"infesting" poems
As insecure toddlers, we were often told by our parents that inner beauty is more important than outer beauty. This is how they were able to instill in us the confidence we may have today, whenever we represent ourselves in front of other people. However, this is something I find to be quite inaccurate. If you ask a random person about what they find beautiful and attractive, most of them would probably begin to describe a person’s physical attributes than the internal attributes.
Beauty is defined to be the perfect balance and harmony with nature, which may lead to feelings of attraction and emotional well-being. Since the attraction is subjective, the term “beauty is in the eye of the beholder” takes place. Many individuals would like to believe that looks are never important, and that judgments should be based on a person’s internal well-being instead of its outer counterparts.
In our modern society, external beauty is more favorable since everything becomes more convenient, than when you only have internal beauty. People will always see your external beauty the moment they see you and not that beautiful mind and soul of yours, and that’s what makes them attracted to you. Just like with expensive cars, the moment a car is put into the market, the consumer who will buy them would first look at their exterior first before they would look for its driving ability; no matter how good its performance may be, these people would always look at its exterior. Also, external beauty can help you be successful, it can land you jobs, earn more money, and help you be treated with more respect by strangers than those with internal beauty.
The preference for external beauty than internal beauty is what is wrong in our current society. We live up to the evolved norms of society that we have started to grow backwards. Outer beauty fades, and no matter how beautiful you are on the outside, once people get to know you, you’d be nothing but a simple less attractive human being than you once were. I would leave a wonderful quote here written by a great author: “A tree may look as beautiful as ever; but when you notice the insects infesting it, and the tips of the branches that are brown from disease, even the trunk seems to lose some of its magnificence.”
Jul 24, 2016
Jul 24, 2016 at 7:55 PM UTC
Today heard I a train,
while I smoke my cigarette, I heard a train.
The rumbles came trundling over mossing steel street bars,
the hooves of an iron horse shattering glass floors-
pebbles bickering like stone woodpeckers on the grounds to come.
The wind shudders,
and apologizes for the frost on the leaves,
the cracks in the ground and the holes in the sky,
my cigarette part blur,
awkwardness so comfortable,
this plastic train i recreate,
moments in-between,
where we lay down to day-listen.
The kinsmen that forgot call blacksmith,
scared with his welded skin,
protection in battle,
drunken dichotomy,
a hero ***** dans l’amour.
As great the fall of king, the fall of next in line.
The only thing to have moved quicker with age, time.
Lest we forget, the blacksmith here reside;(unfinished)
While the angel hath walk,
with long grey and black web moth wings,
stalking its sleeping prey,
his eyes wide open back,
watching the angel pace,
infesting the air with despicable knots,
its dangerous to stare,
but a contest never started is a contest never won,
and into the eyes of hell the blacksmith hast stared-
to the foot of his bed.
Where a three headed dog flap its ice wings to keep hell cold.
These nights in particular had been an awful one, and again the tapping, again the train.
Nov 29, 2012
Nov 29, 2012 at 1:24 AM UTC
Just stick it in
Pull it out
Blow your load
Gag her mouth.
Bound and fist it,
Cut zip-tied wrist then,
Bathe her in warm blood bathwater.
Watch her bleed out as an oozing cow mother.
This is how we do it.
This is how we **** ****
Boiled **** and ***** nitrates,
Bonging buttchug, grease infesting.
This is how we ****
This our mental state.
Disgusting epoch,
The party *** phenomenon.
Drunk girls, drugged *******
Pearl necklace confection, gourmands,
in stitches
Plagued with itches,
Stemming from ****** abuse.
This is why I ****
This is how I crutch.
******* on the inside.
******* on the inside.
******* on the inside.
Mar 27, 2013
Mar 27, 2013 at 2:04 PM UTC
1412
Shame is the shawl of Pink
In which we wrap the Soul
To keep it from infesting Eyes—
The elemental Veil
Which helpless Nature drops
When pushed upon a scene
Repugnant to her probity—
Shame is the tint divine.
4.1k
for Dr. Ursula Goodenougth
To better view the fairest the stars of
Genesis, Keats or Kepler,
the priests of vertical transcendence
built towers over clouds -
beyond the touch of worldly toil.
Standing below in soiled boots,
newer prophets citing
the universal brotherhood of
mitosis, chromosomes and DNA,
urge a new transcendence
spread on a horizontal plain
where bridges are preferred to ladders.
Muffled distant drums,
beating somber warnings
of poisoned waters and global heat,
summon us down
from our lofty towers of denial.
Murmuring rhythms of forests and streams
and all species of flora and fauna
line out the same life beats
as the engines in our chests.
The God without is the God within -
nestled within our nuclei.
With global death within the grasp
of our reckless finger tips,
and bullet fever
infesting our earthly villages,
are we ready yet
to yield a measure of our trust
to the healing power
of horizontal transcendence?
May, 2007
Jul 24, 2014
Jul 24, 2014 at 1:18 PM UTC
Staring at yourself
forgetting the clock went round.
standing, staring
dead faced with those lost eyes.
cringed soul.
mascara dripping down your lower lashes like streams of black ink.
leaning up against the sink.
when a girl cries its calligraphy.
her tears spell out the sadness bleeding out of her soul.
nobody cries with emptiness.
you're a rotting corpse
maggot infesting.
its emotional ******
an empty skeletal.
dismembered.
discarded.
when nothing pains anymore.
nothing gives meaning anymore.
the mind wanders.
walking along a tight rope of death with the thoughts of losing balance.
sleeping but never waking sounds like joy to you.
life is still yet present.
you're still here.
stuck.
alone.
motivation ceases existence.
you want to *****
sun rays piercing through the window feel like needles jabbing your eyes.
signs of optimism eat the insides of the soul like a disease.
that same routine.
tired of how pathetic it feels
that shattered slab of glass gets exhausted of that repetitive view.
the view of you.
you just want to be them.
the people outside your window.
the ones with the smiles.
the ones that have everything.
but when you can't even be happy with yourself.
how do you expect to be happy with
anything at all.
You can't.
Apr 30, 2015
Apr 30, 2015 at 2:37 PM UTC
Good Day spoken in a bad austrailian accent
bad juju voodoo clear light poltergeist on disablity
Hoarding every scrap of miserable memories attached to trash
your apartment is a holiday for nightmares and childmolesters
******* magazines, old sanitary napkins , bad vhs movies
lay like dead soldiers waiting for the war to end
Black bags and boxes scattered every where are villages to rats
and every unknown pestilence you can only read about in medical textbooks.
half eaten pizzas covered in pickles dried up sadly looking at empty pills
You have no hold on me I can't understand your pain nor will i listen to your overdramatic ******** about whoever
or scheming to defraud Walmart
Your mutilation is a scar spelling sociopathic miscreant child trapped in an old mismatched shell of no clear gender.
Your diagnostic prophecies from the dsm5 dismissed like school on a snow day.
Will commands the unentanglement
uncurse
unfear
dispell all your contradictions accusations monologrhthyms
bad music choices and echoes of muttered mustard.
only truth will be uplifted
Peace be with you
whereever you are currently infesting enjoy your dora the explorer ice cream
Was there ever a floor in here?
Mar 25, 2010
Mar 25, 2010 at 12:53 AM UTC
Where the whole that was
has finally
fragmented,
descending in an open, unremarkable blaze.
And so pieces of me shall collide
with the ground,
implanting fractures
few shall discern.
And the winds of days
and nights will continue to
persuade the dirt unto me
so my morose roots will not grow,
infesting a world undeserving
of my inadvertent pollution.
Nov 6, 2014
Nov 6, 2014 at 7:03 PM UTC
It has came apparent that Bardstown Ky. Is now being infested with this sickness. Now this sickness is one of the worse of all times. For no one is safe.
The Sickness of Skittles. Her sickness effect everyone as she is walking. For that smell that comes from her deep, wide hole.
For the wind that blows with her every step.
For when she spreads her legs ever so wide, Giving it all to you. For that yellow and green fluid that is oozing from her wide ***** That is now all over your hands and your mouth. For that is not her cuming. For that is the start of her sickness
For that smell you are smelling, no that is not from a busted rotten egg. For that is the smell of the sickness that lives with inside her beat up *****
Her ***** has turned black, thats from where she is no longer human anymore for the sickness as taken over. What is that sharp pain. The pain that feels like the snake bit entering you. Thats the sickness, For it is now entering into your vain now
You say you want to see this sickness. Well just grab you a flashlight, Now slowly slide your head inside her black dark hole. For i must warn you now to beware of the things you might find inside there. The things the sickness has not yet digested yet. Now for your safety do not remove the toys, or the Pepsi bottles that could still be inside there.
Now i do ask if you find a webcam in there. Please grab that. For i am needing that back.
NOW hurry before the sickness eats you. For believe me i have escaped This SICKNESS of SKITTLES *****
That is now infesting my ex- best-friend
Oct 13, 2012
Oct 13, 2012 at 2:44 PM UTC
I'm stuck in this room
Trapped by the decaying white walls
That I scrape away at,
Mindlessly, as I shift
From medicated dreams to
Manic insomnia.
I thought the last thing I said to you was
Don't leave me here.
My eyes bleed
As I try to remove the demons
Infesting me,
Creeping through my lashes
Into my irises.
The droplets stain the walls,
Fingerprinting my frenzied panic,
Echoing the last thing I said to you.
Why did you leave me here?
The air is intoxicating,
Shifting from breathlessness to weightlessness.
I'm sure they poison me here.
And you, the fallen angel of my thoughts,
You fiendish whisperer,
You have felt my fear,
Witnessed its brutality
In its shifting manifestations,
But still you left me here.
Apr 13, 2016
Apr 13, 2016 at 2:31 PM UTC
They came expected,
But oh so unexpected,
Dusk stalking blue skies and sun,
A small patch; barely infected,
Just a few weeks and they’ll be gone,
Just a few weeks and they’ll be gone,
The naivety of my youth allowed me to forgive them,
But time has passed,
They have been feeding,
Infesting,
Like mould in a damp corner,
I ‘must be handling them wrong’,
A new product promised to do wonders,
To my ears an angel’s song,
Just a few weeks and they’ll be gone,
And yet a few turned to a family,
Beneath the diet, the exercise, the routines, the gallons of water, the research,
I could hear Lucifer laughing,
Like that one person at my school,
That was a year ago,
And yet they and Lucifer still laugh at me,
Through murky panes and pictures,
Just a few weeks and they’ll be gone,
Every day they disappear more,
I tell myself I’ve won,
Yet old pictures show me it’s an illusion,
Surely they’ll end for summer’s fun,
Just a few weeks and they’ll be gone,
I now greet my friend the mirror,
Between everything I do,
He tells me it’s getting clearer,
His story’s must be true,
Just a few weeks and they’ll be gone,
I am a fool to my own deceit,
For the naked eye of me the whole world,
Can see these demons,
These scarlet brandings,
And every glimpse I catch in my friend the mirror,
In the reflections of a stranger’s wondering eye,
The voice in my head says ‘why me’
That’s all that it’s come to,
There is no more light in this night that has consumed me,
So all that is left,
Is echoes,
‘Why me’
But they won’t be here for long,
Just a few weeks and they’ll be gone.
Apr 19, 2019
Apr 19, 2019 at 10:19 AM UTC
I lay here, like a fish long dead
Limp, lifeless
Glazed,
Gaping mouth tilted up towards the ceiling
Misted with the dew of sweat
And starting to smell
Fresh out of the pan
The vigor of my youth long
Departed
Regarded not as equal
But cannon fodder
For the masses
Infesting the grease smeared
Hub of hunger
Beta in a sea of sharks
Gilling a slow sluggish
Slop
Thank god, this bed is where I have longed to be all night long.
Dec 30, 2012
Dec 30, 2012 at 1:35 AM UTC
She is the Raven
of my nocturnal ravening
When the silence and the darkness
of the night become too maddening
She is there,
At my door
Echoing her "Nevermore"
Through Her Eyes,
My Soul Explored
As Phantoms of Old Wars
Roam the tides of the raging storm
On the Night's Plutonian Shore
Woeful, she implores
Me to forget my sweet Lenore
The Ghost I loved before
My Raven sang her "Nevermore"
The Songs and Scents of Seraphim
Linger in my Chamber
Is it that,
Or the Ichor of Madness
Which enforce my strange behavior?
My Raven's claws are resting
On a pallid bust of Pallas
Her black majesty infesting
My infernal, somber palace
And my eyes with fire, gleaming
from the Whispers that are Screaming
At the Shadows of the Demons
Who are Dreaming
Plotting, Scheming
Spirit Fiendish
She can see it
My Flesh keeps Hell beneath it
My Ghastly, Grim and Ancient Raven
Feels my heart get ripped to pieces
And yet - I still may not believe
This Bird of Prey
Could bring me peace
She flutters with
Unearthly ease
As the wind outside mangles the trees
I see her there, in my despair
Divine darkness chokes the air
Her ever spirit-piercing stare
I feel upon me everywhere
And as I kneel upon the floor
I watch her nest above my door
And I find myself longing for
My stately Raven
From the Saintly Days of Yore
To Haunt me now,
and Forevermore.
Oct 15, 2014
Oct 15, 2014 at 5:28 PM UTC
Every village, town and city of mass proportion is bound to have some
The ‘didn’t make the grade at school’ so who else will now take them
The parents repugnant, ****** and living off the dole
Breed with each other to produce their spawn, the taxpayer taking this toll
Infesting our lives with their spit and their spat, just turn on Jeremy Kyle
You’ll see what I mean, like a bad daydream, their being is utmost vile
Its entertainment to some who revere in this mess, only glad that its not them
Sulking the streets and just on the scrounge and oh look, their face on the News at Ten
****** is harsh as it’s not what I mean, but it fits the slot so well
So why are they here and what is their use, doesn’t the devil need a hand in hell?
But they exist, and you see them every day, hanging on the corner of the street
Even the village idiot had his job, backwards in kind but still rather sweet
So what do we do in trying to combat this evolution, going backwards in the blink of an eye
Education is wasted and the armed forces is a no, it almost makes me want to stop and cry
So this is the way that the human may go, just look back at the millennia’s past
The dinosaurs failed and the mammoth is gone, just how long are we going to last?
The Retards
JJB
Feb 16, 2018
Feb 16, 2018 at 8:00 AM UTC
the streetlight pours through my blinds.
invading no space, infesting the mind.
so simple, you light;
always on time.
always arriving,
breaking in without crime.
my humanity screams and tells me to search,
search for myself,
search for my worth.
but if only i were
a thin, sturdy post.
to know who i am,
to be planted in earth.
Feb 14, 2015
Feb 14, 2015 at 2:07 AM UTC
Ow lover of roses,
I can't sweep through your phone
Because your phone is full of thorns
Ow lover of roses,
I can't sweep through your phone
Because your phone is full of thorns
I can't look into your screen,
Find eyes that are not mine; next to yours
Not in twine.
I can't look at texts and hearts
When hearts take us back to starts
Of what we had
And what we have
And what we will have
Is nothing but post modern art;
Little bits of writings
And rhymings that don’t rhyme because my heart cant keep a beat
And my beats cant keep up with your schedule.
Ow lover of roses
I can't see the red in your pedals
I just envision me pedaling away;
I can't see the red in your tender touches
I witness the tender touches caressing the redness off of someone else's eyes;
I can't;
See you and me in a room,
Talking about nothing
Yet infesting in void conversations about the nothingness of what we got
I can't;
See the tips of teeth when you smile
I can see the tips of teeth when you're truculent;
Trucks,
Exiting and transiting
Through my arteries
While I'm sitting
And spitting
Lame poetry
As you snap chats with shots of nonchalant lens-like tentacles,
Rapped round around the sound of dust
My heart is echoing
Following a path you've set.
Ow lover of roses
Cried the lonely man
In a so lonesome night,
As he looks at the stars and moon
Realize the missing lines
And the misinterpreted patterns
To pattern Saturn with Venus and Mars down to earth;
Proving pitiful love-like lures
Luring man since birth.
Ow lover of roses,
Roses in the shape of smarties or sandals
Or chocolate cakes with no candles
I cant handle,
The scent you send with roses that bend
To fall in my hand
And end up plucked in the end.
Aug 3, 2013
Aug 3, 2013 at 8:18 PM UTC
Oxygen deprived kiss
A reflection that don't exist
Mouthfuls of toxins infesting my frame
Pierced with defects
Extracting a slice of me
Restricting strength
Bruised by a caregivers hand
Dec 31, 2014
Dec 31, 2014 at 1:50 AM UTC
I dove headlong into the sea two weeks ago.
Grey clouds
grey skies
reflected gray waters.
Rain fell, ambivalent,
hiding the sun, obscuring the soul
if soul there was. I don’t know what the rain believes,
but I knew it meant well.
I kicked off my shoes; shed my sweater, draping it across a rock
beaten smooth by crashing saltwater assaults,
misery endured silently for millennia
solid, solitary, solemn.
I walked, barefoot, across the stones.
I listened to the ringing of the silence
to the roar of the ocean.
Rain-soaked and reverent,
I willed myself to the edge of the rocks,
where I watched the waves seething below,
calling, inviting
nagging, inciting
persisting, requesting
insisting, infesting.
Turning my face to the absent sun,
I closed my eyes
felt the sting of the icy wind
felt the hairs on my arms begin to stand,
the frigid air aching in my lungs.
My breath caught, shivers interrupting a sigh of submission,
and I told myself
*Peace.
You are not afraid. Not anymore.*
And I smiled. And I felt warm.
And I was happy.
I counted one, two, three,
and I fell.
You see beauty every day,
but tell me,
do you ever feel it?
Nov 20, 2012
Nov 20, 2012 at 11:17 PM UTC
How could one not crave
the kind of truth that makes
trust skip a beat
and fall
amidst wisteria storms
when the rageful season
swarms
and sneers, shamelessly
infesting the senses?
Aug 21, 2014
Aug 21, 2014 at 12:09 PM UTC
Glare at me
Shine down upon me
Violate me
Flare up the forbidden
Knowledge that dwells in the emptiness
Of a faded paper that travels into the vast
Infinite tunnels of obscurity
A creation
With no name, no soul, no divine plan of its existence.
This thing that travels through our soul and into our hearts
Crawling and infesting light to darkness
Purity to impurity
Love to cruelty
Beauty to sorrow and darkness
Its origins is unknown
It can not be birth by the ritual of life, but made through the unnatural nature of creatures that walk on the dirt of this blue & green sphere
Fear is its foundation of life
To breathe in the leftovers of fresh marvelous gifts
That is abused and taken for granted
Tainting its integrity to forget morals & ethics
Creating a putrid foul smell that suffocates it’s only means of life, forcing it to consume its unholy gift just to grasps a bit of air just to breathe life for survival.
It is unholy
It is an accident
Sometimes we’re not aware of it until it’s too late
We cry that we didn't create it
In vain we shout, “We are decent”
In reality, we’re nothing more than greedy infested
Corrupted sinners
Who lust for power over others!
And God has left us!
Left us in this wasteland
Deserted us in the unknown darkness
Where no one can find us
Little by little
We reach our demise
One day will cry in agony saying, “ I've regretted this life” at the final moments of life
Where you’re being slaughtered gruesomely
By what we created
Repent has no meaning
Suffer dearly
Because you created your hell
And now you must deal with it
Remember, it’s your second half
You've created.
Die with it.
Jan 17, 2013
Jan 17, 2013 at 10:41 AM UTC
It's not falling in love that scares me,
It's the falling out of it.
You know, the feeling that creeps up on you,
Like a tear in nyolon stockings, or an old knit sweater.
Not a big obnoxious **** but a tiny run that eventually dismantles the entire garment,
Leaving it forlorn and impossible to wear.
Tossed aside in an old wastebasket, only to be taken out for reminicing.
We're destined for that kind of falling apart, I think.
I know it isn't fair, but it's inevitable,
And the more we try to avoid it,
The longer we pretend it doesn't exist,
The harsher it becomes, catching us off guard.
Slowly infesting the shadows of our doubts,
Until it takes over, leaving us naked
Face to face with the unwraveling truth:
Nothing that lasts is beautiful,
And nothing that's beautiful lasts.
For, every time "I love you" is uttered,
The fabric between us wears a little thinner,
Exposing our flesh to the unforgiving coldness of leaving.
Making us vulnerable in the worst kind of way.
Feb 15, 2012
Feb 15, 2012 at 11:50 PM UTC
These are the nights I wish to remember
The ones spent with family late at night
When I'm old and wrinkled
Grey infesting my hair
Let's paint the walls with laughter
Watch the colors fight the grey
These are the memories
Please, I beg you
Please, please stay
Jan 12, 2013
Jan 12, 2013 at 11:48 PM UTC