"medically" poems
service failure the ***** will offer
there's something medically askew with it
the usual role is proving so unfit
a second chance in a transplant's proffer
another dies to bring life back again
wellness being redeemed by precious gift
the recipient receives a big lift
living's joy restored out of the rain
someone's kind donation affording breath
so that the period of existence stays
a healthy liver performing its job
for not to have this giving there'd be death
the bestowment allows those future days
gratitude felt within a person's cob
Oct 9, 2016
Oct 9, 2016 at 9:27 PM UTC
I abuse words verbally like my voice is Bobby and the dictionary Whitney/
Like a literary hyperbole properly arranged to explain this deranged brutality perfectly/
Force the English language to work for me like a particularly dark time in history/
Optimistically take the tongue twister trickery and aggressively attack a vocabulary vocally and personally/
Not physically but a barrage on your psyche, almost psychedelically/
Use words medically, like a surgeon I expertly plant thoughts whispered softly but assertively/
Moving letters like chess pawns to express thoughts masterfully and creatively/
Gruesomely grotesque but gorgeous thoughts written down beautifully/
You can't help but hear the perplexity of mythoticly placed words with comradery/
An oddity with the audacity to raise the bar and up the capacity/
Because what comes out of me has to be exactly what you see because it is me/
Not just a part of me but all of me/
I'm not a fallen tree sitting in the forest silently, quietly all by my lonely/
It's just the opposite actually and factually/
I will attack with a dialect so violent you violently retract causing you to react cowardly automatically/
I don't even have to lift a pinky, leave it stinky/
Let my words linger there in the air like **** smoke, thick and sticky/
Periodically come back to peek and see if you've figured out the mystery and found the key/
One that'll decipher decisively what it is that I've let out of me and spread to all humanity/
I could never have planned it, see, it had to happen naturally, organically if you will/
And not to build it up falsely but I honestly, back then, didn't have the ***** to let it out of me and it cost me considerably/
So now this mastery I hold of word delivery bestowed to me gets jotted down feverishly/
With an intensity equal to none inside of this ******* century, can't censor me/
Got a consistency that forces me to constantly cross the border of insanity repeatedly/
Time only to watch my talents as they literally wither away for all of eternity/
Such a tragedy to see such agony but please, no apology brought on by sympathy/
Just let me be as I drift farther out to sea to a place you'll never see/
To let these words mold me into someone you could never be/
©2018
Apr 6, 2018
Apr 6, 2018 at 4:00 AM UTC
June 1st, 1998.
A child born,
A boy,
With a mop of brown hair,
And complications.
Pulse weak,
Not getting enough oxygen...
But the complications?
They were handled.
June 1st, 2003.
Blowing out your candles,
Looking forward to things to come.
Like being the ring bearer in your parents' wedding.
June 1st, 2005.
Forfeiting your birthday wish,
Because your wish is coming true.
Your brother is born July 26th.
June 1st, 2012.
Looking back on middle school,
And ahead on the monster known as high school.
June 1st, 2013.
Looking back on freshman year,
And celebrating 6 months with the first girl you ever loved.
You're positive she's the one.
June 1st, 2014.
Looking back on sophomore year,
Relishing the thought of being an upperclassman,
Yet still mourning the loss of your first love almost a year before, on June 26th.
June 1st, 2016.
Going to the meeting and signing the paperwork.
Feeling more pride than ever in your life.
You leave for basic training in August.
Little do you know, you will be medically discharged in November of the next year.
June 1st, 2018.
I will look back on all I have done.
My failures most of all.
Because they're all I have.
Feb 5, 2017
Feb 5, 2017 at 10:45 AM UTC
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Dec 8, 2015
Dec 8, 2015 at 9:36 AM UTC
At times I happen to wonder what it would be like to wake up dead
and if in fact anyone could really wake up at all from such a dread.
Although there have been cases related by people of coming back
after being diagnosed physically or medically of losing life's track.
In particular those who recall going through a kind of light tunnel
or seeing certain things that resemble looking into a bright funnel.
It seems quite reasonable now therefore to assume an afterlife may exist
and that some people have been given a rare opportunity to say or insist
about what they have experienced on the other side of their earthly life
regardless of who they might be and what strange conditions were rife,
when they had that encounter with their own personal angel of death
and were for a while seen lying motionless somewhere without breath.
Out of our dream life we may also have similar experiences to relate
though it's often difficult to recall them or find the right words to state
about what one has been through or even seen after any such time
let alone have the desire or ambition to write it all down in a rhyme.
For some people it may turn out to be a shame or some kind of regret
if they just brush it aside, don't reflect on it and then try hard to forget.
__________________________
Feb 19, 2017
Feb 19, 2017 at 12:27 PM UTC
*Radiation Burn
Cancer is a mother;
snap, crackle, pop,
yet they zip, zap
and radiate me.
They won’t allow a
glow in the dark blush,
or allow some super powers;
no Spiderman,
not even the Hulk- sheeesh!
But they did suggest perhaps
Wonder Woman instead
since their hormone therapy
is medically castrating me-
all in the name of science
and to be cancer free!!
Yippee and yahoo
not to mention
radiation burns!!!
+++
I guess there is always a price,
a “trade off” they say.
So move over Superman,
Wonder Woman is in the house!
Oh, and by the way,
could I borrow some red lipstick,
I already have a magical whip
and I’m looking for
a heavy date Friday night!!
Aztec Warrior/redzone 7.28.16
Note: if you can’t laugh at what life
throws at you and also yourself,
cancer will eat you alive...*
Aug 6, 2016
Aug 6, 2016 at 10:41 PM UTC
Rushing down the halls,
Grabbing the keys
Go.
Eyes burning, arms shaking,
Inability to concentrate on the road
*Faster, ******
He can barely breathe,
My little brown eyes
Hang in there buddy, come on.
Little body quivering,
Puppy eyes stare at me in fright
Its okay, lil' brown eyes, we love you.
Car slams on the breaks,
Doors rush open, full sprint inside
Stay with us boy, don't leave us.
Taken away, medically examined
Clock ticks by, slower..slower..
How long, How long does it take?
Doctors come and go
Paper work after paper work
I don't care, let me see my baby.
Little Puppy, comes back with delight
Medication given, and thankfully taken
You did it bud bud, you're still here.
Life is taken for granted
Once tugged at, we hold on tight
We love you, patches, thank you for staying.
Apr 4, 2017
Apr 4, 2017 at 9:16 PM UTC
I'm told you've been in a crash and now in the hospital.
I fish for facts, to know what's going on.
I hear you were stuck head-on on your side, that you have broken bones and a brain injury, that you're in a medically induced coma.
My heart pauses.
I can't think.
I don't believe it.
Then the news story pops up on our local paper's website.
Your friend turned in front of another car which struck you, and your sister in the backseat. The two of you have serious injuries, you're critical. But the two drivers have walked away uninjured.
I just want you to wake up.
Could it have been avoided?
I can't let you leave, I need you here with me.
I need you to push through.
I need God to prevail.
I want to sit by your bedside and demand you wake up but I know that won't help.
I've slipped into a mind coma. I can't smile. I feel numb.
I just want you to wake up.
I just want you to wake up so we can both leave this coma.
Apr 23, 2015
Apr 23, 2015 at 3:47 PM 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
I am a writer. A writer that cannot find the words to write down this emotion. A writer out of many. I am not unique or special. I don't stand out. I'm just a writer with a head full of words and a soul full of feeling. I'm your everyday human.
Medically, i'm boring.
Socially, I'm entertaining.
I write while others sleep or fill their lungs with love.
I think while others talk.
I laugh while others cry.
I breathe while most stop.
I'm alive, weather it feels like it or not.
But, least importantly, i'm just a writer.
A writer with a head full of jumbled words and a soul filled with both love and hate. A body that feels numb and a heart for a home with a draft coming in due to little insulation. I'm a tad bit bitter, but aren't we all? I'm far from joyful, but most are now a days.
People change and so does this world.
People are at war with themselves.
People are disgusting.
But i'm a writer, not a person.
I'm a human, not a number.
But to most, i'm just there. Nearly the background music to their lives.
To me, I am a wall. No one gets in and no one can break it down. People have tried, but never succeeded.
I am damaged.
I am a writer.
To some, I am a friend.
To others, a stranger.
To very little, a lover.
To one, a hate.
But I am not any of those things.
I am flesh. Bare to the whole world.
Bare *****
Take a peek inside, you'll see.
People say they're a lot of things. But realistically, in the end of it all, we're all dust intertwining in eachothers specks.
Holding hands as the ship goes under.
All claiming we're the captain.
Where'd the individuals go?
Well, i'm right here. Standing alone. Waiting for something that is actually nothing.
To me, I am an individual.
To others, I am everything else.
To the world, i'm almost non-existant.
I don't search for anything.
But for now, I walk this Earth like many others.
I am just your average person.
Just another writer.
I am just bones and flesh, covered by a sickening disguise.
People say beauty is everywhere, but that's only to the naked eye. Take a look around, you'll see.
Take a look around in me.
Beauty can't be seen by anything.
It's hidden beneathe the depths of the oceans and the heart of the world.
It's hidden within everything.
Beauty is out of reach.
The world is too covered to see it.
We made it this way.
We made this world ugly.
But what do I know?
I am just a writer.
Your average joe stranger.
I am your sleepless dream.
I am your weakness.
Your strength.
Your hate.
Your love.
Your entertainment.
But I am not yours.
I am not anybody.
I am me.
I am an individual and this is why I stand alone.
I am content.
I will manage.
The world will still spin round, once i'm gone.
Aswell as once we're all gone, because the world waits for no one.
Jun 9, 2011
Jun 9, 2011 at 7:21 AM UTC
Poem a day, number 22
How much of my choices are my own?
Physiological compulsions
Societal pressures.
How much of my choices are my own
I muse, as I grab another sugary treat.
My own personal addiction.
It's not respected as an addiction
People smirk,
Or quip 'Oh yeah I have a sweet tooth too'
'No, no' I say
'It's medically proven
To have the same reaction in the brain as cocaine'
I can see them thinking
'Yeah right' as they smile and say
'Oh really?'
But the pressure to partake
'Just this once won't hurt'
Really? Do you say that to alcoholics too?
Are people quitting smoking
Expected to smoke for a day or two,
Because it's Christmas, Easter, Birthdays...
How much of my choices are my own?
When you can't actually live without
Some sort of sugar.
In a society where anything with a hint of processing
Is likely to have some refined sugar
And the more convenience the higher the risk.
How much is my choice?
When managing my addiction is more about
Keeping sugar to a bearable level.
An addiction that can't be cut out completely
As my hand starts to shake at the mere thought of
Having to 'quit' again.
Dec 23, 2013
Dec 23, 2013 at 4:56 AM UTC
I feel sorry that some people think
They
Weren't
Born
Whole.
So they go out searching,
Waiting,
Abating,
For somebody to complete their soul.
At a young age I was blessed to be broken
Got to put the pieces back together myself.
No man, no prince, no shining bright knight.
Just me and my sutures
Disinfecting alcohol on the shelf.
I don't need a healer
So no human need bother
I fixed what was broken
Saved you your wine-and-dine dollar
Spend it on a damsel
Who's been tricked into thinking she's distressed
Because I'm having none of that **** here
I'm the latest model of me and it's simply the best.
See medically speaking,
Scars won't ever leave
But they can always be replaced
By smaller ones chosen at your knives' reprieve
So I've built myself a brand new me
As whole and together
As possibly could be.
Patched up nicely with sutures
Tied ever so tight
Keloids like embedded trophies
Many a victorious fight.
And while one might go searching
Like a pollinating human bee.
I know my self worth.
I'll never depend on thee.
Aug 26, 2014
Aug 26, 2014 at 10:34 PM UTC
Those clock face braids,
Twelve, three, six and nine
Oh! How lovely they shine,
I love and hate them at the same time
The smell of the coconut oil from my hair
made my eyes water,
But, my scalp stay healthy and oily
that's been all that matters to me
plus the warmth of her gentle hands
My aching back this pounding headache
Make me think of grandma’s hands,
but to think of her hands,
I had to think about her golden brown ***** cakes,
or those hands that soothe my aches and pain,
When I was a medically fragile child,
She would put a soft cheesy two layer of
Cheesecloth, melted onions, two banana leaves
Between the cloths, she would gentle placed it
on my congested chest, and spoke to us as if
Vick vapor tropical cream, was minty ice-cream
Grandma’s hands, always had that added plus
She named her thick brown belt
“Do as I say, not as you do”
Because Nana might have to disciplined you,
I held on to Grandma’s hand so tight,
until I was about twelve ,
It was sad day for me when
she passed on to another world
Nana if you can hear me,
I am still holding, and holding tight
To those wonderful memories we once shared.
Elfriede A.
Oct 14, 2015
Oct 14, 2015 at 12:13 PM UTC
You know them nights, when so much is on your mind and you don't know where to begin.
You start to type, then back space again and again.
The words don't flow, the thought is gone.
The next sentence is wrote, but it just feels wrong.
You can stare at the screen and look for hours.
Type a hundred words, yet their not ripe, much more sour.
I'm having that night, with this aggravation and pain.
Even though the last week, was smiles and gain.
The last couple days and nights has ripped through my mind and body.
My body feels under a earthquake and my mind is a tsunami.
Quitting the benzo's and antidepressants that started 3 1/2 years ago
Going cold turkey, I wasn't going to wing it and just go slow.
At a point in your life, you will sometimes make rash decisions.
It can lead you into a tranquility, or it can cut you...incision after incision.
The beginning of the week, I found peace and that tranquility.
As I longed for better and wanted rid of the iniquity.
I began to read the bible and put faith in it's print.
and now I feel under attack, a demon the Devil has sent.
But that's not the case, I chose this myself.
I can beat this, write about it, then put it on a shelf.
My mind is too muddled to go on much more,
My body is shaking, and my fingers are sore.
This shall pass, as God will get me through.
Then I will be back, to bore some of you.
I long for a natural sleep not medically induced.
For it's been 13 years, that's when the pills happened. I began to use.
Just for sleep not to get high.
Just for dreams: standing on a mountain side.
So goodnight, and may you dream the most wonderful dream.
May you feel the embrace of the moonlight beam.
Before you drift off and dance with your love beside the sea.
Will you say a prayer? So something beautiful comes to me.
GOODNIGHT AND MAY YOUR DREAMS BE PERFECT.
Sep 18, 2013
Sep 18, 2013 at 1:33 AM UTC
Black is the color of my “true” love’s hair.
His nose a beak,
His chin, and aspects of his character, weak.
Why then, do I bother?
Well, I read once, that, “there are places in the heart that do not exist;
Suffering has to enter for them to come to be.”
And I’ve always been told to be wholehearted.
My blue eyed-devil suffered
From different variations of the same flaw
Or did I suffer him?
Or did I suffer, and in suffering, bring new flawed places to life?
If that is the case, then I should be called creator
God. Almighty in my abilities to generate where nothing was before.
And if I am so bold, so audacious, then wholehearted isn’t he?
I read again once, once again
That each time a heart breaks
There is more pain than the time before.
Medically this doesn’t make sense—
Shouldn’t the fractures be slightly more vulnerable, easier
To crack? Or is it that new compounds emerge—fresh and sharp
while ghost aches, echoes, and wind still haunt their ancestry?
Perhaps it is neither.
Perhaps, instead, it is not even a matter of the living and the dead,
But of the young and the elder,
And these wounded heart bones
Are simultaneously living new aches and old pains.
After all, I’ve also heard, that, “time is a white
man’s construct,” only serving as the bleached skeletal frame for our selves.
Picture that then,
The hollow-eyed skull of the universe
Watching as we give bits of ourselves away to time
So that we may under and stand existence—
Create those “new” places with the patches and sewing
Of our old hurts, and the stretching and tearing of new.
We become wholehearted.
Feb 24, 2012
Feb 24, 2012 at 2:47 PM UTC
Her name was
Amy, she was
18 and I was 21.
We met the
summer after my
Mom died.
She had a scholarship
to Iowa State for
swimming.
We didn't have
air conditioning, and it was
a brutally hot summer.
I got sick, and couldn't
work; pretty soon
I couldn't get
off the couch.
I had my brother run
to the corner and
use the payphone to call
the ambulance.
It turned out I had
double pneumonia.
They also realized I was
drinking a lot and would
need help medically to
d-tox.
Amy visited me in
the hospital.
She snuck my kitten in.
We made out in my bed.
She was beautiful.
I felt so alive when
I was with her.
The kitten got loose and
ran down the hall.
The nurses laughed.
I got out of the
hospital and began
drinking again immediately.
Amy broke up with me.
She said, "I can't be with
an alcoholic."
I was sad, but I still had
the kitten, until it
got smashed by
a car one sweltering
July night.
Mom
Amy
the kitten--all gone.
Then, I really started
drinking.
Jan 20, 2021
Jan 20, 2021 at 6:40 AM UTC
To the doctors in the room
I'm a mental cased, half-crazed Insomniac
on three days of possibly self inflicted mind space
who can't decide on medically induced comas or Prozac
To the supervisors in the room
I'm a potential hazard, a walking disaster
bird-brained enough to end as scrambled gizzards
who potentially could be as useful as worthless shinplaster
To the women in the room
I'm a useless *** nearly morbid
too tired to mow the lawn in the mid-morning sun
and too lazy to help with laundry, cooking, or raising kids
To the friends in the room
I'm a constant joke, a hilarious prank
mumbling non-sense with little need to be provoked
laughing hysterically as they watch as my mind goes blank
To the voices in the room
I'm a genius, an exasperated visionary
I've have debated the complexities of owning a *****
and the movements of my thumb is extremely revolutionary
Jun 20, 2011
Jun 20, 2011 at 6:12 PM UTC
Watching someone die in a hospital is not as glamorous as they make it seem in the movies
It is gut wrenching
It is awful
We are medically trained to know exactly whats happening,
making it worse
(Yes it hurts the heart of the nurse)
Watching the body shut down
***** by *****
system by system
Watching someone struggle to walk
an struggle to stand
They can't no longer eat because they have lost ability to swallow
and may still be hungry
A face gone so hollow that at one time was lovely
They struggle so hard to breathe we now put them on oxygen
Sit them upright, and say it's okay
We give them drugs to ease the pain
And now they are blinking and unaware
The eyes wander but there's nobody there
And the gasping for hope is the last function left
And we hold their hands as they take their last breath
And we are left to hand them to the families that don't know what to do
then we go back to the nurse's station because we need to cry too
Mar 27, 2014
Mar 27, 2014 at 5:15 PM UTC
The first of thirty and the first time I've ever comitted to something I find very important.
Beneath my chest are two parachutes
On a daily basis the expand themselves,
with each breath.
Moving in a synchronized fashion, togther
they support the same body.
Never does one think of the consequence,
often embracing the heat of a cigarette
or the medically created air of an inhaler
My lungs
They make the best parachutes
Capillary kite strings,
perfect precision of movement
between the fine lines of the atmosphere
Kite strings that are often and only severed by a blunt force trauma
that, waking up feeling of getting hit by a truck
too many cigarettes between nervous conversations with a ghost
or the constant reassurance between inhalations that sometime soon,
my heart will beat again like it used too
for something that matters
instead of something that should matter
My lungs make the best parachutes
never ceasing to stop their rhythm
constantly supporting the downfalls.
Apr 2, 2012
Apr 2, 2012 at 2:57 AM UTC
I want somebody who i can hold at night to rid these bad habits of mine.
Cuz over time, I've picked up blowing and drinking wine
I actually would like for you to be the one I call mine
To be that go to drug whenever I need a quick fix
Whenever im going through **** and just click
I want your kiss to be the ashes I flick
I want you to be that theraflu for when I get sick
Of this **** that requires a quick fix
Im strong enough on my own
But to have your personal drug to call your own
Would be the ultimate goal
Don't get me wrong boo,
Because I will be the very same for u
I will be that asprin waiting by ya bed
That shot u take to the head
That eases ya pain.
So how about u be my icy hot
cooling me down but then getting me hot
Being my alcohol and being my ***
I wanna smoke u until u get smoked out
Or even until theres no doubt
That you'll heal me
Or until the thought of u being wit me
Gets me higher than any amount of estacy
Cuz truly i just want u to be that drug that takes me higher than medically possible
I want you to make me feel powerful and unstoppable
Taking me above and beyond
So do u think u cud fulfill these wishes?
Signed, a feigning misses.
Oct 10, 2011
Oct 10, 2011 at 3:13 PM UTC
And at my new job I am the manager-in-training.
In French it is
“Responsable en formation”
Or as I would say,
Responsible information.
However, I was not responsible in gathering my information.
During my interview, I said masseuse.
Turns out that is heavily connotated and maybe even denotated as a *** word.
I asked if it was the French ending
He said, “No, it’s the happy ending”
Maybe French is only **** because of how much is escapes me.
The opposite reason is why death was never **** to me
because of how much I escaped it
Maybe death finds
Me
****
And Anyway I got the job
And a month later my boss gave to me a T-shirt that said
your table is ready
At first,
Instead of a massage table,
I thought it was a stretcher
And I laughed
I wonder what that means
“You could have died” “you almost died” “it’s a miracle you’re still here”
“we’re /glad/ you’re still here”
Are words I often hear from my doctors
who almost always meet with me pro bono because I am poor, but also interesting
Medically
But they are not words I hear from my mother
Those are the words she saves to give to her 90-something mother-in-law
I say 90-something not because I am careless or inattentive, but because my grandmother Adeline lied about her age so often in her youth, that both she and the government forgot her actual age
The words my mother gives to grandma J upset her.
She is tired of living
Asked all of us to pray for her death
Asked my brother in law to be “to help her get to heaven tonight”
Said “I know you can help me get to heaven tonight” presumably because he works for the cook county coroner's office.
He is a man so jaded that he sometimes can only laugh on the job when he sees particularly trite Chicago suicide notes:
To be fair, he’s not cruel
It is usually when it is something
Like
“you either die the hero or live long enough to see yourself become the villain”
Anyway, it made him cry when old Addie asked that
and also if you are a prayer person,
please pray for her death,
I can’t bring myself to do it.
Dec 3, 2020
Dec 3, 2020 at 5:14 PM UTC
... I think I'm pregnant to you.
I think our hearts have joined.
A poem is worth so much more in the delivery, so
I place my trust in Australia Post
and the efficacy of the clearly marked post code.
I heard that love is intoxication:
so I purchased a bottle of wine grown in South Australia
and hoped to savour just a taste of you.
There’s a chemical released in your brain when
you meet someone you love;
its dying to meet other chemicals.
But I can’t cope with that kind of expectation,
and I’m too young for equanimous adjustment.
It’s too much like needing a sedative after the *** you almost had
when you thought your girlfriend was coming to stay for the night.
Don’t think I’m bemoaning the fact that you’re not coming to stay for the night,
you live on the other side of the continent.
I accept the disparity of our geography.
I accept the arterial nature of the freeway system in human relationship
after all, we’ve all been told where roads lead.
Did you know that if your name was translated in Spanish?
I'd be interpreted as a conquistador with no hope in the tropics.
And did you know that I’ve always wanted to wear a superman suit and
keep nothing out but steady rainfall?
If you think about it, this is a potent philosophy.
Mephistopheles considered certain questions and theorems.
He found the intrusion of chaos theory and the disruption to the order of the work ethic unthinkable.
He found the mature and calculated response simple:
he told the ******** to articulate and pontificate elsewhere.
So please don't get any ideas.
This brings me back to my remaining piece of news:
Regardless of the fact that it’s medically impossible
I think I'm pregnant to you.
Please write soon.
MChallis © 2015
Jan 10, 2015
Jan 10, 2015 at 8:27 PM UTC
I am a Fuster Cluck
I am mother-duck
Color my medically mental psychiatriosis
Red-blue-purple
Snowball my eyeballs into your throat-hole
"I never asked for this," said Adam Jensen's blow-hole.
I feel best self medicated on that fire-water's chest
Feel my insides warm as my outsides loosen
I may explodinate my thought bubble-quotient
I'm sick of being in my head
Worrying about you, worrying about life
Worrying
Lay it at the foot of the cross
I know which one
So why am I sitting here holding all my problems in my arms
Cradling them like a small child?
Apr 16, 2015
Apr 16, 2015 at 2:30 PM UTC
Our Relationship is so stupid
You look like a zombie
You're 6'4", barely 150 lbs
Medically speaking, that's just gross.
My body's all sharp bones, nowhere soft left
Sometimes I can tell you've been drinking when you pick me up
Sometimes I can't
Sometimes you bring me to parties where there's a pile of *******
the size of a dinner plate
right on the coffee table
Sometimes I make you buy me *****
We're so stupid
We just sit on the couch
and kiss
and watch movies written for kids
talking about politics as if we could change ****
sharing a blanket as if we were in love
You're just so stupid
because you think I'm funny when I bomb an open mic
and you tell me you love me when my tics keep me up at night
and you kiss my fingertips when they bleed from my bites
I can't control my body
But you're so stupd
that you still love it
We're that couple that got in a fight in the cub parking lot at midnight
The couple that made out in your Toyota corolla by the water tower
The couple that ruins every party
The couple that makes out with others in front of each other
Just to see that spark of jealousy
We're that couple that everyone tells to break up
but we don't
But I'm pretty stupid too
because I love you when you can't sit still
When you stop taking your medication
When your head aches from withdrawal
I still love to lay beside you in bed
the curtains drawn to keep out the light at 3 in the afternoon
When the doctor's say it's ADHD but you say it's a sparkling personality
when the voices in your head make you want to die
I still love you
Apr 24, 2017
Apr 24, 2017 at 11:12 PM UTC