall.
And never doubted, like D'Alembert, he would win:
Only Pascal was a great enemy, the rest
Were rats already poisoned; there was much, though, to be done,
And only himself to count upon.
Dear Diderot was dull but did his best;
Rousseau, he'd always known, would blubber and give in.
So, like a sentinel, he could not sleep. The night was full of wrong,
Earthquakes and executions. Soon he would be dead,
And still all over Europe stood the horrible nurses
Itching to boil their children. Only his verses
Perhaps could stop them: He must go on working: Overhead
The uncomplaining stars composed their lucid song.
2.6k