"lifelessly" poems
Dig the ground,
Deeper & broader,
Large enough to accommodate,
And peacefully lay us,
The commoners to rest,
Without causing any disturbance,
To the Clout-clad looters.
Don't rest till you collapse lifelessly,
Into the mud extracted for digging,
Digging their trap deeper enough,
Deeper enough for all the clout,
'Cause you wouldn't even want,
Their zombies to be turn-out,
Escaping out stark naked,
Out in future to plight,
****** and blight,
Pester and fester
The future generation.
Oh but do we not know,
They will survive and flourish,
Indian or Russian or American or British,
The clout will always be there to suck/eat,
**** blood and eat meatballs,
Why they will survive,
And why the civilians suffer isn't riddle.
Aug 16, 2013
Aug 16, 2013 at 1:56 PM UTC
Mom, you look so pretty today
as you lie there in sleep.
All dressed up in your best dress,
while I stand here and weep.
I knew this day would come,
but still, it’s hard to bear.
Seeing the mom I love so much
lifelessly lying there.
It was you who gave me birth
and taught me how to love.
For your life and great example,
I thank dear God above.
There’s never been another
in this world who could compare.
Rest well my angel mother.
I know you’re in God’s care.
Nov 27, 2011
Nov 27, 2011 at 10:17 AM UTC
She sits there,
frozen like a statue,
fingers apart,
typing on the running technology.
Glossy eyes beneath her ever clear glasses,
as I watched her I wonder,
have we been consumed by lifeless objects?
is this our future?
Sitting lifelessly on the other consumer of our life,
only moving to adjust her glasses,
the girl sits there,
eyes pierced into the ever quadrilateral brightness.
The feeling of regret,
it illuminated the vicinity from the sitting girl,
yet I am doing the same,
writing this poem.
Jan 9, 2013
Jan 9, 2013 at 7:46 PM UTC
I am a puppet,
Here are my strings.
This one's for my mouth,
And this one's for my wings.
You can make me fly,
Fly,
O so high, in the sky,
Till I die.
You are in control,
Just the way you like it I'm sure.
Making me do tricks,
Getting all of your sick kicks.
You stand above me,
With your fidgeting fingers.
Making me dance around,
To your favorite singers.
Make me jump,
Make me fly,
Make me happy,
Make me cry,
Make me crazy,
Make me high,
Control where I look,
With my eyes.
I do your biding,
Like it or not.
I'm addicted to your control,
Like some are to ***
I feel like,
It'll be this way till I die.
Yet you drop some scissors,
What are you trying to imply?
But now I found the scissors,
And you know what I'm going to do?
Snip,
Snip,
Cut,
Cut,
And,
TADA.
I'M FREE FROM YOU.
Although,
I didn't really think this through...
Because before I knew,
It I fell to the floor.
Like an overdosed,
Ritalin *****
Lifelessly alone laying,
On the ground.
The only thing I hear,
Is your fake laughing sound.
So there I lay limb over limb,
Not knowing where to go.
Then to my dismay,
You mange to cause me even more woe.
For beside me,
A new puppet takes my place.
And your once gentle hand,
Comes down on me, and I am erased.
Now I think,
I miss your strings.
And all of your,
Cute little things.
I might have been a puppet,
But I loved my master.
Until she got bored,
And caused this disaster.
I loved a disaster,
Which was my master.
But what should I know?
I am just a puppet.
Oct 2, 2011
Oct 2, 2011 at 7:54 PM UTC
This has become more important.
Lost in my dreams, lost in my mind.
Blame onto me, I know the fault.
Faulty lines, different views. I miss you.
We are better apart, but only you know.
It beats on, it beats on.
Staring up, steaming, and breathing.
No tears, it’s not you.
It’s what you made me realize.
Realize that I am not human.
Shying away from what’s good, what’s right.
Cowering lifelessly, withholding, complacent.
Jellyfish, no brain. No soul.
I’m a star, bright and spectacular.
Only you, nocturnal and beautiful, stayed to see me.
Once the sunlight broke, I was gone.
Those nights, my brightness.
Now I simmer alone.
Nov 28, 2011
Nov 28, 2011 at 3:31 AM UTC
Hate was the darkness
tied in thick frayed ropes
smothered in kerosene
swung over the biggest branch
and wrapped around my throat
while strangers pulled and tightened it.
It was the match lit that **** fire.
Their rage burned my skin
while choking me out
like a sadistic wrestler.
It was branding
and dismemberment.
All those children remember it.
It was little trinkets of remembrance,
bits of flesh, and teeth
Any part they could take of me
before and after
I hung lifelessly
from the most convenient tree.
But if you think this is just
some case of dark skinned history
Then check the news
and you will see
they are still lynching me.
Sep 18, 2016
Sep 18, 2016 at 4:09 PM UTC
The first day was the longest
Mornings were for ambrosia
Nights were for castor oil
Lying through teeth and tempting through lenses
Purpose lost to the blind men
Who learn to sleep in seclusion
Visited rarely by saints and messiah fathers
Learn through pain, Oh sweet little pea
The second day was all too short
Kindred, but misunderstood
Sowing seeds and ripping up weeds
Parading around town with roaring sorrow royalty
Following scripts and playing parts
For judges, elders, and "renegade" symbols
Promises, popularity; it's all just a rusty mirage
This place isn't for you, Oh sweet little pea
The third day was spent in Dada
Purgatory for insanity
Whimsical, yes, but something was blatantly missing
This place was rich with new color and null
Vibrant, yet lifelessly powered by prescriptions
No real substance, only mist-forms
Bubbling broth in a surreal soup
Don't get digested, Oh sweet little pea
Aug 26, 2013
Aug 26, 2013 at 10:51 AM UTC
Not One Hours Rest, Moon Still Standing Nice and Tall
Stars Still Hanging on, You Ride Hazily and Lazily to The City Train Station
Seeing Faces, Seeing Slouched Shoulders, Seeing Tired Eyes all around you
Waiting and Thinking of Home, Observing Yet Constantly Yawning
In No Time You Are Propelled Forwards and Out Through the City Limits
Metal Container Rattling, No Snooze Alarm for the Rising Sun
The City Dissolves into the Back of Your Eyes as You Hit A Tunnel and Enter the Suburban Void
Suddenly Fantastic Splotches of Greenery Drift into Sight, Dabs of Golden Light Float Like Dandelion Spores in The Air
People Move Up and Down the Carriage Schizophrenically, Fidgeting, Never Considering Sitting Still, Not Even Once
Please Just Look Out the Window
Outside Battered Tree Trunks Lay Lifelessly in the Middle of Wondrous Sprawling Fields
Clouds Ripple Insanely Throughout the Horizon, Livestock Enjoying Themselves While They Still Can
What Follows This is a Series of Dilapidated Sheds and Abandoned Roads Leading Up into the Hills so Jagged They Must Have Been Cut by a One Single Colossal Breadknife
Feb 28, 2019
Feb 28, 2019 at 8:30 AM UTC
As candy thaws neath my tongue
My eyes take dilation.
I fall into an inception
as I walk into a place
where my tender age went...
Then,
I saw sevenths of an illusion
Acidic iridescence
Suffused in a type of dimension
I was present.
Bound to life's existence...
Each and every Earth-bound object
was formed
by masked bodies
that cradled each other.
Lifelessly connected to one another.
Expressing the same dainty love
we are mad for...
Jade orbs
were absorbed
by a topiary lord.
Beating.
Circulating.
Captivating.
Caught me devoted in all sorts of emotions.
Repetition. Repetition.
Sight distortion.
Colors stacked on colors.
I saw modulations.
But they spoke to me in motions.
I felt as if I was breathing this all before.
And that I was anticipating on something that I could not get myself to ignore.
Some moral.
That I've been awakened for...
I was reverted back into a timeless age,
where matters were forgave
and where passions were seemliness.
and because of awareness
you become unable to love like a child
when you abandon your innocence.
So here's the message.
"Seven is perfection."
The eye to see life.
Making a connection.
Breathing Earth's affection.
Aug 13, 2014
Aug 13, 2014 at 5:49 PM UTC
You could be my cancer, and for that I don't think I would mind
you seem to find that peculiar so read closely line by line.
My lungs don't matter much because I hardly breathe fresh air,
and maybe my last breath I breathe could be our breath to share.
My skin please without it do not leave
for after all it was you that told me true beauty lies beneath.
Is there cancer of the eyes? If so please have them too,
I would be ever so lucky if the last thing I saw was you.
Cancer in my fingers? As malignant as all that came before
creep into my feeling and let me feel your skin once more.
If there is cancer in my arms I suppose it would be amputated,
but that's okay because then it's yours forever and for that I would be elated.
Sliding through my brain the cancer starts to spread
leaving me worthless lying lifelessly in our once shared bed.
Hardly a terrible fate since I spent my favorite moments there
loving you so wildly as if having an affair.
I could be making this up, but cancer of the heart would only make sense
because you touched my heart one day
and I've loved you ever since.
Mar 24, 2015
Mar 24, 2015 at 3:25 AM UTC
There was the usual exchange of foul words and light shoving around,
but then "Windy" rushed Billy and threw him down to the ground.
He sat on Billy's chest pinning his arms down to the floor.
He punched and smacked Billy's face. Each blow was more vicious than the one before.
Billy called upon all of his strength that he could possibly muster
and tried to work his 41 caliber out of his holster.
"That's enough Windy! You're killing the kid!" some concerned bar room patrons did roar.
A gunshot was heard. There wasn't a single spoken word
as Frank "Windy" Cahill rolled lifelessly to the floor.
Billy struggled to his feet. His bloodied face was so swollen he could barely see.
His smoking gun was still clenched in his shaking hand.
Congratulations Billy. Now look what you've done.
You've gone and killed your very first man.
Tales of this incident have been told far and wide from one extreme to the other,
such as the merciless killer kid who gunned down the helpless blacksmith
and then left the bar whistling without a care or bother,
but eye witnesses attest that the first version describes it best
and that the following quote seems most accurate and right.
"I never saw no killer. I saw a scared beat up boy run out of the cantina that night."
Jul 9, 2010
Jul 9, 2010 at 2:45 AM UTC
Somewhere stuck between the line bordering
faith and reality,
there is a girl.
A girl to whom
there is no such thing
as five thirty in the morning.
There are only beginnings,
fresh grass, and
mugs of hot chocolate.
She doesn’t seem to know
what it means to drag your feet
or to
lifelessly slide your toothbrush’s bristles
against the cracks and crevices of your teeth,
wishing you were already at the end of the day
when it had only just begun.
To her,
every printed word is spoken.
She can hear the pages breathe and her heart sings whenever
another character enters,
because for her it means
one more person
to love
which is something
she never seems to run out of.
It is why her eyes dance
and roses grow ‘round her face,
it is why gladness
pours out from her fingers as they
glide across ivory keys,
it is why she sprinkles her words with salt,
why she refuses to let her city on a hill grow dim,
why she believes that death
is a new beginning,
why her hope never wavers,
why she won’t stop giving and
giving and
giving.
Her faith shakes mountains, but sometimes,
only the mountains know it because she
gets frustrated, too.
I’m here to tell her that she
may not see it now,
but the seeds have been growing in places
she didn’t think possible.
So continue to plant them
with thrill and with wonder,
as you live each day like
it was the first.
Don’t stop the water’s flow,
and soon you will find yourself
laughing at Doubt’s face,
I don’t think you’ve ever seen
Doubt’s face.
You’ve been alive
for three hundred
and sixty five days more,
but if growing up means
losing the fireworks in your eyes
and the beautiful thoughts
that sprout from your mind
then,
I beg of you,
don’t.
Jul 14, 2014
Jul 14, 2014 at 8:56 PM UTC
I'm a player, I'm the best.
I've played you, her and the rest.
That's what you thought.
I proved you wrong when I opened my chest.
You saw me with depth, an open heart.
You gave me yours.
It was open from the start.
A heart hurt too many times.
You told me you can't take another.
A heart held together with vines.
This was the tricky part.
The first time in my life.
I saw a future of treasure.
A glimpse of this lady, my wife.
I felt safe like I was where I needed to be.
I promised my self I'd do you no harm.
To cause you pain would be to cut off my own limb.
I've been waiting all my life to find someone worthy to commit my life to.
So I committed myself to you and you threw me away.
You told me honestly what you wanted and needed.
I gave it to you and more.
But you were after what you had before.
Cling to him with guilt.
Cling to him till you rott.
Cling to him lifelessly.
Cling to him lovelessly.
Cling to him endlessly.
Until one day it all falls apart.
You've proven untrustworthy.
You've proven betrayal.
You've proven sly words.
You've used tears to get your way.
You've promoted falses so fake.
Gemini construct you might break.
You've cheated.
Me, him and your self from happiness.
Mar 17, 2015
Mar 17, 2015 at 9:07 PM UTC
Enjoying my evening stroll
I catch a glimpse of beauty.
Through a window and soft red light
Tonight may be a fulfillment
I detour through the yard
Excited, and rock hard
I peek into an open window
Moving the curtain I begin to climb
My heart is racing
I should turn around
Passed the table and up the stairs
I see her reflection in a mirror
slowly I creep to what I had peeped
Her scent wafted in the air
From the shower and her still wet hair
Another step
A creak
she spots me,
Startled, she screams
I run to her
Hand over her mouth
Her naked fighting body flailing
I slam my **** inside her
pain surges from her *****
violently I pound away
She stops her fighting and succumbs to my will
Her limp catatonic body bounces lifelessly
I release my self inside her
Oh ****
now what
Was it worth it
Oh yes
Standing over her I contrive a plan
To the kitchen I drag her
My other mind does concur
a butcher knife to slice her parts
...
Sep 2, 2012
Sep 2, 2012 at 4:24 PM UTC
I bit my tongue so hard that it bled,
but I never said a single word
and there's a heavy weight that's on my neck
it rolls lifelessly from the thoughts in my mind.
I carry the burden of my aching head,
full of thoughts that my mouth has not conquered
and I don't have anyone to check
to see if my mind is something they could find.
My lips stay sealed completely
locking my words in my own head,
and I think I may have thrown away the key,
for my words refuse to escape me.
Feb 1, 2015
Feb 1, 2015 at 10:37 PM UTC
Sometimes I wonder if there is any line between poetry and prose, or prose and story. Where is this line? What is the difference? Is it some kind of structural difference? The problem with this is it becomes difficult to define where the structural lines are drawn. Is it some difference in the use of language? Anyone who has read Burroughs knows there is very little difference between his language in poem and prose. It all comes down to that old bald thought experiment. If we were to remove hairs from a man’s head, one by one, at what point would he be bald? It must be the context. This is a poem because it is presented as such.
The thing about it is I don’t really give a ****
The thing about it is that I’m just looking for something that I do not know.
And I get a kick out of pretending
And sometime something something I’m a little bit high now folks
Because sometimes I need something too
/
all the time
And Some might say that you can get a lot higher without drugs than with them
But at this day and age that’s becoming less and less clear for most folks
Including myself
And that’s pure Thompson
May the great decadent castle topple down!
And I, like a noble captain,
Will sink with her
I stand with hunched broken back
On the backs of millions
Pondering lifelessly
I smell something. I can’t really know what. It’s horrible. I do not know if it is me or someone around me. A woman in front of me has a dark line around the back of her neck. As if that crease her skin collected some errant dirt and she never washed it off. I don’t know but it may be her. Or I may be a son of a ***** because she is pretty fat. And that’s empirical. And I know it’s not her fault, but I may have some sick bias against fat women brought on by repeated social direction. I remember when I thought of myself as undesirable. I did not wash. And I didn’t shower yesterday. And really I don’t know if this line here on her neck is really dirt, but holy **** that smell. It’s killing me, and even distracting me from the gripping narrative of the American sedition laws during WW1. Honestly it is probably me, but why is it so persistent? Wouldn’t I fall victim to scent saturation blindness, or whatever that affect is called. The point is you can’t normally smell your own stink, and none of us even notice our own stink. I think there is something in that somewhere. I can’t smell my own stink, and so I blame this poor girl.
Nov 5, 2014
Nov 5, 2014 at 12:47 PM UTC
She’s afraid of
reopening old wounds.
Scared of feeling
the burns
beneath her skin.
She’d rather feel
consciously numb
than ever have to
confess her self-reflections,
because she’s afraid rejection
will leave her lifelessly
alone.
Jan 12, 2021
Jan 12, 2021 at 4:26 PM UTC
A leaf swooped down from my overgrown mane
And embraced her lovely little frock-the hue of the rain.
Day after day she basked in my warmth, and I in hers.
The pages of a fairy tale flipped by tiny fingers.
A leaf swooped down from my plentiful mane
And embraced her long lustrous locks in vain.
As they danced, she blushed; the wind began to hum.
Prettier than my flowers young love did blossom.
A leaf swooped down from my sparse mane
And embraced their picnic spread- artistically lain.
With adoration-filled eyes, she beamed at her kin.
Twin infants danced around me; laughter and din.
No leaves prevailed on my naked frame.
Summer, spring, fall- were all now the same.
Branches that once swayed and loved her like their own,
Lay lifelessly still as they beheld her lonely gravestone.
Oct 5, 2014
Oct 5, 2014 at 3:45 AM UTC
remember the days
when it all seemed so far away
and we could drift lifelessly
into a warm haze
of blissfully amenity
and pointless laughter.
sippin' on pink lemonade,
wearing bandanas and sandals,
and daydreaming about when our lives might begin.
Aug 15, 2013
Aug 15, 2013 at 2:27 AM UTC
I'm chasing your memory in my dreams only to discover I overslept.
Fantasies far from fake kisses
Causing cardiac arrest as I'm reluctantly reaching for a sense of reality that has simply wandered away willfully.
Desperately dreaming of days spent running to no end.
What a life..
Inconceivable love flowing from my fingertips only because I would rather show you how much I love you than speak it a million,
Times I spent beautifully shaming myself for the restless nights praying for your call creating nocturnal patterns all for a taste of your kiss,
Me one more time so I can prove this theory in my head is more than a theory; that it is true.
Lifelessly lusting your love throughout the night causing me to delightfully dance in your arms, only to wake up to find your love has evaporated.
Apr 1, 2015
Apr 1, 2015 at 10:28 AM UTC
You're nothing but the ground I walk on, depending on the weather and seasons you could be the warm green grass tickling in between my toes
Or you cold be the cold winter snow numbing me inside and out
You're nothing but the clouds up in the sky
Or maybe the stars
Either way, you can never seem
To stay too long.
You're nothing but the winds in the air that pass through ever so briskly yet calmingly
Always Leaving me breathless
You're nothing but the christmas lights
Filling houses with vibrant colors and happiness in december
But its january now
And the bulbs are burnt out
But still they hang lifelessly
And broken
You're nothing but the flowers in a vase
At first so beautiful
With such a lovely aroma
That look so pretty sitting out
For everyone to look at
And admire
But now the petals have fallen off
And the dead flowers hang down
You're nothing but the waves in the ocean
Always leaving
Then coming back to crash down
With intense force and power
You're
Nothing
Yet, You're everything.
Dec 16, 2013
Dec 16, 2013 at 10:19 PM UTC
lifelessly living
drenched in the blood
of forgotten memories
you heartless bag of bones
i'm just another meal
on your diet of dying souls
this disgusting vessel
i'm piloting
will never find its place in love
Feb 7, 2010
Feb 7, 2010 at 6:33 PM UTC
a deep abyss awaits,
with hues of blue and red above,
as the horizon devours the sun,
amidst the salt and sand,
a fisherman
melts into the stupor,
of this serenity toxified,
by smell of the exuberant waves
while the red sun,
slits the blue skies throat,
the fisherman dreams of drowning,
of kissing the waiting abyss,
of floating lifelessly,
in the ocean full of life,
he dreams to return to his friend,
to his father, to his deities,
just to be reborn again,
as a wave,
as a kraken,
as a breeze,
that never dies.
Oct 15, 2017
Oct 15, 2017 at 9:06 AM UTC
behind the shadow
he follows
the thief girl
she didn't notice
—of course
she was afraid of dark
—at first
and the day came;
the tanks were everywhere,
airplanes high in the air,
people were running,
and she was hidding;
in the shadow,
where there's no light
it was the time they finally met
so he asked her
how was out there beyond the light
she answered
it was bad
he shakes his head
that's not the answer-
describe it with your own words,
describe it like it is your eyes who speaks.
—he asked for the second time
his eyes are full of curiousity
her mind wonder to the event she saw just then
the flash was everywhere—
—she begin
dark water covered the ground—
—she continues
it was all chaotic and awful—
—then she told him all the stories
soon the loud sound intruded them
her eyes turns so dull
she fell lifelessly
he then saw the red flash on the ground
—so he run
he was no longer bound to the shadow,
he doesn't even know how
and soon he realise there's no more place to hide,
neither in the light nor in the dark
there's no more safe place
and he run;
now he's the guy with no shadow
Dec 7, 2014
Dec 7, 2014 at 9:19 AM UTC
In a winding, twisted fate,
The Brothel, I’ve tried to Escape,
The sickening sounds of lips being ******
The horrid sounds of those being ******
The slaps of flesh o’er again,
My mind, I cannot now defend,
I hate every minute, every tick,
This endless clock makes me sick,
I dream of sleep that won’t ever come,
I dream of the day I can run,
Escape, Escape, Escape,
I’ll carve it in myself, it should be my name,
I’ve been mislead, indeed, I’ve been stolen,
But these shallow romances so repulsively sodden,
Have left thoughts so in mind forsaken,
Of each *** and race, lifelessly forbidden
The thought of leaving,
This **** hotel is quite deceiving,
I think of how it became
Synonymous in its name,
With “love" and a quenched thirst
Of our lust and ****** rebirth,
For this menagerie of psychopathy
Is the disease among society,
Eyes that I no longer look into as I speak
Gaze into mine as they endeavor to seek
My soul, laughable, they will not find,
To their credit, it’s long since died,
This wretched place holds me with no interest,
And of how I came about, to be honest
I’ve no recollection.
No recognition
Of anything here, nothing is alive,
All that come, just for pleasure strive,
Empty inside and dying within,
I must Escape this place of boundless ruin.
Jul 23, 2013
Jul 23, 2013 at 12:37 AM UTC