"mainline" poems
My heart bleeds tears
So yours doesn't have to.
It opens right up to every piece of joy
and sadness and injustice and inspiration.
Gushing tears....flood waters for the dramatic.
No use in trying to hold them back.
They burst all barriers and reinforcements.
My heart beats pain....thump thump...thump thump
Louder now. THUMP THUMP....THUMP THUMP
Innocent children destroyed in all corners of society.
Pump. Pump. Pump.
Poisoned by our own government with lies
Imprinted at a young age and we believed them. For a while.
Pump. Pump. Pump.
An aorta so large that tears mainline my existence.
It bleeds for you, your children, me, my children, our animals, our planet.
Some days it stops all together in a moment of silence for the ethereal
shedding their tears as rain on us all.
No tourniquet could stop the strength of my pulsing heart
My forceful, stubborn tears.
As I bleed out
these tears nourish
the ugliness around my shell.
Souls who are born with a heart like mine
encase an ***** strong enough to hold, release and replenish
tears of pain and joy over and over again.
It allows us to not just see beauty but breathe it.
It allows us to feel love so intensely
that our teary reservoirs are life forces beating Universally.
My heart bleeds tears so yours doesn't have to.
Apply pressure with an embrace or your own beaming light so my heart beats in unison with yours.
Jul 21, 2014
Jul 21, 2014 at 8:55 PM UTC
selfishness
makes the ink patterns
on hearts
disappear
the stars
become one
and trees
to be bound
like the tigers
around our wrists
swallow the gin
mainline
inhale
forget to exhale
there aren't any trees
left
to make oxygen
anyway
Jun 13, 2014
Jun 13, 2014 at 9:42 AM UTC
Butte Magic of Ignorance
Butte Magic
Is the same as no-Butte
All one light
Old Rough Roads
One High Iron
Mainway
Denver is the same
'The guy I was with his uncle was
the govornor of Wyoming'
'Course he paid me back'
Ten Days
Two Weeks
Stock and Joint
'Was an old crook anyway'
The same voice on the same ship
The Supreme Vehicle
S.S. Excalibur
Maynard
Mainline
Mountain
Merudvhaga
Mersion of Missy
4.7k
Addiction,
you have sent me reeling
headlong over feet
I sneak around and lie for you,
it’s important that I’m discreet
So nothing comes between us,
cause I need you around
You pick me up we dance,
twirl,
spin,
right before you knock me down
Addiction are you angry?
I feel strongly that you are
I scream at you
“DON’T LEAVE ME”
I wear your tell-tale scars
I mainline this cyanide
through my eager veins
Twisted sick compulsion
needles stabbing
kills my pain.
Devouring any hopeful dreams
that I could one day be
Someone to be cherished,
loved and truly happy
When I was ten he pushed you in,
hoping I wouldn't tell
Now we are inseparable,
depravity is where we dwell
Trust me I don’t want to feel this ****
so I stay high
Until the day comes to pass
when I don’t want to die.
Heidi Shavill
2013
Oct 24, 2013
Oct 24, 2013 at 7:34 AM UTC
Been flying but need to come down,
Hand me the rope,
Hand me the needle,
Chase the dragon and mainline,
I’m doing fine.
Colours,
Such colours,
Overwhelming red mist of bliss,
A green calm,
And people,
So many people,
Knives and guns,
After me,
I need to be free…
…
…
…jump.
Aug 28, 2012
Aug 28, 2012 at 5:50 AM UTC
Jonesing words, no time...
boss coming back, thank Spirit
for senryu mainline.
Jan 11, 2011
Jan 11, 2011 at 3:09 AM UTC
Transcendence and unity was always my friend
I know,
Something that doesn't exist yet always lingers
a man in black, everywhere, always filling cups
and know I'm staring into the face of that man though he no longer exists
There's an undiscovered idea or concept, nobody sees it but it's here
with me over my shoulder always
Do you hear those voices on the mainline when the shore is out
why do you see today, when not yesterday, was blind
a certain sense of paranoia, uplifting
Behind the lamp post on the corner there's the man in a black overcoat
and on the roof, over there
and in trees behind brick houses
everywhere
I see him
How can you escape these walls when captive men's lives linger on
Sighing again, it's morning, did you cry today?
Those headphones passive pass no mas but moreover we're dying
cerebral disconnect
everything changes
creativity dies when the keyboard intervenes
and the blackness of one turns into itself and everything dies before being reborn again somewhere else
somewhere different
Erratic thoughts but these are dying words when they come each night, the terrors
Is there anybody or anything anymore?
Resistance to life now is dull and over. Done.
heavy lungs still breathing but detached
Where the ghosts of Saturday night roam in pilfered streets
and numbed limbs crawling
re-percussive Robitussin and gushing percussion, oh the jazz-hall bells
swing la
swing
oh its yellow in nightlife fever fervor forever
Gábor!
Tell me these sweet dreams again
great white flags on the shoreline as the ships arrive home
and the war is done
Did I import the brown in past lives?
Jeer jazz man jeer!
and this wild hair is the sea, swim with me forever
the guiding hand on my wrist is not my own
the door slams shut in echo chamber corridors and the tension in the neck is incredible
but the end is never that, it's only the beginning in disguise
I am constantly haunted by my psychosis
Amphetamine dreams
and Sunday dawns
the hazy yawns
- to sleep
Dec 1, 2013
Dec 1, 2013 at 9:18 AM UTC
I could of course get on a horse and ride to Huddersfield
but
I shall not yield to that temptation.
Oh no,
I will wait with her on platform three at St Pancras mainline station and catch the 15.40, (change at Leeds) or if needs must
just carry on to somewhere North of York.
When we talk we lose all sense of time and place,
I lose myself as I look into her face.
Once I almost lost my suitcase too,but that was
South of Crewe
and everything gets lost there.
Aug 16, 2014
Aug 16, 2014 at 5:17 AM UTC
She graciously rolls up her sleeve
For another mainline of hype
America's a ******
You can see it in her eyes
She must really crave it
She keeps coming back for more
America's a ******
Her dealer is media the *****
They feed off each other
No way to pass the blame
On the streets of long lost innocence
On a night of goodbye shame
America's in the ally
The needle dangling from her arm
While media hits the corner
Waving down the passing cars
Are we to late for intervention
Are we to late to find a cure
For America the ******
And her dealer media the *****
Sep 25, 2013
Sep 25, 2013 at 6:27 AM UTC
Dear Grandad,
I wish I could take cancer,
and punch it in the face;
And every disease and drug that poisons the body and soul,
I wish I could drag to a grave.
See, those are the things that took you away
For years, when you were out of my life.
But I'm oh so glad that at your last,
you won the battle which was your strife.
Jesus there to pull you to his chest at your final breath,
You made amends with a call to the One on the Mainline.
I loved every moment when I got to see you again,
The time between these reunions nonexistant,
Outshined by the joy of spending precious time
with you.
I'm not God but I wish you were here for another chess session.
I wish you were here so I could steal a bit more wisdom.
I wish I'd had that chance to see you hold my children with love.
You were my last Grandad and I never got to meet the other one.
Now you're both great men who've been spirited away by that sweet angel of death,
Only residing on this earth in the memories of us,
the one's you left behind for to Heaven you've gone to rest.
If I didn't have a job to do here I'd pray for God to take me next.
Dear grandad I'll miss you,
and you'll continue on in the stories We tell your great grandchildren
generation after to generation, every one of your descendents.
Every story about you teaches forever what is best to bet
on in life. After all you've played both sides.
And yet managed to tell my father no lies.
And managed to raise my mother like you, wise.
Truly you were heaven bound and heaven sent.
Through a fantastic wide round trip
you made it to those golden gates of heaven.
And on that note, dear Grandfather,
This letter, like you, will meet it's end.
Mar 23, 2016
Mar 23, 2016 at 1:36 PM UTC
Go ask Alice in her padded cell
how she took a tumble and fell
down a rabbit hole of illusion
now don’s a straight-jacket of confusion.
Go ask Alice with her veins full of Lithium
how she surrendered to her delirium
of smoking caterpillars and a
grinning feline,
now attached to an Intravenous mainline.
Go ask Alice about her sanity
how it vanished in this asylum of rhapsody
in a fog that is translucent and hypnotic
in her Wonderland of painted narcotics.
Nov 12, 2020
Nov 12, 2020 at 6:48 AM UTC
True rise of true
rise, true fall of
true fall...as if
these gave mind
and body the
mythology of
direction.
Afterall, there's
everafter at every
turn.
Gifted a ghostly
long lock, for
good luck and
good measure...
to keep the pneuma
from transmogrifying
stillness.
A silver cord as
brittle in appearance
as the world it
harnesses to experience.
Where release snaps
silver, lightning return
of no return.
Mainline of soundless
music, en-silvering stars...
cord of web and Word.
Apr 12, 2016
Apr 12, 2016 at 3:35 PM UTC
You forged a map
whilst quite unaware
that he was in want of direction,
and though he was lost
and close to despair,
he mustered his will and he made a connection.
You spoke of an age
from aeons ago;
a harmony sweet to his ears.
Though sep'rate by worlds,
you drew him in slow
and extinguished his nerves and his bleakest of fears.
You opened yourself up
to him like a rose,
when discord and tension were rife,
and gifted him naifly
with welcome repose
when you entered his otherwise workaday life.
You flooded his thoughts,
a tempestuous storm,
your tales of love as his guide,
and whilst he took your lead
and began to transform,
he learned to catch starlight with you by his side.
And how can he thank you
for touching him so,
when he still barely knows who he is?
The best he can do
is to write you a verse -
a mainline direct to your heart, from his.
May 9, 2017
May 9, 2017 at 5:07 AM UTC
Beneath the calm
Of moonlit leaves,
Lying lovers
Shoot the breeze.
When in the moment
Of the mode,
Between the rhythm
Of stride and strode,
Shoot off your mouth
And not your load.
Corner thugs
Will deal you drugs
To smoke or snort
Or mainline shoot.
It's a slippery slope
Of lost freewill,
The up is high,
The trip's downhill.
You're in the cross hairs;
Drugs shoot to ****
The shooter feigns
Heeding advice,
So craps himself
On loaded dice.
The lawyers grin
Without remorse;
They shoot your savings
Throughout divorce.
The pool hall hustler
Cues his cool,
Looking for
A snookered fool.
Naively, when the children play,
Yell, “Ah shoot!” instead of say,
“Ah ****
We say that's okay.
Like saying, ****
When they can.
It's in the Bible, see?
Sports Illustrated
Puts out a shoot
Of photoshops
In skimpy suits.
When we say
We shoot meat,
Do we stalk roasts
On city streets;
From our hide
On city blocks,
Do we crossbow
Down our chops;
Do we rope *******
Then use buckshot?
It's euphemistic,
A rich spadeful:
"We shoot 'em all,"
And that's no bull.
Jul 9, 2014
Jul 9, 2014 at 12:07 AM UTC
When I look at you,
I see nothing but your eyes -
Those beautiful brown orbs -
And I hear your voice in song,
Singing as if only to me
From above on your stage.
What I feel is another story,
Of another genre entirely.
As I go beneath that creamy skin,
All the pain begins to resonate in a way
Your guitar can only imagine -
Every note from you contained within.
Are we talking the mental or the physical,
When the scars all stay the same
Whether they're tears shed
Or more drops bled by and by?
I see that false ecstasy
Overlaying that torment hidden within.
The pain of seeing boy after boy
Playing the game to gain
What you always know they want,
Hoping time and again that it's not.
Morning lies rise with the sun to wake you,
Acting as if you never knew.
When you get home,
Sitting in your room, curtains drawn
- The darkness a close friend -
Contemplating your railroad track arms,
Wondering how it got you from no to Yak to Smack;
How to catch the mainline to noon?
You arrive on time every time.
Climb aboard as you lay back,
Finding your secret ecstasy in this life of misery,
Wishing it didn't have to be this way,
Wondering why you let it get this far -
How do you find time for more?
But this time, from the dark of your room,
As you watch your stop come and go,
You take it one stop too far.
Keep to your seat and let the dice roll.
You've always known it to take the toll:
Seeing your feet submerge in the tar.
That beautiful white hue turns ice blue,
a color that has always become you.
Breathing slows and falls in line,
Same as the rest it knows best -
This drowning has been long time coming -
And it's not scary as you thought it could be.
So now you climb to the front of the bus,
Driver says, "Sorry, *** they're no return trips",
But as the door opens, the light blinds in.
Sirens blare and voices begin,
Surging into motion returning you to withdrawl reality.
Voices from Angels of men, giving you one last chance to live again.
Oct 16, 2011
Oct 16, 2011 at 5:58 PM UTC
The sun comes up and
the day goes down,
down, down the mainline,
escaping to some solace
pressed between the thighs of the sun
and the curls of the moon;
the lovers of the sky
and all our feeble perceptions of time
waltzing behind our dew drop minds.
I press and dry my mind
between stains of earth and
prefabricated wood pulp, dried to a
leafy crisp that will singe with enough friction.
There are no echoes of ourselves
but i have my laughs
with the anthills of our skyscrapers
and the inhuman city sounds.
These things aren't precious,
that's just a predisposed opinion,
but they do exist more than i do.
Even right now i am not here
but something invisible presses down the fabric of a chair
and my soul fills with sorry
for the life it will never have.
Jul 13, 2011
Jul 13, 2011 at 5:30 PM UTC
Loquacious and Lascivious, a most distracting combination
You’ve driven me, pitch black, headlights off,
into twisted metal heaps of distraction
And yet, it is not me, at least not me alone
There is a sense, from where I know not,
that these thoughts I think are not mine own
That by some impossibility an interloper
has managed to tap in to my frequency
And subjugate my better self in favor of foreign imprints,
dark and ****** dripping blood that spells my name
How is it that you have arrived,
or perhaps the better question is
how long have you been here
How many moons has it been
like a spider creeps
that my thoughts have not been from myself conceived
Claws dug in from where do you perch,
fishing with ****** bait until you find the strain that draws me in
Infects me wherein I add combustion to your dégagé,
and seek out satisfaction dark and base
at which point your needle ******
you mainline the light from my veins
while I am lost in pull and ******
I really must commend you for such a charade
that has been for so long captivating,
adding darkness where light would grow
But we must now part ways, for I am tired of this game,
and have matters of importance that do not include a blooming rose,
flush with blood from a thorny bush that you have sewn
Adieu, I pray that you find no safe landing
inside the gentle mind of your next victim
though you have known me more intimately than most I’ve known
You know me not at all
Jul 17, 2017
Jul 17, 2017 at 11:17 PM UTC
There once were voices, that spoke of choices; blusterous and lustrous
With an air of must-trust-us in tone, atop a gilded throne, wanton, and alone.
Aug 23, 2014
Aug 23, 2014 at 1:28 PM UTC
-
in case you may not know, it was the last car
at the end of a train, usually it was a red or
occasionally a yellow color which would be
clearly noticed
this car was manned in order to monitor the
train from that end for any issues, particularly
in case an axle from one of the coal cars locks
up and catches on fire
but i guess this feature was eliminated due to
improvements in the wheel assemblies, or maybe
because they had new electronic monitoring for the
crews in the locomotives
if you are under the age of thirty, this may not have
been general knowledge to you since the use of these
cars were phased out sometime in the 1980's, now a
red flashing light signifies the end of the train
you can see one of these cars parked near the city
square just north of the Tennessee/Kentucky
border in Guthrie— there is just enough rail
underneath to hold it braked in place
i think the rails once extended to the mainline
and the car was trapped there when acetylene
cutters terminated its route in either direction.
the men who rode it are now
the ghosts of everlasting
employment.
now we have thousands riding the
caboose of their careers amidst
red blaring lights that flash
from all imaginable
directions—
many of them sitting motionless
upon routes that go nowhere...
s jones
2010-2020
Dec 21, 2020
Dec 21, 2020 at 6:48 AM UTC
Utilize the practices and maneuvers developed in Hell
Watch the coherence of the corroded coercion
A little birdy told you to ignore the tingly feeling on the nape of your neck
And to use a little elbow grease to try and heal this place of its discord
The leave posthaste
Or so I've heard
Years have passed now a mountebank calls all those who suffer from foot-in-mouth issues, racing minds, unjoggable memories and anyone who's psychiatrist couldn't shrink their problems
"Come one, come all! Try the new elixir that with one taste all your worries, all your hardships, all your dreadful nightmares incarnate will vanish in an instant!"
A large crowd made up of rogues, shot messengers, plate scrapers, date rapers accused of buggery, banished bums and exiled urchins, frail victims of nit picking and guileful gimmicks now surround the platform and end table stacked with tiny bottles of cloudy liquid
"It will help you pass a drug test, prevent you from waking up on the wrong side of the bed and you'll be able to recite the alphabet backwards!"
"Yes! You heard it here first, Doctor Meerkatt's Magic Elevating Elixir!"
"Now in a variety of four fruity flavors"
And coming soon, Dr. Meerkatt's Fast-acting Magic Elevating Elixir!"
Lines form
One for those who wish to take their's home and drink it
One for those desirous for mainline vaccinations
I go on neither line, I'm not susceptible to theses types of things
But I could be if given enough grief and desperation
I've seen this act before
I've seen all the mind readers
All the fortunetellers
All the traveling sales people
Who collectively have the same goal
To attempt to sell some product or idea that seems worthwhile but in reality is nothing more than a cheap farce that you pay for with your milk money and your intelligence
I'll leave these scavenger hunts for trinkets of cures and hopes for the naive ones and the thoughtless adrenaline junkies who's minds will be abducted by some quack or prevaricator and their ignorant rants
Their "ignor-rants"
It just pains me to see you be a part of all this, my old friend
You were once a caring, cautious person
Now you're an abstract con artist
Now you're just Dr. Meerkatt
Aug 12, 2014
Aug 12, 2014 at 3:17 PM UTC
Moving on, how does it work?
Do I erase you existence?
Or keep it in a box?
Do I turn love into hate?
..For you leaving me alone.
When I cry in my sleep,
Shall I not call your name?
And replace your picture,
With an empty frame?
Do I mourn like the others?
Or just blame myself?
For not understanding,
Your frail mental health.
Do I lay some flowers?
Or a permanent shrine?
To the nearest point,
Upon the mainline,
Do I join a charity?
And fight in your name,
To prevent another,
Doing just the same,
Answers I need,
To the questions unheard,
The silent killer,
Of a flightless bird,
Jul 5, 2014
Jul 5, 2014 at 4:32 AM UTC
"They said to the lame man,
Pick up thy bed and walk,
They said to a subject with mental ills,
sort your head out,
pull yourself together,
if you will.
You are not a pair of threadbare curtains,
of that I'm certain,
You are a person.
So,the sorry being picked up a pen,
a perfect catharsis,
a mechanism of honest escape.
Some folk,
well,
they sink into a bottle to drown the pain within,
Others shoot a mainline,
maybe sit upon a train line.
So where should they begin?
None of the three above,
Used a pen,as a trumpeting swan,
Mental illness, pray begone."
(C) Livvi
Sep 21, 2014
Sep 21, 2014 at 3:07 PM UTC
Snickering, taunting crushing
Glass spine Pain
Shiver-sweat, an acid rain
Crushing heat, pulsing vein
Sly and furtive, scraping pain
Mainline pills, a codeine drain
Senses fuzzy, can’t explain
Pain is all
The pain, the pain.
May 13, 2014
May 13, 2014 at 7:23 AM UTC
We’re ****** in the chains of the past
Walking souls trying to find the way back
Stuck there
In this vivid dream
In this cycle of broken sins
The biblical story, can’t you not see
Dirt
Noir
******
Found peace among the ******
Among the ****
Words cocking up on the spoon
Thoughts breaking loose
The flames reminded me that I was just a kid
When you let him touch me
Inhale the smoke
Mainline it
to forget that your heart is broke
Once somebody told me
I’ll burn my veins
Before
The words burn the pages
Jun 9, 2020
Jun 9, 2020 at 7:22 PM UTC
we used to lie awake at night
in the winter months
i kept a warm water bottle
at my feet like it was the old days on the frontier
we used to bet against freedom
and the people out there
"i bet i never make it out of here alive"
and clock the psych patients pacing
with the shards of
bathroom tiles in their hands
or make promises to it
"i'm gonna drink up all the freedom i can find out there"
"i'll snort all the dirt road dust
that the watermelon bus kicks up"
"i'm gonna mainline it directly into my vein
so much that my head gets heavy
and i swing back
and aspirate my one and only dream
and ********* into my blue jeans"
Feb 10, 2022
Feb 10, 2022 at 7:35 PM UTC