"liquidate" poems
Love, why do you make my heart bleed?
It leaks thick red plasma that stains on my fingers
As I try to conceal the pain and hide it deep within
My own two hands reach up and take my breath away
The lies you speak catching in my lungs
Forget keeping appearances, I'm suffocating
The answers seem so clear
As I gasp for air
In shock I stare down at my hands in horror
As I find they are replaced with your own
This sudden display leaves me in disbelief
I don't want to see all the truth coming up to smother me
I wasn't smart enough to stay away
From those treacherous arms that promised safety
As they had planned from the beginning
To clench around my throat and liquidate all my strength and glory
Before we even said our first hello's
You planned the end before we began
Love, I will make your heart weep
What you give out comes back to you
I will get you on your knees
Begging for forgiveness
Till they become bruised and give out
I will break you down before you dare to believe you've won
If you are iniquity think of me as your karma,
You will never win
Jul 28, 2018
Jul 28, 2018 at 1:47 AM UTC
There are conversations in which my mental frame leaves the
parameters of my body.
No longer can I fathom the concept of ‘being in love’
I witness dates
and
feel as an apprentice of such a trade might
an inadequacy to replicate the models of those before me
Gone are my indefinite moments of sanity
Childhood is laced in linens of silk
Soft-spoken words
and
Finely crafted spontaneity lacking responsibility
Ceaseless are the times in which I must conceal the thoughts I abhor
Depravity seems to chain my soul
which leads to
a Resolution in pixelation
due to
a visual handicap which has left my eye blind to choosing right
My friends make me happy
but as a glass transforms back-&-forth between half-empty &
half-full
one glance across our wooden dinner is all it takes
for
My thoughts to liquidate into bars of gold
Telling myself I must exchange their conversation for my motivation
heavy on the mind
light keystrokes
Once i reawaken at 1 A.M. from my conscious-coma
i ask myself
What good is it?
To be thoughtful
Yet have no action
What good is it?
To fantasize
Yet refuse your own inclination for renovation
What good is it?
To be dramatic
Yet have no one at your performance
I do understand what it means to ‘be’
Watching Tuesday suns burn in loops of ongoing weeks
- lacking peaks -
As I continue to lay under clothes line
Wrapped in a melody of melancholy
But I do not understand what it means to be ‘me’
My mind feels as a lemon candy might,
sour at first bite -
hollow on the inside, then gone
Without ever truly knowing what it tastes like.
Aug 3, 2018
Aug 3, 2018 at 9:03 PM UTC
***sand dollars make you crazy
so liquidate your assets
the currency of the ocean
is in the depths of its devotion
and its arrival and return
is the ultimate paradox or koan
i see whales making out with octopuses
sending us their love
from outside their esophaguses
penguins in coattails dream of Spain
while Spanish armadas chase each other's sails
armed insurgencies upon armoires from France
silent eroticisms in the shadows
of daffodils dance***
Nov 2, 2017
Nov 2, 2017 at 10:39 PM UTC
I drank deeply
from her dimpled cup,
focussed my mind,
that was jumping like a colt,
and made my
prophecies thus:
"you are the daughter
of a reclusive prince
(who could also be a pianist )
a dark power wanted
to liquidate him,
but his mind was luminant,
his will was so strong,
he fell head over heals
in love with a gypsy,
a wandering mendicant
who was a magician of love.
**he loved the magic in life,
no wonder he was saved.**
You will
lose your virginity
to a powerful man
whose power will not
harm this world a bit!
**(powerful not harming us
is indeed rare!)**
you will give birth to a son,
who could be a king
(though monarchy now is no option
kings by other names aren't rare!)
even if they make him king,
he would abdicate and in turn,
would lead a life loving trees, rivers,
all in the nature,
light, and darkness he considers alike.
**he is brave, with a heart
brimming with love**.
you are a blessed woman
spirit of gypsy is alive still.
give a hoot about money,
but be contended with
**abundance of beauty you create,
in ways none can imagine!**
you don't want to change
the world a bit as you like,
but let everything go
in the order it should,
and just walk past
the busy streets,
towards
a breath taking sunset"
i heard an eloquent silence.
she jumped up from her seat,
took a swig of Champaigne,
and kissed me twice.
O
Jan 3, 2012
Jan 3, 2012 at 9:28 AM UTC
I get too deep in my own emotions, I never even attempt to try and bring myself back because I know that when I’m depressed they just become delusions. It’s simple to say that friendship can keep you sane but honestly, it’s the comradery the keeps me sheltered in an uncomfortable silence. Hearing about the pleasures someone can indulge in makes my heart break, then to hear them complain about the small demons they face in life just simply makes it hard to agree with their outlooks when I’ve seldom ever seen my happiness at its peak. It’s hard to think of them outside of our time together when almost every moment of my time is hard to fabricate. I love them but sometimes it feels like I have to liquidate and make my escape before I create a situation where I will negate the comfort I’ve created with them, it’s so hard not to express the feeling to leave.
Sep 6, 2015
Sep 6, 2015 at 3:48 PM UTC
Mr president
I have a conflict of interest
I am not keen on how you go about your business
I am saddened by your big banking boys with roles
I am not sure you can run the US like a business
I feel more empathy is required
Mr president
Am still conflicted with your reign
Not over joyed by your chosen minions rolling in billions
Having money don't mean you know how to govern
Mr president
For me too take you seriously I feel you should liquidate your assets
Invest in the bottom
So all can be on top
Be kind
Give it away
you have another holiday
Put kindness in charge
Make America kind again
Kindness rules
Nov 30, 2016
Nov 30, 2016 at 12:31 PM UTC
We don't fight against man,
but his nature,
not blood nor bone,
but against principalities,
against power,
against corruption,
against the bottom of the glass,
against human nature.
Civilization,
civilized,
man,
civilized man?
Nope.
A world of tolerance,
malice in disguise,
the pen is mightier than the sword?
Not a chance.
It is the blade that kills,
the razor that releases the flood,
for history is not written by the objective.
Words may trigger the safety,
but neither written nor spoken word,
will deflect the bullet,
ricochet will always claim its prize.
It is not great men that bring about change,
but men willing to change,
gun in hand,
sights lost in the moral periphery.
Liquidate modern ethics,
burn the fibers of morality,
enlist their disease.
Dear oppressors,
here's a secret,
the weak can **** too,
and the day will come when man does not rule,
but man is ruled,
and on that day,
fight back.
Dec 12, 2013
Dec 12, 2013 at 1:22 AM UTC
meaningful investment, definite impact
genuine compassion, to you I attract
unofficial adoption; like static, cling
nonverbal given, jubilant I now sing
protective walls liquidate, you're in; shell cracked
if anything at all, tender soul distract
short but ever so sweet, fill the gaps exact
gently you hold me; heal and bind broken wing
...if ever I've tasted of love's glor'ous life
trustworthy provider, fix all I've lacked
maybe walk down the aisle, heart intact
constant and watchful, giving hope for a ring
as I on an optimist pendulum swing
tangible, real, felt, believed. love not abstract
...if ever I've tasted of love's glor'ous life
May 4, 2015
May 4, 2015 at 10:35 PM UTC
Holla when she sakes
King of hearts Ripples through the lakes
Making to brake
Dollars to take
simple or fake
Roll them dice as she shakes
Anticipate to elevate
Partpicate the wake
Passionate to wait
Overcoming overflowing overdose overloading
System flowing
holding the soal
shifting titonic plates
exspensive stakes
Misplaced mistakes
Expensive taste
Liquidate the place
Displaced Love
relocate hallucinate
darken hate
Tornado hurricane earthquakes
shaded pain
ashes brings
shadowed rain
Mar 10, 2016
Mar 10, 2016 at 6:19 PM UTC
I only spit shine our hikes
in the woods and I marinate rain drops
in melted wax so we can peal
it off our skins when we get bored later.
I only exfoliate on lost time while
maneuvering around false hope
you seem to deliver from an eternity
void, stamped and all. I must jump its
sound and skip a couple staircases
to find its Jonas Salk. I only go mad on
the colors I write about the clown who keeps
his nose on a rounded cliff and
his acts in prepositions. I invest
verbs with the future and liquidate
past futile nouns in denial.
I plunge the toilet of the oppressed
monk who never gets the good and
rough *** those mornings the birds sing.
I sew fellowship when viscosity
is at maximum and the sewage
ruptures four feet from the prince
of mercantile who ends up
building a wall to protect himself
and others from the foggy morning.
Dec 13, 2012
Dec 13, 2012 at 2:46 AM UTC
Your lips may be my barbiturate
But your words are my poison.
I need you to dissolve me
Liquidate my mind
So I no longer must suffer from the toxins.
You cannot hurt a liquid.
Quick, put your lips to mine!
Crash them together to calm me, sedate me.
Your kiss will melt my thoughts
Allowing me to pick out the solids.
To pick out your crystallized contamination.
I need to build up a tolerance
An amount of your fatalism that I can take.
But I cannot do that right now-
Your poison has sent me to a coma.
Your poison is coursing through my bloodstream.
Aug 27, 2010
Aug 27, 2010 at 9:56 AM UTC
I liquidate my words with love
As I drink and dine with you
To poison you with my perfect drug
The only stable cure for a world of webs
While you may be caught in mine
I'm no spider but a simple butterfly
Meant to drink the nectar bleeding from your genuinity
Aug 11, 2018
Aug 11, 2018 at 4:19 AM UTC
I feel the indifference like a numbing pain
I want you to feel how I let it put my soul to death
and liquidate my thoughts
they drip down like the paint of a artist
who has lost interest in his work
and I feel so uncared for by you
simple letting me fall with no proper land
I weep down like a loners lost distress
thrown out into carelessness
falling with no purpose
or maybe there is a purpose
is the reason too painful for me to know
.
,
I wish not to understand how you feel
I wish not to accept the pain that awaits me
within the petite seconds I shared with you
standing on a table of Marie Antoinette
gardens so beautiful that she built with the
selfishness of her femininity
with the lavishness given to her by birth
that is not me
I deserve nothing of this
unlike this fallen Queen
I believe
this pain also does not belong to me
I have felt with my heart
that I cant carry this burden
lift me from my grave
in which I have buried myself
under thoughts of your lost smile
my bird of tomb
my nails edge the sides of you
a skin made of white
the lines of red have faded
as I have from you
and I no longer see a residence
within your space.
Dec 11, 2010
Dec 11, 2010 at 11:34 PM UTC
O gracious beauty,
Which taketh
Breath
Away;
Liquidate me
Nay.
Apr 16, 2012
Apr 16, 2012 at 2:36 AM UTC
The unstated part of the One-Party State:
non-compliant masses to liquidate.
Religions and tribes unwelcome to stay,
undesirable dissidents in the way;
when humans are resources—nothing more
selective reduction must even the score.
It’s a soft dictatorship: One-Party Lite
while global nimrods suppress the right
to our freedom of thought, word, deed, and speech;
our freedom to overthrow and impeach.
Stay late as you please. The party goes on
in the United Nations of Babylon.
Apr 3, 2017
Apr 3, 2017 at 8:01 AM UTC
in younger years, when my bare skin touched the cold porcelain, i would dance like an underpaid bartender on a tight-rope, and return to pockets of heat like nuclear winters.
but now i cannot find the energy to stand in the shower, and
i'd liquidate any inheritance from my last names and deepest loves to transform my thumb and pointers, molded into the shape of a magnificent pistol, into steel-
my fingers as a gun do not disintegrate my limbic system like a homesick child. i'm not capable of accomplishing any act of substance without outside assistance, explaining why every lover has looked into my eyes and seen enough thunderstorms to run and hide as fast as they ******* can.
i'm not sure there is a finite amount of broken clocks to convince me that time does not stop for anyone, and that for every vaccine you bring to their doorstep, there are seven more dead friends just outside the reach of your eyelids.
we keep our hands busy. we shift positions. if we can hide from the cosmos, we can quit biting our fingernails long enough to win Nobel Prizes. if not, we are pushing boulders up mountains, disguised as grocery stores, office parties, football fields, television screens, and pieces of paper just like this one.
there will be many more Nobel Prizes and one day, my hands will turn to steel. the final chapter of thunderstorms always contains some sanguine symbol, a motif mirroring soothing rain.
Nov 26, 2016
Nov 26, 2016 at 4:03 PM UTC
This dimension of living is endlessly shrouded in mystery.
We are the midwives to our own platform of living and we have the authority to liquidate it and start upon a new tier at any moment.
I know but only what my eyes have unrobed to show me.
All around us isolated winsome lives of their own fabric and hemming are kerneled into the crust of our worlds existence.
We are so distinctly separate yet intrinsically connected.
We tend to weave our lives in a way to circumvent the albatross that is free-floating and searching for a host.
It is so simple to sector yourself away from the things that pose fluster to your character.
But we infallibly need each other, we must uncloak ourselves from the throttling labels.
Once you make peace with the construction of this world you are unfettered and free.
All of these sumptuous luminescent minds quarantined away serve no good. Live your life with decorum and ease and let this light scintillate to invigorate others. This revolution is not rooted in vociferous speeches and affronts, but by merely emitting your unadulterated authentic self. Excavate yourself of the toxic of society and you will become the voltaic entity.
Make haimish comfort with the idea of uncertainty and live life simplistically.
Nov 6, 2016
Nov 6, 2016 at 5:18 PM UTC
This vacuous space between
The words and commas that you speak
Liquidate what’s left of me
Disingenuous insults hurled so
Perfectly aimed and cherry picked
Precise and sharp and aptly wit
Like razor blades they cut a slice
Targeted malice but at what price?
To redeem this man his suffered worth
Or his self indulgent sense of birth
This big tall man of men
This giant, titan king of them
Bruised sore loser maniac
Faulty wiring physopath
You think you fill up a room
With all your charm that you exhume
Mr. handsome know it all
Has all the answers can’t be wrong
Every hair precisely in place
Matches the cold stiff smile on your face
The premeditated answers that you give And mannequin like movements as you shift
The others start to **** their heads
And their disbelief begins to spread
All of your false and fake pretenses
Come crashing down around the fences
The walls you built to hide the truth
Crumble down and can’t save you
All this in vain as you creep out
The room you ruled now filled with doubt
Jul 22, 2018
Jul 22, 2018 at 8:20 PM UTC
Drink it in
The sweat stain disdain
Dish soap dog bath
****** sewage soda sludge
Puke-splattered canvas
Baby bottle brisk tea
40 ounces of ice cold destitution
Brown sugar blood bandage
Unprotected immaculate *********
Salivating for salvation
Asphyxiated angel tears
Indigence reigns
Faithful floods
Swallowing prayers
Quench God's thirst
As he ****** indifference
Oct 10, 2016
Oct 10, 2016 at 3:46 PM UTC
Why...why do you look at me the way you do...
Disgust or disgrace...my mind wonders...
Though I liquidate my thoughts with the adult beverages of liquidity....expanding on what an adulterous may or may not be...
My soul grows like a rose beautiful but with pain that pertrudes from the stems of my very existence...
Shall I wilt? Or grow to a branch towards that which is called ecstasy...
Let my pedals wrap you in love and everlasting passion, all the while catch your moist dew that exudes from your ****** curvature...
Let my thorns remind you of the pain I once had from a stem of growth I previously had, so so sad...
Can this grow? Or can the soon to be a wilted soul gaze at the sun that glows with the rays of that which once grown to an imaginative fantasy, though a playful bliss of my imagination...
I yearn to farm such a harvest of bountiful happiness, though the crops seen to cultivate thoughts that once produced wetness on its skin that would moisturize the essence this isnt mine...
I'm still growing...whether it wilt or it flourishes, this garden won't be edaness, yet happy...
Oct 2, 2015
Oct 2, 2015 at 1:43 AM UTC
My spirit is unseasoned.
My body is an unwashed, used ,dark clay *** Stars all over my world are enriched with insecurities, self hate, body shaming.
The dark cracks on my lower lip manipulate my mind. They liquidate and rush through the core of my imperfections.
Forming a mouth piece of total surrender that manifests and speaks the language of the broken.
My dignity is amputated and walks on its arms. My legs are nowhere close to perfection.
Mirror mirror on the wall is praised to be the fortune teller of beauty.
My dear skin is cracked and has become a feeding scheme of maggots and vultures.
The body of a young goddess needs awakening.
Rush dear honey and bathe me in a tub of nurture. Scrub all insecurities and soothe my soul with a bowl of gold praise.
Pour your offsprings onto the mirror.
Marinate my skin with love and joy. Entice my mind , Pierce through my longing skin and rebirth my veins.
Rush honey ,rush.
Nov 14, 2018
Nov 14, 2018 at 2:57 PM UTC
"Don't know where i'm going, my life
seems to be in the ninth inning.
Roller coaster ride's are riding, carousels
are spinning.
Will my mind be able to put on the
brakes?
To liquidate the hidden tears, that are
about to accumulate?
Maybe a Daydream can place me in
a wonderland.
To a getaway with my feet slowly
walking through the beach sand.
I feel the ocean spray.
it's cooling to my face.
I look up at the sun, what a
terrific place.
Why does this have to come to an
end,
Putting me back in the ninth inning?
Because that's where we all belong.
To hit that home run, and never
stop running."
Jul 8, 2016
Jul 8, 2016 at 6:07 PM UTC
I keep close watch of the scars on my body,
making sure that their stories don't liquidate and seep out
like blood when I'm not looking,
that they don't fade and discolor before I remember
who I am without them.
I'm afraid of letting them vanish before
you let yours vanish too.
So I stare pigment into the blisters on my right palm and I
still remember
the first time you held it,
at Six Flags when we were both high on funnelcake and the fumes of late summer mixed with bus fuel and sweat.
I do the same to my shoulder,
where yours would always be after I missed the midnight shuttle
and trudged home with a scarf up to my eyelashes
in the nearly horizontal snow.
And to my ears, because
I'd always have more work to do,
and you'd carry your stereo to my room and play
that song you stained so thoroughly with your voice that
I can't bear to listen to it
anymore.
I spend the most time re-burning the skin around my eyes
to precisely the degree that you did when you brushed the tears
from under them,
and that I did later when
I scratched away at the same flesh because you weren't there
to do it anymore.
I keep close watch of what I never thought would
turn into memories,
making sure that our story doesn't liquidate and trickle away
when I'm not looking,
that it doesn't fade and discolor before I forget
who I was when I knew you.
I'm afraid, too, that you've already long
forgotten.
Apr 25, 2021
Apr 25, 2021 at 4:23 AM UTC