"minacious" poems
~
Daydreams
in passing with the clouds,
and their weary structure,
and their idle loneliness,
and their struggle for tomorrow.
You and me and the image of an immense tree; satellites hanging from its branches like minacious ornaments; sending frightful messages to far out places; convincing us television is real but our lives are fake.
Nightmares
in passing with the shadows,
and their elusive silhouette,
and their active aggression,
and their march for tomorrow.
You and me and the image of a school bus sliding down into the ice...
~
Nov 30, 2022
Nov 30, 2022 at 12:27 PM UTC
It all starts with a kiss on the forehead from the devil.
A curse so deadly that The Grim Reaper would fear for his life.
Togetherness is a lost cause for sanity and my mind.
One of them, if not both, has been absent.
I've killed many and many before.
Homicidal cravings have polluted my veins.
Empathy has fled the scene of this heinous crime inside my head,
As the voices so gracefully moved in.
Frequent scenarios are projected in my dreams,
Like some spooky yet ****** film.
Two vampiric women kiss so maliciously,
As their lips are painted with blood.
This vision makes ****** ********
The blood flow has not yet been drained from my vision,
As it stains the cotton of my memory.
Remorseful thoughts convert to an addiction.
I need to accommodate another fix, before my inevitable conviction.
I've once felt the feelings of the peaceful,
But reality has stolen my conscience.
A lovely soul transformed to atrocity .
This lantern gained a shortage of oil,
causing me to become lost in a field of misery and pain.
Minacious laughs frolic in my ears,
Though these giggles I'm quite familiar with.
I heard them often, so joyful and so free.
But now they've turned to evil.
An inability to move my hands when desired,
Caused by attire not aimed for warmth.
I'm a prisoner blocked by a wall of darkness,
So deliberately detaining my sanity.
I have loved a time, so long ago,
Where happiness was my most valued acquaintance.
Yet something inside of me awoken so suddenly,
Shamelessly demolishing any remote heart I once possessed.
Possession is such a polite word to use,
describing demonic forces taking ownership of your soul.
But I consider it a blessing in disguise,
Due to the unescapable fact that who I was could not be an acception,
To those who hold superiority over me.
A monster I was?
Or A monster I have became.
It would never be determined by the others.
All they fathom is that a monster is contained,
And lives will no longer be stolen by the guilty hands of this monster.
But what gives human life it's worth?
I will forever ponder that thought.
For I am the star of this so called Hell,
And where I'll be when my time has come,
No sane human would dwell.
Sep 12, 2016
Sep 12, 2016 at 10:20 PM UTC
Why are others mouths inclined to draw the pictures I try to scribble out that form inside my mind?
A worthless, spineless creature- almost serpentine, wriggling on its belly baring cyanic, lachrymal eyes.
I want to squirm from this Stygian tomb, disenthrall my thoughts from the shadows swimming with me
inside this amniotic pool. I'm just a worthless fetus, a crumbling parasite and perhaps it becomes more
obvious when I try to keep it out of sight, like a stench you try to hide; Dulcify decomposition with a rain
of fragrant petals and slowly you'll come to find that magnolias smell of death, I can taste it
slightly on my breath and it whets their appetite, the demons that stink of ammonia that gather every
night orchestrating their symposia, their bellies full of laughter and drink while I'm full of minacious,
eternal thoughts that writhe through plumbless wrinkles and ichor, questioning motivation and what it
is I fight for. I can never find the right answers... My tongue won't grasp the words, they just slip back into
their couthy throat where they can't be ignored; Left to die upon the shore, as fuscous waves that stain
sand with rejection crash against my shattered form. My hands crack trying to flip the hourglass back
and my eyes are constantly attacked by depression's thalassic pulchritude, a multitude of pains swaying
to and fro in veins, begging for escape but trying to stay encased. Life nulls and denudes, my aptitude
for feeling- my natural ability to hold things close without unreeling heartstrings. Keep reading, there'll
be no eucatastrophe just endless pages of pointless animosity and tragedies accompanied by laugh
tracks, everyone loves a jester with a proper act and I act a proper klutz futzing around with letters and
spelling, trying to ensorcell any being to find my misery compelling.
-SLuR
Feb 27, 2018
Feb 27, 2018 at 2:30 PM UTC
i found my knife at the bottom of the mushroom jar where truth, boiled from the muck of an oak slavish of fancy columns, unjustified from the stains of a cold yellow sweat. i have become the primal suspect of an eminent probability among the universal system, taking life for death as trade among souls. i am the ******* monster, beast without beauty, a freak in consistent argument with minacious entities that surround my physical being. blood, sweat, tears- we lose.
Jul 2, 2015
Jul 2, 2015 at 2:28 PM UTC
The fuse is lit, wrapped against your wrists
Prisoner of freedom, prisoner of ****
Grip dissident fists, slip, and miss the government.
An insignificant kiss across unfeeling skin,
Desensitized to the reeling of our unified minds
The serpent, the centipede that dually writhe inside,
Left and right, tickling spite to erupt in minacious laughter
As the herd move along our prayers slither into the slaughter.
Plastered proclamations and pinned ignorance:
“I voted for a puppet” but who’s the ventriloquist?
-SLuR
Jul 6, 2018
Jul 6, 2018 at 2:11 PM UTC