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Brad Lambert Mar 2012
How do you feel about the word: Insatiable. That is my mind, forever devoid of what I can’t seem to pin. It is dull, throbbing hunger for more-more than a distant attraction claiming to be mine. Picture sent and picture received, but my body receives nothing more-more than desperate experiments. Countless hours of sexing in the darkness of a toxic Hummer. Toxic money burning a hole in my pocket, inches from the burning of his slick on my ****. I hope his *** bleeds.

Let's light another cigarette, and watch the cherry bloom. A single rose, shimmering and flaring like a nuclear waste, and the light is out. So let's smoke some more-more mirrors. I often peer alone through those sheets of glass. “Substance, ketamine, satiate me,” I plead as I see me and I hate men. My faith in God is never mutual. These prayers are useless. His want for me is beyond repulsing. His money is useless. My body is rotten from the mind, out. I am the king of self loathing. I am useless.

Yet I go back for more-more pain. More quarrels. More lies. More-more. He only takes more. And I take him, too. Wait for it...wait for it...wait for him to; Come! O gentle souls. See how my confidence sways in thine wake. You are purity. You’re innocence. You're what I crave. To be free. To be whole. To be done. So do me like the ****** you know I am. I hope mine bleeds, too.

My veins are coursing, pulsing, shattering at the edges with blue. I am blue in both my complexion and my complex feelings and thoughts and pains. My veins are blue, and I am cold. Taste the metallic crush of my slang. It is intolerable, and I must not tolerate. The ripe stench of escape burdens my mind. My mind is escaping. I know there’s more. Toss the rug over the barbed wire and run. Run. **** that ***** and make her beg. Make her plead. Make her run. Sanguine with ketamine. Run, ******, run.
If Daedalus built us a labyrinth

Of chambers with beds, and smells of mint,

I’d never try to leave or escape,

I’d stay with you, it be our fate.

-

Your enticing scented perfume,

Catches my nostrils as I gaze at you,

You glance back, seductive and robed,

Your shoulders revealed, the rest unknown,

Until a slight twitch adorns the floor,

With the garb you wore before,

Your lingerie lingers there now,

Across your backside and ***** endowed,

Your back is still there turned to me,

Morals become my enemy.

-

I walk slowly, creep behind,

I take your hips and you take mine,

I feel your nails dig in my sides,

Pain is not to be belied,

Turned around now, look at me,

In my eyes, what do you see?

Feel my hand gently stroke

That precious cheek of yours to stoke,

The fire that internally burns,

Inside ourselves, the passion churns,

My hand softly grasps your throat,

Your pupils widen, you are smote,

A short gasp, an inhale of breath,

I adore seeing your heaving chest,

Surprised, aroused, you grab my hair,

We break something beside us,

I don’t care, we don’t care.

-

Your *** in my hands, your legs wrapped around,

I put you on a table, throw you down,

You smile and bite your lip and look up,

Joyous repetitions of “****, oh ****”,

You bite my collar bone and shoulder,

I think “Oh, how I love to explore her”,

Pandora’s Box knows nothing of this,

I feel, as I hold down your hands with clenched fists.

-

To the chamber that promises silken sheets,

You and I alone, who needs “discreet”?

Sensual moans from my Aphrodite,

You call me Ares, and quiver slightly,

We've now become quite volatile,

You feel no need to hide your guile,

You bury my face a midst your chest,

Smiling lightly, pointing to your crest,

I serve you well,

As far as listening can tell,

You happily return the favor,

This moment in my mind, I’ll savor,

A fallen angel is angel nonetheless,

You look up and I must confess,

The sight of it, so great to behold,

That I stand you up, and around, and fold

You across the bedside chair,

Alas, the pleasure doth find you there.

I am yours and you are mine,

Behind our door records no time.

-

When I bend to receive a kiss,

Ah, the touch of your perfect lips,

Your taste, it’s addictive to say the least,

I cannot stop, your tongue can’t cease,

Then you recoil and I silently beg,

You then submit, and tighten your legs,

I kiss your neck, hear a deep breath in my ear,

You have the power of my mind to steer,

Your hands and nails find my back,

And then, in ecstasy, you attack.

What must be hours go by and then,

I feel from inside, your body tightens,

We are both together this moment,

There is a small flood after the levee’s exploded,

You lean back, dragging nails, and scream,

Heavy exhales as if we were breathing steam,

You lay atop, beautiful and breathless,

After all, we are quite reckless,

Feeding on our insatiability,

We lay here kissing awaiting re-ability,

We are lost in each other’s flesh,

And mind, and heart, and we both have fetched

A longing lust that took command,

Without daring reprimand.

-

This is Adam and Eve’s paradise,

Without The Apple, it will suffice,

This night feels as if it will never end,

We take each other again and again.
bobby burns May 2015
n. A homesickness for somewhere you cannot return to, the nostalgia and grief for the lost places of your past, places that never were.

insatiability makes its burrow
in my gall bladder,

wringing bile from the *****,
craving toxins to purge.


i thirst for sweet lexical gaps,
holes in patterns,

dots that don't make shapes
but still gladly connect


komorebi
n. The sunlight that filters through the leaves of the trees

loveliest in the distinction
it is only komorebi

once filtered, green soul
bleeding through
Mitch Nihilist Sep 2015
the tangibility of fallibility
is met between the coincidence
and insatiability of adversity,
the blissfulness of satisfaction
is met between the constant refraction
and abstraction of our instability,
distancing perceptions bound by
our misinterpreted misconceptions ,
take the contradictions of our minds
and use them as receipted expectations,
blinded by darkness for illumination
idyllically thriving on the absence of starvation
but the the realism of disdained relation put us
in a position of contempt fixation,
placement of a pedestal beneath my feet
misdirected direction towards a forked defeat,
a way to pain and a way to pleasure,
the destination of each concluded at cloudy weather,
atmospheric conditions leave injunctions towards
the ****** functions to deviate and meditate
the conflicted constant of mind and heart
and diverge from its obliged obligation from the start,
a denouncement expected right from inception
brought afloat a constant instance of introspection,
intrinsic emotions distorted at a love’s devotion
sparks a metaphysical claim towards a complex notion
of companionship and intensified intimacy;
an expectant of reciprocated sympathy
but when in reality, the thought of apathy
lies not within the partner,
but within me
This is an older piece and a lot of my writing has an aspect of simplicity to it, so i felt that I could alter consistencies with using a little bit complexity! Something different never hurts.
A J Ward Nov 2010
Sickly, sticky-sweet syrup
oozes into our minds,
unbeknownst to us, so vulnerable.
We are painted the perfect picture,
sneak peaks of Utopia;
and are kept locked away by a camera lens.
Agonised and deliberated over,
by those who seek a fairy tale to repair a torn away heart.

Take a Lollipop with a wink,
Break up those four letters
and attack them with a recipe preached by idols,
two spoonfuls of lust,
a pinch of promiscuity,
and, (if you're really ravenous,)
finish with a sprinkle with insatiability.
Greedily we gluttonous Gannets
eat and eat and eat,
until the idea of right and wrong flies off the end of the scales.

Discover me using your own map;
And pick me,
and make me your favourite chocolate,
Throw away the box.
I'll be your smooth praline,
your sweet Turkish delight,
your bitter liqueur
all in one bite.

Love me: Dust me in a gentle coating of sugar.
Don't drown me in treacle.
Enjoy me: Dip me in dark chocolate.
No need to top me with whipped cream.
"I don't want to make it awkward or anything,
but I had a *** dream about us last night.

Don't get me wrong:
there was more to it than that-
we were having a long and involved conversation
about many potential meanings of Life
and the joys of pursuing One's own creative spirit
as well as some discussion
as to the seemingly cyclic nature of Time
and the absolute relativity
of Consciousness and Reality.

See, it was after that
(and perhaps some red wine)
that we yoked ourselves
in the heat of unspoken passion
and accidentally set the room aglow
with sparks of fervid insatiability
until the Moon took a cue from our dance and song
and slowly went down on the Earth
and the Sun rose over the crest
warming what icy shells
we'd so briefly and blissfully forgotten.

But alas,
for it was but a dream
and then I woke unto yet another;
but I thought
perhaps you may like to know.

I hope you slept well too."
To no one in particular.
Consider it historical fiction.
With ever-bounding enthusiasm, an enthralled, elated group of people embarked,
Not to visit a vast, vibrant land, but to colonize a capacious continent,
Imperial insatiability was inferred upon imagining an inventive future,
Latent with lustful leering upon the land, we, yes we, left for liberty.

With eyes of fire, souls of greed, arms of thunder,
We filched their land, stole their food, killed their eagle,
We shattered their culture, scorned their ways, and dared to call them savages,
We drenched our freedom-land, with the blood of natives.

We are the land of the brave in a prose penned by a poet,
Being brave we brutally butchered, under the guise of our liberty,
Barbarous is our embellished bravery; reckless is the loss of life,
A lost liberty echoes with the laughter of the ghosts of irony.

In a ****** battlefield lies dead our liberty, once free, once brave,
Imprisoned in a stunning story of sorrow, liberty shall we never know?
Freedom foregone is never forgotten, simply a freed freedom,
The bravery lost was passed to the savage souls we seized in the name of liberty.
Something old of mine (few years), and very different from how I write now, it has too much structure!
Ottar Apr 2013
Violence sells, *** sells,
but why?
WHY?

Do we have a greed as a society,
greedy need to feed insatiability?,
from East to West and North to South,
Watch carefully what spills from my mouth.

I can not digest what I divest to the dishevelled remains of my day.
I know they are not supposed to end or begin this way,
with tears instead of raindrops falling on my face, rolling down to...
to my paper covered desk, absorbed and lost drying the instant they were
spilled.  Have you had your fill with what the world ills your way?

Take time to exhibit patient poise, in all that you face,
you are not alone in your lonely place, some say feel it,
I say try to pray and seal it!  Away, oh Lord, away!  Take me.

All this which is not the world's best will target you as a test, not the same
day or the same time, but sometimes, it will seem so as  it comes all down the funnel
cloud of darkness of heavy woe and the gravity of your circumstances; pulls
at your hair on your head, plucks your nerves till your limbs feel heavy and dead
as your heart pumps red liquid poorly through the frozen pipes that circulate
oxygen with red tincture flowing that could be spilled like the tears and cover
the ground sorrowfully, bleeding ......
heartfelt loss
embarrassed as it is emptied,
from your vessel, with more cracks and
holes, pass me the plumbers' putty please!

Seal it and pray, each crack, each hole, each day,
C'mon!
It is not about how low down and into despair you go.

It is about him, Him! You might not agree, you might not
see, you may not believe, but He believed in you and me,
FIRST, so if things get bad or go worse,
look up from a position of pain, move to a place of
strength, to the rock, to the cleft, to the shadow of
an eagles' wings and then see what His mercy brings.....
Take what His mercy brings hold it close by your heart,
in your face.............your scars......the ugly...... will one
day BE gone........may my hollow sounding words tremble
like a tree-trunk under the weight of many birds that take flight
with your plight, your harsh existence, be carried away in flight
on the echo of "no more tears, no more tears" sends the winged
prayers to flights of  spoken freedom........ heard higher and higher.
Alycia Jun 2014
Through lifetimes we are catapulted,
though only minutes have passed.
          Murky depths swim to lure me in…
                  Danger lurks.
          I hear them haunt,
                  ghosts of forgotten lullabies.
Drifting interlude fills my lungs like smoke,
          gasping for what is real…
                  I scarcely know.
          Like the silky beat of a wing in flight,
                  I am held within its merciless motion.
          Fingers caress the intimate world I have created,
                  born within its possibilities.
          Seductive lips wrought my vision,
encasing a world of mystery…
                  I am transfixed.
          Words seep out along wisps of the empty,
                  re-writing history as I live it.
          Gifted the presence of insatiability,
                  desire beyond all that insanity limits.
          The peak of the mountain,
                  disillusioned by foggy drapery.
          Love crimes baby,
                  the sheer passion of your spirit.
          Passing through mirrors of time,
                  density is transformed.
          Ease baby…
                  Ease is King of the Realm now.
          Command me as I have only done to others before.
lX0st Aug 2018
That's the thing about insatiability
It can't be compartmentalized
It doesn't have an appointment
Or even a purpose, really
It is a persistent, unwelcome fog
That creeps into your skull
Until it smooths over every surface
And dampens every thought beneath it
And though some days
The fog may dissipate
Nothing is ever good enough
Not for long, anyway
Dr Peter Lim Jul 2021
If that we wished for
we have had
we'd seek more
and still aren't glad-

our desires-- how they wax and never abate
we wake up only when our present joys have fled
time too soon sweeps us away from our treasured gate
it would then be futile for us to weep or regret
The Unbeliever Sep 2014
I'll make the devil blush
Turn his head with my legs
Heave heavy in his breast
My pleasure in laughter
Wincing when he delivers

A Catholic sin, to be so full
Riding it like a bull
Enjoying the drip
Flushing body
Replenishing soul
Good thing my God
Has blessed me with this
Insatiability and the chance
To heal, to be pleasures, pleasured
Killing off the demons in my mind
I'm built for speed, sleek, lithe
Hard bodies, desperately in love
Show it with my grind
Indulge it in kind
Hips bring quivering thighs
High heels, fishnets
Behind closed doors
My Man knows how to please
With lips, hands such a tease
Bringing waves, little deaths
One by one, until the big one
A sensual massage
That lasts for hours
To which, I lose
My mind
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2021
i've never cooked crocodile flesh before...
but i've seen what happens when
you buy raw herrings...
you're not going to cook the herrings...
after all: herrings are the Baltic sushi...
but you can't just eat them raw...
you need to curate them to some brine...
i.e. soaking them in salty water...
phenomenal... a fish swims all this time
in salty waters... as a whole...
but when you turn it into a schematic of
edibility...
you have to... ha ha... pluck all that's liver
all that heart... intestines...
to get to the flesh: edible flesh... proper...
you have to throw it back into salty water:
it's obvious that the flesh of the fish
never experienced... what could make
it edible...
apparently crocodile meat is the same:
it's lean... although... herring flesh
is also high in fat...
to brine something involves the thing
sitting in its own juices:
for the "other" thing: the protein about
to be eaten is left curated:
salt... in terms of what's edible and what's
not... weighs as much as gold...
if not more...
          but you can bypass this whole
chemical experiment with mushrooms!
you don't need fish: which have to be brined...
or with meats which have to be cured...
with mushrooms it's much more simple...
you start off frying a batch in some unsalted butter...
they fry... and fry... getting all golden...
you start choking them with a lid above
the frying pan... that sort of helps...
but... doesn't... it's only until you sprinkle some salt...
and: but especially in terms of fungus...
salt: the great drawer of water...
you put the lid back on... or whatever...
to get the mushroom: you need to cook it with
some salt...
it's like... the most organic magnet...
salt is a magnet... for water...
salt is what allowed such great bodies
of water as the Atlantic and the Pacific to stay
intact... even when the rivers and the lakes
dry up... the seas will never dry up:
salt is a magnet... for water...
water, water everywhere: but not a drop
to drink... that line stands eternal:
from the rime of the ancient mariner...
esp. with fungus...
you sprinkle from salt on them while frying
them off in butter... and hey presto!
you tempt the water encompassed
in the mushrooms come flooding out...
you end up cooking them in their own juices...
the texture of the mushroom is arrived at...
but there's also the essences of the taste of
mushroom...
salt: magnet... sieve!
- but that's not brining... unless it's...
brining done... exponentially quick... which it is...
meat takes time... fungus is neither
meat nor... salad...
but salt! salt is light!
        how it draw out the remaining water
from a thing... and allows the thing
to be cooked in its own storage of water...
which it wasn't expecting to be cooked in...
you might add some more water:
depending how much you're cooking...
some excess of fat also helps...
but i've never cooked crocodile meat...
watched how someone failed to cook it on
Australian MasterChef...
          if crocodile behaves like a herring...
even though one is a lizard get-go...
while the other is... fritz...
           i expect a crocodile tartar steak of sort
could have aided the contestant...
because i can't actually imagine
eating a cooked herring...
later soaked in some spirit vinegar with
onions... a lay leaf... all-spice... mustard seeds
crescent moons of garlic... onions...
and oil...
but cooking a herring seems as much a bad
idea as cooking a salmon: rather than
not smoking it...
still: quickened brining process...
no water involved... since we're dealing with
mushrooms... fungus...
you start cooking they're browning beautifully
like it's some post-racial but still nationalistic
Brazilian utopia (since they have
a ******* football team that tells others...
you're not us... blah blah)
   but it's only when you add the salt
that the mushrooms give in...
to the "torture" of being:
less the telepathic busy-bodies attached
to the moon-key-brain they latched themselves
onto... i wish they were hallucinogenic prone
types... sometimes:
but then... all these supposed colours
and no clarity in writing in b & w...
i couldn't stomach it...
with herrings about to be turned into pickled
flesh i expected the slow-brining process
is expected: fish is not fungus...
all that excess water storage in the flesh
is what gives man a brain...
i hope... then again: i hope not...
that's why i drink: to be borderline dehydrated...
quickened brining: frying off some mushrooms
in butter then sprinkling some salt on
the frying process... immediately a mushroom
stock arrives "out of nowhere" on the canvas
on the frying pan...
the mushroom is to be then: essentially eaten...
the flesh of the mushroom: isn't mush...
it resembles something from the annals of
seafood... but the juice is... earthy...
beguiling the humanoid to harvest these
forest pleasures...
       salt is ought to be: ought have to been
more treasured than gold...
there should have been salt coins...
how there should be painting of one army
riding horses... another... riding bulls...
salmon ought first to be smoked
then... decided upon: cooking salmon ought
to be considered: haram: forbidden...
i don't want to see that orange flesh of the waters
turned into an anaemic pink...
dried out: not once... not ever!
it's one "thing" to butcher an animal once...
it's another "THing" to butcher
the animal twice upon the altar of cooking it
poorly!

i'll pretend hunchback posing as a crow:
the crow will disagree:
i'm standing up-right! you're the one who's
hunched! hitchhiker: boring son
of a dozen: that's came from elsewhere...
elsewhere... "elsewhere":
even in the now apparently arrived at now:
i see no familiar face...
i see... too many rivers...
of people... that hardly make up
a sea to froth... to boil up...

people are dying in their minds...
this rot is yet to be made popularly promiscuously:
tempting... enticing... but i fear it already is that...
people are dying in their minds
while their bodies... if agitated...
if alive... are spewing nothing but
fictions! pick-me-ups!

i'm hopeful... this period will pass...
there will be a time of fathoming a relief from this
intermission...
how all empires crumble...
but how "things" have changed...
we're all pretty much educated to recognise
phonetic encoding "biases"...
even if some of us scribble on
walls in giraffe graffiti... so be it...
TAGS...
            let people have what's immediately
available to their imagination's content...
don't let them suffer the constraints of
some ruling... ha! who's ruling in 100 years
from now?!
who's most envy prone to dictate
the peacocking workaround for social:
hierarchical-stratification?
all will pass: in a blink of an eye!
even if no eye is looking:
or to be looked at...

        i've become accustomed to cherish
this onslaught of pulverising subjectivity:
i seem to not have had a welcome escape...
pickling brain: Brian syndrome does that
to one... the sensation of being subjected
to so much... yet objecting to so little...
oh but i'm objecting to as much as i'm being
subjected to...

            i am subjected to gravity:
but i object to it... as a falling "thing" from
the top of a building...
how's that?

          i need language to somehow comes
across a... "2 + 2 = 4"...
       no?i need a sensation of: arable:
with a trill of the R: that's so... desperately
missing in the -ing-leash zunge...
i'm about to call Kaiser Wilhelm and implore
him: more zeppelins! more zeppelins!

tread past the thought that was originally cast:
lay the thread bare...
come as you were... come: less arrived at...
all this will sooner or later be:
gobbled up by the certainty of time...
which competes over space...
minding our progress...
if time is the tongue...
then space is mouth what
yawns at as: welcoming... eager for more sacrifices
at the altar...

curry is great! at a meal...
as a meal one has for... supposing it's 5pm
in Lahore...
but at 9am in France...
where there are no eggs...
poached? scrambled? fried?
  what's on offer?!
*******... CARRY... CURRY...
CRY-WE..
i can't make my stomach churn out appreciation
for a ******* broth in the morning...

it's scented ****-***: overt-**** ***
insatiability in the morning requiring English
pubescent northern girls:
sorry... they "are"...
        "my"... girls?!
i speak the language... last time i heard...
there was a lacking in brick-work...
the people most associated
with keeping food production in line...
the truckers... all gone...
well.. if the Englishman want's
an Empire implosion...
save all the Pakis... he'll get all the ******* Uber
he desires...
"my" people will just leave...
for whatever the brain-drain that arrived...
that will stay...
but the rest of it...

who needs England... when England
is all the more better off for X-factor: people need
to be entertained!
no?!
by even the more ******* sort of...
entertainment!
i'm entertained by the moon...
by a brick wall...
"my" people... came to these shores...
and were quickly told to... *******...
thank you!
let all the Pakis take over!
*******... Ing-Leash... brats!

i have an inherent animosity with these people
that has not schematic to a past
so formidable as to have a past worth
questioning: here lies...
the atomised man...

- but while speaking this... zunge...
i reach out to an elder...
i am seeking compensation:
for the tiredness i'm forever to experience...
in English i have no...
certainty: i have only an objectification
of history: not being subjected to it...
i live in a country with a past:
but not history...
anaemic hybrid...
     i'm the barbarian knocking
on the door... with a message:
let me out! let me out!
              
whoever read too much of "journalism"
but not enough of Horace...
                  
      the sanctity of salt:
                      sal de sanctitas....
backwards to forwards...
how time disembowels grammar.
Only she said that she loved you.
No one else could ever have weathered your storms,
a veritable hurricane nine times out of ten,
unpredictable in fury and still unspeakably beautiful.

She only said that she loved you.
It wasn’t as if she meant it,
it’s easy to drown in the torrential rain.
Never trust the calm before the storm.

She said only that she loved you.
She whispered it and screamed it to the ceiling
while you drank in her body.
You called her goddess.

She said that only she loved you.
That your appetite and insatiability were overwhelming.
After a storm the earth drinks, drinks
until it gorges itself on life. You indulge too much, she said.

She said that she only loved you,
as if only could modify love.
As if your love were not enough.
The storm raged in your eyes.

She said that she loved only you.
She said it to quell the stormy seas
upon your sunset cheeks, although
if anger, shame, or sadness even you couldn’t say.

She said that she loved you only.
You and no one else.
You and you and you.
And you almost believed it.
jimmy tee Mar 2014
18
insatiability is congenital
the ability to be lazy
an important life lesson

stir the stew pass the soup
both items fraught
with catastrophic possibilities

best to stand back let it flow
very little need for movement
a full shift on the couch

whatever occurs adds to the norm
the world is a statisticians dream
numbers are mirrors facing each other

the vanity virus
Norbert Tasev Apr 2020
With Seherezade desires, cherished human-centered fairy tales, we believed and deceived ourselves: We instilled the instincts of our senses, our internal biology, and our brains clung to us as oat-executing, executioner sympathies and protections.

It was easy to catch the inquisition of examinees: The daily temptation of suicides. To imagine the misery of knowledge, imaginative promotion and our brains, devouring madness, and to imagine ourselves as some redeeming, Dalmatian, crusader! - My friend, how are we today? - We exist as a sticky, slimy, sticky syrup,

clinging to our bodies with sponge stubbornness, lost morality hangs from our shoulders like an old law: There is no responsible, forward-looking role model, a personality for whom you would give up your life as a pawn - and if you speak responsibly and still have humanity, you dare to persevere, persevere, The strings are on you. And almost every nerve has exploded: they are not threatening - this is not their style! Only

they **** and oblige. Are you a no-man's eye? She's in a dogfight! ” “And yet our intact and rotating fortune lies at the waist of coffins in one fell swoop. How long can the washing pace of your washing machine heart, the pigeon sermons of modern tyrants, endure the murderous pace tired of working twelve hours?

And is there still an honest and uncompromising deceiver with immortal conviction? - Here too, an “omniscient” Jani scientific janissary to the news - they all roar one-wheeled truths in people’s ears, - they think they like it in the images of conscious saviors because they weren’t sluggish and made Spanish wax a commodity. It is in my interest to greedy for power here with greed: And with murderous insatiability he loosely shatters all future refuge. This is how our enemy became our most direct friend and neighbor -

and our destiny to serve the Adonis Monkey Choirs! Or in the depths of our souls, free moral will can still show new paths, and our ******* is rocked only in the lap of our love: for new prophetic words, immersed in the pleasures of sure redemption. And I don't care what the bigger smart people say.
Liz Apr 12
The past holds me by the ankles,
Dragging me across the floor
Through the wreckage
Of my desperate decisions.

There is no destination,
Nowhere to drop me,
Or leave me to bleed
After the debris of memory
Has pierced me
Like a nail through a tire.

The fixed,
Glass eyes of the past
Stay locked into the dark distance behind us,
Retreating into reminiscence.

In the moments when I am strong enough,
I twist to face forward,
In search of the present
And something sturdy to hold onto,
Lest time immemorial flay me
On the rubble of my insatiability.

Just yesterday,
The tearing of skin
And willful deterioration into anamnesis
Came to me as effortlessly,
As sweetly as wine on my tongue
Washing down an ambrosial pill.

But today,
Though it would be easier to concede
To times' torment,
I aspire to want a grounding in actuality.
Praying I find that now
Fills me with a more substantive contentment
Than then.

But everything I grip
Rips from its roots
And disintegrates like a forgotten semblance
In my frenzied hands.

For how am I to know
What lies beneath the dirt?
How can I anticipate the integrity
Of his assurance
And avoid shallowly entrenched
Semi-permanence?

There is nothing but eternity
To continue falling into.
So with tepid hope
And resigning repetition
I keep looking
And I keep grasping
At tethers showing tenable-enough sincerity.

The hours will pass anyway
And, for now,
I retain the belief
That my languid attempts
At thwarting history's absconding of my contemporaneity
May eventually prevail
In standing me upright,
Existant in currency.

Then I may turn
And face remembrance as I please,
With ankles rubbed raw
And stationary feet.

I can visit the displays
Of bygone horror
Without becoming part of the atrocity
Again.

Clutching fast
To the most invariable helve
I've yet found,
I only fear that the past
May rip me in two.

Leaving me halved
And but a fragment
Of the entirety that I was
Before recollection animated
With retribution against me.

I beg to heaven
That he possess me
With the same fervor that I cling to him
And that his coherence
Stays material enough to
Wrap my despairing fingers around.
susurri Jun 2022
sometimes she wondered if her insatiability would ever relent, if it would ever unburden itself from her mind. she thought about how she worked so hard to simplify her life, just to crave the missing complexities during soft lulls. if not careful, she would find herself running straight into a storm with no reasoning except to feel both fear and fearlessness.
Norbert Tasev Apr 2020
The man curls up. Available. And then he shrinks suddenly like a servant who has served a definite time. Or a gentle, benevolent mother reciprocated her gifted existence with her immortal cells: The tears of wearable vulnerability on our faces shine like the insignia! He works like a dragged workhorse for ten to twelve hours a day, and if, even as a candlelight, his sober mind consciously shines into the winding, serpentine eternity of loans, it never culminates. Tie a tie. He chases his strangling, uncomfortable, tight spacesuit out of compulsion, tolerantly: Maybe he'll have the long-awaited dream job. Safe money-screaming job, hard-working, livelihood investment!
the missed, never-returning immortal minutes of Being, he deliberately wasted: Swollen, his pretzel-back in fatal Time, - not only Morality can straighten it out! He explains his extravagant waste against hopeful and legitimate happiness — he finds only the hinterland of extinct, uninhabited pillows — and as a nuclear nucleus he is already terrorized by certain recognition:

He is Alone forever! - A prison camp of lonely stars illuminates a gaping dark hole-sky infected with empty indifference: Silent continents of space shattered into glass, like billions of stars, orbiting like heads as floating astronauts!

He keeps morphing and pondering: He cherishes the eternal truths of heralds: Heritage, as salvation, which changes in the security of birth, is transcended! The great scam, in which you find yourself dripping during your eternal work - how Nonsense in the greedy, incomprehensible insatiability of people, in the petty world of profit-making! Only what is careful, modestly always humble, scientist-hand-preserved, must and can have the eternal right to survive, while we also know the Masterpieces deep in the trash cans - there is a second possibility as the universality of Humanity!
Graff1980 Jul 2021
If you want to get your soul
stole by some swolle bro
then I know a place where you can go,  
but if you're looking for something
more like a lover who wants to
explore new venues with you,
to dance on distant shores,
those soft sandy beaches,
see swirling sea storms
and similarly moving whirlpools,
volcanic expulsions of passion’s ecstasy,
or the insatiability
of the cosmic spectrums and eternity
mingling with infinity,
if you want poetry to try to see
everything that is beyond belief,

then I highly recommend me.

— The End —