"lethally" poems
Horatio Alger is whispering his stories in my sleeping ear
painting me as a lowly street urchin
who conquers adversities and moral wildernesses
with only my wit, determination, and guts
and he is painting me as a phoenix of the new world
rising from ashes of banality and
the naturalized familial trappings of my past
a dirt road in the socioeconomic desert
carved out with care by the hands of forefathers I will never know
but Mr. Alger died a long while ago
and the sun inevitably rises
shattering the stained glass story of my rags turned riches
now the big men upstairs
jot me down as numbers on a chart
of consumption trends of millennials
Go to college
they say
make something of yourself
they say
you are all too entitled
they say
What went wrong
they say without a hint of contradiction
I am not equipped to say if the story of humanity
is a cycle or a downwards spiral
I am not equipped to say
that it is the job of every generation
to ensure that they clear the debris
from the path of their progeny
but I say it anyway
everybody want’s a trophy
because we were raised to believe that
everybody deserves a trophy
In the same breath they expect us
to take the puritanical mantle of the breadwinner
the frayed saddle of the noble western outlaw
the lethally honed sword of the entrepreneur
the martyr making cross of the socially conscious family man
and then wonder why we so willingly
give ourselves over to the currents
of apathy and passivity and masochistic narcissism
giving us guns and bullets with no idea how to shoot them
so instead we turn them into sculptures of modern art
and scream to the empty heavens
for just a hint of recognition
I can’t decide if history will forget us
or memorize the lyrics of our collective heart beats
but I have decided
to wake up from my American Dream
have decided
to forge my own reality
Jun 18, 2014
Jun 18, 2014 at 2:37 PM UTC
He hates daylight with sense of a mole,
He has curtains all over his chambers, to preserve
His heart nocturnal, where he derives joy
As he does glory from his night shift
As a mortician at the city morgue,
Where I was deadly drunk one night,
And fallaciously declared dead by a nurse
And got dumped into this domain of the AG
Fellow drunkards who became sober to cry
For help out of the morgue, the AG clubbed
Them lethally to final death, forget of drunkardness
Another sick person un-convulsed back to life
He thrashed his skull with a menacing club,
Only two strong hits sent the misfortunate man
Back a really rigor mortis, finally dead,
I chose not to breathes loudly till dawn
When the dayshift mortician came on duty
I pleaded for his favour and sympathy,
He culled me out of death, I went home
Running swearing to myself never to drink again!
Jun 20, 2014
Jun 20, 2014 at 7:44 AM UTC
It is usually best to avoid
crushing hopelessness, to swerve
and defer disaster, but even so
the world is well and truly ****** up.
Seek solutions to this conundrum.
Try to avoid curiosity, a pernicious
strain of insanity that conjures up
irrational fears of orangutangs
with meat cleavers, lethally ascetic
Tibetan monks, bathroom carpets
of abandoned razors or Big Macs
rife with E. Coli.
Avoid metaphysical musings that lead
to questions of coleslaw, vegan
water parks, the Team Quadraplegic
Gymnastics squad and the horrors
of the Hilary Clinton Naked Network.
Seek refuge in the present tense to
escape the interrogation of mirrors,
the crafted answer, dacryphilia,
remedial rage, landslides of therapy
and memorizing each month's horoscope.
Consider that mercy is on back order from God.
Remember the best lines of an unread book.
Nap on a battlefield; haggle over imaginary debts.
Set fire to the umbrellas of passing strangers.
Stop to watch the loudness and burn the recovered dead.
Call up new magic for a dying world.
Find beauty in the irradiated glow of burning cities.
Try not to bounce existential checks or notice
the crumbling of distant walls, ruined outhouses,
and the immense bleakness of forever and ever.
Take up training small rodents and lighting holy fires.
Ignore the broken stars, long dead and beyond grief.
Discover the pleasure in erasure, enjoy the biology
of strangeness. Walk many miles without a map
beneath innumerable ladders carefully detouring
around immense flocks of rabid cassowaries.
Throttle the recalcitrant blue sky's silent throat.
Listen to the melody of car wrecks and smashed guitars.
Abandon assumed corpses to dreams of endless cold.
Appreciate futures you cannot believe in but never visit them.
Learn to diagram sentences in Esperanto then speak with toads.
Ignore the slot machine odds against your deepest desires.
Hide beneath the ravenous trees from time's famished maw.
Seek sanctuary in toothy optimism and complete amnesia.
Follow these impossible instructions to the letter
and you will become non-valent, invisible, immune
and no longer notice the world is ****** up
beyond redemption. Go on, give it a try.
~mce
Dec 5, 2015
Dec 5, 2015 at 10:53 AM UTC
The beating of my heart seems lethally severe.
Full of misery, heart aches and fear.
Every pleased moment materialize, disappear.
T’ll my agony ends,
You didn’t know how I love you so sincere.
I am waiting for my life to end,
Holding back my mortal friend.
13 times where I was about **** myself,
Still wanting back the door to be open,
Everyday that’s the only thing I wanted to happen.
Yet my heart is still misshapen.
If you could comeback in any moment,
I would probably end up being permanent.
It is but one path, one direction
But this should lead to many other questions
It is really annoying if your just in my imagination
I perceived no other option,
Just to received so many disturbing attentions
Cause I know this is the only solution,
To make our story start up with the right position.
I hope you already know how hard my situation
I know there’s a gap in our correlation,
I know we will end up with no definition
Because of the difficulty in our affection
Yes, I want death with no confusion
Since, that’s the only thing who can make
Our story in no frustrations
Right Decisions,
And go back to introduction
Please help me death,
Please help me to go underneath,
Now I can forcibly cut my breath.
And now I can leave earth.
Apr 24, 2017
Apr 24, 2017 at 9:48 PM UTC
Babe,
if you were my man I'd start off by calling you babe.
I think it's **** in a confident to the point kind of way, just like my love for you.
I would run into your arms in a ***** dancing lift kind of manner each time I see you, just because that's how excited I would be to see you, every single time.
I would kiss you. I would ******* ravish you with my tongue, lips, teeth, and you will know what it's like to kiss, what it's like to really kiss.
I would run my fingers, all of them, through your hair sweeping it back from your face and just hold you really close to mine, spending an eternity figuring out what colour your eyes really are,
cause you'd always crinkle them when we're together, cause I'd make you smile, laugh and happy all the time,
so I'd have never really seen what colour they really are, and when I find out it wouldn't matter anyway,
cause that will be my favourite shade of eye colour to begin with.
I would sit on your lap and put my arms around your neck and continue to tell my aimless yet superbly animated stories of things I saw, people I met, thoughts in my head, when all I really want is to be just that close to feel the heat of your body, your pulse and your gaze.
I will cook for you and make you do the dishes just so I can stand next to the counter and watch you align them on the drying rack with ridiculous precision, which I find lethally adorable.
I would re-learn physics, follow football, play video games, listen to punk rock all of which I really dislike, just so I can be another step closer to your world.
I would do anything, absolutely anything for you, and let you do anything to me, cause I trust you a 100%, interestingly the only man I can say that about other than my father.
I would learn to speak your language just so I can meet your family for Christmas and thank your parents from the very bottom of my heart for bringing you into this world and raising you to be the man you are.
I would however never try to change you.
I would preserve you and the perfect, raw, uncontaminated essence of humanity you carry, and rather change, adapt and give up myself to be with you.
I would vouch to spend the rest of my life with you, change my name for you and bear your children.
Babe,
if you were my man I would in a heart beat die or **** for you, and the latter over and over again.
I know you would never want me to change and like me for who I am,
ironically,
you wouldn't be my man.
Dec 12, 2015
Dec 12, 2015 at 11:44 AM UTC
you made me believe in love a g a i n,
despite all of the danger lethally submerged in the bottom waiting to resurface,
despite my movements of cautionary measure in this dance for two,
despite the clear tell-tale warnings
you made me believe in love;
only to prove all the impending signs of doom
and my doubts right
only to have made a fool of myself
and develop a surreal hatred over it
only to serve as a reminder-
that i'm not cut out
for silly little intimacies,
called love
Jul 16, 2020
Jul 16, 2020 at 11:22 AM UTC
I don't know why I was picked,
Could have been the fact that I was a little ****
Too clever by far and too funny to care -->
I looked at Death and stared,
Tilting my head for a better perspective;
I wasn't scared, just curious -->
That diminishing Light, my sight opened!
Imagine the shock - looking into myn own eyes!
So, I'm Death Incarnate - Big Whoop!
Means bugger-all to me - this runt isn't alone:
He can see the larger, older, uglier Ancients
Abiding Their Time, for there's nothing four it -->
They have had to exercise patience while I mature.
It's not so much that I'm camera shy,
It's more the case that I've needed a low profile
(Or so I've presumed!) to complete this Mission -->
A dangerous and lethally serious Game
Of Cat and Mouse, with Dog-eat-Dog and Dragon's FIRE;
To justify MAN into an already integrated system,
Was no easy task, given our proclivities for WAR.
But hey! They started picking on US --> We had to Respond,
Sprinting blindly towards ULTIMATE ENDS.
[Bet you no-one Thought to take War below the Quantum Quagmire,
Into the Conceptual Field where Words and Consequences
Have real significance and potentially Cataclysmic Ramifications?!?!?!
(Afterall, what are a few Supernovas and self-destructive Primordial Black Holes
Between Adults Consciousnesses that at least have a vague idea about Reality?)]
Mar 7, 2014
Mar 7, 2014 at 5:56 AM UTC
Meeting you
Liquefied my heart
Brought it down to a state of art
Where knowing you has become such a blessing
And letting go of you will be lethally hard.
Time has pushed you in the center.
Mind has my ***** wrapping around you.
Slowly but indefinitely,
Closing the gap
No one can have you now
I froze you in my trap
Now as my heart begins to set
Feeling each string of my art attach
I know the treasure it holds inside
It is you, my love
Just you and i.
Nov 25, 2015
Nov 25, 2015 at 3:07 AM UTC
My dark lipstick is
an act to look tough
and my nose ring is a joke;
I belong to the zoo.
Twisting and screaming
I wriggle out of your tight grip, you say:
how the hell do you live with yourself
for ending up in a choking clench?
Oh, my feet must have slipped
into your lethally poisonous death grip.
Aug 10, 2017
Aug 10, 2017 at 10:52 AM UTC
they've cut off the branches i used to hang my
self on
stubs remain
wet and crumbling
and the ornaments lay scattered on the floor
my soul quivers and folds in
to the ground
every time i return any desperate regrowth
is cut back shorter
the stubs break piece by piece to the floor
and my trachea bends in a red-knotted bow
around the stump with the largest
bump on the end
out through my rib
cage around my throat wrapping
wrapping lethally around
my soul and my
heart and under
my chin
May 24, 2017
May 24, 2017 at 3:21 AM UTC
I am the Unknown Soldier -->
Whether you believe me or not is beside the point.
I accepted the Role and have been trying to fulfil my Duty for 15 years;
Until recently, I've been unsuccessful.
However, I'm a sometimes fast Learner
And this Time round - this Hyper-Real Time round -
I'm pretty sure I've executed my Duty Professionally,
As befits an ANZAC.
I've tried several Battles and lost,
But this recent War (longer than I was led to Believe)
Seems, to me, to be the coup-de-grace,
So intricately woven and administered with utmost confidence;
I've adapted and learnt, absorbed info and fired it off;
Developed my strategies within the conceptual system
And deployed my tactics efficiently,
And, I believe, Lethally,
According to the Laws as they stand.
I've been wounded before and was reluctant to follow suit,
But, when the time was right --> and I was certain -->
I tried to conduct my War with Cold Intelligence and Logical Precision,
Without the Emotive influences that clouded my Judgements previously.
In my Defence, this War was much bigger than I anticipated -->
It's all fine to Declare one's self World War III,
But I didn't realise it would involve other Universes -
That was unanticipated and challenging.
Luckily for me, my sixth sense -
My sense of Humour - was well Disciplined and accommodating,
Rising to the occasion.
Moreover, the Lore I employed was well-honed -->
Sharp and relatively easy to engage and implement.
I tried to keep casualties to a minimum -
Namely myself, and any Fool stupid enough to Conceptualise Themselves.
It helped that I conceived the War
In concepts revolving around what my missus would want of me -
Under the false presumption that I actually had a missus at the time.
Fortunately, I've a good imagination for the Everyman.
I just calculated and Conducted the Campaign according to simple Laws of
"Who's washing the dishes?" and "Who's looking after the kids?"
[Of all the species in the Multi-verse, go figure Humans (that is: **** sapiens sapiens) were the one's to invent and refine the Art of Warfare (A Gentleman's Game of Lethal = Serious ^2). Killing just comes naturally to us! And we often get a perverse sense of pleasure at watching things die. Go figure.]
Mar 8, 2014
Mar 8, 2014 at 3:10 AM UTC
I'm a unique creation,
The only precious one in the universe;
Stardust coalesced and quickened by mysterious Life;
A product of a billion generations on this celestial sphere;
A result of myriad mating rituals conducted by a thousand species,
Each contesting an evolutionary battle for survival;
Each coupling succeeding in its primal urge
To replicate the life-giving source and reproduce;
Knowing, instinctively, that eternal existence is a stepwise process;
Knowing, too, the diversity of individuals propagates the One.
And now, four and a half billion years after conception,
Gaia's offspring can contemplate her glorious existence,
While speculating - reflexively, lethally - about the Sire.
Mar 6, 2014
Mar 6, 2014 at 3:39 PM UTC
Years have strayed my sensation,
My flame of contentment flickering away,
Fading
As my days and nights are spent,
searching for some longing intensity.
Why cant satisfaction caress me anymore?
Cheap wine and neon lights become my serenity,
Shading the truth that I've completely
Fallen.
Who am I right now?
My body is lethally sinful,
Deceiving my whole world,
That I'm still here
Remaining.
I've been to a manifold of mosh pits,
But I never really left my first,
I lost myself in a mosh pit
I can't return.
Nov 2, 2018
Nov 2, 2018 at 11:00 AM UTC
Really, I’m not sure what exactly I was expecting, looking for answers in your fragmented breaths. I’ve spent much more time than I’m proud of trying to look at you through a rearview mirror instead of a foggy window. I’m a lot better at missing you than I am at caring for you, or even treating you like a person, and that’s probably because when I miss you, you don’t have to be around to witness it.
What I'm trying to say is, I hummed songs when you were around and tricked myself into believing that you knew the words. I don’t think you were listening, but if you are now, know this: You are the cup of coffee I drink at 7pm when I’m searching for a legal way to make myself suffer. When you touch me, I feel like I’m being run over, and not even lethally. You undo everything in your wake and, quite frankly, I can’t survive with my veins strewn about the floor anymore. We’re both at fault for this, but you’re making it so much worse. It’ll be better if you just go.
Jul 19, 2017
Jul 19, 2017 at 12:07 PM UTC
She loves enormously
the very last demeanor of desolate sun,
the way stars undergoes the distance
and all the tussle they had with moon,
She faith not in earth,
not those peeps which appears famish right after having regale,
She wail not at funerals now
for god has whispered truth
and kept her arouse
from seven lethally sleep,
The way she perforated and annihilated his heart,
The way she gave her clangers the name of freedom,
The way she opted the arms of her paramour and made him watch that in the downpour of October,
The way she sheered without any au- revoir and burned him breathing,
he loved anyway,
That night was black
the sky was plenary,
the moon was serene,
under the aged tree,
her hand over his chest, starkers
they were slumbering, commingling two soul,
that was the final night,
that was their final powwow,
After that night ' My mom kept continue the yarn',
there was no her and no he,
Before any toughie comes in my cerebrum she ended it saying ,
"She shot his head
And cut her vein
for they mastered their devotion
they conquered their fate
when they found them under the pines
blood was everything that left "
Aug 30, 2017
Aug 30, 2017 at 7:28 AM UTC
I tried so hard to be kind to you
To excuse the stupid things you do
But something are beyond recall
And deserve no sympathy at all.
Your heartfelt desire to be seen
As some kind of forgiving queen
That lets you give a free pass
To a horrid political horse’s ***
Puts you in a category of shame
And slurs get hooked to your name.
Your a ******* a dufus an a fool
And the little you learned in school
Hasn’t kept stupidity from your door.
You have no idea what your mind is for.
Thinking should not be an hobby
Like picking up stuff from Hobby Lobby
Then dropped when the next cotillion looms.
Brains should not be hidden in back rooms.
You must do research and not believe
The words of shysters or you will grieve
And not assume all is well like fools do
Or you will take us to ruin with you.
When people like you don’t resist
Crooks win. Freedom will cease to exist.
You think you are being kind to villains
And refuse to realize they will **** children
And the old and the non-Caucasians.
That includes Mexicans and Asians.
Yet you tell us stories that they are nice men
And ignore that bigotry has taken hold again.
You sicken me with the dread of seeing
Our future becoming hateful to human beings.
You learned how to emotionally kiss ***
Back in some lost time in your past
And it has turned you into the kind of soul
He let ****** and Mussolini assume roles
That murdered and stole nationally
And took their countries to hell, ultimately.
And that, polite person, is why I call you dufus.
Now you are doing the same thing to us.
Oct 14, 2017
Oct 14, 2017 at 10:28 PM UTC
This is not how things were supposed to be.
It started so simply,
quite earnestly,
so honestly.
This is not what I planned for us.
It came very swiftly,
so silently,
quite lethally.
We never stood a chance.
If words were money,
we'd be rich.
I'd buy us a future.
If promises were heavy,
we'd never fly.
I know we will never fly.
Dec 15, 2012
Dec 15, 2012 at 3:56 AM UTC
Today I witnessed
the root being pulled out
of quiet, dim earth
and thrown in the scorching sun.
It was hissing and squirming,
like lethally wounded, dying snake
Fragile life threatened
and escaping, in the scorching sun,
The fear of inevitable, real death
and the desperate will to live,
in the animal eye of slithering root
Aug 22, 2018
Aug 22, 2018 at 5:30 AM UTC
To Patrick Süskind, writer of The Perfume,
He leans over her
Admiring the fire of her rebellious hair
Asleep, sweet child
Her body, temple of the most exquisite perfume
Getting drunk on her delight
He tries to **** this about to live madness
Rising up, oh cruel
He plans to lethally hurt her!
Another desire, inside, gushes
For he doesn’t want her to suffer
His lips burning of her, madness!
He’d rather be lenient…
She rolls over, for her he fell
He drops his hammer and her grave
He leans in closer, lover
Her eyes open, he looks at her, charmed
Mouth tight shut, lost inside him
She knows he’s the thief of the night
Three feet away from her eyes
He has to possess her for his tragic project
Lull settles in, she says:
“You’ve come to take my life’’
He smiles, she grabs his hand
And brings him to her red-hued lips
“Laura, I am Jean Baptiste
Senses will be my tomb
I screamed, organic, garbage from the market…
Broken, born almost dead, scattered like schist.’’
“Jean Baptiste, come here’’
“Sweet ****** I’m only sombre ashes
My body only knows the twig
By your perfume only can my heart rise…
No love is that strange.’’
“So I’m yours, divine
Drink my wine to the hilt’’
“Angel, forgive me for what I must do’’
He throws his vest on the ground
Unveiling his skinny self
He is stark naked, she is dreamy.
He lifts the covers, dreading his own gestures
As soon as he’s laying next to her
She softly skims his chapped lips
He answers, babbling
The moon is above them, entangled.
He can’t stop his fingers
On her naked skin wanting him
For no cloth, no silk
Can’t protect her, she isn’t escaping
Her scream in his kiss he takes her
She’s a woman in a blasting fury
On some supple Asian cushions
Her blood slides, fertile, drunk Muse…
He’s already asleep on her hip
He equally adores her curves and her sip
He caresses her white gorgeous chest
Swiftly slays her and,
Lays her down waiting for the blame
Crying, but he has to leave her.
Translated on August 8, 2015
Nov 28, 2015
Nov 28, 2015 at 8:57 AM UTC
What once came
easily
has avoided me
recently
what came
seamlessly
now comes
infrequently
I fight for it
greedily
it passes me by
speedily
I play
strategically
I struggle
repeatedly
I take what comes
gleefully
It moves past,
teasingly
The absence hits me
grievously
I walk this line
treacherously
I cry out
needlessly
This seeped into my life
lethally
Sep 11, 2019
Sep 11, 2019 at 3:04 PM UTC
There flew the **** bomber low over a town
The front gunner shot at people he spotted
Short random bursts zipping out mostly missing
Bullets bouncing off roads houses walls
Some thudding into people quite lethally
Nobody shoots back this raider has surprise
And speed with daring to keep him safe
Plus eight guns to shoot if intercepted
The English fighters are always hungry
To nail a *** especially one aggressive like this
The Dornier zooms here and there gunning away
Having already dropped his bombs on target
A mid-sized engineering factory making items
For the war effort which killed German troops
It was now time to expend some bullets
Do some more killing on English targets
A grandmother was a target as was a postman
The Dornier curved round and headed for home
His ammo half expanded he continued
Roaring over rooftops a hundred feet up
His nose gun and other guns spit forth death
This was only one **** plane what of a hundred?
Aug 19, 2024
Aug 19, 2024 at 9:02 AM UTC