Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Kvothe Jun 2014
There's a nail,
he's set up camp in my brain.
Hammered with daylight,
held infuriatingly fast by night.
Even the stiffest claw
would be of no use,
not anymore.
His presence would herald slumber,
were I of a normal stock.
But no. He brings attention to
the tick. The tock.
If I inch him further,
with fervour,
maybe he will abdicate,
adjacent to his entry.
But I know he'll return,
pitching by the morn,
leaving my rest
completely,
utterly,
torn.
Najwa Kareem Jan 2019
We fed ourselves on New Year's well

Gifts were exchanged over the song The First Noel

The evening before Christmas drinks were had

Many fooling themselves that they are glad

Throughout the cheer, men, women, and children in Yemen forgotten

Leftover turkeys and roasts would be hurriedly eaten even if found rotten

Starvation has Yemeni bodies eating themselves

Have you seen photos of their emaciated figures on newspapers' shelves

Pregnant women and newborn babies with dead husbands and dead fathers

How do they care for themselves when in the grand scheme of things no one bothers

Saudi military should go **** on themselves

Murderous cowards that they are playing with Santa's elves

Women in Yemen being ***** and domestic violence bring me to tears

Would they get away with their satanic work if the U.S. wasn't kissing their filthy rears

Seriously dangerous diseases running rampant

Yemenis beautiful skin no longer so lambent

So few of us care enough to choke up for our Ahmeds and for our Imans

I ask infuriatingly will it take a whole country's destruction to rise for Yemen's Marwans
Grace Jordan May 2015
You know what, this is not a love story this time. In this case, it never was. I thought it was, but I was mistaken and lied to by my lonely heart. And For once, I am standing my ground and telling you what you deserve to hear.

*******.

******* for making me so dependent on you that I was scared to stand up to you, even though you were cruel to everyone I loved. You may have thought you were cute, you may have thought it was your odd way of love, but it was honestly just an excuse to be an utter ***** to everyone and none of us should have tolerated it.

******* for competing with me. I am not a competitive person, but you'd laugh and comment how you were better, smarter, more mature. It drove me wild. Not only because your arrogance made me want to drive you into the ground, but also because it made me feel like I had to prove myself to you, brag in front of you, compete with you to feel worthy.

******* for turning on me at my weakest. Over a boy for god's sakes. I was your best friend, the one you turned to and confided in, and you started to completely disregard me over a boy I had feelings for first. You had no respect for our friendship in any facet, and it made me regret letting you in at all.

******* for always being at the back of my mind, for being so infuriatingly insidious that I have to always check up on you and worry about you even though you don't deserve it. For doing things that don't make me feel anything but pity and concern for your life, instead of being proud and maybe thinking I could accept you.

******* for making me want to **** myself. For being the selfish catalyst who showed me the cuts on her legs and made me feel so guilty that I didn't deserve life. Everyone deserves life, even the cruelest of people, and to purposefully make me feel that worthless, just to try to win me back, was the most heartless, selfish, thoughtless thing you could have ever done.

******* for being similar to me in any frivolous way, because now I am utterly terrified to be anything like you. Obsessive, rude, cruel, thoughtless, and selfish. I fear for my boyfriend, my friends, everyone around me because I know being your friend has given me the capacity to be just as ruthless as you. And I hate you for it.

******* for making me forget anything pleasurable about our relationship. All I can feel is a burning frustration when I hear your name, or an overwhelming sadness, or endless anger. None of it is pleasant.

******* for everything you've done to me, and **** the dark part of my heart that exists now because of your knives stabbing me in the back.

******* for still making me think about you, and ******* for any part of me that is like you.

I'm done with you. This is the end. Its ******* over.

And just remember.

*******.
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2022
now that i'm relistening to this track, i remember the sole reason why i worked that dead-end night club job: to earn enough money to buy myself a mandolin... which i did: i entrusted myself to earn the money than to pocket the money out of my student loan... never mind picking up ****-filled bottles from the bathroom: being sexually assaulted by some ****** who thought that long hair was something akin to women and not to old-school metal-heads: which i was back then... you know: getting groped by the *** by some man who later thrusts himself at you while you're picking up ****-filled bottles of beer... oh sure: with retrospect he would have said fellow to my forehead... how times change... well yeah, i worked that job to buy myself a mandolin... which i did... for the sole purpose of learning the mandolin part of Rod Stewart's Maggie May... which i learned and played it for Fiona beneath her kitchen window in the student flats... she giggles blah blah... but... Maggie May soon turned into that other favorite song of mine: And One... Military Fashion Show... perhaps the music is sort of Disco Polo... but the lyrics?

cutest girl behind my door
everybody's hiding in love from war
the beauty broke down their chains somehow
who's gonna living on my body now?

a growing pain within my pop divine
will I ever regret the line?
switching on the light
i will not reassign
girlfriend's girlfriends never could be mine

drop her white pants wide open warm
now she's slipping on her uniform
and every second would become so mis-defined
girlfriend's girlfriends never could be mine

nope, i never had any luck with women, maybe i should have picked up gambling: but then again i don't like testing luck when it comes to being lucky with bus times... i like waiting for a bus for a minute... but with women, i sometimes observe my parents and then realise: ah... that's why i'm not married... makes perfect sense... the idea is lovely: i can never get over the idea of loving a woman, but then i realise a woman also has an idea what it implies to love, hardly a man, hardly a semi-automated thing, something that's offensively useful, from time to time activated but altogether sterile... hell: if it didn't take me playing the mandolin to a girl outside her window: Romeo is ****** as hell... Romeo is gone gone gone... the only luck i've ever had with women were with prostitutes, that realm of evidence where the transactional is up-front... there's no looping of paying for meals for cinema for celebratory self-congratulatory pieces of doodle / jewelry... there's just the up-front "rent" of a body... job done... let's get other aspects of "plumbing" worked on... i'm not even bitter... i'm just sort of: on a snooze button mentality, sort of sleepy... sort of disappointed... that? the men who wrote about love from the 19th century are antiques in the 21st century: not even 19th century folk: antique: pre-historic mentalities of the current zeitgeist of insomnia and over-burdening libido being frozen in a frenzy of self-doubts and self-appeasement of pleasures not met... by the other... i just feel disappointed by having invested so much time in Stendhal in Kundera... seems rather pointless...


i finally picked up my Trek mountain bicycle today
from the repair shop...
i came in talked all giggly and bubbly with
the owners... ah... Hemmingway got it spot on
in that novella of his of short stories:
men without women...
play cards, drink, tell terrible jokes...
make loads of oaths sparingly beginning
with the letter F...
i was told £75... but the guy comes to me and says:
the cassette has been worn down?
your advice? what's to be improved, how will
this affect my cycling?
blah blah this blah blah that... o.k. i know you're
trying to milk me... milk me but don't waste my time...
if it needs changing just tell me...
'oh, but we don't have the parts'...
o.k. ask your supervisor blah blah blah...
he comes back to me and says: oh he have the parts:
SUDDENLY... no no... not suddenly:
the customer, i.e. i... am willing to pay...
how much and how long?
£35... 15 minutes... great! do it! i'll go for a coffee:
which was a lie... i went for a pint
of Guinness and sat by myself like
some ******* portrait of an absinthe drinker
by Degas... they should do one of a Guinness drinker...
a person who sits alone and drinks a pint
of Guinness watching a table of about 5 men
and 1 ****-ugly woman drinking merrily enjoying
each other's company...
with the solo drinker lighting up a cigarette
and lighting up a smile on his face thinking:
oh thank **** i'm alone...
i used to drink with "friends": with people...
i soon realised... they're as much things as much as
i am a thing: sure... dehumanizing...
but so much of philosophy and of medicine
is infuriatingly dehumanizing in achieving
the pinnacle of objective-reason, no?
tell me, am i wrong?
            
i can tell you my favorite quote of mine:
i don't hate people... i just hate things...
it's not my problem that some people behave like
things rather than as people...
reality simply states: some people, simply have not
depth to them, or around them,
they are worse than thespians and thespians
are the worst: since thespians are the most eloquent
of thieves... they steal people's shadows...
they steal other people's soul... essence...
i hate actors with the same passion i abhor
the sceptics... add that to my list:
given these two strands of being and thinking
are the most popular in the current zeitgeist...

so i drank my pint of Guinness and walked back
to the cycling repair shop... picked up my Trek...
listen: i've been cycling for the past year solely on my Viking
road bicycle... neat handlebars...
i used about 4 maybe 5 gears to climb
elevations... or cycle harder: faster...
but neat handlebars... trim... a sense of a tuxedo smart...
neat: for moving between traffic... like all road bicycles...
he gives me my old Trek mountain bicycle back...
**** me!
i was riding a Lamborghini for a year...
now? i'm given a ******* SUV... Royals Royce!
my god... it's a Behemoth!
the handlebars are wide... the brakes? so easily accessible!
**** me for ****'s  sake...
too many gears... i must have been trigger-happy
when it came to gears... must have changed them
about 30 times... three gears by the peddles
and 7 at the rear... wheels... don't get me started on those...
with a road bicycle you have a width of about 23cm...
these ******* where thrice if not more at that...
so wide that they made a sound akin to
me thinking: where's the train? they made this weird
sound i couldn't possibly express with letters
to combat an imaginary words...
the closest approximate is a SHOOM / WHIZZ....
what does a thick rubber tyre make on
a pavement, rotating, that's not insulated
by a frame of a car? what?! exactly...
then add the elevation of the wind...
i simply can't write an onomatopoeia for that sound...
it's not as easy as meow or woof... or bark...
or howl... or coo... or the crackling grr of crow...
gurgling of a crow...
impossible...

tyres one aspect handlebars another...
hands out-stretched... which means? too much
availability of a manoeuvre...
that's what happens when the handlebars
are less restrictive... wide...
you have too much manoeuvrability potential...
you're like that guy inside a London black cab...
you can practically do a 180-turn...
become a dog chasing its own tail...
i used to love mountain bicycles... now?
i ******* hate them... i don't know why i spent
£500 on this piece of junk...
unless... i try it out on some dirt road...
fair enough then... but compared to a road bicycle...
a... kolarzówka... (road bicycle in ******)
no... not going to happen...
i though i was going to be happy to own two bicycles
and change from one to the other...
it's such a beast to ride... sure... it's aesthetically
pleasing to look at... even when school was out
and the boys were coming out of school:
one spontaneously announced thinking-aloud:
that's a nice bike...
yeah... nice to look at... yeah... sure thing mate...
great to look at... but a ***** to ride it...
compared to...                              exhibit (a)
a cheap £125 road bicycle with the right sort of
handlebars... mountain bicycle handlebars are
all wrong too wide...
you just can't handle such a beast on a long stretch
of road... you require something more
gravity driven / prone...
at least with a road bicycle you get to steer
with slight details of force going towards
the intended direction...
i think you must learn on a mountain bicycle...
to then explore the road bicycle...
but let me tell you... one you have mastered
the road bicycle... going back to a mountain bicycle
make-up it like going from Einstein to ******...
i was becoming queasy with too much maneuverability
in my hands and not centered in / with
my entire body and bicycle attached...
i know i'll think differently when i take
this beast into its proper environment...
i know that's what will happen...
but mountain bicycles don't belong in traffic...

aha... right... i almost forgot... just before i picked up
the beast from the repair shop...
i has in the supermarket picking up a bottle of cider
to keep up my stamina of: not bored...
no no... i'm not bored...  

onomatopoeias... i'm sure as a supervisor i told
some of the stewards that i'm only doing this job
for good reference: for references that might me
apply for a job as a chemistry teacher:
since familial ties of references will not allow you
to apply for the position...
last shift at Wembley some pink haired freak
of a beached whale of a male started to mouth-me-off
about jumping the queue...
i retorted like for like: you ******* see a queue
in front of me? i'm standing in the same *******
place! you ******* fearful of being called
a racist: you silly little thing of an anti-racist?!
you ******* HOG of what could have been
a woman... you afraid of insulating the Somalis?!
we know that they're like... that's how African
queues work... people jump the queue...
they huddle... Africans are not a Mongolian horde:
they're huddling people...
they stress themselves by the numbers
they're allowed / are given...
all the Europeans follows some details of
the aesthetic of queuing... the Africans?
**** me... they just inverted the bottle-neck...
if bottles were to be invented in Africa...
they wouldn't have a neck: they'd have an entire
******* torso... and be slim at the base...
that's how Africans behave ergo: think...
that's not racist: that's a ******* anthropologist tactic....
on the last shift this one Indian looking chap
said the following lines:

'don't think me of being racist...
but what do you think of these blacks?'

ha ha... one curiosity after another...
  i love mingling with people: you never know what
you're (n)ever going to get!
i'm working with this one "creature" who's super
clingy to me... adamant that he's anti-racist...
but... oops... slip... he's actually homophobic...
just because Brighton has a "reputation"...
but a staunch anti-racist.... yet a homophobe....
me? i hate *******...
esp. if you're collecting glasses in a night club
and you're getting groped by... some ******...
come on: a man with long hair is no excuse to
fiddle with my *** while i'm picking up bottles
filled with ****... ******* ******!

about blacks? well... what do i care if i already stereotyped
the Somalis as useless idiots... not even useful idiots
of Communist propaganda...
they're like the Irish... you simply psychoanalyse them...
they're so detached from reality that
they might as well be called Moonpeople...
Somalia best be called Moonland...
no, seriously: not as a racist (although i'd love to be one)
but as an anthropologist (these days?
an ethic apologist, if?!)
they are just that... devoid of reality sort of,
sort of... sort of... a sort of "people"...
a sort of "reality" is attached to them...

never mind that... i was in the supermarket buying a bottle
of cider... a woman with two young girls was making
her shopping... some BLEEP emerged from
the cashier's desk... some... BLEEP some BOOP...
hmm... we're talking primary school aged children...
children... completely un-fuckable... although as loveable
as dogs... perhaps even more:
since? you can't exactly mould a dog...
you can't mould a little Frankenstein of your own
with a dog... a dog is kept ontologically within
the archetypical exactness of what a dog is supposed
to be: what a dog is...
but man? oh... that's a completely different barrel of
laughs!
i stood behind the trio... and listened...

onomatopoeias... once those infernal instruments
made those sounds... the two girls mimicked...
imitated the sounds ...
i would be a terrible father... or perhaps the best...
i like the cognitive-focus on the negative:
maybe that's why i adore the cynics...
i adore the cynics and abhor the sceptics...
i like negative-thinking...
i once assured myself that negative-thinking
attracts... positive-being...
magnets... blah blah...

with i have on my heart's "conscience":
something so innocent... the cure's: a short term effect
from the album *******...
no... woman! no!
that trio of curiosity...
i was going to do an in-depth Kantian analogy
of the origins of the onomotopoeia...
it just so happened that i was walking behind them...
i'm pretty good at lip-readings...
too much exposure to headphones...
NEUROTIC BEASTS OF **** UN-******...
the ugliest women imaginable:
busy-body women.... UGLY *****...
MOTH-FRENZY-MOTH-*****....
i'm good at lip-reading...
oh look... a ******* is the area...

no... is just so happened that the trio bough
more goods that me at the store...
silly ******* agony aunt!
no! i was just going to ask
the two girls...that you spoke an onomatopoeia
without knowledge of what an onomatopoeia
actually is!
an onomatopoeia in the mouth of a child
is not actually a word...
it can't be... there's no rigid Apollonian "humour"...
when a child imitates a sound made by a
machine...
it doesn't imitate the sound with an allocation
of ascribing letters to them...
i could be the best father:
and perhaps the worst...
    i'd become too curios... i'd become a naturally
born scientist...
the mother? just ignored them...
but this **** of a THINFG threw empty accusations
into the air as if it were breathing...

i learned one valuable lesson on my own...
there are people... and there are THINGS...
me, what?
you ******* THING! remain INANIMATE!
sure... move... but remain without character!
did these girls have knowledge
of the "onomatopoeia" of an ONOPATOEIA?
too many ******* vowels..

that's Greek for you...
i'm a what? it just so happened that it's suburbia
and i'm walking behind a giddy trio....
i'm suddenly, what?! HIDE! HIDE... you neurotic *****!
you soothsayer you Satan's last **** available!
you mediocre human being!

how would they know... they're already exploring
onomatopoeias without knowledge of onomatopoeias ...
these creatures mimic... in fact: an onomatopoeia
is something that's to be exacted by being written...
these children... they are yet aware of letters...
letters beside nouns... nouns beside the concepts
of verbs pronouns and the like...

first i'll ask politely... secondly i'll ask less politely:
thirdly: don't tread on me..
fourthly: enough is enough...
but that's how life happens...
you exit the mind-set of... it's not jurisprudence...
etymological hell-havoc...
              ah! pedagogy!
and then the reality of all that's around you...

neurotic old women who think you're: an project
you're a predator;... ******* ****-less *****!
i just wanted to hear what her onomatopoeia went to...
you objectionable UGLY CUT of ****!
she was uttering her first onomatopoeia without
a rubric of letters! as a man who's not going
to be a father: i thought that rather: inquisitive...
i know you women are ******* boors and boredoms...
the more you age the uglier you become
in spirit: let alone in physical appearances...
******* hyenas start looking pretty are a while
once you peak!
no! that's the point! i'm being serious!

it only takes one false accusation: lip-read to demand
a crazy momentum of reaction...
oh no no... it's not going to stop!
best ***** assured this ******* momentum
is not going to stop! now i'm grizzly bear tooth worn
on smiling...

now... i have encountered men who encounter violence
of man against man...
i have yet to encounter men who encounter violence
of woman against man...
let's just say... it's more complicated...
i love children... some women love themselves
to the point of willingly perform... what's that name?
oh.... right... has he risen too?
the deity that's Moloch... the deity of infanticide?!
has he? so... i'm not alone...
there must be more of me...
gents! we're being redeemed!  we're going back
to a singing status of existence in the ***** of our
dearest "Abraham" of Ha-Shem!
let's put on a proper, decent, show!

then again... i might: i just might be...
a solo trick-of-treat... bellowing into the depths of well...
after all... as i looked at the whole affair from
the antithesis of Darwinism...
the strong and the smart don't really reproduce:
en masse...
the idiots do...
mammals like insects...
the ill-fated reproduce: that's why they bemoan
their fate of being ill-stocked in genes...
smart people are exploratory...
i'm exploratory...
i'm not saying i'm smart but i'm certainly not dumb enough
to have children in order for them to suffer
unnecessarily... for a per se reason
that's somehow supposed to be self-explanatory:
without... an accountable self!

there's no chance in hell these two girls imitated those
sounds in the supermarket with...
a knowledge of an onomatopoeia!
no chance! speak to me an "onomatopoeia":
onomatopeia!

     ono-m'ah-t'oh-p'-ah!

   they wouldn't even catch the vowel catches of Hs
in the plural sense without the apostrophe...
no...

write me a poem using linguistic notations:
i.e. onomatopoeia: knock knock: woof woof: .
details of some book... frankly? no book...
journalism rules...
/ˌɒnə(ʊ)matəˈpiːə/
   /nɒk,nɒk/
        /wʊf/ /wʊf/:
      /ˈdiːteɪl/ some
/sʌm,s(ə)m/
                       /bʊk/
  
yeah: that's what i like... linguistic graduates...
graffitti artists with a TAG..
children and onomatopoeias...
you want to play more and more games?
aren't we living in the most circus prone times?!

hey! in current environment of events:
hello herr besondere!
drop qords not bombs!

= +- / ha;f and half...
Katie Murray Nov 2015
She was the resident insomniac
(The lack never showed on her beautiful mind)

Her green eyes pierce the dark at 3 in the morning
(The only thing sharper than her gaze was her wit)

She was the wisps of flyaway hair
The shadows magnifying her cheeks

She was a collection of features
Eyes, lips, hands
Melded seamlessly, stitches invisible under the moonlight

She waited up night after night
(Her stubbornness was infuriatingly admirable)

But the open window yielded not a soul
And still she lay there, fingers twitching erratically


She was never one for happy endings anyways
19/10/15
Jackie Aug 2013
Dear "adults",
I hate it when you look down on those of us in high school,
As if there's some sort of unspoken rule
That the time we spend in such a place
Is supposed to be sublime.

"Stop complaining."
I'm sorry, I assumed that when you asked about my day
I wasn't supposed to mask what I say
And tell you that everything is swell.

To what extent will you dismiss my discontent
Toward the discipline with hardly any discipline nowadays?

"You'll miss it. Just wait until you get into the real world."
The "real world"?
Why, suddenly, is my world not real enough for you?
From all I've been through in my life,
High school has presented me with the most strife, and so
Since when is a bit of resentment
Unjustified?

The nerve you pride
Yourself in having, presuming
That there is any amount of artificiality in my reality
Is infuriatingly consuming.

How can you think we could make any sense
Of the difficulties surrounding anything but what we've experienced?
This I cannot comprehend.
But maybe you want us to pretend?

"How was school today?"
Oh, it was okay.
I only dealt with misunderstanding,
The pressure of classes being so demanding,
The difficulty of self consciousness
That is amplified each day by bullies' relentlessness.
I only endured mental exhaustion
From switching subjects each hour, without option.
I simply struggled with your expectation
That colleges should long to give me an invitation,
Even though I'm being forced to commit to
A life plan I've made based off the little I've been through.

School is a privilege, we know,
Yet, so is possessing a job.
So why, then, am I a snob,
When you're allowed to 'complain'?

I realize that life could be much worse for me,
And someday high school might seem like a breeze,
But until the day comes when I become aware
That the troubles of high school cannot compare,
Let me have my time to vent, please.
It's a controversial topic, but I wrote this out of my experiences with certain adults, so it isn't necessarily the same case for everyone.
Ylzm Mar 2022
A mystery you can read and hear:
reading without understanding
and hearing without seeing

The wicked studied and searched diligently
to be on the right side at the right time
only revealing and judging themselves as evil

For without the Prophet's spirit
your interpretation reveals your spirit
oblivious to its grotesque nakedness

Only in private are mysteries explained
as parables were thousands of years ago
for you don't throw pearls to pigs

Then the mystery is as plain as the news
but not as the world count news
even as time is not as the world count time

Infuriatingly frustrating to speak plainly
it's obvious and inescapable as the sun
then your eyes open and you see the blind

Broken, stumbling, falling and crawling
proud of their wits, strength, and unity
I turn to see and touch the face of the sun
wordvango Jul 2014
Search the chorus for a proper voice
a noted ring, a centering of whispered scream
like a elm glade catering on a soul cliff

the cliff, flies unforgiving, with smoke sting
a pest, but faith's river flows through amazing
infuriatingly slow
through a windowpane  a pine vestige
We see nests unveiling
the falcon's spread magnificence
in September fade
remembering.
shanika yrs Feb 2018
I am infuriatingly out glowed with ecstasy
by  post traumatic serotonin rush of the accident of
that my law breaking motor bike hit in another car
whom purely taking his turn to the left

Now it is the dawn of dusk, last few seconds of the day
but I never wanted to wash the blood of the scratches I got
instated  I purely enjoy seen them drying up
nonetheless It felt to my juvenile mind some protagonist kind of a pride about me
keep walking with blood splatted white linen shirt and black shades
I am an ecstatic
I showed both the fingers to the docs and to the hospital staff
you know the prospect patient with an insurance

I was an innocent law breaker, Juvenile
thus no wonder why I see that turning to the left is never right
and of course neither to right is right because
the hospital , that was in the right from the junction
I only rode my bike straight in narrow bleak space of
all among the mid day traffic jam of insanely busy people

by the way car driver was a good guy
though he doesn't own that hybrid black boy he drove
we shook hands , shared good byes and  I came back home
then breaking the virtue of healthy non smoking
I lit a cigarette
© shanikayrs
Brandon Navarro Dec 2014
The way your smile looks like
a few rough times came in and knocked out your teeth
but the child stayed,
your laugh and it's booming base
like I'm at a metal concert being thrashed around by hundreds of people.
The way your eyes look like someone said something mean to you but you told them to *******,
the way your skins feel against my skin soft like satin with an underlay of warmth.
How you didn't talk to me all week and I'm not mad
in fact all I did was think of you
and your smile, your laugh, your voice and your body against mine.
Finally,
the way your hug makes me realize how infuriatingly fragile I am and your arms are like the paste that holds me together.

I'm falling and I'm scared.
Just going through some times
Nevermore Feb 2015
Which is better

To feel nothing
But a halcyon calm
Like a fine summer morning,
Or to be ****** to and fro
By the ice, spray, and lightning
Of the tempest?

To stroll the meadow,
Or to climb the mountain?

I've gone through both
Yet the answer still eludes me
I remain as ignorant as I was
In the days of my youth

But what I do know
Is how my chest tightened
How my breath caught
When you sent me a message
(Your very first)
And how my lips impulsively purse
As I peek at yours
And at the speck of a mole
Resting right below

What I do know
Is how I couldn't keep my eyes
From straying towards your corner
(Still can't)
And how my hand trembled
Just as I squeezed your shoulder
Bidding you farewell

Or how I've worn out my iPod
Replaying Jay Chou's ballads
As I sang my heart out to my steering wheel
Numbly crawling through
The maddening, seething traffic

And how the breeze eats my cigarette
Down to its filter
As I stare up
Dumbfounded
Mapping out
Tracing your face among the stars

How my neurotransmitters **** me
Closer and closer to a heart attack
And how my soul weeps and bemoans
The yawning chasm betwixt us
While you sit there infuriatingly oblivious
Chattering away about Warcraft and barley tea

All these things are
The few of what I do know
The last of which
Is how I'll never have you.
To the geisha.
KM Jan 2013
How can I call it a loss
When there was nothing there
Nothing to work with
Nothing of value
You were never a friend
Infuriatingly ignorant
Of the poison you pour
Down everyone's throat

No, this is not a loss
But a liberation
Free from spite that you carry
Free to not worry about what havoc
You will unleash when I am not there
To keep you at bay
Away from my family
Away from my friends

Take your Spite
Take your Jealousy
Your Hated and Envy
And place them on someone else.
And don't fool yourself
Make the decision for me?
No, you just beat me to the punch
Telling me I was not your friend

I don't think we ever were.
Hannah Beth Mar 2015
Me
I want to be -

What?

That is the problem. I simply want to be.

To clarify -
I wish to be me.

See, me - it is  not the easiest thing to free. Eighteen years of uncertainty, of broken puzzle-piece searches through fear, love, art, what have you -

All for the chance to grasp even an inkling of identity;

Of me.

But, look -
I did it.
A start, anyhow. I saw my shadow, my outline,
and without hesitation
It was seized.
I gripped it tight
Refusing to let something sought so long
Slip through my fingers like water would fall.

Yet I lack time
I lack space
I lack ability,
Opportunity,
To break free of old restraints

Me - it is just infuriatingly

Beyond reach

I see you, me. I know what I need.

Yet I lay here imprisoned in a world worn by greed
Worked like a slave til eyes droop with fatigue

All I need is a door
A little room to escape

Room to breathe; breathing space

To find residence elsewhere;
Grab "me" on the way.

(Then, maybe then - I'll find peace. Some day.)
Bit of a long one!
Liz Anne Apr 2012
You are earth but I can’t feel the sky closing in

You haven’t seen my face but marked like mine


I’ve seen your hand in my sunglasses



And that’s just enough fight for me




Calling out does no good for petulant screams





I can’t believe you’ve never seen the sea







I know now you’ll never again want me







Ghosts in my hall and monsters in my soul









I couldn’t betray them if I tried









Silence is no sorrow I’ve ever known











Gravel and rock in my path wear and weather












All of my best feet have jaded holes













Lies untouched are never unspoken














Filth and fondness grow clandestinely
















Gazing nostalgically and infuriatingly far
















Find my ever mutable, lost, and final role


















Past is no present I’d imagine living again



















You are earth but I’m not closing in
ishaan khandpur Dec 2014
Words flow simple,
Without a thought.
When you're in love,
And she's far beyond.

But the closer she gets,
The harder it seems.
To be the same love,
That made you lose sleep.

Nights filled with wonder,
Are now spent with her.
The nearer she gets,
The further you disappear.

Infatuatingly frightful,
Infuriatingly close.
Her love deems you mindless,
Wondering what went wrong.

For everything is right,
But the world seems hazed.
A misty might,
A question in the glaze.
--- Oct 2013
To escape this life
This stress
These schedules and time
My dream
My wish
Impossible yet
Yet
I want it so badly
Sunset
Warmth
To lay next to you
And to escape this infuriatingly repetitive
Stressful life
NeroameeAlucard Jun 2016
Can you love someone like me?
Who's grown Comfortable alone in my own zone like me?
Can you really invest in me?
Are you going to be there during my best and my worst because the two things are so different you see

Can you love someone who's been rejected
Brokenhearted, dosed, depressed, yet infuriatingly introspective
Can you look past the medieval exterior and see the troubled but loving soul within?

Do I meet your short term requirements? Or am I simply not a "good enough" man?
Myri Apr 2016
Banging banging banging
Against the head board
Thinking of good reasons to do things
Head growling humming whispering
Good enough but not good enough
Every which way spinning
Convulsing
Bright lights in the corner
But how to reach it
Turn it off
It's too big of a glimpse
Into what's in store
Just so infuriatingly close
Just so far
Rose Oct 2014
You’re one of those amazingly indescribable people;
infuriatingly abstract and so intriguing to someone like me.

Like over-romanticised black coffee,
and being woken up by birdsong and dawn
after sleeping on your arm so it feels like a stolen limb,
a whole part of you is weightless, numb
and you never realised how heavy you were
until you tried picking yourself back up.

And you’re like new school shoes
and my lopsided ears that made my glasses,
tilt to one side,
so no one else saw the world like I did.

Like finding money in the grime,
of the sofas abyss, or behind the
loose tile were I’d hide gum
but then realising its counterfeit.

And yet, you were like the major C
but my strings weren’t tuned
and I left you flat.

You are like the final sunset of summer,
your profile burning in the bonfire,
the ash gluing to your eyelashes,
and your feet buried in the sand
toes peeking through
but already gone.
Jack Apr 2016
I love you
Our love is anger in alleys
And fights to nowhere
Our love is dead end cellphone calls to red giants and endless trips to deeper and
deeper space
Where nothing is real nor exists and yet
reality infuriatingly becomes the universe
Our love is two feet and ground and
escaping red balloons or
a forgotten child's hair ribbon trapped in a windy tree
Our love is earth and fire and water but no wind
And the sky's eventual fall on our heads
Our sweetest downfall
I loved you first
and last and backwards and forwards and sideways and longways and slantways and backways
Our love is 'I know you' from age 11 to infinity
Take the word love and fill it with
150 years of time.
That's the love I mean.
Sarah Mar 2014
I don’t think I have ever had such a crush on someone and simultaneously been so unbelievably infuriatingly frustrated with them. Thinking of you makes me feel like my chest is on fire. Maybe it’ll help if you kiss me in the cold, or maybe  I’ll just put my heart on ice. Lovers want what they can’t have, and I’m in wanting again. You’re like wishing for rain in a desert. The lion chases the lamb but the lamb is just a little too fast this time around. I’m speaking in metaphors, but honey, we’re a walking cliche.
December 2013
Sarah Langton Feb 2017
Dear Adults,
I hate it when you look down on those of us in high school,
As if there's some sort of unspoken rule
That the time we spend in such a place
Is supposed to be sublime.

"Stop complaining."
I'm sorry, I assumed that when you asked about my day
I wasn't supposed to mask what I say
And tell you that everything is swell.

To what extent will you dismiss my discontent
Toward the discipline with hardly any discipline nowadays?

"You'll miss it. Just wait until you get into the real world."
The "real world"?
Why, suddenly, is my world not real enough for you?
From all I've been through in my life,
High school has presented me with the most strife, and so
Since when is a bit of resentment
Unjustified?

The nerve you pride
Yourself in having, presuming
That there is any amount of artificiality in my reality
Is infuriatingly consuming.

How can you think we could make any sense
Of the difficulties surrounding anything but what we've experienced?
This I cannot comprehend.
But maybe you want us to pretend?

"How was school today?"
Oh, it was okay.
I only dealt with misunderstanding,
The pressure of classes being so demanding,
The difficulty of self consciousness
That is amplified each day by bullies' relentlessness.
I only endured mental exhaustion
From switching subjects each hour, without option.
I simply struggled with your expectation
That colleges should long to give me an invitation,
Even though I'm being forced to commit to
A life plan I've made based off the little I've been through.

School is a privilege, we know,
Yet, so is possessing a job.
So why, then, am I a snob,
When you're allowed to 'complain'?

I realise that life could be much worse for me,
And someday high school might seem like a breeze,
But until the day comes when I become aware
That the troubles of high school cannot compare,
Let me have my time to vent, please.
Mateuš Conrad Mar 2018
-
     ****, turns out i'm good at
                                              fanboy lit.


or what i should rather say,
                           the beast
that constitutes
            the sound technicians
at music feeds studio,
even with a cheap
                   SoundMAGIC
headphones
           inserted into a samsung
device...
        nirvana...
      notably with the following
track                ghost's
rendition of their song ritual...
otherwise the burned
       version by 22valkryia's
channel...
           yet there's a more subtle
point,
             i never really appreciated
metallica...
            because the rhythm
guitar section almost always
overshadowed
        the cushion underpinning
of employing a bass guitar
    to make a drummer
      less pots and pans
        and actual drums...
so...
   i could never pick up the bass
notes in their music...
      well, apart from devil's dance,
but... that's hardly an
argument...
                    if i can't pick up
on the bass guitar presence,
       i don't know why the music
has to lean so much on rhythm guitar,
rhythm guitarist's megalomania
i suppose...
               it's still amazing
to appreciate the golden ratio
   element of how to synchronise
   all the instruments, with the vocals,
condensed into a bite
              rather than just overblown
concernt hall orchestral suites...
          golden ratio interpretation?
   the following schematic:

                                d:v
                                  =


              with instruments in between
    the extremes grinding teeth,
  i.e. synchronised flow,
                   d? drums
                             v? vocals...

              if drums are in synch. ratio
to the vocals,
         authentic melody can
                                    "rummage"
between them...
                          
             always the missing bass line
in metallica,
      overbearing with rhythm guitar...

i'm not surprised why
              9,260,609 people have
listened to this track
             at 01:47 sunday march 4th...

and to think that
something like https://oeis.org/A060707
    (the online encyclopedia
             of integer sequences)
                        exists...

and here's me,
                      a pauper with a poem.

             i have absolutely no idea
what motivates me to write these
                        bites into a blank canvas,

just today i "discovered" 4chan.
                      little help did it do me,  
                         arthur scherbius
   and his antithesis
                              alan turing,
and now this:
                          users,
                                     content creators...
   if i were to make my bets:
         i'm collateral (in the adjective form)
         but hey,
in the meantime there's the remaining
whiskey,
           and this track
   of music
                 that's infuriatingly good
in the capacity to cause
                                              a shiver.

                       in the memory of: martyrs.
arielle Oct 2018
jealousy
ragged breaths
green eyed monster crawling in the pit of my stomach
long fingernails clawing my sides
a searing urge to prove myself
a desperate want to kick you in the face
a concealed longing (from even myself) yearning to have that too
to not feel this way
to be there in your place
and wipe out that infuriatingly smug look off your face
i hate her
time scratches past infuriatingly
catching upon every tangle along the way
stretching tortured moments taut
excruciating
tearing when its all too much to take
holier than thou
Jack R Fehlmann May 2019
So suddenly, certainly, the certainty
Itself, as it was does seem to vanish.
It had been... Had it not?.. Been.
Real as the hidden clauses, was it not love?
Contingent upon unfaultered perfection, love offered
Promises given, whispered and offered in acts and,
In written words poetically dedicated and surrendered.
Known to be as it holds a cadence it, this, unspoken unobtainable and loafty demand that nothing less,
No hint of weakness or need of any but your own be shown.
At pain of loss, at loss of stature and withdrawal of unproven unconditional love whispered across those infuriatingly
And unforgettable lips I know I do and will and forever still promise to, try after, cry over forever to fail for, you, yours, our love. As I know no want no need, no other will be mine, as it seems neither are or will yours be mine... Love.
As human and imperfect and made of lesser things than the stone you desire, I am destined to fail, every attempt I make at being perfect.
Elizz Jul 2018
The moment you opened your eyes
My heart started fluttering
Part of me thought I was going to die
The other rational part told me to just calm down it was fine
AND THEN

I got ******
Because in my ears echoing as if I were in an opera hall
I could hear your infuriatingly stupidly smug laugh
Haunting me and hounding me like Marley's chains rattling at old Scrooge
Your smile flashed across my opened eyes like a new projector
And I didn't really appreciate that
I've begun to notice that your laugh only comes out
When you've successfully flustered me
I can feel the beats of butterfly wings trapped against the ribs that have become their cage

I thought these things were supposed to be in your stomach not your ribcage
But now that I find myself off on a tangent
I would just like you to know
That if there were ******* butterflies in my **** stomach
The acid in my stomach would dissolve them
So I guess that this isn't an accurate example of how you make me feel
But then again as a four year old climbs into the chair I'm sitting in

I honestly wonder what is
Maybe one of these days I'll bother looking away
Long enough to actually find out
Guess these butterflies won't be dissolved
Maybe if I put them in an envelope
That would fix the beats that speed up my pulse
Artemis Sep 2021
I dance my dance
high up in the clouds
and among the stars

here, I am limitless
here, we are infinite

but the Earth is still below us
this world of concrete and precious few jungles

it is omnipotent
or maybe I am

regardless, there it stays
infuriatingly solid
must I return?

five more minutes
I turn off **** ringer,
nonetheless...
telephone still buzzes
twenty four seven
eight days a week
automated telephone calls

digitally recorded message
perfectly spoken English
differentiation to distinguish
"FAKE" simulation
all bot impossible
totally immune to escape

gagging hospitable invective
electronic jawboning immunized
against antipathy, cruelty, enemy,
hostility, insecurity, pleasantry
Yukon run to tallest mountain
dive into Mariana Trench
get catapulted into

outer limits of twilight zone,
yet NEVER be free and clear
getting wirelessly zapped
with visual ad audiological
offal dregs and spam
oh... , yes even after life,

while weightlessly
pinwheeling in limbo,
particularly during eternal sleep,
when dead souls repose
six feet deep
or corpse undergoes cremation...

yepper, infiltration into atomic core
blithely battered, jimmied,
cherry lee pitted, tweaked,
worse fate than return of Zombies
electrical essential existential
incorporeal surreal auditory ordeal

spurs indiscriminate human
to relish golden silence
spawning best selling novel
to flesh out fiction
Utopian treasured island story
winning unknown author

instant acclaim and glory
describing village people
livingsocial, free and clear
without annoyingly,
egregiously, infuriatingly,
maddeningly, quaveringly

vexing, nauseating, disrupting
blitzkrieg courtesy aggravating
trumpeting autonomous programs
hijacking brainstorming concentration
thwarting aim tug get back on target
(even when carrying on camping)

sundering coalescence
regarding colonizing black screen
aborted doomed genesis
of brilliant fleeting idea,

thus one smart
generic garden variety
longfellow forced to
grovel along boulevard
of broken dreams.

Any resemblance between above
hyperbole and living persons
purely coincidental!
I turn off **** ringer,
nonetheless...
telephone still buzzes
twenty four seven
eight days a week
automated telephone calls

digitally recorded message
perfectly spoken English
differentiation to distinguish
"FAKE" simulation
all bot impossible
totally immune to escape

gagging hospitable invective
electronic jawboning immunized
against antipathy, cruelty, enemy,
hostility, insecurity, pleasantry
Yukon run to tallest mountain
dive into Mariana Trench
get catapulted into

outer limits of twilight zone,
yet NEVER be free and clear
getting wirelessly zapped
with visual ad audiological
offal dregs and spam
oh... , yes even after life,

while weightlessly
pinwheeling in limbo,
particularly during eternal sleep,
when dead souls repose
six feet deep
or corpse undergoes cremation...

yepper, infiltration into atomic core
blithely battered, jimmied,
cherry lee pitted, tweaked,
worse fate than return of Zombies
electrical essential existential
incorporeal surreal auditory ordeal

spurs indiscriminate human
to relish golden silence
spawning best selling novel
to flesh out fiction
Utopian treasured island story
winning unknown author

instant acclaim and glory
describing village people
livingsocial, free and clear
without annoyingly,
egregiously, infuriatingly,
maddeningly, quaveringly

vexing, nauseating, disrupting
blitzkrieg courtesy aggravating
trumpeting autonomous programs
hijacking brainstorming concentration
thwarting aim tug get back on target
(even when carrying on camping)

sundering coalescence
regarding colonizing black screen
aborted doomed genesis
of brilliant fleeting idea,

thus one smart
generic garden variety
longfellow forced to
grovel along boulevard
of broken dreams.

Any resemblance between above
hyperbole and living persons
purely coincidental!
Inxs of recorded messages  
transmitted automatically
to my telephone number
by automatic dialing device.

I turn off **** ringer,
and disassemble (carefully
as disabling a time bomb)
internal workings nevertheless...
telephone still buzzes
twenty four seven
eight days a week
automated telephone calls
digitally recorded message
perfectly spoken English

differentiation to distinguish
"FAKE" simulation
all bot impossible
totally immune to escape
gagging hospitable invective
electronic jawboning immunized
against antipathy, cruelty, enemy,
hostility, insecurity, pleasantry
Yukon run to tallest mountain
dive into Mariana Trench

get catapulted into
outer limits of twilight zone,
yet NEVER be free and clear
getting wirelessly zapped
with visual ad audiological
offal dregs and spam
(minus the green eggs)
oh... yes even after life,
while weightlessly
pinwheeling in limbo,

particularly during eternal sleep,
when dead souls repose
six feet deep
or corpse undergoes cremation...
yepper, infiltration into atomic core
blithely battered, jimmied,
cherry lee pitted, tweaked,
worse fate than return of Zombies
electrical essential existential
incorporeal surreal auditory ordeal

spurs indiscriminate human
to relish golden silence
spawning best selling novel
to flesh out fiction
Utopian treasured island story
winning unknown author
instant acclaim and glory
describing village people
livingsocial, free and clear
without annoyingly,

egregiously, infuriatingly,
maddeningly, quaveringly
vexing, nauseating, disrupting
blitzkrieg courtesy aggravating
trumpeting autonomous programs
hijacking brainstorming concentration
thwarting aim tug get back on target
(even when carrying on camping)
sundering coalescence
regarding colonizing black screen

aborted doomed genesis
of brilliant fleeting idea,
contributes to conspiracy theory
linkedin with ghost calls
thus one smart
generic garden variety
longfellow forced to
grovel along boulevard
of broken dreams
on a green day.

Any resemblance between above
hyperbole and living person
asked courteously by his name
of the human league,
I police tell the caller
purely coincidental!
Dennis Willis Oct 2019
Living in this thin slice
almost flattened
'tween was an' gonna

How does everything
fit in here now
this infuriatingly
slippery small
picosecond
Holding the universe
while it wonders
where it goes
and is going
while it stays now & here
we imagine
all around it
like frightened chickens
scratching notes to self
peck it anyway
Why can't I feel
today's end
courtesy sucker punched by vehicular travails

Truckload of banshees muffled
as more'n yours truly wails
he feels wheely tired
as one after another
significant snafu devilish

troublesome impish of the
poe pervert car -
tell driver unveils
scarier than Stephen
King's macabre tales
one illusory monster with

(by Scott) matted pointy scales,
who infuriatingly rants and rails
against dependence on
unstable, unpredictable, and
unmentionable car rear,
where his ruffled quilted wings,

stand on edge quiver and quails
analogous to how Jack
and Jill arduously lugged pails
splashing water to and fro
hither and yon some

drips drops long as nine inch nails,
actually pleasant sensation
though futile schlepping,
sloshing, and spilling bucketful
after bucketful eternal

rhyming task without reason
synonymous with Sisyphus,
but lo and behold
agony no longer assails
only fleeting ecstasy, think
Bos taurus came back

to animal farm -
carting... yup countless hay bales
(sh....) stolen goods,
under the whinny some nose
of neighboring Equus
at Clyde on dales,

one Mister Ed, a horse -
laugh he exhales,
said bovine won't be cowed,
cuz fodder knows beast,
that charity never fails.
orchestration, and utilization,
a moss fungi (fun guy) attests his marriage
synonymous with symbiotic relationship.

Nostalgic acquiescence about fictitious life,
oblivescence about current travails
and reminiscence about
transcendence into utopia
prompts me to revisit livingsocial,
now that yours truly
among the grateful dead.

As a saprophyte,
the missus buzzfeeds off me lovely bones
once plump with excess adipose tissue
otherwise known as body fat,
a connective tissue
that extends throughout body electric
found under your skin (subcutaneous fat),
between your internal organs (visceral fat)
and even in the inner cavities of bones
(bone marrow adipose tissue).

Over the ensuing two score and ten years
after pledging our troth, the missus
(opposed with a vehemence
keeping her maiden name,
or even acquiescing
maintaining surname
with hyphae fun nation),
and yours truly at one time or another
from the day we met
until the present moment

invariably, intolerantly, intimately,
intentionally, intemperately, insultingly,
insufficiently, insidiously, insincerely,
insensitively, insensibly, inscrutably,
inquietly, injuriously, inhospitably,
inharmoniously, infuriatingly, infernally,
inexorably, ineffably, indubitably,
indescribably, indelibly, incredibly,
increasingly, incessantly, incalculably,
ineluctably molded unnamed spouse.

Truth be told, the grudging acceptance to wed
made indirectly and courtesy
unbeknownst and linkedin
to our unborn eldest daughter
about four months in utero,
when marriage date chosen
July twenty fifth nineteen ninety six
since yours truly and my then girlfriend
abstained from birth control
tantamount to playing Russian roulette,
and decided to let natural insemination
trigger conception between
twelve and twenty four hours after ovulation.

Neither of us the least bit prepared
economically nor emotionally,
which urge to procreate
superseded sense and sensibility,
and in retrospect,
I readily admit flagrant
negligent ****** recklessness
(no matter physical ******* monogamous),
and an adamant refusal to use prophylactic
or more commonly known as ******.

Though excited to sow seminal seeds of life
a panic stricken state afflicted me,
when consensual concurrence
to consummate copulation occurred,
nevertheless ecstasy at potential fatherhood
brought courtesy the resultant
unexpected positive result
yielded from pregnancy kit.

Back in the day libidinal longing
(in my pinion) wracked ****
of accursed celibate
Norwegian bachelor farmer wannabe,
where merest suggestion
of ******* thoughts
hounded doggone muttering
dove head lettered man
all the way to Antioch
feverish pitch I could not block
found mine doodling ****
to crow night and day
without let up to dock
****** solitude a worse fate
than therapy zapping gray matter
with wave after wave oven electroshock,
a divine sterling erectile rod
hoping gallivanting frisky felines would flock.

— The End —