"mauled" poems
My Sister, I Watched You Fall-2
My little nephew, I was sorry for your sorrows
When the whims of your mother stormed your tomorrows
You didn't know who your father was
Or why the branches of your tree sagged its paws
For you walked thru the halls of life mauled
By a lost paw that grabbed your mind and sadness walled
I could see it in your mind's eyes, the question marks
Of why other families have fathers at the parks
From the time you were a little child of two
You would love to go with uncle to the zoo
Then as the wheels in your mind started to click
Seeing other kids with fathers, it made you sick
You were young seedling lacking the nourishment
The parts of the puzzle missing fulfillment
But hear this, my little nephew, your uncle tried
And ... at the mercy of your mother's whims, I cried
We'd play the role of father and son
Fish a dream, toss the past, paint some fun
We'd **** weeds while wrestling through a reservoir of tears
Aborted in time, a lake, two swans and a duckling in good cheers
My nephew, I would take you around the world if I could
But hear this you were never, never driftwood
For I had spent as much time visiting you
In absence of a fathers touch, you never knew
I shed more tears today as I catch wind of your child
For its teeth bites and gust of whims, again, run wild
Do I offer congratulations knowing the lake is devoid
Of future swans and a duckling, walled in my mind's void
No. My nephew, I'm choked in tears that crawl
On the face of the earth, I sprawl
I thought you learned, child uncorked
On wings of albatross and not the stork
Logan Robertson
8/16/2018
Aug 16, 2018
Aug 16, 2018 at 7:26 PM UTC
Along the banks of Lake Shelbyville
That’s what I think of when it’s your birthday
A camp fire burning on a cool April night
We two drinking hot mauled cider
Or better yet “Hornsby’s Draft Cider”
Talking and laughing
Making up parodies
Parodies of Zeppelin and Floyd songs
Listening to the nightingales and the crickets
And watching fire light
That almost appears to be living
Watching slow rolling clouds, and feeling the whispering wind
Rolling in and out and over and under
The engaging light of the moon and stars
And maybe some of our friends were there
And maybe it was only us
Brother and sister
Best friends forever
Retelling stories of our past
Creating memories for our future
Waxing religion and philosophy
Such philistines, think my parents
And your parents don’t get it
And yes we have separate parents
And yes we have the same parents
(Adoption is a funny thing you see)
You are my funny BIG, BIG, BIG brother
Santa Claus, Sasquatch, Cave Man, and Viking
And I am your little crazy sister
Flower Child and Sacagawea
And it is your birthday
And I love you always
Love, Sarah Jane Gillian Tiffany Michelle Whispering Wind Grider Minks Summers Jonathan George Washington Francis Fleming Greenlee Whiter Liston Hall
Aka Awesome Pagan Goddess
Apr 28, 2012
Apr 28, 2012 at 1:36 PM UTC
The demon scratches me
I bite him back
The demon pushes me
I spit in his face with a smack
The demon taunts me
I calleth him out by name
They hate their name called
Don't wanna be recognized for the flame
The demon shows false affections
I giveth him hate
The demons a smiler as he latches to me
I'll kick him to hells gate
The demons find me downtimes
Though with God I shalt win
Demons love misery
To seeith one in sin
Demons are smelly
Like all the dump trucks on the earth
Times ten
Demons haveth enemies
They hate even their own kind
They haveth none kin
Demons haveth a date
With Satan in the fire
They'll turn thou on with lust
For thou they do admire
Demons hast hurt me
They've tried to bring me to mine death
Soo many health issues
I know tis not me
Them
The demons hast entered mine family
From the lives we didst choose!
They entered by portals
Between good and bad souls
They came and come as orbs
Spirtual energy
Trapped to a distance
God won't let them get to close to me
They always want more
They show themselves now and then
They'll portray themselves as good souls
Wherein its all pretend
The demons speaketh in mine bathroom
They hide out in the closets
Parched behind mine bedroom wardrobe
Spies as I sleepeth
They want mine bright soul
It's full of massive glowing energy
They know it as I'm told
So to bad because their not me
They made a big mistake
Turning away from God
Now their outcast losers
Fate of hell and grud!!
They'll soon be in chains and shackles
So they cause pain now whilst here on earth
They come in all shapes and sizes as I've heard from many others
Psychics
Life after death (experiences)
And from preachers
Pastors and others
They come large
Small
Animal like
Mauled
They come stinky
Scaly
Nothing thou shalt imagine
Couldn't fathom
Their everywhere
City streets
Malls
Gyms
Stalls
Homes
Air
First heaven
Second heaven
Hell
Everywhere
Yet these demons cannot taketh me
They knoweth I'm gods light
So demon get hence from me....
Go burn in thine own fright!!!!
Jun 17, 2015
Jun 17, 2015 at 4:26 PM UTC
"Though to my feathers in the wet,
I have stood here from break of day.
I have not found a thing to eat,
For only ******* comes my way.
Am I to live on lebeen-lone?'
Muttered the old crane of Gort.
"For all my pains on lebeen-lone?'
King Guaire walked amid his court
The palace-yard and river-side
And there to three old beggars said,
"You that have wandered far and wide
Can ravel out what's in my head.
Do men who least desire get most,
Or get the most who most desire?'
A beggar said, "They get the most
Whom man or devil cannot tire,
And what could make their muscles taut
Unless desire had made them so?'
But Guaire laughed with secret thought,
"If that be true as it seems true,
One of you three is a rich man,
For he shall have a thousand pounds
Who is first asleep, if but he can
Sleep before the third noon sounds."
And thereon, merry as a bird
With his old thoughts, King Guaire went
From river-side and palace-yard
And left them to their argument.
"And if I win,' one beggar said,
'Though I am old I shall persuade
A pretty girl to share my bed';
The second: "I shall learn a trade';
The third: "I'll hurry' to the course
Among the other gentlemen,
And lay it all upon a horse';
The second: "I have thought again:
A farmer has more dignity.'
One to another sighed and cried:
The exorbitant dreams of beggary.
That idleness had borne to pride,
Sang through their teeth from noon to noon;
And when the sccond twilight brought
The frenzy of the beggars' moon
None closed his blood-shot eyes but sought
To keep his fellows from their sleep;
All shouted till their anger grew
And they were whirling in a heap.
They mauled and bit the whole night through;
They mauled and bit till the day shone;
They mauled and bit through all that day
And till another night had gone,
Or if they made a moment's stay
They sat upon their heels to rail,,
And when old Guaire came and stood
Before the three to end this tale,
They were commingling lice and blood
"Time's up,' he cried, and all the three
With blood-shot eyes upon him stared.
"Time's up,' he eried, and all the three
Fell down upon the dust and snored.
1
2.4k
Have I ever been profoundly lost? Yes. Railroad tracks and a river wide as the Amazon, yet lost. Living in the intense sunshine of northern New York summer, but lost in the shade of a gazebo. And here? Here I am enclosed in a tomb of porcelain machinery. With another winter passing its calling card in at the window. The warm steam no longer cutting the rough edge. Wearing wool sweater nights. The freedom of summer gone and only one **** What a nightmare, what a strange dream, life on planet, winter all around.
A system, they call it a system. I call it an evolved anarchy. Repetition, never. What do I know. Repetition, every two thousand years. Coming of a frost, coming of a fire. When nature proves furious beyond remembrance. Polar bear mugs wino.
--------------------------------------
***********
Tall, attractive, talented WM, 31,
trumpet player, takes pleasure in
performing *********** with clean
attractive women. Age, race, marital
status no object. All replies answered.
Marlowe went to bed. He had a headache. Used an empty bottle for a teddy bear/sap. In the middle of the night, three secret men approached the rock he slept under. They did not see him there, the fire had long ago gone out. But they'd seen it across the valley, and tried to estimate. They were close.
What do I care. They did this, he did that, they did this and this and that. He used his feet, took off his shoes. It mauled him to death in two minutes of the first round. Would have been better for him if it happened faster. Never got his knife out of his pocket. But he lived, with one eye after that.
--------------------------------------
What do you do with a drunken sailor early
in the morning?
You pull that sailor out of bed by his hairy
moorings.
Why should anybody believe this, this tiresome outpouring of old moans and groans, grumbles about loneliness of life and dominance of telephone. This gamble on print, above the spoken, sung word. The meditative call to inhabitants of planet to kneel woefully and pray. No, to chant as if the planet were mending.
Mending rhymes with ending, why not. And television, radio appreciated. Drugs and ***** jagged bent faces, black wet rock. The mantle of moss ripped away. Period. Amen to men. Absolute magical ripcord.
Aug 9, 2015
Aug 9, 2015 at 9:29 AM UTC
Why do we possess
Such an intrusive feeling
Which crawls in our veins?
Too many deeds it constrains.
It stares behind the wall
Like a vigilant, wakeful cat
Who has spot its unaware prey.
Suddenly it streams and stays,
Paralysing its cosy habitat.
The Fear has conquered you and mauled.
Jan 25, 2015
Jan 25, 2015 at 4:50 PM UTC
I would not recommend Madness
distrust runs riot
dissecting myself with wings clipped deemed a flight risk
and I'm naked lay face down on the bed
and I trace tramlines
of forgiveness
because my mauled body pays
penance and I am my own
whipping boy who sees me as
a war zone of self-destruction
an addict to my own sickness
bat **** crazy
like those female poets
and their creative madness
Sexton, Plath, Bishop, Woolf
and Merini and Kane
and I prayed: Lord
forgive me for my sins
I would not recommend
Madness
© Sia Jane
Jun 27, 2015
Jun 27, 2015 at 6:43 PM UTC
The hunting of the shark was an annual excursion,
It was a Rite of passage ceremony for thirteen year old boys.
30 of us left that early June morning,
the skies were cloudless, the waters calm.
But only 17 of us returned, 17 of us witnessed
our friends being mauled by tiger sharks,
they rammed our small fishing boats.
17 of us will never forget that day
We went without harpoon or gun ,
we went with just some home made knives,
fresh water and sheer nerve.
We returned with no shark ,
we returned with just the wounded and the brave.
Life abandoned the 13,
we abandoned the 13 (we had to)
but, will they always be boys ?
Feb 13, 2013
Feb 13, 2013 at 9:42 AM UTC
"What do you fear?"
"The thought of never fearing"
"That doesn't make any sense though"
"Allow me to explain:"
Fear itself is an immense power
One that prevents us from rising, gives us bounds
Without it, Man would fall into chaos
And in the spree of delirious glee, he would get lost
If Man had no fear, he wouldn't care for rules
Only then would the smart ones be called fools
Be content with what you've got, don't try to take
What isn't yours, a potentially fatal mistake
Man is jealous of those who have
What he doesn't and this'll just make him mad
Without any fear, he'd challenge someone
And pretty soon the world would be bursting, full of guns
Rifles raised and triggers pulled
Blood spatters and bodies mauled
But without any restriction, Government or rules
Fear would disappear and guns would be our tools
So be thankful you have capacity to fear
Because without it you'd draw the world quite near
The end of its life, so forever and again
Be grateful the fear isn't in your hand but your brain
Sep 7, 2016
Sep 7, 2016 at 1:21 AM UTC
For Ricky*
Ricky Williams, Miami Running Back (2002-2003, 2005)
When the news broke and the camera pointed at a torn tent
on the outskirts of Miami where you sat knees-up-to-chest
professing enlightenment, the football world sacked itself
wondering how good your *** really was. Must have been
growing straight from Buddha’s back yard because to give
up 16 million like that, to go from bachelor pad demigod
to hippy hero of the pimply *** smokers, requires some
kind of unfathomable spirituality. I wonder if the Sadhu
could even find a desk big enough for your frame. All 230 pounds
lurching forward with brittle bones towards some kind
of endzone sanctity not represented by a smiling porpoise
but a transcendent 1st and ten where maybe you’d be happy.
After your final game I imagined you’d do what so many
washed up athletes do: find meaning in the parking lot
of a used car palace or open up a Dairy Queen, maybe
join your kids PTA and tell fourth graders stories that
you now half-believe. I didn’t think it be like this: you smoking
****** under a mauled tarpaulin, brushing fly’s away from
dingy dredlocks, running forward, exasperatedly free,
while a nation wonders why you’ve failed us.
Oct 30, 2013
Oct 30, 2013 at 10:03 AM UTC
Got grabbed tight by a grizzly bear.
He rumbled and mauled me.
My screams went unnoticed.
For a millisecond in time.
I held my breath and how I prayed.
He pretended to chuck me down the stairs.
That wild rampant grizzly bear.
Six foot four and very scary.
Extremely hairy.
He's a caring grizzly bear.
He's my grumpy son.
He thinks it's just a giggle, seeing his frightened mummy wriggle.
He's only romping around in fun.
He'd never really hurt his mum.
Normally a gentle giant, who stepped straight from fairy tales of old.
He doesn't bite at all.
In teenage days of idiocy, he wasn't always quite so choice.
Now he plays at mummy chucking, 'cos he likes to hear my voice.
(c) Livvi
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 7:04 AM UTC
they giggled as i cried.
it was harmless tears.
everybody thought that
i was crying due to the
fact that animals were being
mauled right in front of me.
and yes, that is half true.
but, the real reason i started having a
panic attack was because i started thinking
and thinking and remembering things.
memories were brought back and
i just couldnt help but
put my head down and cry.
he told me that it was
going to be okay because
the animal was alive.
but, he didnt know why i
was crying. he didnt know
that i was being reminded of
the mistakes ive made and
why i will never ever be good
enough.
how do i tell someone that
i feel so useless?
im not sure.
Oct 15, 2013
Oct 15, 2013 at 12:05 PM UTC
me and the old lady
in our cabin, chillin
livin off the grid
livin off solar panels
and psychedelic drugs
roastin meat and
makin sweet love.
knock knock knock.
i turn to her in disbelief;
we live in the woods
south of nowhere
in a **** cabin
who could that be?
she huffs, shrugs
the knocking
intensifies
so i go
naked
to open it
(we're nudists)
it's a grizzly
ahhhh!
i freeze
but he's wearing
a suit, cradling
a briefcase
in his paws
what
the ****
he asks me
if i'm interested
in being mauled
i ask him
how can you talk
you're a bear right
and then he mauls us
and then i wake up
and it's just me,
my bed,
and my beloved
*****
Dec 1, 2018
Dec 1, 2018 at 4:41 PM UTC
Of man be there two.
One holder of mirror whilst other a scryer,
renders mirror to glass pierces through.
Where one speaks the other is silenced,
mere whisper acknowledged in this interchanging feud.
So in this blurred intersection,
where there is no reflection
Then what man of man be the truth?
What man of man be the truth
as he stands here split in two?
Be it what he thinks or what he do
that makes the man?
This single man in double view.
A multi facet that will reveal itself in time due.
A facet only glimpsed in certain light,
gone unnoticed by friends.
One and the same in this game of life
where does one begin and one end,
when it is only in the battle that they raise their head?
See the chimera for what it truly is,
this lone Mr a Hydra instead.
Each flitters between life and the scythe
as they fight for control.
Each condemned to the darkness
as the other negotiates sole lease of this soul.
But Death haunts the two because the two
form the whole.
And so this dual begins
without rules and birthed in sin.
Begun with one who seeks to release his debase desires
that lie un-mired in mind,
confined to an imaginary state,
where he can ****** slander unheard
but then he plays with fate.
He plays with fate, when he opens the bottle,
hands himself to the primal,
unprimed for the battle that lay ahead.
That lay in head and heart and will;
one's will that will leave one dead.
But for now each has his role.
One takes the guise of a Jackal
in cunning he seeks to conceal the other,
his brother in hiding,
in sin he hides him inside him
but he will not be silenced.
The fiend longs for this angels confession
and will teach wings a lesson in flight
as he makes his escape in dark and in light.
So this would be angel tries in vain
to press the other down, so that he can remain
but he's wingless and in pain, feeling the strain of
restraints that will no longer contain
the hate that dominates as the other pushes free,
pushes to be this man's sole identity.
This poor soul thought he could enslave that which was caged
and to the beast he did open the door
but it was this angel that lost his wings
mauled by a beast that would not sing to his tune, just roar.
Each sacrificed for the other
as this man of man ends his days
cold on the floor.
For man can not negotiate with fate.
And when One cannot take rule
the pair will end their days together
in the dual.
Nov 10, 2014
Nov 10, 2014 at 4:44 PM UTC
Like a hungry shark has loneliness again come to feed upon my heart and mind.
Ravenous and savage it feeds upon a soul that warmth and love has left behind.
Once again a mind and heart that love avoids is to the darkness lead.
Bloodied, mauled and torn to shreds, remnant carcass left floating dead.
Never sated and without remorse it tears, as it feeds there in the empty dark.
Savagely, ever feeding, ever gnawing, ripping into my souls last hopeful spark.
Hungry, starving, ravenous and in frenzy and seemingly never fully fed.
No worth, no value, adrift, no purpose to any futures' plan but still I am not dead.
Razor teeth intent upon taking every ounce of my last mortal dream and hope.
Until mind is convinced that it's only peace is best found in a loop of sturdy rope.
This is the game that shark and loneliness play so often within my heart and mind.
The shark, the loneliness, love or a length of rope who wins I am still yet to find.
Jul 24, 2020
Jul 24, 2020 at 2:55 AM UTC
Because the pleasure-bird whistles after the hot wires,
Shall the blind horse sing sweeter?
Convenient bird and beast lie lodged to suffer
The supper and knives of a mood.
In the sniffed and poured snow on the tip of the tongue of the year
That clouts the spittle like bubbles with broken rooms,
An enamoured man alone by the twigs of his eyes, two fires,
Camped in the drug-white shower of nerves and food,
Savours the lick of the times through a deadly wood of hair
In a wind that plucked a goose,
Nor ever, as the wild tongue breaks its tombs,
Rounds to look at the red, wagged root.
Because there stands, one story out of the *** city,
That frozen wife whose juices drift like a fixed sea
Secretly in statuary,
Shall I, struck on the hot and rocking street,
Not spin to stare at an old year
Toppling and burning in the muddle of towers and galleries
Like the mauled pictures of boys?
The salt person and blasted place
I furnish with the meat of a fable.
If the dead starve, their stomachs turn to tumble
An upright man in the antipodes
Or spray-based and rock-chested sea:
Over the past table I repeat this present grace.
1.6k
Lucifer just said I'm two-faced;
But the reality is I wear many faces
Each one a mask
Picking a bouquet of oopsie-daises
Unabashedly lashing out at you
I eviscerate; wielding a scalpel
Then I pounce; scalped him,
Pelt dangling from my ***** pack
**Went Kerouac on ***** ***
Surprise, surprise
Palpable attack
Thumbing tacks into your eyes
Lame as a bad sitcom
Band-wagon careening off the laugh-track
Everybody loves disarray
**** Vamoose!
Underlying interloper
Feel the allusion in high resolution;
Little tike on the *****
Anne frankly I'm that Führer fomenting furor
Have you lost your marbles?
Inaudibly garbling warbled garbage
Mauled to death
**I **** narwhals**
Convoluted revolution
I revel in it
Elusive illusion
Testify, I bring the excellence in electrocution
I'm the executioner
Putting the fun in funeral
Like a neurotic necrotizing narcotic
A lobotomy to the temporal
I dreamt the demented torment of descent
Cascading like a torrential waterfall
Ghoulish delight
Primeval upheavaler
With hopes to elope, many fold
Mic bold, but I suspect she's hitting the slopes;
Ice cold
Evoking emotion but a hopeless show
marionette in a stranglehold
Mar 1, 2014
Mar 1, 2014 at 9:01 AM UTC
'Whore' , 'how much for the night' yelled people
But to him these words meant nothing
As he looked to the woman on his right
Whose face was grim , hit with the pebbles of hate people threw at her
He held her hand tight
She looked up and nodded
He fell in love with her mind
He was her only hope to find love
When these lifeless phantoms drained the life out of her
When the chains of society tied her hands and dragged her down
When an avalanche of disgust mauled her
She remembered him , she escaped with him
She did not choose this path , she was forced,
she was put down with her head in the guillotine
He loved her , he found the woman no one saw,
He polishes shoes in the day while she earns in the night
Still love blossomed in an uncanny, unforgotten way
Cheating the perception of so called society
Their future was black as the , congested lanes of some taboo town
Yet they didn't care, he loved her
And she loved him back
She was named a ********** by the civilization
And he , a prostitute's lover.
Feb 18, 2017
Feb 18, 2017 at 2:44 AM UTC
The Story of Portal
'Tis an interesting story I must convey
About what started on Bring Your Daughter to Work Day.
It was to be the main event,
But no one knew to what extent.
Upon picoseconds of her wake,
Deadly Neurotoxin she did take.
A hissing sound was heard by all,
And a green gas started to fill the hall.
One by one people fell.
Most were dead, but not little Chell.
She was a stubborn child,
But that was putting it mild.
A Morality Core was installed.
To keep the rest of the Center from being mauled.
GLaDOS was switched back on
And Test Subjects were called upon.
Years later, a Subject was picked.
No one knew what to predict.
She was stubborn and quiet,
But boy, did she cause quite the riot.
Chell was never meant to test,
But fate was changed by an unwelcome guest.
In the maintenance areas, a Rat did flee,
Leaving hints for the young ******
GLaDOS gave a final goodbye speech;
A fire pit Chell did reach,
But some portals she did use
To escape from the abuse.
Chell and GLaDOS met face to face.
This would be GLaDOS' final resting place.
A surprise was deployed
And Chell threw it into the void.
Deadly Neurotoxin again filled the room.
Six minutes and Chell would reach her doom.
"Stop squirming and die like an adult."
Chell didn't think she would like the result.
Three more times she would open the door
And drop down another core.
The fight was done,
And with it went the gas and the gun.
The rouge AI was enraged.
She had been upstaged.
The Enrichment Center's systems started to fail.
Oh how Chell wished she could bail.
Chell had finished her mission.
Now, she rested in the Party Escort Position.
Escorted back inside, she tried not to cry.
For she knew that the Cake was a Lie.
Jun 16, 2013
Jun 16, 2013 at 9:02 PM UTC
Your tongue licks the sweat off me
-- tasting what you wrongfully claimed as
yours.
No mercy - you take no prisoners,
only lost souls.
You're a vulture, a crow
And god, don't you know?
the pain you cause me
when you lick the blood
off my bones?
Your claws dig into my marrow
- are you finished yet?
My decaying brain is left with
holes of regret.
Send me to purgatory
- I'm finished with this mess.
A naive deer is still full of grace
You may have mauled my soul,
but there's still a bit you have yet to taste.
I'll run circles around your head,
throwing fairy dust into your soul.
This silent deer is screaming for mercy,
but you haven't yet swallowed her whole.
-lf-
Aug 25, 2013
Aug 25, 2013 at 6:50 PM UTC
leaving the theatre, he tapped, twice, the hood of a parked police car, lifted lipstick from a drunken woman’s purse and squared himself in a store window before shooting himself with his hand.
his first film, completed, by the time he was eighteen. roundly praised. from there, a many colored thing. russian women, guns under suits, and cameos of indians with indian names. at twenty three, nostalgic for twenty one, his seminal ‘my white father’ wherein a mute albino would be upstaged by mimes. further brilliance followed. mostly in quotes, such as “babies are full of grief”. women ate from his hand and their eating progressed. one woman in particular became trapped in a man’s body and he married her. a child they tried not to have soon arrived and brought with it a list of demands from the others. the woman divorced him and took with her the man. in the midst of attending to the list came the advent of black and white which added a much needed plot to his smoking. his peers double crossed each other in small houses. he himself was able to get away with punching a young girl for the right to drag a sled. his child began to accept talking toys in exchange for keeping quiet. in 1973, his doctors, grey from vietnam, convinced him to go under. his last film was silent, and many complained about the lighting. he cried, in his mansion, for the windows he did not put in. he would not often entertain tourists but when he did they asked about his mother, her ghost, and if the east wing was really haunted. he would on those late nights produce a letter his mother had sent him only yesterday.
he was in love with his sister, always had been. after she was mauled by the dogs he had set out for his father, he made walking his home. every now and then a hotel of running. last year, he caught a movie one had made of his life and though he missed the dedication he did not
the death row scene, the little saw his mother used for the cake, the mysterious basket moved from bike to bike.
Jul 7, 2012
Jul 7, 2012 at 12:14 PM UTC
I can't get so bogged down
Like i do now
So often its
Boring to be found and
Lost at the same time
Finding time to lie in
My bed, or a coffin
Whatever works
For better or worse
Plans I don't make
Can't really change
Or fall through at all
Funny enough
My whole things been
Mauled and I'm standing here
Coughing and blocking out
More ideas
Pretentious melody's play in my head
But I can't slip into
Real world explanations
The sky can only be one of two colors
A sentiment tied to
One or the other
Or I'm left wondering why
It has to be
I'm still sick of every friendship I make
Its hard to examine the memorys
What I take, and what i leave behind
Trivial, and i wish i had a bit more
Control
I don't care about my future
Irregardless people will still be
And treat me the same
Way, and I'll still be pining for
The same things
Guarded and
Mostly friendless
Dec 3, 2017
Dec 3, 2017 at 5:18 AM UTC
There is a sound in a house when it’s occupants have left for the day and it isn’t silence.
It’s more of a dull collective hum of electrical appliances enjoying the chance to indulge their expression without the need to shout over humans.
There is the echo of words whispered in soft tones and the violent ones exchanged in heated debate, also the screams and laughter and the bark of dogs.
There is the sound of unfolded washing, waiting patiently to be transitioned from unkempt mess to organised functionality in a drawer or cupboard.
Their sound before such a transformation is heavy and unlovable, but once the task of folding is completed, they fall silent, thankful to have reached their destiny this week before their new cycle of destruction of order begins.
Toys, where does one start with the sound of toys in the absence of playmates. Their sound is dependent on how loved they are and how much time they have left before they, like a wife after 20 years of marriage, are replaced by the upgraded model, the new and better version.
But it’s the breakfast things, the things left on the table, half eaten toast and a mauled boiled egg that have the most sound.
It’s the sound of a dwindling life force struggling against its fate to be recycled in the compost, like us.
That sound is a deafening silent scream of a resistance to endings, an inevitable journey back into nothing.
Jun 13, 2015
Jun 13, 2015 at 7:56 AM UTC
I don’t believe you.
There’s no way you could have
fended off those velociraptors
and their inter-dimensional captors
with a spork and a water gun.
No, you didn’t go into the matrix,
or find an heirloom of the Norse,
or find a cure for when your throat gets hoarse.
You most certainly did not bring forth
Satan with a glass-blown tuning fork
and those pictures you have are photoshopped.
A seismograph cannot detect a pulse
from that distance, you would have to be close,
so it did not help you defeat the devil,
which you’re undoubtedly making up as well.
You cannot throw marshmallows
into black holes, you would be crushed
by the gravity, far sooner than pushed
within marshmallowing range.
You did not **** nor disembowel
a mutant roll of paper towel
nor did you invent the interrobang.
I wish you would just please quit trying
to convince me that you came back from dying
especially after you weren’t mauled by a bobcat.
You did not inject yourself with nanobots,
or anonymously author a Times Best-Seller
about the struggling wife of a poor bank teller.
Stop deluding yourself, Johnny, it was only a dream.
Son, go back to sleep.
Oct 26, 2011
Oct 26, 2011 at 4:56 PM UTC