"maniacally" poems
It follows my movements
behind a seashell,
every few steps
it drops the cup
over it's shoulder
prolifically it shifts
positions, so do I,
as slight of hand.
If the secret of love
is buried in his armpit,
and it is, maniacally.
Tho' not the kind
you buy at the movies,
of optimist derringers,
smoking guns.
Still,
flight begins when
the sun goes down
it shifts euphemistic trees
like shadow puppets
into walls of passion,
makes bulimia dreams
of doughnut holes,
something sweet
craving bakery counters
and bagels take up
the lonesome place
still ringing in our ears,
my ears,
placards hanging lobes
of the emotionally distressed,
handicapped dangle
I can't move my tongue
...again.
But, they still hear love
whisper their name
just before
the dawn becomes.
Sunny rising sonic
boom that scatters the birds
all into synchronized
sign language.
We strain,
to hear them sing anthems
over the roof tops,
it makes us happy to hear
every time,
just one more time.
Jun 11, 2015
Jun 11, 2015 at 9:56 PM UTC
I asked if there was anyone there remotely my age,
and she said yes. I had just dumped all the money in my
wallet into trying to make my savings not negative.
It didn't work.
I walked over, stepped inside,
and saw teenagers. She told me,
there's a guy outside and he's twenty.
I got ******* duped by a kid.
Her parent's left, unwisely.
I met another half-black person,
a 15 year old girl who had dark skin
and hated everything that resembled
"blackness" or "black culture".
She even called herself white.
Here I was, outside drinking grape soda
out of a hello kitty mug,
discussing radical feminism
to teenage girls-
**and ******* five shots were fired**.
Not even 15 feet away, behind the garage.
[A fake 100 was exchanged, to which distaste was shown,
also this sentence is in parentheses,
and technically doesn't even exist].
So now there are teenage girls crying over gunfire,
hyperventilating, the high school boys jogging-
people in a swarm heading indoors,
and me.
The stupid-fucking-tragic-yet-benal artist,
running in his stupid ******* circle,
trying to decide if he should go inside
with the crazy juvenile people, or see if he can get shot,
because he already lives life awaiting some
stupid ******* narcissistic tragedy
to wipe him off the map.
My opportunities had rushed away already however.
I walked inside and sat on the couch hugging
one of those puffy round pillows and laughing
maniacally. It was intense after all.
Kid Duper tried to relate to me.
I know she didn't get it.
No one ever really ******* gets it.
Understood, maybe? No one understands.
I left shortly after with a copy of Fahrenheit 451.
I was told I could borrow it.
May 24, 2014
May 24, 2014 at 4:02 AM UTC
_Marge_ retrogrades lazily towards the hills;
Her name, printed the width of her cab-over dinette
In crinkled cobalt cursive,
Totters eccentrically as her handbrake fails.
SNAP-AP
Oblivious to errant camper vans (and centripetal forces in general),
Barney speeds maniacally along a deserted city street;
Golden coated and joyously poochie,
His tongue flabbers as fast as his bicycle courier dad can pedal.
SNAP-AP-AP
Mr Blue buys buckets at Bunnings
To match his cerulean suit and shinier-than-shiney satin shirt;
Periwinkle rhinestone shoes carry him unabashedly passed the second glances and sideways looks;
There goes the best dressed DIY-er in town…don’t ya know.
SNAP-AP-AP-AP
Apr 5, 2022
Apr 5, 2022 at 7:01 PM UTC
Grievous grace, has due yesterday’s blue
Autonomous avarice enigma entity’s hue
Identity crisis guidon guile’s due
Mystic symbiosis’ existential true
Apostrophe sabbat transcendental kitsch
Consortium liaison’s libido’s glitch
Translucent opulence’s lambent’s a *****
Metaphysical mystique is black as pitch
Terrestrial equestrian tellurian's terrene
Adamant tenacity’s obtusely obscene
Obstinate loquacity spiritually serene
Maniacally meticulous dexterity’s preen
Lucid cogent fecund’s maieutic
Incarnate’s manumissional eidetic
Spatiotemporal telemetry’s fanatic
Logistical tactician’s primal ecstatic
Chicanery dynamism’s opulent fealty
Intrinsic innate retrospective cruelty
Indigenous endemic inherent frailty
Corrupt costume counselor subtlety
Gambit alluvium aloof impunity
Immunity is epicurian absurdity
Who are we to us credulity
Nimbus nimiety nihilism’s congruity
Jun 1, 2013
Jun 1, 2013 at 8:39 AM UTC
Music of the street
Reverberates loudly
Out the dumpster,
From the tiny mouth
Of a screaming
Baby
Wrought in the wombs
Of filth, injustice,
Foggy rage.
Tongues ripped out,
On the floor, tastebuds that
Know the pang
of blue blood.
Rusty nails and overused syringes
***** the fingers,
Softly.
The people yell, maniacally,
Yet remain unheard.
Pain becomes evident,
Written on the faces
Of the unwholesome.
A wafting scent of
Their rotten morals,
Forgotten dreams,
Floats, as hot steam,
from the pavement.
Unable now
To decompose.
Across the road,
A pregnant woman holds
Her cigarette, which
Smells of cookies
And cream soda.
Jesus was enlightened,
Not too pious
For the poor.
Yet more than pain
Was written
On their faces,
Missing tongues, missing eyes.
Laid together
On the piss-stained mattress,
Feet to head and head
To feet.
Nonsense was confused
As words, that danced into
Non-platonic humps.
She kissed him, because
She wanted to feel
The texture of his brain.
Pick her up with
Golden hand, though
She may see you.
And the sad image of
Dollar bills
Inspires the mind,
Making it immobile.
Here, where the **********
Stands, more holy
Than the monastery.
Crawling, as they do,
Through unpainted,
Rented walls, like
Hungry little cockroaches,
Creeping for a bite.
The small infant still
Lays on metal, each
Moment crying softer
For warmth.
Though you will not
Hear her tomorrow,
As she’s carted off by
Garbage men
Who, each week, remove
The undesired
Remnants of yesterday.
Hope for sweet
Needles to sooner bring her
A different relief.
Life is so simple
When struggles
Are never-ending.
Mi amor pequeña,
no llores más. El fin está cerca,
aunque no entiende
mis palabras.
Though the buildings
Surrender with
Decay and the sun decides
He doesn’t want
To keep on caring
The music still plays mournfully,
And only the baby can hear.
May 13, 2013
May 13, 2013 at 7:24 AM UTC
I have cravings for you
that shatter and drown me.
Sometimes I want you so bad
that I hear echoes enhancing.
Then, other times my heart drowns
after maniacally nesting tsunamis
that lift then fall upon me.
I've been hit so hard lately
that the shore has become my lifeline.
On the borderline of consumption
I've been ordered to lay in lieu
of moving at my heart's suggestion.
My lips chap near purged wounds
as my shoulder and hip indent
the remains of our starvation.
Pearls form from my erosion.
A nearby sand castle is falling
with each passer's sinking step.
Merging into me, we become sedentary lovers
creating sound effects of restoration
that rest like my distal desires
as sediment on the walls of my longing.
Nov 24, 2012
Nov 24, 2012 at 3:57 PM UTC
There's a raccoon inside me,
I've never liked raccoons.
He nuzzles my heartstrings when I feel worthless,
and cackles maniacally when I believe that I'm worth it.
Whenever I'm bold enough to speak he claws my vocal chords closed,
leaving me dumbfounded with an obvious lump in my throat.
I feel his grimacing face and beady bandit eyes in constant stare.
He hisses angrily when he catches me unaware,
of just how afraid I am.
His grubby paws pander to my love of cancelled plans.
I guess you could say we're selfish,
because I relish the nights spent alone with him.
And I'm positive that he does too,
because he knows I'm often too weak to leave my room,
and disdain is a dish that makes a feast for two.
I really like raccoons.
Aug 3, 2015
Aug 3, 2015 at 8:00 PM UTC
They wrap their arms
tightly around the other's
veined neck
clawing maniacally with
exposed teeth
and wild eyes.
a certificate;
their names as one,
ripped to shreds
but apparently
still valid.
and somehow,
when it's my turn,
I fantasise my arms
would lay limp
and his will, too.
But maybe
it's a glimmer of hope
of a candle in
interminable night--
wishful thinking.
Silly girl--
there is no romance
without menace.
May 10, 2015
May 10, 2015 at 3:46 AM UTC
-Audience!
Prepare for the magic act
*Hypnotically launching attacks
upon the helpless masses*
Won't pull a rabbit from a hat,
Rather false-flaggish gaffs
Practically exposed to radioactive madness
*(Feel the hurt disappear like doves
Gloriously soaring out your ***
Hijack these hijinks
Whilst laughing maniacally
Tornado alley to the trailer-park mentality
I call this a helluva brainstorm,
High-velocity lethality
Compose yourselves
Are your brain-stems intact?
-Okay. Now
*f
o
l
l
o
w
the swing
of
my pendulous
p e n m a n s h i p
Drearily drift into dreamy trance,
While I attempt
to initialize a feat
of mass hypnotization
Enchantingly dip
into deep illusory corridors
of thoughts limitless*
(Pay no attention
to any slippage,
Mental or otherwise
It's already dripping out your ears
& the seat of your pants)
Real ****
no gimmicks!
Abracadabra
Propaganda
Extravaganza
Gaze into my crystal ball
Mouths agape in awe
While I slay and lay waste
indiscriminate to the faceless plague
Come one, come all!
Phantom sorcerer I am, conjuring
unfathomable horrors
To the collective mind
procured through sleight-of-hand
Voila!
Still with us?
Alright, hold your breath
until you finally wake up
And illuminate the bogus
Hocus pocus front
♠ ♥ ♣ ♦
Shuffle the deck,
Reset Earth's debts
In a fabulous show
of m i s d i r e c t i o n
♠ ♥ ♣ ♦
Now, Ladies & Gents!
For my final performance
With this rope,
Suspended from the throat
I am going to bulls-eye myself
In the frontal lobe
Dead-center
In front of all you people
With this
.40 caliber desert eagle!
Graciously donated by our very own NWO
(applause)
This one's sure to be mind-blowing folks.
Aug 16, 2014
Aug 16, 2014 at 5:41 AM UTC
Enjoy what’s possible
in this impossible world.
Eat any food the
health Nazi’s despise.
Grin maniacally at
every toddler you meet.
Chant politically incorrect
words on public transportation.
Kiss random puppies.
Face down glowering cats.
Chuckle in the face of death.
Forget the odds,
you didn’t calculate them.
Make a joyful noise
with everything you’ve got.
If you can’t imagine a future,
you’re already dead.
Celebrate with enthusiasm,
time is very, very short.
~mce
Mar 14, 2016
Mar 14, 2016 at 8:41 AM UTC
On some nights
all things feel like
they have been
done before.
Tonight, if you listen closely
you can hear the night sky
breaking apart
as all young and beautiful
things do.
The apples
on the tree
taste sweeter
this year.
I know you have waited patiently
but that does not speed
my coming. I hear in my head
on the nights that I am quiet.
I cannot keep on like this.
The world is upside down.
I think he’s building a sandcastle
He says to me slyly
of our cat jumping
maniacally at the wall.
I smile, but do not feel it
too quick to anger,
out of control
and ever changing.
I comfort myself with minutia,
lists and a false sense of control.
You can curse
the weather man
but you cannot
change his
predicting.
Jan 21, 2013
Jan 21, 2013 at 10:26 PM UTC
Blood is poured across my body as I lie here
These priests are priests of sacrifice
Sacrifice of blood, body and humans
They pleasure in ****** and grotesque displays of death
They will laugh maniacally while they stab women to death
And have a smile of sated pleasure standing over a child's corpse
Their god is nonexistent
As most gods are
But lying on this altar with blood over me I feel a presencelo
Of power and vicious tyranny
Is this maybe their god I feel
Or my own fear attacking me and making mr feel it
But somehow I still feel it
Then a voices like black blood
Like lifeless horror
Like grotesque sadism
Like everything I have ever feared
It says
"MINE"
And across my vision I see a smile
That saps all my strenght and resilience
And qttacks my soul
And with that I loose will and let the knife slid into my heart without caring
Oct 1, 2013
Oct 1, 2013 at 3:20 PM UTC
Though the date may be late… and
Those type things don’t happen anymore…MUCH…dare I say
Those type things don’t happen MUCH anymore… (yes I dared)
It is nevertheless ingrained…
No matter the age or the date
However young or old…
It is in our DNA… and
Our DNA does not forget
Will not allow us
As other cultures will
To easily enjoy
The remote loveliness… and
Maniacally flowering greenery… and
Beauteous quiet of this
Southern forest… this
Confederate lake…
Without our spirits
Sadly counting
The cumulative number of
Hundreds of years of
Fertilization by
Black Men’s bones…
But like my father and his father before him
We show up anyway…
Albeit somewhat uneasily…
While the native good-ole-boys
Stand stock still and stare
Actin’ like they never seen one’a us before… and
Though we arrived obviously prepared for what we came to do
They still stare… as if
wondering what we could possibly be doing here…
or maybe… how dare we enjoy God’s green earth with our brown selfs…
And my beautiful Black Man
with ease of motion
Audaciously pays the Black Tax
(the quoted price over what the sign says the price is)
As I bait my line in defiance
Albeit somewhat uneasily… and
Cast it out into this confederate lake
And my beautiful Black Man
Also stands… broad shoulders back… and
Pointedly does not acknowledge the presence of the natives
As they stand stock still and stare
But it is there
(We will NOT be afraid… and we will NOT go away)
Unspoken between us... But
Always in the back of the mind…
The recesses of the consciousness…
Preparation for this day… and the worst that it can bring…
Is ingrained…
Apr 30, 2013
Apr 30, 2013 at 3:15 PM UTC
Maniacally,
The days and nights
Bleed together
Into a time frame
The insane
Tap into
That's a lot like infinity.
Vampiracally,
The years of
Infinity
Bleed together
Into an abysmal
Spiral
Of insanity.
Supernaturally,
Are our states of being.
How well
We blend in
With a dismal
Arrangement
Of plain people
In trains,
Checking their wrists
For the time
As they travel
Physically.
Naturally,
The three of us
Are bound to meet
At some point.
Tapping into
Hidden goldmines
Of psychological
Nuggets
That gleam
With prosperity,
As everything
Melts together
Again.
Everything is sacred.
Everything is connected.
Mining
For hidden connections
Ought to excavate
Feelings of wonder.
The caverns filled
With complex crystals
Of energetic
Freethought
Have long been
Paved over
By trains and
Linear brains
Improving on their
Transistors.
Maniacally and
Vampiracally,
The days and nights
Bleed together,
While the world below
Bustles about;
We appear to be
Just like one of them.
We may even check
Our watch.
Our conditions
Are congruent
In that they are
Nothing less than
Supernatural.
Dec 16, 2016
Dec 16, 2016 at 5:16 AM UTC
Standing, soaked, out in a storm, gusts of wind whipping my hair around wildly
Unruly strands sway with the song of chaos, pulling at my scalp, snapping, lashing at my face
My existence is all reality as this whirlwind tempest frantically thrashes about my flesh
In the complex puzzles and foolish games, a simple madness lives, and therein lies my freedom
My tongue and lips sometimes flap boisterously from their spot on my face
And the noises risen up from my throat, and passed through my mouth are meaningless blubberings
Involuntarily, I grin, tasting the nonsense's unique sweetness, and I swallow
My laughter rings out, a vociferous and untameable sound; humor, the voice of a crazy woman
And I spin! Oh, I spin and spin and spin, savagely, in ellipses, ovals, and circle shapes
I've no shame, and this dance is all mine, so I maniacally fling my arms through the air
And as my body makes its revolutions, a fierce smile curves the shape of my lips, wrinkles the corners of my eyes
Inside my mind, wandering - wondering if there's any real difference between elated insanity and that which I crave...
Some people might use words such as eccentric, strange, whimsical, and peculiar for what they cannot understand
So very often I hear these such words being used from those who speak of me
But it is them whom I perceive as being rather off, so habitual and boring, living like routine enslaved, joyless zombies
So unfathomable to me, why most everyone seems to desire nothing beyond a passionless, hollow schedule to, every day, just repeat
Me... I'll race barefoot down a gravel path, through lightning, thunder, and rain, only to feel my hair being twisted and tangled up in the wind
I'll jabber absurdities, laugh like a loon, all while I spin contentedly around and around, until, stupidly dizzy, I crash and fall
Madness pays little mind, stands without worries or concerns, because it believes - it knows, most nothing matters
This is my freedom, freedom that cannot be shared, for what it is, is something that's only freeing for me...
~A. D. Smithson MARCH 2013
Jun 14, 2013
Jun 14, 2013 at 4:58 AM UTC
I just wanna howl.
I'm itching
twitching rather
like sudden shivers flexing my muscles like gun shots.
anxious
alone
half liking it
half wanting to tell someone
I'm alone but not in empty air
these suite mates and roommates and mates in this building
I wanna howl.
let it roar
my heart
my ears
my eyes
my mind
all stretching and staining
Oh! it grinds my gears
to be alone but not with myself
Maniacally feeling up the walls and floors and other surfaces
I'm twitching
urging to howl
I want to cut lose from myself.
I gotta do something.
Nov 1, 2013
Nov 1, 2013 at 11:36 PM UTC
He dusted off the old rocking chair
& asked me to have a seat
He'd tell me what he was doing there
If I'd simply take a load off my feet
I found this gesture laughable
I would rather stand!
Then listen to another word
Uttered by this despicable Man!
But His confidence eluded Him
He knew I would protest
& yet I saw Him conceal a grin
At the denial of His request!
At this point, I couldn't even move
I could barely breathe
He acknowledged my discomfort, said,
"Very well" & took the seat!
As He sat there callously,
Scoping out the room
He said He just could not believe
The daffodils won't bloom!
This absurdity helped catch my breath
I quickly snapped to interject,
**** the flowers! **** this place!"
& turned to flee with great hast!
This made Him chortle with much glee
He barked, "Silly, girl, you cannot leave! I know you've known this all along, The Cottage is where your Soul belongs!"
I felt so angry I could cry
I hit my knees & pleaded: "WHY?!
I kicked You out so long ago! Don't speak to me as if You know!"
& this is where the story twists:
He dropped His grin & stood up quick
Now, controlled by His brown eyes
Forced to hear His every lie:
"I know that we have been apart, But that's no excuse to neglect your heart, & that is why I'm here again, to protect you from yourself, My friend..."
& that's the moment I lost my mind
To hear Him call me "friend"
As if His love, I could deny!
(So, instead, I was forced to pretend)
But He already knew my tricks
We played this game before
All this time Our stubbornness
Is the very quality We adored!
So, while He tried to lecture me
I quickly stoked a match
I had laced The Cottage previously
& dropped it on a kerosine-soaked mat!
& as I laughed maniacally
at the seconds we had left
To my surprise He grinned idly
As We slowly burned to death...
Jun 12, 2014
Jun 12, 2014 at 3:12 PM UTC
I have given fair warning
Fires and floods and earthquakeing rage under the impending tsunami my battle cry
The stampeding hooves of my heartbeat render you unfit to stand the ground you say you own
Hyenas laugh maniacally behind my teeth and the monsters of the deep, the deep, the deep
Surface to become my living island
I have given fair warning
Your walls cannot hold
Your blades cannot pierce
Your lies will hang abandoned spiderweb in the corners and I will use the fire of my truths to burn them from existence
I am the web spinner now
I build the world
Catch you in my weaves
Succubus
Leave you dry
I have given fair warning
Sep 23, 2015
Sep 23, 2015 at 4:47 PM UTC
I forgot to take my medicine.
Don't freak out, but I forgot to take my pills.
My veins are not swirling and dancing and wait actually the pills probably slow them to stop swirling and dancing so I guess now is the time for said swirling and dancing, is it not?
I can feel a bit of mania in my head, so excited and so alive and so real. I can tell because there goes periods, out the window, never to be remembered or recollected or what was I talking about?
Its twitching and hopping and like Wonderland and here we go, no ashes, just painting the roses red, painting the roses red, here comes the queen of hearts and off there goes my head, we're painting the roses red, until we end up dead.
Am I somberly manic, or maniacally somber or am i even sad? I don't know its just the twitch, I can feel it, so Chesire under my skin, the smile is coming through and my head is racing and my focus is wasting away under the hot spotlight of my own personal theater. Bravo, Grace, take a bow!
Letters and figures and math and language, so different but so funny because people speak both, why do mathematicians not count as fluent in another language, because its certainly foreign to me.
Ooh, I probably should alert the one I never expected, tell him how my head's a twitching and my fingers a fluttering and all of it a maddening. I missed this, I'd hate to admit, with the progress and the productivity and the beauty and the wonder and the land and the magic carpet ride. What land am I in again?
How funny it would be to see an intoxicated me. Am I intoxicated now? I don't know, I act like it but nothing's in my veins to even the pills am I born intoxicated, am I intoxication incarnate, am I addictive, am I a problem?
I like my sweater today, its got words that I love and words that I feel, to be or not to be, that is the question, **** it feels like I'm on fire, my limbs are burning and I am flame reborn. Maybe I should take off my hat and let out some heat, but its a pretty hat and it might feel bad if I ignore it.
Time to go back to busy life, where the life is dull and i am the fire but I love the dullness and the normativity because it involves my wonderland friends and the one I never expected. They make me happy, which lets me fly like this. The flying fire is me.
Apr 22, 2015
Apr 22, 2015 at 2:23 PM UTC
when I reached the age of reason I hit the ground,
running. the thought flits
across compact mirror smudged from years of overuse &
abandon, left behind
in purse bottoms and backpacks every time I switch up my style &
move on to something:
new/ fresh / else.
a glance into glass &
I'm transported: a babe on white lambskin,
a second-hand nostalgia never wholly mine.
a missing, another memory removed,
a down-to-the-wire tally
added to the roster, unexpectedly
the emotional prodigy, ostracized
alongside destined veracity: as in my absolute
devotion to TRUTH!
the time skip, a box-out, a blackout, a kindness.
a comfort over the desk chair where homework completes itself
after countless 'mixtape playlists' limewired maniacally
alphabetized, rearranged & revised until dawn/
another decade / chapter: a bookworm,
a blockout, a maneuver 'round roadblock,
a machination, a manipulation, a deadening, a defeat,
an assistant Mother only a child
self, the intrigue... yet
here I am, a spectacle,
a miracle, a smashing, a light on an island out at sea,
an accident, a ripening survived.
can I trust myself. to dive in. for / by myself?
when I lift the stretch of lambskin from an atticked brown box,
a painted porcelain plate hits the ground,
shattered.
Jul 28, 2022
Jul 28, 2022 at 9:07 PM UTC
The first deceivers were weavers
mechanically believed,
maniacally manufactured
trying me to finally find the answer
as to why we hurt.
Let's see who stands my test of time,
threads spin, intertwined
as styles synthesize
minds ripe for picking,
shrines leap off limbs lending
me a branch to climb up and end it,
a cloud to puff a cig with,
a chance to shine
just like the sun
cant tell a canyon
from a figment of one
mind the bend of the cliffs edge
sailing through time
at last, alas my ship's wrecked.
Oct 10, 2015
Oct 10, 2015 at 3:56 AM UTC
I can't laugh maniacally
And I can't hurt someone
Without feeling lots of guilt,
I can barely keep a secret
If it's mine and I think it'll hurt someone.
So stamp
"Chaotic Good"
In red on my forehead,
And I'll only do good
If it so suits my moral compass.
But my good involves
Vengeance,
It involves fighting for honor.
It involves putting the care
For the people I love
First and foremost.
***** the idea
That those who attempt
Volatile blackening
Of names
Deserve to be validated
Or made to feel supported,
I'd rather rip them to shreds,
In that righteous way I have about me.
And maybe it's wrong,
But I can't make a plan for world **********
Because honestly I don't care enough.
And I'd make a terrible villain
For the same reasons I'd make a terrible lawyer,
Because I shake when I'm anxious
And cry when I'm mad.
But at least I know
I wouldn't be able to sit back
And watch the world burn.
Oct 17, 2016
Oct 17, 2016 at 2:23 PM UTC
;\
/
,
By Ken Sanes
It is about
a world gone mad,
which is spread out evenly
but clumps together in the place
where there were blood curdling screams.
And it is about right now
in the old house
with the creaking door
that opens
\
slowly
and the thin plane of light
that cuts into the dark entry,
landing on eyes that seem to follow you
from behind a painting.
But certainly you are being paranoid
because there are no apparitions
;
and nothing is moving through the hall.
Then again, now that you’re in, you understand
it is about love and hate, and love of death
pallor,
and the first time,
when the screams are louder
the second time,
and he is mad utterly mad
imbued with a perfect evil purified of petty motive
reveling in the ideal of suffering
and finely tuned not even needing flesh
but cold sinister and incorporeal
laughing maniacally unseen
in the darkness
with a sharp blade that
goes
/
in
& horrific screaming
,
Apr 21, 2012
Apr 21, 2012 at 11:49 PM UTC
I guess,
The world that burst forth
From my tender red womb
Is maniacally clawing
To get back inside,
Now,
Or am I pulling it by
It's tangled hairs?
Afterall,
I am flustered
With it wrenching
The brush from my hand,
Each time I reach out
To unravel the mess
It's made,
(Or, I made?)
Either way,
I'll let bygones be bygones,
Even if it means
Being carried away -
Lost in sterilized hair strands,
Sleeping wordlessly,
Amid
Insanely white teeth.
Aug 2, 2011
Aug 2, 2011 at 8:50 PM UTC