"lacerations" poems
Living is a cross
That any one of the rock-faces
Comprehends.
We are drawn
To many seas.
We drown wholesomely
In the failures of confrontation.
The rain
Drenching
Our doorsteps
Has nothing to do
With the simplest desires
And lacerations
We bring
To the smallest acts
Of living.
The child
On the broken catwalk
Hearing the sounds of our hunger
Without understanding
Throws echoes back
To the earliest abandonments
Of love.
Minor devastations preceding
Horror
Resonate the ineffable.
The mothers that wake
At the slightest sound
And the fathers that
Smoke all night
And the rest of us who are
Vigilantes from the demons
Of oppressed sleep
Find at dawn the clearest
Images of bewilderment.
Even the best things
Collapse beneath the weight
Of ignorance.
Living is a fire
That any one of the wave-lashes
Comprehends.
_________
Source:
http://www.universeofpoetry.org/nigeria.shtml
16.3k
Devilish blue eyes, frozen gaze.
Influencing me against my will,
Submitting into dropping defenses.
Overcome with an inability to escape,
I become bound by those piercing eyes.
Sapping once kinder thoughts,
Replaced by detached isolation.
Shuttering at the crack of the whip,
Blindly I walk to death.
Carved flesh ammunition against
You, weakness exposed.
Lacerations to the heart exchanged,
Milky fog clouds my oppressor.
Pieces held together by hatred,
One blow away from cracking.
Further into broken self.
All freedoms come at a cost.
Jun 4, 2015
Jun 4, 2015 at 10:32 AM UTC
*hitherto i naively challenged
my decision to enter an ominous existence
a vicious maze veiled in obscurity
inconceivable to navigate without the accumulation
of bruises, heartache, and psychic mutilation
the torment’s ache so unfathomable
i begged to evaporate beseeching death’s arrival
and with the dexterity of a masterful wizard
i magically spun threads of my shredded soul
into a mangled ball of mental lacerations
then stealthily in the opaque of the night
i rushed the frigid black ocean’s high tide
and deluging myself in the ebony water
i buried the battered ball
now deeply eclipsed in the onyx abyss
it sapped all my strength to hold it under
drowning in the wave’s of sea motion
stinging salt alive on my pours
gasping for air i surrendered my grip
releasing my marred orb of élan vital
capitulating to the sand on the beach
i ceded the fight and watched the sphere roll
unraveling it glistened against the white sand
an opalescent tapestry lit by twilight
mirroring the stars against the coal sky
in the lustrous lunar midnight
reflected back by silver moonlight
littered with specks of fluorescent insight
astonished i drew in my breath as i read
words interlaced in the untangled web
the wounds are there
creating a looking glass
peer in
and you will heal
your own consciousness
©2016janetaylor
May 3, 2016
May 3, 2016 at 8:06 AM UTC
I love you
dow
w
n
to your jagged,
dark edges
culling smoke
and twisting tides
your steaming heart
that pulses, in my hands
as you give it-
and the pungent tears
when they fall
from your eyes
I lick up your pain
to soothe it smooth
its rawness catching
velvet ripples of skin
I pull a blanket
of mahogany wine
over your soul
lacerations
that seep out
from the layers within
and in that tender of
nightfall's darkest foliage
I long to calm
your monsters' clawing
as they gnaw at you from
the inside out
I crave to fill
the hollowed-out longing
my own hungers writhing
in obscene
devout
For I am all that is sacred and wild
the spark has been lit
from my innermost rooms
I dance to the drums of
the woman as child
her mystical ways chanting
rhythms in runes
Demons might dance
as you gaze in reflection
in the mirror of time,
of unfiltered space
but I adore all your sides,
your imperfections
discern the divine
in the planes of your face
You are my galaxy
of dark matter
bringing out my
own looking glass
of vantablack
in a feral crown of obsidian
and onyx
as you reach me deep,
there's no going back
For when you love me like that,
plant your tameless,
hot seed
it blossoms within me
a tightly-wrapped tourniquet
for when I bleed
and if my guts
should spill upon
the floor
you will remind me,
in glowing of pores
of who I am
and how I am whole
a lovelight lit in the
storm of my soul
I will push down deeper
until I feel those roots
that connect me to
my center
to my
succulent fruit
So slice me open.
Pull me apart.
Let the juice run down
to heal
your
jagged-edged
heart
Sep 22, 2017
Sep 22, 2017 at 5:59 PM UTC
The world around me is revolving slowly
While the people surrounding move faster & faster
As I am caught in between the fibers of time
Why am I here?
Do I even belong?
My only therapy is the songs I hear in my head.
My only medication is the drugs that make me wish I were dead.
I'm just a shell of my former self.
I'm not what I used to be.
It seems there's no resolution,
only an empty cell waiting for me in this institution.
Dear diary, please help me now.
There's only so much abuse I can inflict upon myself.
The cuts on my wrist, the empty bottle of pills
The lacerations on my fist, shaking from the anger still.
I've got my fix, each line getting me higher.
The only answer getting more apparent, as my lows keep climbing to the ladder.
My sanity escaping.
Depression creeping
As the ghost of death takes over me.
Oh diary, it seems it's goodbye to you and me.
It seems no matter what I do, the world isn't going to accept me.
I'll never belong.
I'll always be different.
Goodbye and goodnight.
I'll see you on the other side.
----------------------------
Dear diary, I'm an addict.
Yesterday was proof of concept.
Tomorrow is a death wish.
If I don't do something now,
I may never get to see the light of day.
Dear diary, please help me now.
Because I can't do this alone anymore.
Feb 6, 2017
Feb 6, 2017 at 1:54 PM UTC
Silence.
This is all we hear now.
Gone are the sweet words of the Sapphire-Eyed Serenity.
Gone is her radiant light that illuminated our world.
We have been thrown back into the darkness that haunted us for so long.
Yet there are no screams to torment us. No hisses to harm us.
Even the Solitude is silent.
Perhaps it has taken pity upon us.
Or perhaps it has learned a new method of torment.
Yet there are echoes that boom through the darkness, flashing memories in the sparks of light that accompany them.
The absence of the Sapphire-Eyed Serenity has turned the passion in our veins to poison. We feel our very soul dying, fracturing from its touch.
We beg for the light of the Perfection, but darkness is all that answers us.
There is none to come to our aid.
Our only solace is the words once written by the Sapphire-Eyed Serenity.
Yet even these words cut deeper into our wounds, twisting into our heart as haunting reminders of what we cannot have.
The mind cannot help but endlessly repeat the memories we created, its gaze unblinking while they continue to cast lacerations upon it.
We have tried in vain to pull the mind away from the memories, to save it from the anguish.
But it has become paralyzed, caught in a horrendous cycle of elation and devastation.
We are left with no other option but to numb the mind beneath a sea of liquid repression.
Yet even then, she visits us in our dreams, giving us the company we desired so desperately before, only to awaken to the twilight that perpetually surrounds us.
Silence.
This is all we hear now.
We have been forsaken, left to brood over our deeds while we lie upon the cold ground that is littered with barbs and thorns created by our own foolishness.
The Solitude looms over us, watching us shiver in pain as the blood from our wounds stains the ground.
We feel its harsh glare bore into our very soul, while the specters of the Sapphire-Eyed Serenity eternally whisper her words in our ear.
Our strength is dwindling, and our desire to carry on is fading, for all we see upon this path is agony and torment.
Our path is wrought with cracks and blades from lovers past.
The Sapphire-Eyed Serenity
The Traveler
The Fallen One
The Distant One
The Nameless
They have each riddled our path and our hearts with scars that shall never fade.
And the Solitude vows that it will continue this cycle for eternity.
That it will force us to crawl upon this wretched path, relentlessly reliving this horror if we dare continue.
Yet despite the twilight and anguish, despite our forsaken soul, there is one who has stretched his hand in aid.
The Companion.
Unaffected by our plagues and spines on our path, he kneels beside us and speaks a single word that sends the Solitude into rage.
Rise.
Jan 9, 2015
Jan 9, 2015 at 1:43 AM UTC
Here I sit
In this basement of
some other house
In the core of the city-
I'm almost on my own...
This January's night
Flashes frozen-
As I adicite, light
I see all that I've chosen:
perturbation, and frustration,
Entwine in all my fascination
Stinging- they whip my body &
paint on lacerations
What you've chosen I cannot see
And the light I catch redefines me
Shadows ignite
That December's day
Reminds me I'm not alone.
In the outskirts of Toronto-
In my Parents home-
My room, my bed - my life's in
The basement
its there; I cry.
Jan 20, 2024
Jan 20, 2024 at 2:38 AM UTC
Morning has broken
but she has not
it had been a long night
sinister fraught
the stars were cut
in lacerations of lace
stains of tears
mark trails
on her face
mascara in circles
mocking panda eyes
multiple moments
of almost self-demise
wrists bound to
sadness, heart
trussed to trust
pain from crumbling
illusions, plus
that constant,
searing lust
Now, on the floor,
lying face down
in what seemed
like blood,
she starts to
move around,
as realization pours over
in a thick, viscous flood:
She can move her arms;
for they were not
really bound
That gag in her mouth?
it has dissolved into sound
The sound of her voice
as she gets up
from the floor
opens the window
bringing light
to the fore
guttural noises
escape deep
from her throat
and before she
knows it, the
room starts to float
furniture circling
as the energy takes
and she lets in the air
fresh as new fate
her cuts balmed over
winds whipping up her hair
marks from taut ropes
smoothing over to bare
and the light bursts in
in a blast, in a whoosh
like bursts of starlight
cutting in with a push
they seep into shadows
pulsing over the dark
the howling rescinds
in an explosion of sparks
blocks of pain that held
her chained
are knocked over
and the lightstorm
keeps coming
her inner percussion
just doesn't stop drumming
And as she flies through that window
and unhinges the door
from its frame
freedom
is now hers
forever to claim
Aug 1, 2016
Aug 1, 2016 at 4:53 AM UTC
Blood searing my veins
Cauterizing countless lacerations
My wounds seep with
The acidic taste of my life
I sit-
Unaware of my soul
Leaking out every pore
Dripping slowly away
The greedy
Cracked concrete
Drinking up my essence
Until all I am left is
Tranquility
Jul 13, 2010
Jul 13, 2010 at 1:16 PM UTC
words fell
like broken
glass
from
your lips
onto
bloodstained
carpet
lacerations
searing your
bruised heart,
transplanting
its jagged rips
into mine
beats sharply feathered
like injured
wings,
angel eyes
pigmented my color,
blinded by a
cool sheen
hiding behind
tears
You are but a child,
young fresh entity
yet know the weight
of heavy
and suddenly
nothing else
matters
only your light
in my world,
however
dark you get
nothing material
can fix it and I will
stop it all
to press
the button
of time
and give
you
the
world
Jun 30, 2017
Jun 30, 2017 at 6:03 PM UTC
OUR POVERTY HAS COLOUR
Alexander K Opicho
(Eldoret, Kenya; [email protected])
Most illusive and elusive
Like the devils of Congo forest
Is the impish poverty
Permeating all seals with vicious wily
Into the midst of callous humanity
Biting country men and country women
With carnivorous dentalities so ruthless
Putting man to a forlorn shame
As the wife looks in desperate flaggerbastation
Putting matriarchal womenfolk to humiliation
As the expectant sire wallow in the askance of looks
Condemning communities to status ad absurdum initio
Thinning man from man, culling woman from woman
Eating flesh by flesh social koprpers of man
Eating the native flesh in the farms of Brazil
Tearing the ***** steak into ghetto lacerations of Chicago
Whizzling sombre morning tunes to the Zulus in the black tundra
Cementing pale casted clusters for the Patels of India
Commanding suave drills to poor (wo) menfolk; left! Left! Left! –abouuuuturn!
With its accomplice Mr. Hunger son of starvation, they both command drills
For black factory workers, Maids and gravediggers to dance
Watchmen, thieves and prostitutes to match
In the hinterland of Africa all the riff-raff in deep despair
Dance in a tandem to the irritating drills of the duo;
You come on! Left! Right! Left! Right!—fowaaard match!
Backward match! Left! Right! Left! Right! Sharpp uuuuuuuturn!
The duo communiqué; Go home and wait for your pay announcement.
Surely; what colour is our poverty?
Nov 29, 2013
Nov 29, 2013 at 11:13 AM UTC
They'll find me hanging upside-down.
Ankles bruised by the ropes
From which you strung me up for field dressing.
Lacerations where you’d cut my throat,
Bled me dry, spilt my guts,
And broke past my ribs, to uproot my heart.
Can they carbon date the remains of my reputation?
Trace the ****** back to your mouth?
Will they know the cause of death to be the
Malignant rumors you couldn’t help but spew?
Your false words: the final nail in my coffin.
Do you regret ever letting them past your lips?
Slowly, my reputation crippled by the aggressive
Cancer that was your embellished utterance.
And it didn’t bother you in the slightest.
You marveled at the sight of my struggle.
And amazing how these things seem to spread.
One caustic, contagious, breath from you was all it took.
Though the slanderous virus wouldn't make it 'til morning;
Addicts to their fix; gossips, crave your empty words.
Like ******* the rush is intense but brief.
Interest fleeting, they move on.
Off to the next peddler.
For all these inconveniences, I thank you.
Thank you for lifting the masks that curtained your distorted self.
How blind I must have been not to see it outright.
Another leech, feeding on slighted words.
And to think; all it costed you to buy in
Was me...
Mar 9, 2015
Mar 9, 2015 at 8:10 AM UTC
In the civilization game
The mind is a sphinx riddle
Signpost projectiles suffice to be words
Can you be centered in intimacy
Knowingness consuming vulnerabilty?
Our shadows are our ruins
Illuminating social foliage
Love's incisive lacerations
Conforming to moral memory
I savor the overwhelming
Aug 19, 2013
Aug 19, 2013 at 12:01 AM UTC
Consciousness,
mindfulness,
philosophical enlightenment -
Live for the **** of it.
Camus was right to breathe in spite of the tide of crushing emptiness.
The boulder gets heavy,
the bones grow weary,
the mountain is steep and we are steeped in irony.
For life can be deadly and death's rows of gravestones mark homes for freed slaves,
their crossed arms hiding scars
left by the teeth of nihilistic grief beatings and
surgery scalpels set to carve by
frequent false
alarms.
Sisyphus took but one break,
to hear the chains rattled from the gates,
hellish obsidian, vermilion flames licking lumps of silica grains
mixed with ash and a black tar splash.
And Orpheus sighed on the lyre and brought tears to the eyes of the most vile,
while Sisyphus
paused -
not long,
but a lifetime for those still free to subside
to dust, from blood and guts,
when their time arrives.
The trials of life,
the striving rites and lavish gifts of light to defy
the black and empty dusk still fail.
Eurydice grows pale as Orpheus turns to see her cheeks
losing every trace of peach hue,
eyes emptying,
lungs leaking their
last gale.
Struggling again, Sisyphus is sent
tumbling down the face of the great mountain,
grabbing gravel and sand and gashing gaps in his hard leather hands.
Bleeding ash,
not blood,
hot red mud dripping from the thick lacerations,
mixing with the sickening avalanche of wasted effort and waylaid plans.
Repeating the climb up the steep peak,
bones creaking like a clock's gears,
rattling off the seconds,
minutes,
hours,
years
until the watch stops its
panicked hands.
Until then we will toil unswayed
as we wear stones to clay,
carving winding paths in spirals up the mountain's waist.
No calm for those with breath,
no rest for beating hearts.
We must live in spite of life,
and then sink silent
to the earth.
Oct 28, 2013
Oct 28, 2013 at 5:33 AM UTC
“If you can make it through the night, there’s a brighter day.” - Tupac Shakur
I see your tears crawling silently on the stairs of fear, alone
no one is near but your cries are heard young child. Emotion
black & blue from the punches of their laughs/the commotion
inside your mind baring scars from the lacerations
of loneliness you feel -- searching but finding no way to deal
with the internal pain that throws you up against
the wall of difference and trips you onto the curb
of your own self-expression.
I feel your heart calling out for someone to grab your fall;
someone just to see that you are someone other
than the names they call you and you are someone other
than the shouts of abuse that has you afraid to step out into a harsh
world and someone who sees that you are someone
other than the echoes of humiliation that threaten to tear
down the walls of your mental stability;
you just need someone to show you that
within you there is an ability to escape and fight back
with the force of just being you. Young child let your individuality shine
because every inch of your soul is someone proud and fine.
Walk strong because no matter how hard the world kicks you
your bones will not bruise. You will not limp
because your mind will not fracture through their attempts
to try dislocating your sense of self. There is always a better day
waiting to show you that you will be okay
and I know now your nights are long
as it is your fear that tomorrow will be cruel
but just remember you are filled with worth and a voice
born to be heard. Believe in you
because life is not a bully.
Jul 7, 2012
Jul 7, 2012 at 10:05 PM UTC
Mary Seacole
Black nurse sculpture
Your determination points
To injustice. Your struggle
To serve, be accepted.
Why were you shamed and denied?
This is the broken land where we live.
Your courage, your stride
Takes me to our weakness
To the ache in my chest like a
broken blood vessel.
And trace the lines in my hand
To a bad rotting root.
How many wounds did your hand with compassion soothe?
Behind your certitude
I imagine pain.
Did your hurting
Search out injury and loss?
And as you nursed those violent lacerations,
Patiently waiting whilst the pathway beat its course,
Did you see as if through a veil,
Your own fractured self,
Fusing with your patient’s,
Both your Injuries restore back together
All the way towards their good health?
Jun 18, 2020
Jun 18, 2020 at 5:25 AM UTC
Band-aids to prevent the social infections that could eventually
spread to the frontal lobe,
Diseases started on Fox News, spread to the living room,
circulate around the family dinner table
putting victims of ignorance on the coroner’s slab
Alleviate the pain.
Should we let the gapping wounds of intolerance fester, decay and grow maggots?
***** bigotry, vile illiteracy, primitive ideas coat the skins of society like a black goo.
Band-aids: self adhesive bandages
We aren’t teachers. We are medics.
covering the gapping wounds of life
lathering the lesions with Neosporin.
Healing the scars from parenting gone wrong
- scars from wounded self-esteems
-lacerations to the proverbial heart
Scars lasting longer than the body itself.
No one knows where its impact will end.
Band-aids
temporary fix
heal the wound fast, heal the hurt faster
A Johnson and Johnson remedy for damaged organisms
Well-meaning ones hurling scriptures scald hands with tainted words
Healing is a matter of time.
Arm teachers to protect children from the crazies who loom?
What will protect them from their own inherited ignorance?
The damage is already done when they get here.
Equip us with Band-Aids, boxes and boxes.
Hello Kitty over their ears to block the infection from coming in
Spiderman for their mouths. Stop the seepage of any contamination from spreading to others.
The remaining scars will fade, but not disappear.
even with a band-aid.
Oct 14, 2013
Oct 14, 2013 at 8:13 PM UTC
The mist was almost ethereal
It floated above the silent waters
But silent was not always
Peaceful, for too touch the mist
Visions,
Pain,
Faded
Limbs, as if the mist had amputated flesh,
But revealed gradually upon exiting
like lacerations it cut
As the mist faded, I could feel but not see,
Bone,
Nerves,
Flesh,
Skin now where mist had evaporated,
"Then the visions"
"Hard to explain"
To count the emotions, then blank,
I was burning, drowning
The torture with in my mind
I saw each one fall, taken by the waters
All that was sunk beneath
All that could have been
Now taken to the deep,
I looked upon the waters where mist
Did not creep,
Revulsion,
Anxiety,
Sorrow
For those beneath, like a tainted mirror
"Trying to break free"
For within each impact a wave
Washed ashore,
It corroded what life it touched
Anger was washing upon the riverbank,
"So many drowning slowly"
A last breath a life time of agony
Slowly those that exhaled the last,
No peace as the mist was there final curse,
Trapped within, souls screaming outwards,
"To touch felt there pain within"
"This river of the lost ones"
Those who thought freedom from
Pain, now suffered a lifetime within,
"For the forgotten river"
"Where the mist never falters"
"Try to drown your sorrows"
"Eternity will be the price paid"
One within the waters,
Eternal torment within the screaming ethereal mists..
Nov 22, 2014
Nov 22, 2014 at 10:58 AM UTC
It’s morning and there’s an incoming,
your receptors sense a spark of sadness
so they take it
and mash it
and all of a sudden It’s here:
nothingness.
Staring into the perpetual vastness
of a mind that you have
and there are no signs of life
no remnants of emotion that could indicate
something once lived and breathed and laughed
in this abyss
in this blackness
so until Doc bumps up the milligram
for the fifth time around
I can distract myself
with people, places and plants
and listen to his South African accent
while imagining a planet rational to my mind
devoid of even the most microscopic of organisms.
Not a patio brick
or a single tumble bug of my childhood remains,
only these deep lacerations
veiling the beauty of the land which it scars.
Now it’s noon
and the scuffs on my shoes remind me of you
My mind is racing
while Zoloft takes my sadness
and transmutes it into emptiness;
I’m currently still trying to ascertain
which of them is worse.
Sep 30, 2013
Sep 30, 2013 at 9:30 PM UTC
I dreamed of Frida Kahlo
"yo era ella amante"
pure, paupered prince to her primal queen
yet still I hollowed a carnal niche into the midst
of one perdurable, lurid " noche de los muertos"
and fingered the lachrymose from her lacerations
counting prurient time in a piercing nine of
perennial persecution before I wore her pelt
to lay me down in her sanguinary glow
Feb 18, 2015
Feb 18, 2015 at 6:54 AM UTC
Like lions licking lacerations
Limp-lipped, lucid lamentation
Loyalties lax, love's liquidation
Lapping lust's lye lemonade
Like lemmings, leaping liberation
Loose-limbed, lurid lachrymation
Learning love's lone limitation
Life: liars lie, lovers lay
Jan 10, 2017
Jan 10, 2017 at 7:44 PM UTC
Hallucinations in life"s desert accompanied with my unquenchable thirst
Lacerations fade to scars to prove luck"s point that it wasn"t near the worst
Temptations conspire with times inevitable push as we all learn we"re cursed
Plantations wear us down as we are all slaves until our souls have traversed
Fascinations are shared before we hitch a ride on the grim reaper"s dark hurst
Elations are defiled like a child"s smile transformed after the last bubble"s burst
Cremations are compiled as ashes drift away off cliffs and are forever dispersed
Vibrations guide us through the universe so please join me as we dive head first
Take my hand my friend and lets go be free
No need to worry about having any eyes to see
trust me as our souls dance in the wandering sea
And accompany me through this glorious eternity
We are Universally linked paralleled to every degree
Soul searching for the destination that they call journey
Brave souls are blessed with this human shell as a test
A life materially possessed leads to a lonely empty nest
So don't waste time depressed on this short epic quest
You"ll forget all the rest when our souls have coalesced
Nov 21, 2012
Nov 21, 2012 at 6:16 PM UTC
Tamed by an ordinary spirit,
So blissful and so charming,
Love, that is,
Or is it lust?
Either of the two end,
With lacerations that spell loss.
A mere flesh wound, mind you,
These temporary frowns,
Caused by passing past smiles,
Are only appetizers to the main course,
A bite of taste and a sip of tears.
Like 1-2-3,
The sensations come as fast as “they” go,
And to accept these customaries of life,
Is to accept that there is no permanence,
When it comes to stimulation.
Revive this lost soul,
As it relied on the scents of “them,”
To feel something deeper, more wholesome,
After years of self-isolation,
Caused by the last one that came and went.
Love this lustful sense of loss,
I sometimes crave the morbidity,
To remind me that I’m still breathing,
When I lost myself trying to preserve,
That feeling of lust masquerading as love.
Oct 27, 2023
Oct 27, 2023 at 11:54 PM UTC
All we have left are diversions,
To pass the time.
A pantomime reality,
Without function.
Without meaning.
Those jokes we shared,
Cutting the world down to size.
They aren't funny anymore.
That forgotten t-shirt —
The stray intimacies of lovers —
The lacerations in my skin —
The blood that I spill —
The ambulance ride —
The last face I'll ever see —
You.
My favourite girl,
My favourite hell.
Io fei gibetto a me de le mie case.
QUIT TORTURING YOURSELF.
QUIT TORTURING YOURSELF.
QUIT
TORTURING YOURSELF.
Quit torturing yourself.
Quit ******* trturing yrself.
Quit trtrng urslf.
Quit.
Quit.
...
Dec 15, 2014
Dec 15, 2014 at 7:02 PM UTC