"lobotomized" poems
Medication time wheezed nurse ratchet
Her yellowed teeth as sharp as a hatchet
Medication time medication time
She shouts once more
Leaving me sickly chilled to my core
Medication time medication time
she hisses in my ear
Will I ever get better or is it only my fear?
Medication time medication time
she picks up in pace
If the medicines working why do I feel I'm being erased?
Medication time medication time
It comes to an end
I've been lobotomized and left for dead
Dec 27, 2013
Dec 27, 2013 at 9:35 PM UTC
punishment, not fit
for a velvet plaything
treated like lobotomized dogs
vast vivid wilderness of pain
will you ever see through the fog
the wretchedness I adore
in my head, eternal hell
taken for granted our prizes are mounted
the hypocrisy we deplore
punishment not fit for a mangled heart
blisters these hands twitch
to be found, all is lost to start
feel the nervous itch
Apr 2, 2015
Apr 2, 2015 at 7:25 AM UTC
i am the lyrical terrorist,
stalking virtual grasslands
technology fueled efficient
#winning#unabombereatyourheartout
IDK how 2 roboto-cize
spiritual growth.
YET
IDGAF bout your FB status
if you dont respond to mine.
First.
#circumcumnavigate
the sheep are now wolves
(lobotomized)
preying on our weaknesses
BRING ME ANOTHER POWER STRIP!
See?
so much 2 say...
Why?
c
i g
r the globe n
c i
l
Word.
Sep 29, 2013
Sep 29, 2013 at 3:01 PM UTC
lobotomized, lost soul.
torn across fields of ****** death
death breaks,
feelings left wounded and paralyzed
now there is no vision in these eyes
life's germ invades healthy brain
and done with no refrain
moment thrown into society
degradation moral decay,
generate the lies you create.
truth is lost its to late,
forever stuck forever stuck
we all decay
emotional derogation, and mental erosion
Jan 18, 2015
Jan 18, 2015 at 3:04 PM UTC
vast vivid wilderness
analyze politicians mind
hypocrites world dies in lies
moral devolution,hiding in white
lose of mind,gravity inside
zero nothing, sometime
1 is a separate thing
a velvet plaything
breathing in the fumes
lobotomized muse
trying to do what is right
don't forget, never forget
to start walking in the grey
memories they slowly fade
from this harsh reality
exist inside, resist tide
inside you'll see it die
justify your wicked mind
the eyes torture tantalize
3 rings, out in time
bombarding mind
find it not linear time
time line separate thing
velvet plaything
treated like lobotomized dogs
vast vivid life of pain
wires forced into my brain
trying to do what is right
don't forget, never forget
to start walking in the grey
memories they slowly fade
from this harsh reality
exist inside, resist tide
inside you'll see it die
justify your wicked mind
Oct 5, 2015
Oct 5, 2015 at 3:39 PM UTC
My worst fear realized
Beyond scared & paralyzed
the moment I recognized
the signs in the fading eyes
of a lover as she re-lives the lies
& cries herself to sleep with sorrowful lullabies
Ones only heard by the clouds and the stars they pass by in the night skies
The ones just as lonely and as distant as a sunrise
on the moons romanticized dark sides
mingling with the anticipated replies to the backlog of "why's"
that don't even bother with fly-bys
Somewhere out past where hope dies
Where both love and hate are lobotomized
then cannibalized
even weaponized
for passion triggered crimes
leaving no one surprised
Where the only allies one finds
arrive in disguise
as the best of times
as the worst of times
building up to a multitude of inevitable good-byes
How was I to vocalize
a mess of this size
when I don't have the ability to visualize
even loosing such a prize...
©2024
Feb 21, 2024
Feb 21, 2024 at 12:06 AM UTC
The Universe is compelled to Upgrade!
Stars, Nebula, even Black Holes must be Improved!
**Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah!
Sis Boom Bah! Rah! Rah! Rah! Sis Boom Bah!**
It is risen! It is risen! It is Risen!
Most marvelous, miraculous divine device!
Forget turning water into wine... Lame!
Forget Muhammed moving that mountain... Lame!
Let Lazarus flop back into the tomb... Lame!
This is Miracle as it was meant to be!
Oh grand glorious God of International Capitalism!
The triumphant product of American Genius manifest
in the work of many skilled primates' foreign hands.
Truly an event of Startling Global Significance!
And you have stood like a lemming on methamphetamine
many long hours in the rain to be possessed by its majesty
and now it is yours, yours, yours, yours alone
for only $649 dollars plus a few hundred monthly.
Let all the bells be rung! Let high Hosannas be sung!
A phone so smart it was beta tested on the lobotomized
and made them look like slightly scarred Steven Hawings!
The apps that are available will explode your existence!
They can provide *********** wipe your *** ******* you.
Yes! Imagine Siri willingly kneeling between your legs!
Oh, but what to do about that first important call or text?
It must be equal in loftiness to this Digital Masterpiece!
Perhaps command it to call Obama and implore him to gain weight,
or Alexander Putin to tell him a Polar Bear needs wrestling,
or perhaps God to tell him he is no longer necessary.
No, all of these are far too paltry for that first message.
Instead, tell Siri to search for the nearest Lunatic Asylum
and book as many cells as possible for self-obsessed consumers.
That way they can text and call in medically supervised bliss,
undisturbed until Apple provides them with the next Transfiguration.
It will probably only be six months from now... Suckers.
Oct 1, 2015
Oct 1, 2015 at 8:18 AM UTC
Furniture moves around inside of me
My brain is the roof
My heart is the floor
Everything else is a revolving door
To live in suburbia you must be lobotomized
You must be cut up
Down to size
Realities are bleeding through
I’m sure they’ll love a train wreck
So goodbye to the oblong
Death for two
Hello to the sharp game of chance
Losing my mind is a sweet romance
I’ve gathered my graffiti tools
Hyperfocused on the rules
Now it’s time
To claim my birthright
To transform into the hunter
To perform like a good boy should
Here comes the Flow
Jul 23, 2012
Jul 23, 2012 at 1:18 PM UTC
I built these walls to protect myself.
Encase myself in steel to keep intruders out.
I ripped my heart out, pickled it and put it on a shelf.
Zipped my mouth and lobotomized myself to exsponge doubt.
I encase my house in a steel cage, bottle up my sadness, fury, rage.
My room sealed shut, locked with a deadbolt.
Strapped into my bed just me and my colt.
45 that is hallucinating and yet peacefully bliss.
A knock on the door.... What the **** is this.
Who's is this knocking on my door. I sealed myself in this world, never see anyone, anymore.
I peek through the window, can't believe my eyes.
In the wall lies a huges gaping hole, dynamite explosion marks her introduction.
Chainsawed bars from where the sparks flew, instantly I knew it was her kiss that broke through.
Her hug was the key that opened the door to me.
Smiling at me is what set me free.
Hopeless I stare, whowhatwhenwhere?!
Feelings arise deep from in there.
She found the jar, brought it to me empty.
Smug devilish smile, for some reason began to tempt me.
I ask "What did you do with what defined me"
She replied "Inplace of mine is where it shall be".
And we traded, easily I see, I'm still pondering how in the hell she got the key.
Key to my heart what leads to me, who are you? How can this be.
She: I am your desire whoever you wish me to be.
Me: you are perfect as you are, as long as you stay with me. I have no mind to think with so nothing can ruin us.
And in an instant she pulled it from thin air, without a care.
She: use this to please and entertain me for you are great, a caged king to be. You have been hurt by others this I can see.
But I hold the key, I belong to you, and you belong to me.
And with that she set me free, the ******* that I have set to be. Something to encage and enslave me. To such a low point and hoplessness for which light you cannot see. I am now whole and happy as can be.
Nov 4, 2010
Nov 4, 2010 at 6:51 PM UTC
Cursing like they diamond but
they don't even cut glass..
Holding wraps of cash, but the top and
bottom be 50's but the rest is the monopoly
that they can't even pay...
They are burning rubber on the expense,
but they rented, they dent...
Paying back on the record company.
You sold 50 thousand but you owe
a hundred grand.
They ain't going to shoot out you knee caps,
there just going to gang-rape your voice..
Thinking you original, swallow that pride,
you one of there cash cows,
they milking you, can you say Moo!!!
******* around making the milk sour.
They'll just pressure bolt you
lobotomized, on the industry you either overdose,
or working at KFC..
Think you had grills now sold off to pay
the rent, the only thing you can afford is
a tin foil grill and you only cooking,
is burgers...
"Hi sir can I take your order,
Oct 10, 2020
Oct 10, 2020 at 6:17 PM UTC
it is the epitome of mad terror
I've been lobotomized;
in my nightmares
by psycho-analysts
who seek the blood of the
weak and naive
for the guilty and the
geeks
same geeks who strive on books and
their gram of coffee beans
they eat and chew on
to nourish their brain with more
anxiety and horror.
listen to me
I tell you
walk by me
I tell you.
Walk the streets
to the left
holy mass concourse of scalawags
to the right
a pile of wet cigarette butts
and broken garbage cans.
my brain has been castrated.
my guts are tormented from
all my past experiences.
Enter the room;
full of art
melancholic darkwave in the background
and peace.
Do not get out of the room.
I tell you.
(from outside the room)
noises and yelling
people fighting
misery
Reincarnation has to come to an end.
One is enough,
I tell you.
ONE IS ENOUGH.
Now, I swim in my Andromeda and float in the milky way..
Aug 5, 2021
Aug 5, 2021 at 4:20 PM UTC
They sell **** to poor people.
But its OK.
They are poor too.
I love that fiction book section.
I feel like I'm getting one over on them.
Hemingway,$1. Saroyan, $1,The Bronte girls,$1,D.H., $1, Sartre,$3, Camus...25¢...
I walk to the counter
"Your total is...$10."
They feel like they're getting one over on me.
Anyways...
(shit...I've been drinking. It makes everything seem
poetic.)
I'm standing in the fiction section.
It's next to the women's bathroom
And it reeks like demon's ****
I stand staring
Lobotomized.
So many titles
So much ****
But... you never know...
**** I was just thinking about the time I made a *** tape at 15...)
I found some more
Hem, Voltaire, Joyce .
I was having an
Ok
Day.
Then I smelled it.
Lavender on fire
In a torched
Green-black forest.
I looked over.
A beautiful blonde
Knelt down
Searching the very bottom row
Of the fiction section.
Christ...
May I combust
Now
And never see another
Sight.
She stood up
And stepped closer to me
Our shoulders touched.
"Sorry" she smiled
Green eyes.
I never notice eyes.
Green eyes.
"That's alright."
*****
She stood right next to me
Maybe, 10 minutes.
Say something
You lonely miserable *******
All that reading you've done
She is browsing at fiction...
Say something, ******
Then her friends walked over
"Hey,(sunburntlavendardrippinginnapalm) you ready to go?"
"Hold up..." She exhaled
Say something
You drunkard lonely son of a *****
She stood up.
Looked at me.
Then left.
Green eyes.
I exhaled
Looked at the bottom shelf.
SHE, was there again...
Carson McCullers.
The Heart Is A Lonely Hunter
With her
"You'll never finish me, Ray." Smirk.
I smirked back.
Took her up to the counter...
$3.
Dec 29, 2015
Dec 29, 2015 at 9:24 PM UTC
I made a
vision board
in treatment
the other day.
I had to
hunt for a
picture of
Mom and Dad.
Where the ****
did the time go?
They have been gone
for over 30 years now.
The hour glass
broke,
and the sand
blew and blended
me in with the
storms of life.
I tried to
drink
all the pain away;
to become a
lobotomized shell.
It didn't work.
The poet in me
felt everything.
I have four
kids that my
parents never got
to meet.
Sometimes I see
Mom and Dad
in my son's and
daughter's eyes.
Two have blue
like Dad.
And two have brown
like Mom and me.
They are
intelligent
sensitive
and caring.
When I was
little, I thought
my parents would
live forever.
On my vision
board,
I become a
better father.
Jan 27, 2021
Jan 27, 2021 at 1:00 PM UTC
My heart's been recycled
My heart's been put in the trash
My heart's been used and abused
My heart's been traded for cash
My veins have been poked and pricked
My veins are green and blue
My veins form a weird omen shape
Like a death-eater's tattoo
I used to have quick reflex
Could catch flying objects
Now all I can do is text
Under technology's hex
I used to be normal
Till someone took a picture
Now defined by the mystery down under
Defined by a strange tincture
My skin has been burned and scarred
By accidents, aging and stress
My skin covers up my skeleton
But it crawls every time I get undressed
My brain has something wrong with it
My brain is the cura and the curse
My brain's been scanned, fried, almost lobotomized
My right-brain is the drunk co-pilot, my left brain's in my purse
I used to be wild and vain
Now I'm sensitive and insane
In this trade-off what remains?
Flesh wounds for angels' slain
Apr 8, 2015
Apr 8, 2015 at 10:14 AM UTC
Pure exhaustion
Coupled with mental anguish
Living in a haze day to day
Comprehension of routine
Has walked right out the door
Sparks of consciousness
Becoming far and few lately
Morning, night, day bleed into one
A pulsating maggot of time & space
Sense of self becomes abstract
An arbitrary composition of pieces
Rotting flesh randomly arranged
To create a mindless marionette
Performing through a dull screenplay
On this decaying stage of life
Waiting for a curtain call
A grandiose standing ovation
From fellow lobotomized puppets
Who will weep at this tragedy
And laugh at the irony
Simply because it's all part of the act
The paradox of universe
Acted out daily on a grand scale
Billions of actors with no director
Each individual at center stage
Giving the performance of a lifetime
A sad endeavor of recognition
Dramatics as schematic
Systematic
Death.
Dec 17, 2014
Dec 17, 2014 at 1:46 AM UTC
Just in case you
couldn't
guess, it's not a
a fair fight
or a level
playing field.
It's you with
boxing gloves
and them with
machine guns.
It's Van Gogh
throwing his paintings
out the window
to stop the hecklers.
It's Janis falling
down
the stairs, lonely
and
broken
looking for love.
It's Morrison seeing
the game for
what it was,
wanting to disappear
in France and
write poetry,
then dying in a
bathtub with a
witch in the wings.
It's morphine dreams
and thorazine days.
It's the tiger
declawed and lobotomized
at the zoo.
It's the lobster
cursed with
precious meat.
It's the statue of liberty,
burning her bra
and impaling
working class men with
her stiletto heels.
It's Gogol
dying after a
prolonged fast,
because a charlatan
told him
it was evil.
It's the elephant
domesticated by
the cage, but
still dreaming of
the Serengeti.
It's the dolphin in
a Hollywood
swimming pool,
a shark in your
coffee cup;
it's the criminality
of releasing the insane
from their cages to
wander the streets of
Santa Barbara.
It's pathetic and putrid,
a setup up;
the perfect tragedy;
a crime that goes beyond
denunciation.
It's what they will continue
to do to
you and me
until someone or something
intervenes.
Aug 7, 2021
Aug 7, 2021 at 11:37 AM UTC
I feel very fake when I'm spilling my guts
Sometimes i feel that I am going nuts
The challenge of holding on to my soul
Maybe tougher than I ever thought
Refusing conformity and rebelling on the norms
Has been my sole purpose in my years of living
Because being different in a country like mine
equates to being mentally insane
So sick of being prejudiced and scrutinized
I feel like a shadow sometimes, invisible
So translucent and immune to people's judgment
Newbies will suffer in this world
They're better off in the womb
Nov 15, 2015
Nov 15, 2015 at 11:14 AM UTC
If I could hold the words you spoke,
I'd keep them in my palms
and nobody would ever see those creases again.
Mar 8, 2014
Mar 8, 2014 at 11:10 PM UTC
Clean and serene or institutionally lobotomized
society reacts to the raging dope fiend, summarized
by med lines and meetings and half-hearted greetings.
They say he was convulsing and blue,
yet still if they only had a clue,
how it feels to be him when he is
clean
serene.
Experiments in convalescence
yet I am more restless
than an entire generation.
If the 20's were so roaring
and the 50's were so beat,
I can only be as restless, selfish
as this age entitles me to be.
Born into this, because of this,
old man I hear you echo from an angry bottled fist.
Raging with a deep death wish ever chasing his bliss,
he doesn't have much time left, just give him a kiss.
You yell "you are not Burroughs no comparison with Cobain,"
yet if I go off chasing them through the mist
who can you really blame?
Let the epithet boldly blaze
Forever Young
Born. ****** Died.
Wouldn't that be such a shame.
Oct 17, 2015
Oct 17, 2015 at 11:36 AM UTC
Looking at myself from another perspective
I realize in other times I'd have been lobotomized,
before that I'd have been burned as a witch,
even before I'd have been crucified.
So I'd never say I was born in the wrong generation,
since today's the time for change and I can do my thing,
not that "regular" people don't reject me and call me crazy,
but at least I kind of have the right to be me.
Jun 24, 2021
Jun 24, 2021 at 9:10 PM UTC
Nascent thought provoking
threads flit to and fro
unseen solitary pinball wizard
cavalierly fiddles indiscriminately
leveraging outcome
silently holistic thought fragments
strewn staccoto scattershot
attenuated blitzkrieg
brain storm saturates,
par for course sandtrap engulfs,
chaos reverberates within
besieged cerebral corridor,
quotidian mental onslaught
spurns refugee exodus,
psychological ploy asper viable coping
function forgoes figurative
foothold toe tully forfeited
tenuous grasp slips forcing migration,
Sans psychotic shrapnel
clefts emotional well being,
without rhyme or reason
sense and sensibility rent asunder
rational, overall logical
modus operandi quashed
dealt fatal savage ******
soundless insanity relentlessly pounds
fifty plus shades gray matter
noiselessly bombarding
lofty craft cognitive faculty atelier
strafed emotional rescue
relegated to twilight zone
outer limits house barbed bereft ken
dolled, hallowed, and lobotomized
mined kempf desecrated sacred reliquary
orbits like a neurological asteroid belt
Self healing fragments repelled
despite fervent application grounded
evincing proof of positive thinking
courtesy Norman Vincent Peale
fore gone conclusion crowning
accursed albatross gussied as SPD
(schizoid personality disorder)
undefeated champ decamping forever
within noggin of this mortal male
til death do me part!
May 23, 2018
May 23, 2018 at 6:28 PM UTC
We live in a house
without ghosts or
previous tenants.
No one has died
or sold their soul
here,
and no one has done
unspeakable things
behind closed doors
here.
No one has endured
flaming words,
burning skin,
kicks and shoves
or broken bones
here.
There are no
spun dust dead cells
come alive as
night prowl swirlings
here,
and no manifestations
of such.
No leftover lives
here,
nothing left behind
here.
only peace
and quiet
here.
But not back
there
when I lived with her
before I lived
here
with you.
Back
there
she said I went crazy
when the neighbors asked
why I slept on the porch
there.
It would have been crazier
had I slept inside the house
there.
What happened
there
was worse than
the worst thing imaginable.
I would forever be changed
by what happened
there.
She let evil enter
there
from across the globe when
mother Russia sent it in
the suitcase of a boy.
When I met you
I knew
my porch sleeping days
were over,
whether
here
or
there,
quite frankly anywhere.
Our first house
was 50 years old
yet we were only
the second owners.
Family must have mattered
there.
The ghost was different
there,
not frightening, not angry,
more nostalgic,
he used to sit out
there
on the porch
in my chair at night,
sit
there
looking sad,
like he missed the place.
He didn’t mind us being
there
and I never felt threatened
there.
On many occasions
he knew that I knew
he was
there,
but he wouldn’t engage.
I felt sorry for him,
sitting out
there
all alone.
For a short while
we lived in a house
north of town.
We lived
there
before we lived
here.
The ghosts
there
were more like what
you’d expect from ghosts.
First it was
the hogs in the attic
followed by
the children in the night,
it wasn’t unsafe
it just didn’t feel right
there.
Someone wasn’t happy
there,
so we left
there
and came
here
and built this house of love.
Now we live where
there
are no ghosts,
at least not in the house.
Instead
the history in my head
is what haunts me.
To move it out,
to delete it
would mean to be dead
or maybe lobotomized,
so no thank you
I think I’ll learn to live with
these
ghosts.
These
that aren’t
there,
or
here,
they still are.
My father is 85 and tells me
that they prey on your weakness
when you get older.
He cannot even speak of them
for fear of being institutionalized
or put away, or deemed insane,
but I believe him when he tells me
that they come to him at night,
and although he cannot see them
they sit on his bed and remind him
of all the mistakes he has made
in his lifetime.
I look at him
and I can see his pain.
My ghosts tell me its what
I have to look forward to.
Aug 27, 2017
Aug 27, 2017 at 5:23 PM UTC
You predictable communists rant,
your lobotomized zombies may chant.
But the people for Trump
are now over the ****
You'd depose him, we know... but you can't.
PS:
** ** Hey Hey - Donald Trump has got to stay*!"
Mar 8, 2017
Mar 8, 2017 at 4:04 PM UTC