This infliction within me
I'll live with it.
For now.
I dream of your face
Of the relief I would have
If I could just touch you one more time,
even if it's just to slap you.
For all I wanted was a sorry.
Guess you couldn't own up to your actions.
This infliction within me
Makes my heart skip a beat.
I don't need you in my life
But I have this pain aching for you
Aching for something you won't give.
Did you ever love me?
I wish you'd just tell me you didn't
Then I could move on with my wounds
This infliction within me
Can't stand to know that you'll stick to your lies
Keeping them right by your side
Makes me want to break down and cry
This infliction within me
Just wants to move on
Just wants to forget it all
Within due time
I tell my heart
However, she'll just keep skipping that beat
Until that time comes.
This infliction within.

I must look at myself and question the things I do
For I find though time has taught against it I am still drawn to you
With you it seems the thunder roars before the lightning strikes
And deep inside though the sun may rise I know it's an omen of night
For you must see what you've done to me, my ever vigilant addiction
You have made this humble thing called love into a cancerous infliction
The passion may out weigh the punishment now, but that will pass
But most assuredly I'll step on the shards that made this heart of glass
For you, dear lover, dear treasure, dear passion, are poison to my tongue
A gas that seeps inward and seems to destroy me lungs
And I am your addict, your puppet, your fool, a conundrum for the world to see
And when fingers start pointing at the one to blame, I'll find all point to me
So I will continue on ******* your venomous lies
Until I find my heart and mind wish for you to be the one who cries
With that I will take the glue and piece back my happy day
Praying that although I long for you, this time I'll stay

and by the way
there are flies in the basement,
no doubt, the
result of passionless blood-letting and
christ-sharp animalistic screams (that scatter across places)
where ingrown genital hairs take presidence over ionized howls of ecstasy-
where flies buzz around and die, worshiping the patchwork
row of halogen lamps
that get so hot as to scorch the hairy legs that spread apart wide just to touch the
sacred flesh of incandescence
-these that ****** reckless photons into the tepid air like rotting meat
and wants them to **** the last drops of electromagnetic ******* from their poems of illumination.  
meanwhile
i can be found numbing myself into comfort and complacency-
the phosphenes of faustian inadequacy taxing my eyes
with the vaporous waking that seeps through the vacant-
but i knew it was real when you pulled down your tattered jeans, exposing your backside to my interpretations of perfection and
allowing me the liberty of *******.
i have seen you scream.
and breathed your sigh of servitude.
these wet ******* and the tangy juices of anticipation dripping down your thighs becomes reality
and reality consumes.
and the world becomes conscious awareness.
and there is nothing to be known except this.
alleviant zero of the cyclic
and the 60-cycle hum of stagnation-
frustration.
we know that tomorrow
the angel-headed hipsters
will be basking in the instagram-induced solar radiation,
supine on the neatly cut grass,
donning their leather jackets and skin-tight corduroys. thick-rimmed-plastic sunglasses
obscure their frail vision and allow them to distance themselves just enough from the sunsoaked oasis to call themselves "cool"
and i would hardly know to recognize you amongst the candorous chatter about humanity and the existence of love
and i would hardly know to call you god
nor to look you in the face and tell you to dream a thought unthreatened by sanity
or to bring you to tears by means of dexterity.
i like my body for what its worth
but i did not try to stop them when they bound and ***** the waitress.
i stood and watched as those gentle agnostics tore apart her lacy blouse
and pushed thumbtacks through her ******* just to watch her scream
and she liked it.
when they held onto her skeleton ribs and hipless hips
and she liked it,
they tasted the *** with cinnamon tongues,
received the grace of an angel as pierced ******* and clitoral stimulation
listless yelps filled the tender air like howling phantoms-
little ms. misanthropy
with her
disposable epiphany
self-proclaimed teenage sage
with mistakes to make her wise
i try not to understand
and then i dreamt of forgiveness.
my days of holding grudges and killing mice are over
and when we don’t kiss
i can smile.
and did you want me to define you through destruction?
-martyrdom and madness?
her bracelet and studded pieces to decorate
only obliteration of expectation
gives my finger the feel of tendinitis
i have come to love things less
how i long to just let bay, my leaning lip
my wrist bent back, asks, how much more can be done here?
i guess it's a little too late to walk away.
endless mind-numbing repetition,
was it for the retribution?
or perhaps reassurance or the infliction of pain.
misdirected meaning-
bluebirds.
and blue-black bruises on your arms.
wrinkles.
from falling feathers and
do you hear the echoes of chains rattling in the cellar,
or was it just a love song gone wrong
alivient zero.
why do we have to be beautiful rebels
we leaned to love with our shoes on.
listening to the stereo silence-  
runaway gems, poetic outcasts
leaderless young lovers
she was a young poet
but her tv ran out of new channels
idols were made here, dreams shattered, and promises left unbroken
but her *******, not left untouched

unblessed
i can taste it in your tears
i can hear it in your voice

bless these tiny fingertips and her lips are soft.
her skin is a whisper.
i will leave no inch of flesh-

unsacrificed.


her wounds bled with the words,

*you begin
to
understand-
all of me

I used to dream of a warm embrace
Pulling me closer
Holding me in

Though perhaps i dreamed only of strength
Of how it feels
To remain safe, warm, and strong

Perhaps i dreamed of companionship
Never alone
Fears calmed by two beating hearts

Perhaps I dreamed only of what I shall never have
True love
Lasting all of time

Perhaps

I used to dream of you
Your embrace caring
Blissful in your words
Content in mutual affection
Understanding
Acceptance
... Love

But dreaming is a curse
I no longer bear
That four lettered sin
Carved out my dream
With its false affection infliction

But consider this too

Perhaps I dreamed once
To escape the nightmares
To Escape fears as all men do
Perhaps I dreamed
To cling to hope
And in my darkness I dreamed of you.

Hello snorer, I hope you didn't sleep any poorer
when I stayed up all night typing this not-poem
I meant you no harm, but I had to stay up
Because I couldn't make music out of your obnoxiously loud cacophony of windpipe crap, er "music".  Time to not-pretend to absolutely hate your snoring under the guise of being perfectly okay with it for the sake of setting the tone a bit nicer to all who must hear it, so they can BEAR to, for otherwise it would be absurd.  Not as absurd as anyone hating to have aural drills applied to all their chakras all night, but still absurd enough to get a chuckle out of me (I hope it didn't wake your fine specimen here). It was never my intent, though it was always my ethical concern (if only everyone could be as reciprocal as you and I).   Oh, my not-pretend hatred is very thinly veiled.  I wasn't totally defeated by your snore-sound armies so that I couldn't type words, but I may have lost some of my desired effect due to the sometimes wincing distraction they caused to my piece of mind at this or that time when I needed it the most (even though I was awake, which is no crime if snoring at night and keeping me that way isn't).

Well, I did ask you if you'd mind if I typed,
I did tell you that you could tell me if its quiet purr of clicks would bother your precious sleep
But I never felt a need to be concerned, because whenever I
was typing, I heard you snore, and whenever I was in the heights of
some new discovery or epiphany, your sharp sudden thunderstroke of near death
corrugated metal vibrating in the torrent of some sudden gale force gust of wind.

These were signs to me of your restful sleep.  So I simply didn't worry about your sleep.  I was certain that my electronic beeps were every now and then music to your ears, just as they were to mine.  This is because in the midst of these I heard you snore, and when you snored, I took you to be asleep.

Ah but then again, then again, these are fanciful constructions which simply say that what is wonderful for me should be just fine and dandy with you, at a bare minimum, and on those grounds of very unsymmetrical attitude about right and wrong I would have to begin my music tirade of words as well.  But I don't view justice and propriety along such selfish lines as these.

What I see is that duplicity is your thesis.  I have anecdotal accounts which are marvelous to behold first hand, but the details of the absurdities cannot be done justice in the language of men, for the intensity of such insanity can only be borne lightly by the frailest frayed ends of my sanity for having lived through your acoustically maddening inanity.

You didn't ever admit to me that my noises were not music to YOUR ears.  Indeed  you claimed never to be bothered by them because you never voiced up against them.  I suppose you might as well voice up against them in the street as well if it turns out not all of you snorers-go-a-viking types like to hear my mouse clicking away like a tapping noises on a metal plate in your skull.  Sorry if it is another non-snorer-who-must-stay-up-late-and-so-be-occupied person whose nocturnal joys were misinterpreted as direct assaults on the dignity, spirit, or just basic mental viability of your wounded snoremonster troop of anti-late-stayer-uppers, because in fact, we used to be sleep-at-night-entities like you, but that was before you showed up, thoracic marching band in tow.  Marching bands are musical also, to some people.  And for some all hours of the night are perfect for a marching band.  Who am I to tell them otherwise.  

Well let me know the next time a marching band is given special permit to come through your neighborhood at night, and I'll be glad to point out to you the first Snorer'sville, because only they should be expected, in all justice to live with the macroscopic manifestation of their personal narcissistic paradises.

Let you all go to your own place and form your own nation, and see if you can consistently demand everyone else find music in your ****** and accursed racket!  But until then I expect some of you will have to take the damage returned by the growing number of people who are very much tired of living under the horrors of your infliction upon us, your demonic and evil tyranny of mind-crushing hate that is your ****** noise.  We will do yoga and breathe, and stretch, and some light calesthenics to relax and seek some focus and composure, whenever our spirits require, and this will be unchallenged by you so long as you are asleep, and it will be unchallenged by you so long as you are awake too.  For in the latter case you are already awake (and so still are we, usually) while in the former case it is far quieter than your snoring, both in its valleys and peaks.  And moreover it has not kept you up, but in fact I have noted that you wake yourself up with your own music when it reaches a certain crescendo.  

Unless you want to say that those crescendos are some sort of involuntary complaint about MY crescendos of spirit, when I start typing about 20% faster than normal, with perfect focus and accuracy while reaching an aesthetic pleasure approaching ****** as I realize that it is almost unerringly in the midst of such an experience that I hear your crescendo resound. And since it was no more intended to be a distraction for me, then surely my music must have also gone undetected by your ears, as well as your spirit. Or is it fairer to say it was the very cause of your crescendo, or at least its inspiration?

Therefore I needn't worry that it is I that is keeping you up, even if for only brief stints at a time, especially by comparison to my all-night vigils.  Not so, but it is you who are so enraptured by my occasional laughs or giggles as I edify my weary, sleep-deprived mind on some bit of morale boosting entertainment.  With headphones on of course.  It's also courteously plugged into the computer to prevent my favorite bit of Judas Priest from hurting your ear drums, or else overstimulating your music appreciation centers, which are verily attached to your ear-drums by a nerve bundle (and what nerve you all have there).  This means I've spared you too much distraction from any already-abundant music of the spheres effect you may be savoring which might have emanated from my bumbling around in the dark (to keep the lights out of course, after all people are sleeping).

Yes but that is a minority of you perhaps, who would lie about that and in fact who ought to say that our nocturnal emissions are not what you'd call restfully mind-relaxing crickets in the dead of night with an occasional hoot in the distance...  But they are a minority, the rest of you are so definitely in good faith.

But then why do I always run into those of your tribe who have strange and unethical habits, such as destroying others' lives by ruining their one perhaps most preciously personal and inalienable need second only to air and water, and that is sleep.  It is, in terms of acute necessity, in many ways more needed than food, though in the long term food catches up.  But food catches up only because not eating food is a  lot like not getting sleep, but just a lot more intense on the body when it drops to some critical point because we know from experience it is on raw nerves that we can go for a while in search of food, but if the food can't be found (perhaps because of our lack of sleep ruining our cognition in some way), then we will not eat, nor sleep, because we'll be dead.  

But either way, we'll be dead, for lack of sleep kills, both directly and indirectly, if suffered over a short time and/or in a diluted form over a long time.  That would be poetically commensurate to the sadistic similitude of the types of snoring sounds with the types of ways to die from being deprived of sleep according to two modes (acute and chronic), over many keys of incident, accident, lost opportunity and ill-stared fate, all of which can be mapped in some way back to that auditory persecution of our very souls of which your kind are in some swelling numbers quite proud.  Just think of all the car accidents, work accidents, altercations, fits of rage, inability to concentrate well or sometimes at all, and other life-damaging conditions of the mind, and also of the body, which accrue from lack of proper and healthy sleep at night!

Good thing for most of you though, right?  Because surely our music is also sweet, and I really hope I've inspired many to face this need for equality, and be on their guard against any unjust whining or groaning from those who seem in point of fact to value their sleep just a good deal more than they value anyone else's.  Not only because they really really love to get those zzz's but because they think that in the natural order of things, before people suddenly went mad and evil, people went to bed and slept well even partly BECAUSE of this brachio-esophageal orchestral lullaby.

But we'll be on our guard against those complaints, because we know you have plotted to take to the streets against us to defend your noisiness-all-night-every-night rights.  So we'll be on guard to defend ours, TO THE LAST FIBER OF OUR BEING.

Because you insufferable ******* are cruel, and cruelty no one should abide.  No one in my world, in my society of people, will be allowed to inflict cruelty on another person, nor be callously prejudicial in their own favor when injuries do occur because of their actions merely on the grounds that the damage it causes coincides with the fulfillment of a need on their own part, even while that fulfillment is of a need which is obstructed from satisfaction in the other part, and by THAT VERY SAME REASON, so that your sleep depends on keeping others awake.  UNLESS you can somehow con or coerce them into developing some form of Stockholm Syndrome and confuse the torment you inflict upon them with a sign of your love and wonderfulness to be around.

Yes, I know you hear me typing now, through your well-behaved proxy.  I feel it. If not he per se, then in a parallel universe not too far off, there's a version of him who does.  Perhaps not the one I know now, on day one of having moved into this room, but perhaps one represented in this universe by someone who has found himself in some sort of circumstances found later on during his stay, this mixed with the fact that familiarity breeds contempt... He'll start making some righteous demands of some kind, and I might not be in a such a good mood about that due to lack of proper sleep, and this will coincide with said contumacy against my own rights (such as to breathe, type, surf the net, or do other nocturnal things other than snoring which might keep others up).

As to that last point in parentheses, snoring is an activity which you perform in conjunction with your getting sleep, and it therefore means not well for your notion of fairness to say things as they are, and simply say the truth, which is that your getting sleep deprives others of theirs, but it can be logically deduced.

It can also be logically deduced that the don't give flying **** if you don't like the fact that we don't like your ear-**** night after night, which is a good name as any, but should perhaps at times be amended to body-demolishing soul-****** of a mortally sinful nature, and with an ethical incongruity to good character of a person to maintain it, all the more to sings its praises to us and call it "good poetry".

.
Lear wanders in stormy open, bares warring elements,
The heavens blister, crackle, night is balmy shroud,
Wretched monarch babbles in sprinkles of wind cold,
Arguments lost by ones own pouring perturbations
And raining sky said 'nothing will come from nothing.'

Howl, howls into blackness treed in lightning splits,
His outcast soul, reels, fleshed, cut to smithereens,
Tang of salt burns on the bluffs and the sea rages,
So entire and ceremonious is Lear's fall meted out,
Air spoke, 'nothing from nothings ever yet was born.'

Sky proclaimed to man child King, here is a reckoning,                           
Each mad choice was self infliction, now wind flays
And sweet Cordelia lies in her innocent **** grave,
Sky, in thralls of thundering asks, 'what say thee now,
King of highborn follies, even purple heaths are rags,

Yet black and above you and night shades, whine,
Unworthy King, done in by compounded effects,
The might of maelstroms in low butterflies wings,
How now, bare trees, knifing reeds, skeletal flashes,
To rains of night are ever your lanyards my lord,'

Sad Lear so near oblivion fell mute, sky went on,
'Howl and cry mad King your reaper calls beyond,
The icy brisk heavens await to brusque you away,
Your slipshod kingdom was mere and fools' dream,
Howl, til howls abrupt abate, for nothing now comes.'

Vengeance is for God to have, But today I lay religion down to rest
The demon in my mind has been relentless, whispering at my behest
He has been in his cage far too long, he is unyieldingly repressed
I not only want to free him, I want to put his imagination to the test

My mind's eye dark and searching, the corners of my sinister mind
I have now become your worst fear and mine devils intertwined
My mental and emotional state, has made the inhumanity refined
I hate how you made me long for your pain, I am now your kind

Your flesh is but a canvas and your screams will be to no avail
You’re now mine, your soul will beg for mercy on the grandest scale
I will assault your every sense, leaving no minute detail
Until your body is lying lifeless, pointless, broken and frail

I will take my time to revive you, bringing you back to my device
There will be no amount of pain I inflict, that my heart will suffice
Before I am done with your miserable existence, infliction so precise
I will nourish every animalistic desire,until we felt you paid the price

You have uprooted in my heart an evil, that cannot be undone
The angel of death is upon you waiting, your suffering just begun
There is a special place in hell for you and I want you to see it
And if I burn with you for my revenge, then I say so be it

Taking your pride, shoving it down your throat with my baron hands
all that I can taste right now, what the voice in my head demands
For you there is no more wasted life, your breath will let you endure
And there is no second thought behind my vengeance, my hate is pure

With deeds now done and lifeless you lay
At my feet, which death did not show haste
A smile without tears did appease my lust
For your soul and blood that I did taste

optimist - acrostic

Open up the book
Page one, neutralize your thoughts
Turn the page
Induct elation
Make your temperament positive
Idealism
See the prism of sanguinity
Turn the page

============================================

aqua - acrostic

Arid soul washed away
Quietly sinking down
Underneath the waves to stay
Awakening as i drown

========================================

flaw - acrostic

Forget about the way we see
Looking past the shallow grey
Awaken to a deeper degree
We are all beautiful in our own way

=========================================

harm - acrostic

Hurt me, the pain will go away
All anguish is fleeting
Remnants of your words might stay
My heart will go on beating

====================================

wolf pack - acrostic

Wild and free, nature's breed
Out of bounds of any containment
Living off of only what they need
Flourishing in sustainment

Prowling the forests and grass
Attacking only what they eat
Canids from our distant past
Killing only to replete

(i know i didn't use the word sustainment correctly here, but it rhymes)
==================================

jugs - acrostic poem

Jiggle and bounce for me
Underneath a cotton top
Gives me such satisfaction
Seeing them flip and flop

=================================

sympathy and attention - pity party poetry page

with an affinity for sympathy and attention
pity without empathy ends up as an affliction
sitting all alone having fits not fit to mention
depicting his own addiction to his self infliction

distemper words, written with intention
listless visions are a picture of his fiction
his existence isn't gifted within this dimension
it's a senseless decision to befit a contradiction

==================================================­====

discretion

if deception is a threat, i guess it begs the question
does perception get better with less discretion?
can a gesture of conception be answered best with ingestion
by letting down our guards will we fester in suppression?

changing our direction away from our debts of reception
pressed by our expression of protested progression
best bets are guessed and when we collect we learn a lesson
back to the question, is perception better with less discretion?

====================================

rhyme without reason

what is a rhyme without a reason?
it's no feat to beat the drum of no cohesion
it's like planting seeds that aren't in season
or a disease that leaves a bleeding lesion

a decent poet is adept at seeing adhesion
leaving the meaning amounts to being treason
completely missing pieces for completion
not even worth reading, only worth deletion

========================================

everlasting (4 versions)

though i have ran with the rats of cancer
as i craft the ladder to the final chapter
i never planned for crass disaster
abashed by the lasting factor

where the past is passing faster
i ask the lord and await his answer
are my chances granted to live hereafter
i clasp the hand of the everlasting master

---------------------------------------------------------­-

abashed by the lasting factor
i never planned for crass disaster
as i craft the ladder to the final chapter
though i have ran with the rats of cancer

i clasp the hand of the everlasting master
are my chances granted to live hereafter
i ask the lord and await his answer
where the past is passing faster

---------------------------------------------------------­---

abashed by the lasting factor
i never planned for crass disaster
as i craft the ladder to the final chapter
though i have ran with the rats of cancer

where the past is passing faster
i ask the lord and await his answer
are my chances granted to live hereafter
i clasp the hand of the everlasting master

---------------------------------------------------------­-------

(you can also do one of these)

where the past is passing faster
i ask the lord and await his answer
are my chances granted to live hereafter
i clasp the hand of the everlasting master
i clasp the hand of the everlasting master
are my chances granted to live hereafter
i ask the lord and await his answer
where the past is passing faster

Are these dreams self inflicted?
Am I addicted to exhaustion?
Are these dreams coincidences?
Am I doomed on the instances that the universe hand picks?

These dreams are a manifestation of my worries, my fears
My tears are a 3D dictionary- a physical translation of horrors every sundown

These dreams drive me to ******* insanity
While vanity and shallow diseases plague those around me

Screaming, crying, shaking
They're breaking down my walls, painting bags under my eyes and a scowl on my face

I'm desperate for alleviation
In a nation so obsessed with pills, somewhere there's a capsule in a haystack

Like an unsolvable math question
A lesson ungraspable, darkness clouds my mind and feeds on my light

The darkness behind my eyes swirling with unfamiliarity
A rarity that I wake up not undead

I'm screaming for help in a sound-proof room
A bloom of skulls instead of flowers

My sheets are painted blood red
My bed never a place of solace

I'm forever drowning in a sea of unrest
Forces doing their best to keep me under

I'm spluttering, hyperventilating
My thoughts always contemplating whether to pull all nighters for the rest of my nights

I'm eating myself alive and no one seems to mind
As this kind of infliction is only in my head.

I fall to my knees,
Kneeling before you,
My Master,
Groveling at your glorious feet,
To reveal the chains of submission,
Weighing down my delicate form.

You gaze upon me,
Beholding soft skin shimmering,
As my body is folded over;
Viewing my tantalizing beauty,
As I bestow myself,
To fulfill your deepest desires,
Conjuring the darkest yearnings,
Manifesting within.

“Rise, Baby Girl’’,
Your deep voice commands,
Reverberating within this crimson colored chamber,
As your figure towers over me,
Beckoning my legs to stand,
Obliging to please you,
As my hazel eyes encounter,
The blazing intensity of your own,
Sending flames to burn,
Down to the small of my back.

Fear is the armor I allow to fall,
Tumbling to the ground,
Cloaking myself in trust,
As I allow my body to be,
Touched by dominant hands,
Trussed up by ropes and chains,
To restrain to me.

Willingly becoming prey,
To the sweet, antagonizing caress,
Before your hand aggressively strikes,
My behind,
Sending me into a realm,
Of pleasure and pain,
Morphing into one sensation.

Free is the response I experience,
As you bounds my wrists,
With your tie,
Pinning me down,
Straddling my body.
Placed between your thighs,
With your heated lips,
Conquering every inch of my body.

The Sting of the flogger,
Is a bite against the skin I crave,
As silence is the language,
I choose to speak,
Feeling your fingertips claim me,
As your territory to reign over,
As you please.

I yearn to satisfy the hunger,
Starving to be your nourishment;
For Sadism to feed,
Upon masochism,
As a balance of power is established,
As we lose ourselves in fiery passion.

Dominance and Submission,
Forces meant to bond to the other,
In a marriage of infliction and reception,
Of blissful agony,
Accepting the temptations you direct,
Towards me as guide,
To obtain our darkest of fantasies.

Submission speaks out within,
The silence as I give you,
A proffered hand,
Succumbing to the sensual dreams,
You promise to me,
Allowing you to possess me in any way,
You wish in accordance to our terms.

May you indulge upon my form,
Like decadent candy you crave,
To devour,
Savoring every taste,
Sound, smell, and touch,
In this licentious dance between you,
My Master,
And me, your fervent lady,
Of submission.

I wish I could travel back in time
   to meet my 13 year old self
and tell that confused
                         gorgeous child
to run away.

Run away, pretty girl
run away from the boys that
are trying to use your body

Run away from that razor
run away from that bottle of pills
and do your best, use all of your will
to stop that soul from aching
without needing to bleed.

You don't have to
fix anyone.
You just have to survive.

Run away from that screaming
                  in your head.
Drown it out with poetry
                             and music
until you either
lose your hearing
or
you lose yourself
in sweet soul feeding spreading goodness

Run away from your father
                     until he learns how
                        to love you.


Run away from those girls
until you are strong enough
to realize that they're
so wrong about you.

Run away, gorgeous girl
Run away from all the
people that have hurt you

Run away from all the people that want you to fix them
Just take a deep breath and realize that you can't fix anyone but yourself

Run away from the guy who can't commit to you
Run away from that ****** up kid that wants to put his fingers inside you
Run away from that girl that calls you fat

Run away from your own ****** feelings

You're just not old enough to deal with them yet
No one should have to deal with that

Not you, you gorgeous scared little thirteen year old.

I think maybe,
      
                           just maybe
if I could tell her that

that maybe I wouldn't
                      feel so ****** up
                                  today.

because no 13 year old knows
            how to deal
                      with the things I
                                faced when I
          was 13 years old.

and no 20 year old woman knows how to fix the scars from a ****** up past, one
that has damaged this skin, damaged that ability to trust, damaged damaged damaged ****** up that ability to let somebody in, damaged this heart so much that it's forgotten how to feel, turned off those feelings because they never lead to good things, damaged the part of me that knew how to be happy. damaged the part of me that had hope. damaged and ****** it all up beyond repair.

Because I tried for years to
keep my head above water
only to realize
             that I drowned a
long time ago
                
and I think
it might be too late

to pull myself out

of this black lake
of self infliction
and pain addiction
and
give myself

a chance at living.

Your eyes.
I can't stop writing about them.
I can't stop dreaming about them gleaming like sunlight beaming into the windows of my soul.
And I've been meaning to tell you-
Heighten the blinds.
I can't stop fiending to be the reflection in your infliction
The mirroring of eyes, my line of sight in your line of vision
Our pupils don't just collide, they cause a collision
And uh,
The precision of your gaze fogs all coherency to a haze
And it's seeming
There's a thousand words teeming off the levees of my lips
But you got me in a daze and the waves crash silent
See inside I'm screaming
They say the flames radiated from desire are the fires most violent
And I feel your vibes like radiation;
Hazardous to both mind and body.
Detrimental to the soul.
I believe in whole this is not an illusion
They say the eyes never hide from the truth
-and the truth never lies-
See, I've already eyed your eyes
I'm not convinced this is confusion
I've come to the conclusion that
If I confided in you,
Could you agree it's a delusion
You've been opening the window;
You want to be
Inside.

The dread set in upon opening my eyes, as i swing my legs to the right side of the bed and stand. Slightly stumbling i make my way to the bathroom while adjusting to a waking state. I flip on the light, wincing my eyes in a sharp electric freeze from the back of my head, and while recovering, i pull the shower curtain away from the showers pull ***. Pulling the *** out slowly twisting it to ninety degrees as the water turns on, i am reminded to feed my plants before leaving the condo for the day. I step into the shower dipping my head under the warm stream of steaming water while resting my hands against the wall, as images of all the women i had saw the night prior begin shuffling through my head and a partial ******* forms. I imagine their eyes filled with tears, as i shove them down to my ****, and finally the Rolodex of faces stops on a Starbucks girl with piercings all over her pouty face that i had encountered on a lunch break a few days ago, and i begin stroking my **** with my right hand whispering "you ***** ****" over and over, as her eyes look up at me innocently, Mascara running down her face, until suddenly i hear my phone vibrate atop a pile of pocket change in the bedroom which promptly kills the moment in my wonder of the importance of a 5:00 AM jingle, which slowly fades, while i proceed to apply Ax shower gel to my Ax body scrubber that i had received as a gift in a Holiday work raffle three months prior.  Vidal Sassoon extra volume shampoo plus conditioner, "All in one," proudly printed on the label, as i apply a handful to my shaved head in a smooth dripping lather, that i do not rinse until after applying a pink ****** scrub that's label has worn off, and i am unsure, and not concerned with its origin, as I squeeze a blob of Colgate paste onto my toothbrush from the rack overhead, and scrub in a slow circular motion, while i rinse off the shampoo, shower gel, and ****** scrub, and then reach for my Listerine mouth wash, and swish for 30 seconds before spitting the burning mixture into the drain, while putting the brush away. I tilt my head up, and open my mouth wide under the water, taking in a mouth full, which i gargle for 10 seconds then spit, and turn off the shower reaching for a tattered towel left over from a breakup four years prior.  I dry off while still standing in the shower, and gently lay the towel on the floor before stepping out onto it, and grabbing a stick of Degree antiperspirant from the counter.  I apply 3 long strokes to each armpit before capping it, and putting it down. Two sprays of coolwater cologne i apply from a 1 foot distance, misting my chest and lower neck, before i put it down beside the deodorant, and walk back into the bedroom, grabbing a pair of boxer shorts from a drawer not caring which pair i grab. I slip them on, and walk over to the mirrored closet where i flex a few times, point aggressively, and in an authoritative tone repeat "I don't give a ****.", three times before sliding the closet door open and grabbing a pair of Marc Echo blue jeans that i had purchased online two years prior with a gift card from a local pub that i may have frequented too much to have received.  Reaching for an Infliction black tee shirt with ghostly gray swirls cascading to its base, i become completely still, left arm clutching the shirt still on its hanger, i am paralyzed for two seconds before looking away, and saying  "I don't have any plants" inquisitively to myself, yanking the shirt from the closet, and walking over to my phone atop the dresser.

Picking up the phone almost eagerly, i click the screen on in a light squeeze, and swipe my finger from left to right across the display to unlock the device, to a missed call from an unknown number, a voicemail, and 3 missed text messages. I tap the voice mail icon, and enter my pass code upon the automated prompt, "1234." The voice mail immediately clicks a few times before hanging up which assures me of its automation, and i assume its the power companies robots attempting to collect the monthly charge again. I tap on the missed text message icon, disconnecting from voice mail, and see that all three are from a girl named Haedies i met through a roommate long ago that i have recently found over facebook. A "How are you!", "I MISS YOU!!!", and a picture message of her with a wax figure of a trollish cartoon character i cannot quite place, both looking very serious, and i look at her **** pressing out from her white tanktop, ******* clearly hard, and her neck, long and attractive, its definition, thins my blood, and her dark black medium length hair loosely dangles just above her shoulder, causing me to partially smile, as i close the message paying it no further thoughts, and slip on my tee shirt, as i head for the kitchen. I open the refrigerator and grab a plastic bottle of 5 Hour Energy, and twist it open, tip my head back, and take the whole drink down in one swallow, throwing the empty plastic shell back into the fridge, and swing the door shut with my bare left foot, before i head back to the room to put my socks and boots on. Once my black combat boots are fully laced up, i put my wallet, change, and keys into the appropriate jean pockets, and head for my jacket hung on a hook beside the door. A black leather windbreaker. My mini trench that allows for a high level of concealment, and pocket space made possible by Wilson Leather. I run my hand over my face satisfied with my slight stubble from not shaving today, and reach into my left inner pocket of my jacket and pull out Sony earbuds, and plug them into my phone. I select a Pandora station based on the black metal band "Burzum", and walk out the door, locking only the dead bolt behind me.  5:25AM

I see the demons in these people,
Tired eyes carrying the weight of self infliction and the sight of monstrosities,
They do not see the sun,
And their breath is a tax

1.
Your love was words written in snow, and they melted into me, not a trace left in the morning as our bodies turned to fire beneath a thin sheet.
The waning heat as night fell returned with a palm to my cheek
And bruises on my throat
Colors that reminisced about sunset cigarettes
And fallen petals from roses cut off at the neck.
I wanted you to sever me in the same way.

2.
Head buried in the sand, I hoped my skin would absorb its hue.
Remember when we made dresses of leaves for cigarette **** dolls?
Those ******* were my friends.
You said that's why you didn't finish the last inch of your beers so I washed them back and watched you take miles and miles
Bottles breaking in quivering hands.

3.
I never minded the taste of blood, so I licked our wounds clean.
I'm beginning to question what "self-inflicted" actually means.

You should have brought me to the hospital that night
Instead you took me and I took another bottle of pills to try to better know that ever elusive quiet.
But quiet is a **** tease and you're meaningless to me.

4.
Silence and quiet are twins
Infantile in their ways
Two drunks stumbling through mounds of glitter from some winter parade.
Streetlights reflecting in their pale eyes
Frostbitten fingers itching at half-turned locks
Their sighs slip through doorjambs whispering of kisses and comfort
Weaving images of abandoned bathtubs into dreams of a lone child sleeping upstairs.
One who longs to be known, yet forgotten.

You sure are a tricky one
creeping inside my thoughts.
Suppressed my memories as well as I could,
but your spirit I haven't forgot.
Lovers, we were not.
Companions-
you always fought.
But yet I bleed,
for your soul I need.
To share this
wealth of knowledge
I bought.
Missing your words,
beyond conceived.
self-infliction,
aware-
I created this grief.
Knowing full well
the solution I seek.
Hiding from you,
for I'm just too weak.
And fear that if we speak
you will cower in disbelief.
You will un-hide,
the scars inside,
that nobody wishes to see.
I do miss you friend,
return soon to me please.

You told me a story
Of mass destruction,
Then romanced the idea
Of self destruction.
You told me of a world
Filled with corruption,
Then added sugar to the taste
Of self corruption.
You told me of a people
Wrapped in infliction,
Then taught me the ways
Of self infliction.
You told me of a home
Trapped in desolation,
Then brought beauty to the thought
Of self desolation.
You told me of a family
Held back by ruination,
Then offered me a handful
Of self ruination.
So when you told me of a killer
And his tools for termination,
You suggested a simple gun:
Self termination.

You look down on
Our Youth today
And say we're

Irresponsible
UN-motivated
Complicated
Mischievous

You skip the

Self-Motivated
The Willing
The Originator
The Believers

The Boy that fails in class
Comes home, puts his emotions
Into guitar, loves dance
Looks into his mothers eyes
And sees broken glass

Listens to heavy music
People don't understand it
They opinion-ate, debate
Whether the person has anger issues...

But he bursts his emotion
In to his music and for once
He feels love.
Like the artist understands him
Lyrics pump through his blood...

You don't understand the screams
The anger from these words
To you they're are never heard
But have you ever listened?
Not listening in the first place
Caused this...

The lyrics are true
All
Non-fiction...

The Girl who is covered in tattoos
Has pushed through and through
Her body is her temple
And shes painted the walls

Covering her scars
Created through her youth
Her scars are deep
Created by mans sharpened metal
Not a cry for help

But to breathe for once in her life
The pain on her skin will
Stop the sin of ending it
Today...

Pictures of emotion
And the powers to show them
Because if she told you
About her problems,
A cold shoulder is what you would
Have shown her...

The You-th of today is what it explains
Let's brake this word down
I'll show "You" this pain...

You... Are the reasons why they slam the doors...
You want us to be what you never were
A Lawyer?
A Doctor?
A Dentist?

Why?

You say these jobs are going to bring
Happiness and Wealth
But sit for a second look deep
Into the eyes did You listen
When the Boy and Girl cried
For help?

No!

You put them on medication
Said Deal with it that's life
This is the reason

The Boy sat in his room
Listening and playing Music
To just get through the day!

And why the girl has painted
Her beautiful curves, the curves you don't
See? Because she's either too skinny
Or she over eats...
There's no winning It's people like this
In life are the reason
Why she picked up the knife.

You... Tell your son and daughter
What do you know about love?

But they saw with their own eyes
When you took the Diploma and the Course
Of how to destroy it going through your divorce

Infliction
Correction
Complexion
Inspection
Expectations­

Are not! The words that give...

Direction

You... Were the ones telling the Boy and Girl
Educate and learn.

Get your head deep in these
Books and find a purpose

But saying these words living your
Broken Youth is why they feel worthless
So...

Ill say it for them

Sorry for stealing your youth
Sorry for expressing their emotions
Sorry a really good job doesn't mean anything to them, but happiness does
Sorry when age has a meaning because we don't "Understand" Love
Sorry for the anger with passion and rage
Sorry for their broken homes, caused by your morals
Sorry for the advice that you have never spoken

Because the medication is what pull us through?
Heartless and Broken...

Like broken ice
Shattered as it hits the glass
But as we know it melts
And never lasts.

Vapors happen as it hits the sky
New rain is born
But it's the tears of our youth
A silent cry
Silently hitting the roofs

Roofs of a broken home...

So look and listen to the words
Emotion written in every verse
Learn to appreciate
Never look down to whisper, debate

*Never expect what you write
To be any good, because
The fear of not writing stops
You from finding your own voice

Oh dear calming waves that brush upon the shore,
And blooming flowers and overcampusing trees a'more,
And the pleasant smells of freedom and liberty,
And the numerous hearts of my civilians sincerely.
For the most safest of places, shall I call my home,
And deem no infliction upon such values of my own.
Until what horrors have drawn a near,
Until what treacheries are we to share,
For 'tis a place of safekeeping have we deem,
No longer holds its name at all does it seem.
And much like the Titanic of a poem from before,
Have these fated deaths have but fate to blame for.
Oh shall we never recall this city as a tragic place,
Nor recall the Boston Massacre of 1770 with haste.
For no sane of man shall the slaughterings enjoy,
And for no family of one shall the deaths rejoice.
Remembrance of our people and our city's name,
Are we to call another terrorist is to blame?
Are we to call that be but the doing of tragic fate,
Or the will of God and towards our ideals He hate.
Or shall we blame it for the naiveness of us all,
Thinking that terror only upon namely's does it fall,
But for a city shall its peoples stand a'mass strong,
And rise from the ashes of horror and continue living on.
And shall we take the tragic seeds of what was left to sow,
And grow'st the blooming rose from the ashes as a whole.

Tap,
       tap,
             tap
Tapping on the wall around your heart
          Trying to find a way in
You've built it tall and strong
And plastered
       it with
          your suffering
     To remember why it's there

Yet here I am,
        not knowing where to start
So I tap,
          tap,
             tap
Hoping one day you'll hear me
Praying one day you'll open your heart
                     I want in
         I want to take your hurt
                 and make it mine
To share your pain
And find a way to make you see
This life your living
The infliction
         you've put
              upon yourself
You need not bare it alone

           Tell me your stories,
       Let me feel
              what you feel
You think you need to be a stone
But I want to know you to your core

So I'll tap,
              tap,
                  tap
Until I can see that diamond underneath
Not to break you
            or damage you
       Just to release you
               So you can finally
                    

                          breathe

XXXIX

Because thou hast the power and own’st the grace
To look through and behind this mask of me
(Against which years have beat thus blanchingly
With their rains), and behold my soul’s true face,
The dim and weary witness of life’s race,—
Because thou hast the faith and love to see,
Through that same soul’s distracting lethargy,
The patient angel waiting for a place
In the new Heavens,—because nor sin nor woe,
Nor God’s infliction, nor death’s neighborhood,
Nor all which others viewing, turn to go,
Nor all which makes me tired of all, self-viewed,—
Nothing repels thee, . . . Dearest, teach me so
To pour out gratitude, as thou dost, good!

Stop inflicting your
pains on me,
I didn't ask you
to reside in my body
you did it yourself
so now just
get lost or do
whatever you want,
stop complaining that
I don't pay heed
to your worries; I do
because, I'm
utterly sensitive.
You've induced me
to throw away my
stuff toys as u wanted
me to grow up,
I fed your cravings
all the time, but
you provoked me
more to ****
the child out of me
and I did so,
now please, let
me live.
I want to live
just one more
time.

A window reflects our personality
Life moves on whilst we stand still

You don’t know I'm breaking
Breathing as this relentless aching
Continues like open wound
With my own infliction of pain to fault...
Staring back at me a bitter cold reflection, dreaming in decadence  
Even the happiest of endings can lead to so many tears.
Leaving only this time to reflect on ourselves

It was in our breaking
that love ran richest
through my blood.

In the tearing,
of my very soul
that light came rushing in
as if it had been veiled without my knowing.

Only through the tearing of hearts,
did your love have it’s way with me.

Only through infliction did the heart find room to grow.

Bound by the painful infliction of your words I bleed
Never imagining that family
Would be the ones who hurt fully
Raised me
Stabbing me
Continuously
With your words
I still bleed

My grandma never believed in me
Mama never defended me
It's okay ma, I love you
How could you free me
If you yourself are still bound in captivity?

I yearn to the moment you and I are free
But the possibility
Of this task is greatly
Unattainable

How can I
Break the curse
of the words
That bind you and I
If you
Are still locked up and I
Well I - am a coward.

A prisoner and a coward
Will never move forward
So I must break myself
And set astray
But don't fret mother - just pray.
Know I'll be there at the end of the day
Despite our hardships
And your past brutality
You whipped me with
Words of discouragement
But I blame you not
How can you possibly provide encouragement
When you have never had any
Pent up anger - with no one to vent
No self confidence

But it is okay mother I love you
And if you love me
You will let me break free
Temporarily
As I rid my baggage and come for thee

I can't free you and I
Or think about we
If my escape tactics must be sharpened
But don't worry mother
I hover over you spiritually
Until it's time to break you free
Through me
And the tactics I've uncovered through my journey.

So let's add another numbed night to this comatose plight.
Searching for something meaningful at the bottom of bottles,
And striving for amnesia through entangling bodies.
This is the dance of the dead.
A decadent display of flesh and famine.
A hunger so primal that we've lost our appetite for
The more filling of feelings.
You're tugging at my heart strings,
But she's ripping off my clothes.
And the opposite embodied is a worse torture than most
Would care to know.
But I do have a thing for pain,
And you're the object of my infliction.
In this scar making moment, I'll succumb to that addiction.
But your mark is growing thin, love.
And the evidence will fade.
Your territory’s waning and you have no stake to claim.
These are the lies we lead in this life or something like it.
Barely scraping by until the day turns to night.
My calendar is filling and yours is bound to burst.
You can pencil me in if you're bored enough.
I'll accept through the hangover and give you sleepy eyes,
Knowing full well we'll both end up in another's bed tonight.
She'll touch my chest though it does not heave for her.
And I'll take a shot to make this feeling better.
She'll want to spoon but I'll push her to "your side".
And I'll say I'll call tomorrow, but when I speak, I tend to lie.
I'm taking up your offer on this latest lifestyle,
Where cowardly nonchalance is the most fitting attire,
And the heart that's been hemmed to my sleeve,
Is the most out-of-date accessory.
This game is treacherous, this game called "love".
My only wonder is: when we will stop playing ourselves.

Proceeding in the wake of mankind's scourge,
Spoken are the words of this great demiurge,
At dusk the cowled of the night shall emerge,
And convey a true evil on God's Earth to resurge.  

Unleashed and unfathomed, behold the words of a phantom
Turning cities into craters and the oceans to chasms,
Imagine: a picture perfect world, can it exist,
Without the plague of the human race, lost without a trace in abyss!

Ignorance tragic, the magic of bliss,
Static damage to the rabid on this planet of ****,
An example of this: the progression of time
Deteriorating in abundance, a final judgment for mankind.

Exterminate the population, man, woman and child,
Convictions, the arrival, apocalypse nigh!
None will survive, total disaster, blood stain alabaster
Abstain, refrain, salvation from a heavenly ******* shall be sought in vain.

Unexplainable cataclysm,
The missing piece of the puzzle unseen in catechism,
But it was written somehow and somewhere
And the emergence of its purpose was unclear, deny what you fear!

The end is near, malevolent seraphim invade,
The end is here, a feeble humanity kneels and prays
It was revealed, none prepared and none spared
And act of evil, fitting for the slaughter of a people.

Mephistophelian ascension,
A requiem for the souls of the ruined be sung
For a destruction, beyond all human comprehension.
Alarum with no human intervention!

An apoplectic annihilation, fed lies by inhalation,
Microbial immolation, infected detestation,
Evasive evasion, catastrophic, melancholic
Leaving mankind intoxicated by his own narcotic

Whilst hypnotically induced, the demons invade,
Equestrian quartet lead the massive evil brigade
A battalion of stallions, on fray to slay grace
Laid to waste in the face of the inhuman race.

To keep pace, without a trace, Messiah on Fire
In dire need, erase calumny the Heavenly liar feeds
Desire breeds and hatred grows
Within those a crueler fate chose the pyre to bleed.

An ascension to an unknown throne overthrown,
A crown adorned in thorns be thy Kingdom's scorn
To the Black, I am sworn, prophet to the swarm,
The scores of the forlorn born to battle in the storms

Of Ragnarok, the magma rocks rain from the sky,
The Earth will end in fire, watch the genesis die.
Terrestrial crucifixion, the mortals' last affliction,
Desperation bringing forth a dogmatic dereliction.

Infliction of pain, deadly diction to the slain in vain,
A spoken name, confliction causing friction
An addiction to the wicked, auspicious yet pernicious,
Foreboding a sinister outcome of ecumenical wishes.

Drive my heart into the ground,
My body into the ocean deep,
Drop my soul into the ravine,
You're good with pain anyway.

Inflection
Infliction
Infection

Defective
Defenseless
Impressive­

Depression
Impression
Departure

From

Reality
Surreality
Purit­y

Into

Frailty
Depravity
Definitely

Causing

Confusion
Diffusi­on
Profusion

In

Inflection
Infection
Imprison

If you were a candle, I'd burn myself.
If you were a knife, I'd cut myself.
If you were a noose, I'd hang myself.
If you were the eighth deadly sin,
      I'd spend eternity in flame.
Instead, you're a human being.
      And I've never felt more pain.

Sitting behind a computer screen
Trying not to succumb to the temptations of self-loathing
Media has become the cause of my downfall
And the primary causation of self infliction
For months and years I thought and believed
That I was fine, that I was okay
But the slightest contemplation of death
Still brought me relief
I find my fingers running through the keys and letters
Scrolling past every page and article
The demons feed on the lack of confidence
The low self-esteem
And I, the degraded human being
I still set a goal for non-existence
A perfection too impossible to achieve
Yet I know that I’ll always be another face in the crowd
Another flame that’s about to die out
Another girl with too many scars,
Another girl bound to fall apart

n.j.