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If the moon smiled, she would resemble you.
You leave the same impression
Of something beautiful, but annihilating.
Both of you are great light borrowers.
Her O-mouth grieves at the world; yours is unaffected,

And your first gift is making stone out of everything.
I wake to a mausoleum; you are here,
Ticking your fingers on the marble table, looking for cigarettes,
Spiteful as a woman, but not so nervous,
And dying to say something unanswerable.

The moon, too, abuses her subjects,
But in the daytime she is ridiculous.
Your dissatisfactions, on the other hand,
Arrive through the mailslot with loving regularity,
White and blank, expansive as carbon monoxide.

No day is safe from news of you,
Walking about in Africa maybe, but thinking of me.
Paul Rousseau Mar 2012
Righteous monoxide filled the lugs of apartheid
Read the palm, explained what could be
Read the psalm for breathless trifling  

Redefine
Recognize, please
Rewind
Akemi Apr 2017
Barbiturate is one of the few drugs capable of killing you painlessly, so of course the state has banned it. Instead we get paracetamol, a ****** over-the-counter painkiller that leaves you in pain for up to five days while your liver and kidneys shut down. Suicide prevention is a ******* joke. Secular appropriations of Christian values that assume life is worthwhile, whether you desire it or not. It’s long been known that rates of suicide rose dramatically with the birth of modernity—techno-scientific paradise for the middle-class which stresses efficiency over existence. New forms of automation, the human body disciplined into repetitious acts, the partitioning of workspaces so that no single worker could operate the whole—so that any worker could be fired and replaced with the minimum amount of training necessary for capital to continue circulating. The body is individualised, scrutinised, and punished by rich kids playing panopticon, so that any mass agitation is coerced into silence through the threat of destitution.

Slitting your wrists barely succeeds and more likely than not leaves you with tendon and muscle damage. Catalytic converters in cars now convert carbon monoxide into harmless CO2 and H2O. Drowning is one of the most painful ways to die. You cannot escape. The state places helpline numbers around suicide spots to treat life after the fact, rather than at the source of suffering. Vocal band-aids, ****** ******* aphorisms that seek to revert you back into a happy state-serving commodity. Things will get better. Life is worth living. Think positive. Alienation is omnipresent. Neoliberal discourse requires you to be subservient to the greater system of capital and the easiest way towards this is the instilment of comfort, of pleasant nullity, the circumscription of emotional capacity and reflectivity. Suicidal thoughts are abnormal, because life is worth living. Eat your packaged food item and watch Netflix.

For a drop into water to be fatal, it has to be 250 feet. Try to aim for your head to maximise brain injury. The most prominent suicide spot around here has a drop of 100 feet. They cordoned it off anyway. Your life doesn’t belong to you. The first time I tried to suicide my mother asked ‘why would you do that?’ as if it was the dumbest thing in the world. The second time, the doctor looked at me in an exasperated manner and prescribed me lots of drugs. Geettt bettterrrr. Nobody cares about you, they simply want you to return to normal. Normality as in serving your parents, serving your friends, serving the state, and serving the market. Normality as in not questioning social norms and institutions. Normality as in get a stable job (i.e. compete against other workers in an exploitative, undemocratic system that values and inculcates self-serving desires), get married (preferably to someone of the opposite *** who is middle-class and imbibes European culture), get pregnant/get someone pregnant (but only once or twice, because anyone who has more children than that is backwards), invest in housing (those students and lower-class families need to learn how the world works; really, it’s a benefit to take their money), watch sports (to instil national pride in your children; no son, we didn’t colonise the Pacific Islands, keep watching the man with the wooden stick hit *****), eat out every week (preferably exotic restaurants), go see the world (preferably exotic locations, so you can be served by exotic people, take in exotic sights, then leave without considering where any of your money has gone to, whether any of it has reached the slums, whether the beach you lay on is accessible to the people living there, or whether it has been privatised by the tourist firm so that only rich tourists like yourself can lie on it), join a club (those capitalists were innocent, it was the indigenous folk that were making a ruckus over the new golf course; it’s not like we’ve been colonising their land and culture for the past three centuries), donate to charity (but never any charity desiring systemic change; that’s crazy), consume, always consume (keeps the economy going; why question the desire for infinite growth in a world with limited land, resources and markets?), replace your phone every year (those poor workers in Asia need our help), repeat to the point of nausea.

The most successful method to suicide is a shotgun to the head; high calibre, slug rounds. Of course, with all these methods, the chance of failing may leave you disfigured, paralysed, mentally disabled or physically crippled (spinal damage, broken limbs, failed organs), with no guarantee that your family, or even your state, will allow for euthanasia. After all, the popular discourse paints suicide as selfish—an irony, considering liberalism places the self first and society second. It is viewed as sinful regardless of context—deontologically detached from anomie, alienation, material deprivation, social pressures, psychological affectations, any cause or structure. Life is worth living. This ignores that the subject is situated in existence. The subject moves through existence to live. Life, then, is the totality of the subject’s interactions. It cannot be universalised into a single state or judgement that merges all subjectivities into a catch-all worthiness. Worth is dependent of the subject.

I don’t know why I’m writing this. Maybe I just want everyone to **** themselves, because the world is ****** and the majority of people are ******* it worse. Most people think being nice makes them good. They turn blind to the systems of oppression they partake in. A while ago my mother was asking if I’d heard about the mass suicides happening at Foxconn, the largest electronics manufacturer in the world. This year she showed me her new iPhone. I don’t ******* understand. I don’t understand how people can be outraged at humanity abuses, yet do ******* nothing to help or change their ways. Yes, market solutions are ******* ****, but these commodities are still coming from somewhere, and while capitalism is in place, our money is still flowing back. I don’t understand how people can be concerned about ecological issues, then pour dishwashing liquid down the sink every night, dissolving the gills, eyes, and organs of fish in rivers and oceans. I don’t understand a ******* thing. I feel physically sick most days. I can barely function outside of university, because engaging with real people, in real systems, just reminds me of how careless, worthless, and disgusting they are. When I first turned vegan, my dad simply said plants are living too. Well no ******* **** dad, why didn’t you ask me my reason for turning vegan, rather than simply repeating the dumb **** everyone else says? If you were stuck on a desert island. Well I’m ******* not. I’m stuck on this **** world filled with nice people who don’t give a **** about anything. I’m stuck every week walking the same roads, to the same university, where I become more and more distanced from reality through abstract philosophical theories that no one else cares about. I’m stuck walking through the supermarket every week, to purchase overpriced commodities produced by transnational corporations I don’t support, but nonetheless have to buy to survive. What alternatives I buy are mocked because it's so funny being ethical in our day and age. Because it’s so much more normal eating pies, and drinking beer, and treating women like objects, and affirming nationalistic sentiments of white supremacy, and making fun of ethnic minorities while they’re incarcerated, and beaten, and killed. All lives matter, the liberal conservatives cry out, while doing ******* nothing to help any cause. I don’t understand this world, and I have no desire to be in it if this is all there is.
Barton D Smock Jul 2012
grandeur

had brought the well outta ground the muscled men and she came upon them when they had split into teams and were rolling it and had not yet become competitive. the hands of her gone infant came back to her to see these men heave back and forth a vanishing. of her many fathers one had said ‘the deep train went even deeper and I could not wake’. he had said it to excuse his one day feat of linking unadorned toilet paper rolls to stretch a rat’s mile. her stomach had yet to go down and she was comforted by such literal remnants as thinking of the last place you had it.

libel

two white boys come outta shack each with a wrist one left one right being ****** at the mouth. their laughing I wouldn’t say manic but still not righted. like certain bible stories seem to tumble outta that book it’s the same with their eyes and ears. their heads each one shrunk so as to be united. I want to say here at least a ****** knows what it’s mocking. I only know one of’em and only as far as this thing being passed and told that he ain’t a foster but he was born in a pan and taken from the offices of the parent company his father got laid from. you think that’s the joke but had I not said white you’d have thought they were anyway. here come two girls grisly with month and I never seen two boys so quick to put down the shack they come from.

prayer

I like it best when my girl is pregnant because I get the sympathies. on her hand, she likes me drunk. at any one time, I can remember seven of our eight kids. this means of course one gets left home but also that not a one gets left grocery. I’d tell you their names but then I’d have to split this saying into parts. but I can tell you seven are boys. now and again they’ll slip on sister’s dress to **** up my math. a good joke I start with is that they take after their mother and if they take after me it’s with sticks. I change the batteries in the alarms for fire and carbon monoxide every two weeks mostly outta fear that I’ll lose them all and have to recount them to some fireman I went to school with. I don’t know if batteries are cheap or not, I don’t know anything about them, but I know I spend a healthy chunk of my portion to have. wife and I are keeping the ninth at bay the ways we know how. she don’t ask me and I don’t her. one kid a week goes with her to church and it’s up to me to remember who in my charge caught a fish the week previous. but I’m not wrong with god; no book is the bible, I believe that. at cemetery by which I am lack whelmed: I wish I had his memory.

nativity

wonder they ever told him grown, that black foster, how he'd been at three years dropped manger while crying for the congregates. straw in everything. back a throat, bottom a shoe. pop said he just about caught himself afire at work, straw sticking out his pocket. pop unable to split work clothes from churched. some wanted to resurrect a fuss about color; don’t go resurrecting a fuss and waved his hand he did that pastor ingénue. heard then I the word negress and after its saying the sayers looked about as if she would appear. this was our town after god and many were still making their own. this answers how the black foster needn’t audition. the gold I brought was soft on my thumbs and the flakes stayed in my nails weeks after. pop could tell for that time what I’d been touching so I’d cover when I could. we were quite a pair in our fooleries what with his straw and my gold. he stopped going on about the blacks and I was able to skip school with your sister the ****** mary. the town was never up for nightmares or for dreaming so I kept your share to myself until now how you seen mary fingered by a man with seven. heard him saying it's okay baby, this one's asleep.

holy ghost!

I will cut myself, Horror Film. will fidget my nethers a last time. maybe make the snow an angel with a third leg. which means I have gone outside. maybe my father will happen by you and put his beers together. but I will be gone. into the woods dragging my feet so some will think it took two to take me. I will whip branches about me and generally scuffle so the some will better convince the left. my poverty will be confirmed by your presence on videocassette. my father will hold you aloft and your tongue will droop above the depths of his hair. my father will claim a vengeance he owes on and the some and the left will follow him over the states of my angel and into the woods. when they find me I will say I had an in body experience; that the two men nearby sleep and it’s what we’re walking in.

haptics

little he knows that in holding them hoppers until they spit and before they go wing he is making hitch the upcome carriage of his *****. his future nudes are backtracking and the gravity of this has been diagnosed as your emphysema. he is your, nothing more, son. he will rub your back and worry his thumbs orphan. oh thumb; toe six. the way you deeply stand arms folded he sometimes thinks you have been replaced by a statue of his mother. it is then he remembers the fence his father built and the collective plank his father carried under his arm. you want life to be good again; your son’s low hand and the pups it could feed.

verbal abuse*

she has brought with her a shoplifted teddy bear. on a good night her age is seventeen. two days ago the voices in her head moved to her mouth. she has seven teeth that remain quiet. she fears so much how this third day will go. she has been told, and she believes, I am only in her mind. but there she is, at the sitting rock where we met, the rock I told her I could see things in. unprepared for her faith, I am unclothed. I am glad she has the bear and glad for my part in her having it.

spiders

we got some kind of plague in our toilets mama.*  that’s my dad calling her mama, my mom. that’s him declaring another plague. week don’t stop until a plague has been pieced together by this man so named Paff Snull on the subscription stubs of any number of unread magazines mom uses to swat dramatically at imaginary flies and wasps and locusts depending on the week. this time though I’m ******* because when dad cracks his knees and ***** himself to fetch mama from silence, I look in the toilet up and it’s true and in the toilet down and it’s more. spiders grey and black and off white. with our low water pressure, spiders having a ball. mom and dad they get tents and tell me twice to get inside mine once it’s on the front lawn. I get told things twice because I was born thick and I haven’t the heart to tell them that after the first saying the saying of it is diminished. I mumble to myself in corners, sure, but it’s the same mumbling. our dog gets a separate tent and I sneak into it when dog allows. seven nights so far outta three weeks I haven’t. mom says it’s because of my acne dog don’t recognize me sometimes. ******* bit the meatsy of my right hand a month ago and my handwriting got so neat I was sent from school for cheating. it’s most of my summer and the house is still spidery. the dog has gone to the river to drink and seems okay with it. mom, dad, and I **** in the backyard in shifts. mom ain’t swatting anything, she doesn’t have to on account of the spiders. when right now I mess up my shift I find myself next to dad and he’s just some guy telling me them glass-full people got the joke on them because the water is contaminated. he’s so happy it makes me think I’m the devil to be grinning so big. long wasn’t the reign of Paff Snull.
Classy J Nov 2016
Diving into bath salts, raving flue that is as sicking as math, at least that is what I conclude from my findings presented to the court. Objection, objection, sir I don't see the connection, maybe your rhyme scheme needs perfection. Maybe it does, but ***** it, I'm blessed by God; baby please sit down and take a chill pill and just enjoy this buzz. Busting off, so back off, bout to prove my case like I’m Ace Attorney, oh and I know it’s off topic but if I lived in America, I would’ve voted for Bernie. What the **** am I on? Came to save the digital world you can call me a digimon, you bet I’m a champion! Serendipity dear deputy; I’ll be typically wittingly searching for some tranquility. What is the validity of this vicinity as I only accept notability and won’t let this become a liability!

Pathologically paraplegic hypochondriac with insomniac who be popping poems profusely perfect; while whimsically worm's try to be strategic, but sadly choke and lose it. Miles set apart; it certainly is not a strut in some park, but everyone has to start somewhere before they engrave their mark. Don't reside yourself to just being a silhouette, nor be one to toot your clarinet. Two sides to every person like Dr.Jekyll and Mr.Hyde; be careful to not let your pride turn into carbon monoxide. For pride will always lead to your downfall, so please take off your iron curtain and tear down your Berlin wall. Improvident incongruous incredulous confidence; underwhelming astonishment of such fundaments of these heinous and callous acts of deceitfulness. Trickery of thy decadence; why art though jittery when you are full of benevolence? So used to getting what you want I bet; well this situation can not be fixed by dough, so I see why you are in a cold sweat! Fake confidence won't help you here especially when one lies; you made a mistake and will face the consequences and I am not one quick to forgive no matter how much you apologize.  

Don’t have time to consider your sensibility, because my life is going a twitter with too much hyperactivity for me to deal with your stupidity. Befittingly that I’ll be building up the intensity, to infinity and beyond goes this creativity of this anomaly. Not going to prolong this phenomenon, I’ll be going off like a Molotov over this intercom, yeah you better not ever underestimate this underdog. Lackadaisical are these other rappers; they’re so replaceable and incapable to be educational. Incomprehensible is this loop of hip-hop now a days, why can’t we be inspirational or is it to late because we left morals and substance back in the olden days. Can’t afford to be anchored anymore, I’ve poured in too much time to be just be locked behind some door. I refuse to be ignored and be left ashore; I am not worried about going into the storm; because you are bound to come across some things that need some work like chores. Spinning the wheel, reminiscing of how it felt when I no longer concealed who I was and my self-image had been healed.

Used to be reclusive & convinced myself that I was a duffass, but now I’m exclusive to being a smart ***. This is the new era, this is a new fire; it’s time to spice things up so better pull out the sriracha. Leading the revolution like I’m Che Guevara, I’m light as feather whatever the endeavor even if my life story doesn’t end up as pristine as Cinderella’s. Why so infatuated by worldly wants? Why so decorated when you can't hide the fact that you're the same basic *** font? Trying be something else, striving to be someone else, wanting to be anything else. You are who you are, if you think it will make things better you cucu, because in my eyes you are really a star. You have to expand your interpretation and perspective of life, you have to demand without hesitation a piece of that collective pie; because I believe everyone should be equal in this life.

Calculated bullets that go straight through my cranium; manufactured outlets that show great things but have also turned us into brainless aliens. Complicated hookups that grow irritating and become as unstable as uranium; what was once sacred has become as spontaneous as going to a gymnasium. Confiscated trinkets cast away and leaves those affected very irritate; while also simultaneously making apathetic souls that have gone through the same thing be able to understand, help or relate. Cultivated rebellious culprits that don't take the memo of being cooperative, instead they choose to be provocative and opposite of the other conglomerates. I’m so fascinated by this fabricated segregated supposedly liberated and sophisticated community; where-as some so foolishly stupidly amusingly think that everyone has the same equal chance at opportunity. Moderated, regulated and orchestrated where some are situated; if you don’t think that it has something to do with be affiliated to a certain demographic then maybe you never got educated in the affairs of those discriminated. It’s a good thing then that class is in session; so viewer or listener  please use discretion when taking time to witness or hear my position. Deafening out all ill whims; wrestling with these unsettling menacing fears and guilt from all of my sins.

Yeah no need for hallucinogens, all I need is two hydrogens and one oxygen. Rocking in my moccasins; so you can bet I am not one to drop my promises. Native honour who is also a innovative scholar and who was created not to falter. I may not be good with numbers, but I'm good at making sure you never slumber on my words; because I work on them day and night in my 36 chambers. Beware the pretender, they are manufactured by the vendors to keep us from being together. Defend your heart; be wise who you befriend and who you pick for your counterpart. There will be hurt and affection can be perverted, so know your worth and never ever let yourself be distorted. It is not your fault, it is not my fault, so then who is at fault? Is it just life in general? Is it because of the being who lives eternal? Is it all of the above? I don't know, but we shouldn't judge and instead choose to accept and love!

Pardon me Martin, but if this class were a prison I’d be the warden. I make the rules here and I took the tools given to me to get me here. So listen, please listen to my lesson that I have to present to you as class is still in session. Loading yawl with ammunition to be able to transition to be able to complete your goals or missions. No I’m not tripping, I’m driven  by a higher force to break away the old ways of thinking such as division. This is not the prohibition anymore, so please open your minds and join me on this expedition. Going into the unknown, so here’s to hoping you get through this, as time goes on and be able to look back at it we may feel like this was no more than a tiny but important milestone.  Achieve, believe, conceive, receive, intrigue, and succeed because I think you are unique. You are the only you in the whole galaxy, don’t let agony turn into tragedy; ***** anxiety; yeah and never let your dreams just be some fantasy.

Outro: Sit down class ain't over yet, forfeit those frowns or fake faint or try to jet. Lastly remember what transpired today; don't go hastily and forget about it on December break okay? For though class may be over, more days or years to come until its finally over. Though education ends, one never stops learning even on vacations with family or friends.  I hope you can look back with fondness, I hope you can stay on track in the future if you truly take the time to just focus. Is there truly an end or is this just the beginning to a new bend.
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2016
imagine retiring before you're 30,
with the great european disneyland
in switzerland waiting for your desires,
god... i stopped celebrating my birthdays
deliberately, so that each day is like
a birthday before the day i die:
motto: oh ****, here again, *******!

so i started brooding on the concept of
monism, dualism and trinity
in chemical terms eradicating theological
impetus to salvage from one (e.g. the buddha,
the christ, the moses without a surname like jesus)
the multitude: mostly fishermen and tax officers
and thieves... jesus... what a selective society you
knit and picked, huh?
i was thinking of carbon monoxide
(C≡O)... so when counter-structures on the
elemental level become coupled in a scenario
of being identical, bypassing non-super-imposable'ness
(disregarding chirality), they can spawn
exponential growth named cancerous economics!  
and methane (C and H x4)
ethene (H2C=CH2) and ethane (H3C-CH3)
trinity's degenerate nature... oh right, so you're playing
dumb but not farming, you're the required
audience in front of the digitalised combine of colours
in a shady room? plato would call that coloured shadows
where no messages are deciphered given the doubt
that they're even passed for the excommunication
of corrupt politicians and the clergy... you know:
french / russian revolution *******.
oh i want a thinking embryo not attached to my body,
i want it so bad that i can compare myself
to elijah's command: execute the priesthood of baal,
because they can't conjure anything,
just paedophilia and mumbles and sugar puffs at breakfast.
well there's all that, what was i talking about?
rambling on many cobwebbed talking matters later
it might appear like Alzheimer's... right the active
ingredient of cigarettes: carbon monoxide,
(C≡O), not like carbon diaoxide (O=C=O),
a trinity in one person creates a fourth dimension,
imagine the interstellar (movie) capsule of quantum-space
of humanism interpreting the crucifix wearing
a cosmonaut suit rather than adam's fur...
it's like that... so apart from carbon monoxide providing
the suffocating dizzy carousel of the cigarette dragged
quickie high, you get the nicotine i thought was
actually a placebo substance, a palette of tobacco akin...
still alice* was a bit **** to be honest,
she was trying to salvage her strongest areas of
personality, she specialised in linguistics,
in phonetics and what not (etc.),
if she suddenly changed course with her interests,
rather than retreated into the laziness of:
all consciousness and thinking is about memory and
memorisation, she was challenged by schooling's
expression of memory: the times table: 2 x 2 = 4, 2 x 3 = 6,
and personal memory, the imprints on other
people, rather than civilisation's imprint on
the person in question: civilisation = the existence of money,
tribalism = you scratch my back, i scratch yours.
Leah Rae Oct 2012
They Are Lost Love Letters. Written & Sculpted, Imprinted On The Palms Of Praying Children.

They Are Hauntingly Beautiful.

They Are The Silence Of The Storm, They Are The Emptiness Of Shallow Graves.

All She Left Was “I'm Sorry” On The Bathroom Mirror In Red Lipstick, She's Said It So Many Times Her Body Is Now Bent Into A Permanent Benediction Of Regret.

He Wrote Five Drafts Of His Suicide Note Crossed Every T, Dotted Every I.

Now They Wear Self Inflicted Scars, Like Road Maps To Their Own Insanity.

It Was Her Palm Across The Diner Table At 3am. Her Skin Like Rose Petals Pressed In Submission, Smiling, Teeth Pulled Taunt Across Her Chapped Lips, Smiling, Telling Me She Hasn't Eaten In Three Days, Says The Sounds Of Her Body Eating Her Alive Helps Her Sleep At Night.

His Eyes, Angry And Blue, Told Me He Put A Down Payment On His Coffin Today. He'd Been Saving His Pennies For Five Years Now, Don't Tell Me This Wasn't Premeditated.

It Was The Way Her Body Vibrated Aching In Every Joint, Throbbing, Screaming Into Herself So Loudly Her Palms Shook. On The Way To Work In The Morning, Says Sometimes She Can Hear The Wind Whispering To Step In Front Of That Train, Says She Can Lick Her Lips And Taste Heaven.

The Way He Wore A Crooked Half Smile, Pouring GunShot After Gunshot Down His Throat. The Sting Reminded Him Of Wintertime In The Midwest, Told Me Could Feel The Tubes Clawing Their Way Down His Throat. Someday He'll Met A Heart Monitor With The Guts To Tell His Mother Sorry For Him, Because He Never Could.

She Filled Her Bathtub With Ice, She Fantasizes About The Layers Of Flesh Shes Been Suffocating In For So Long, Finally Being Numb.

The Way He Begged The Stars To Call Him Home, Closed His Eyes, As His Right Foot Craved The Gas Pedal, Screaming Through This Red Light, So He Can Finally Come Face To Face With The Angry God So Many People Pray To.

She Wanted To Trace The Lineage Of Her Family Tree Deep Into Her Veins, Up The Length Of Her Riverbed Skin, Until She Can Kiss The Underside Of Her Own Touch.

In The Early Hours Of The Morning, He Finds Himself Crawling On Bruised Hands & Scraped Knees, Cradled Against Train Tracks, He Liked The Constant Thunder In His Ribcage, The Promise Of Something So Much Bigger Than Him Dwelling Inside The Body He Has Been Calling Home.

She Wanted To Wrap The Tether Of Regret Around Her Throat, Ring Her Lungs Breathless, Tighter, Tighter, Until The Time Between The Rise And Fall Of Her Chest Felt Like Centuries.

He Stood Face To Face With A Motionless Sky, A Shade Of Grey So Empty He Could Feel It Ache Inside Of Him. It Begged Him To Step Forward, Just Inches, The Call Of The Void, Bridge Jumper, Harlequin Lost Lover, So Close, So Close.

She Held The Barrel Of Life Between Her Lips, A Fine Line Between Here And There. Shes Walking A Boundary Built In Her Blood. It Doesn't Hurt Yet. A Trigger Happy Hand, Palms Sweating, Shes Counting Down In Her Head, 3, 2, 1,

He's Got “Wide Awake” Written All Over Him, The Bottle Says Take One, But He's Got 53 In The Palm Of His Hand, She's Got Gasoline Seeping Into Her Skin, The Smell Of Smoke Has Never Been This Strong.

They've Been Journaling Their Lives Deep Into Leather-bound Notebooks For Someone To Remember, They've Swallowed Their Own Self Pity, Call It Poison.

She  Never Knew I Would Have Used My Fingertips As Windshield Wipers For Her Tears. I Would Have Placed My Open Palms Against His Chest, And Told Him He Mattered, At Least To Me, In This Moment, Brash And Reckless Healing,

They Told Me They Found A Muse In The Lost. Hopeless Melodies, Kurt Cobain. Sylvia Path With Stones In Her Pockets. ****** With Cyanide Tablets And Silver Born Bullets. Anne Sexton With Carbon-Monoxide Lungs And A Padlocked Volkswagen. Marilyn Monroe Silver Studded In Sedatives, Pulled Down Deep, Until There Was Nothing Left. Hemingway With Shotgun Shells Littering His Skull.

To Them It Seemed Like A Right Of Passage. A Last Attempt To Leave This Planet Screaming. A Better Than Goodbye. Something Poetic To Carve Into Your Skin, Or Flip Top Wooden Desk, So Someone Somewhere Would Remember The Name, Because They Were Told Legends Never Die.
This one is real personal. Hope it resonates with you, like it does with me.
Jade Jul 2018
I am the prodigal daughter
of Hestia--
Goddess of hearth,
warmth,
embers that do not fade,
for they glow as softly
as lightning bugs.

But this time,
I will not be returning home.

Don't you see?

I've burned it down already.

Perhaps there shall exist no redemption
for my pyromanic sins.

They could not save
Sylvia Plath
as she ****** her head into the oven,
carbon monoxide stealing away
her last strands of breath.

(Sadness climbs up my throat in
stalagmites of flame,
rises from the chasm of my soul like bile,
like a phoenix reborn.)

They could not save
Joan of Arc,
whose flesh screamed out among
the ringlets of fire
and threads of cinder
that consumed it
so mercilessly.

(No, I am not a witch--
just a demi-goddess,
just a dangerous woman
But, unlike Joan of Arc,
I am no Saint either.)

They could not save Pompeii
whose inhabitants lay
victimized
asphyxiated
stolen
by the magma regurgitated by
the Almighty Vesuvius

(I cannot decide who I am
more similar to--
the inhabitants of Pompeii,
or the lava itself)

Perhaps then,
there is no saving a woman like me--
a woman forged from brimstone,
Hell's very own Femme Fatale.

I wear lighter fluid
atop my collar bone like its fragrance;
braid singed ribbon into my hair,
its ends charred and
curling upwards like tendrils of smoke;
rouge my lips with gunpowder.

Kiss me and
bite the bullet, darling--
make love to me
and you will combust.

But oh!

How these men will  bite their lip
at the thought of
******* me,
of dipping their fingertips
into the molten pools
that dwell between my thighs
similar to the way
a mere girl
(I, 16 years old)
is fascinated by the prospect
of baptizing her own melancholic
hands in candle wax.

(Who's the real ******* here, Baby?


Sincerely,
your Filthy Pyrophilliac.)


I am a
shadow charmer,
arsonist
the  Siren
of this Inferno
(wanted for her crimes).

Perhaps I was never the epitome of darkness,
perhaps I simply
lured the darkness towards me
(sorrow and the devil too.)

It's funny now that I think about it,
how the stars too reside in darkness,
how, when I wish upon them,
I am really only wishing on fire.

And where there is fire,
there is destruction;
it's no wonder all these dreams--
those of
love
magic
poetry--
have shuddered to ash.

Still, l I find myself making
snow angels in the ashes,
stick my tongue out,
let the remnants of desire
scorch my taste buds.

Here I lie
like an extinguished cigarette,
my use fulfilled and discarded.
But that's just fate,
stars ain't too fond
of nicotine, ya see,
ain't too fond of me
even though the very atoms
that comprise my being
are made of the stuff of galaxies.

But, oh, how these galaxies
have escaped my brooding grasp.

I do whatever it takes
to re-ignite what has been
lost--
chew on matchsticks,
let the splinters sear themselves
into my tongue;
lap at the iridescent gasoline puddles
that wade along
lonely streets corners;
howl beneath paper lanterns,
for both the sun and the moon
have forsaken me.

I do whatever it takes
to remember where I come from--
a state of limbo,
wherein I am simultaneously
angel (falling) |and| demon (the fallen)

What am I without flame?

Flame--
they could not save me from it,
from burning.

But perhaps the peril was never in burning;
perhaps it was in  burning out;
perhaps it was in disintegrating.
jadefbartlett.wixsite.com/tickledpurple
What is this, behind this veil, is it ugly, is it beautiful?
It is shimmering, has it *******, has it edges?

I am sure it is unique, I am sure it is what I want.
When I am quiet at my cooking I feel it looking, I feel it thinking

'Is this the one I am too appear for,
Is this the elect one, the one with black eye-pits and a scar?

Measuring the flour, cutting off the surplus,
Adhering to rules, to rules, to rules.

Is this the one for the annunciation?
My god, what a laugh!'

But it shimmers, it does not stop, and I think it wants me.
I would not mind if it were bones, or a pearl button.

I do not want much of a present, anyway, this year.
After all I am alive only by accident.

I would have killed myself gladly that time any possible way.
Now there are these veils, shimmering like curtains,

The diaphanous satins of a January window
White as babies' bedding and glittering with dead breath. O ivory!

It must be a tusk there, a ghost column.
Can you not see I do not mind what it is.

Can you not give it to me?
Do not be ashamed--I do not mind if it is small.

Do not be mean, I am ready for enormity.
Let us sit down to it, one on either side, admiring the gleam,

The glaze, the mirrory variety of it.
Let us eat our last supper at it, like a hospital plate.

I know why you will not give it to me,
You are terrified

The world will go up in a shriek, and your head with it,
Bossed, brazen, an antique shield,

A marvel to your great-grandchildren.
Do not be afraid, it is not so.

I will only take it and go aside quietly.
You will not even hear me opening it, no paper crackle,

No falling ribbons, no scream at the end.
I do not think you credit me with this discretion.

If you only knew how the veils were killing my days.
To you they are only transparencies, clear air.

But my god, the clouds are like cotton.
Armies of them. They are carbon monoxide.

Sweetly, sweetly I breathe in,
Filling my veins with invisibles, with the million

Probable motes that tick the years off my life.
You are silver-suited for the occasion. O adding machine-----

Is it impossible for you to let something go and have it go whole?
Must you stamp each piece purple,

Must you **** what you can?
There is one thing I want today, and only you can give it to me.

It stands at my window, big as the sky.
It breathes from my sheets, the cold dead center

Where split lives congeal and stiffen to history.
Let it not come by the mail, finger by finger.

Let it not come by word of mouth, I should be sixty
By the time the whole of it was delivered, and to numb to use it.

Only let down the veil, the veil, the veil.
If it were death

I would admire the deep gravity of it, its timeless eyes.
I would know you were serious.

There would be a nobility then, there would be a birthday.
And the knife not carve, but enter

Pure and clean as the cry of a baby,
And the universe slide from my side.
From 3 p.m. Monday to 3 p.m. Tuesday
<h2>Police calls
<h3>LA CROSSE
3:39 p.m., Hit-and-run, 4400 block of Hwy. 16
4:11 p.m., Theft, 3700 block of Hwy. 16
4:41 p.m., Hit-and-run, 1100 block of State St.
5:37 p.m., Domestic disturbance, 1000 block of Charles St.
5:42 p.m., Theft, 2100 block of Liberty St.
5:59 p.m., Fight, Fourth and King sts.
8:08 p.m., Theft, 2400 block of Rose St.
8:08 p.m., Domestic disturbance, 400 block of Sixth St.
8:37 p.m., Domestic disturbance, 1000 block of Fifth Ave. S.
10:14 p.m., Domestic disturbance, 1600 block of Adams St.
11:32 p.m., Domestic disturbance, 1400 block of Avon St.
2:38 a.m., Domestic disturbance, 900 block of 16th St.
8:25 a.m., Theft, 3300 block of Rosehill Place
8:25 a.m., Theft, 1000 block of Ninth St.
8:26 a.m., Theft, 500 block of Main St.
8:26 a.m., Theft, 1400 block of Johnson St.
8:34 a.m., Theft, 400 block of Seventh St.
9:24 a.m., Entry to dwelling, 1600 block of Caledonia St.
9:51 a.m., Theft, 400 block of Liberty St.
11:01 a.m., Fraud, first block of Copeland Ave.
12:16 p.m., Entry to dwelling, 1000 block of State St.          
<h3>ONALASKA
6:06 p.m., Animal bite, 2600 block of Midwest Drive
<h3>WEST SALEM
7:40 a.m., Vandalism, 3400 block of Hwy. 16
12:13 p.m., Theft, 900 block of Hwy. 16
<h3>BANGOR
9:24 a.m., Theft, 1800 block of Commercial St.
<h2>Fire Calls
<h3>LA CROSSE
3:01 p.m., Accident with injury, Fourth and Mississippi sts.
4:11 p.m., Accident with injury, 4500 block of Hwy. 33
4:26 p.m., Accident with injury, Hwy. 16 and 157
5:45 p.m., First responders, 700 block of Oakland St.
6:18 p.m., First responders, 1800 block of Pine St.
6:40 p.m., Accident with injury, Main and Fourth sts.
9:27 p.m., Natural gas odor, 700 block of Ninth St. N.
10:16 p.m., First responders, 1600 block of Adams St.
10:20 p.m., First responders, 900 block of Vine St.
1:54 a.m., First responders, 4100 block of Velmar Court
8:34 a.m., First responders, 400 block of Seventh St.
9:01 a.m., First responders, 400 block of Seventh St.
10:41 a.m., Accident with injury, Ninth and Vine sts.
10:45 a.m., Carbon monoxide report, 1500 block of Main St.
10:46 a.m., First responders, 400 block of Gillette St.
11:04 a.m., Accident with injury, 1300 block of Rose St.
11:10 a.m., First responders, 1500 block of Rose St.
11:14 a.m., First responders, Fourth and King sts.
11:31 a.m., Accident with injury, 16th and Main sts.
12:05 p.m., Accident with injury, 200 block of Pearl St.
1:12 p.m., Accident with injury, Hood and Miller sts.
2:26 p.m., Accident with injury, 21st St. and Park Ave.
<h3>ONALASKA
3:30 p.m., First responders, 1000 block of Westview Circle
5:09 p.m., Accident with injury, 1200 block of Hwy PH
8:02 p.m., First responders, 300 block of 12th Ave.
8:43 p.m., First responders, 300 block of 12th Ave.
8:50 p.m., First responders, 200 block of Oak Forest Drive
9:47 p.m., First responders, 200 block of Carol Lane
6:12 a.m., First responders, 1000 block of Frances Court
10:41 a.m., First responders, 7200 Northshore Lane
11:27 a.m., Accident with injury, Grant St. and Hwy. SN
11:35 a.m., Accident with injury, Commerce and Abbey roads
11:53 a.m., Accident with injury, 300 block of 11th Ave.
12:14 p.m., First responders, 5500 block of Commerce Road
1:08 p.m., First responders, 400 block of Kimberly St.
1:42 p.m., Accident with injury, 600 block of Second Ave.
<h3>HOLMEN
9:59 p.m., First responders, 1500 block of Viking Ave.
10:50 a.m., Accident with injury, Sand Lake Road and Laurel Place
1:32 p.m., Accident with injury, 1400 block of Main St.
<h3>WEST SALEM
8:53 a.m., First responders, 500 block of Elm St.
11:09 a.m., First responders, 300 block of Franklin St.
<h3>MELROSE
1:21 p.m., First responders, 9700 block of Hwy. 108
Felicia C Jul 2014
The old man living next door to my rented shoebox

told me that the hospitals are slowly draining the humanity from the city

and that the country is just animality rationality fictionality

and that at least when there was a king, everyone had food.

now his wife can’t pick things up because her hands hurt

so she throws things

constantly

and at least in India, he knew where he stood.

"My granddaughter on the fifth of July will be coming into her ninth year of life. She wants the world, though."
July 2013
John B Jun 2012
all aluminum alloy ammo  

bane bat brakes badly basters back bones

come call cthulhu Cristo cuz

dead ******* dominate de download  

even elven eternal endowments

fail frivolously flaming for fair fraudulence

grant good goggles give grandiose gratuity

how hella homeboys have how he has

If I ignore I implicate its implore

jack jacks jacks

kay killla kooks krack

LAPD locks la lackeys

maybe mom made mad monoxide

no, no natural nix NOx neutralizes

oh over overt opp only overlay orphic

please protest politely panic pretenses perpetuity

quiet quivers quiet queens

remember rage reaps reciprocity

so sour sits supplanters sat

to tell them to tare trail *** tat?

universal unhappiness underlays under us

victory validates victors vanity

why warble when winners wont waste worry wanting

x-axis x-rays Xerophagy Xanax Xanthorroea

you yodel yonder yet yahweh's yells Yarrish

zero zag zealots zoos
.......if they got me they'll get you to
Joshua Haines Sep 2016
Chainsmoking menthols,
creating clouds on parade.
Living in the dark;
frenching hurt that I've made.
There's a sadness in my comfort
and a comfort in my sadness.
***, fame, ******* down
commercialized madness.

I don't dream of pornstars
as much as I dream of clothes.
Videogames to escape it all,
carbon monoxide through my nose.
Too good for this and that;
entitlement at an all-time high.
Doing television to help me live,
or maybe to help me die.

Spotify for the masses
beating in my brain.
Youtube and pornhub
to make me feel the same
as the lost I compare to myself
and the celebs I want to be.
I want to be on edge, rich, validated;
I want to live in a fractured harmony.
Kagey Sage Oct 2015
I almost died when I was in the 5th grade
I struggled to lift my baby sister up
My mom couldn't even do it
We woke up cause she started crying
and I threw up, everyone kept throwing up
My father slurred his speech
said we all caught the flu
and we all slept in the living room
Till my brother came out and said
we gotta get out,  now
So thankful he slept with the door closed
He drove the minivan, 15 years old
off to grandma's house
Got a blood test done
cause even the dog was blowing chunks

Please check your
Esmena Valdés Sep 2017
I survived another day.
I will rewrite the forgotten,
before it is extinguished.
Steam in my lungs.
Carbon monoxide.
We ate honey in the morning,
to tablespoons.
We kiss without tiredness.
"Bathing together unites us," he said.
Resonant palpitations.
The guitar sounds soft.
You give me music of spirit.
I survived another day
because you breathe.
Divinus Qualia Aug 2015
It’s like
the only a i r
left on earth
is what’s trapped
                      in
                     my
                   lungs,
but I am needing
more than oxygen
to survive.


**V. K.
Ugo May 2012
EXU
Ever heard your voice take a trip mid sentence
And start scrambling eggs,
Ending sentences with verbs,
Mixing Soy sauce with Bacardi
And chasing the laughter down your throat with onions

Cuckolding in the middle of the afternoon
Where violet doesn’t recognize blue
As a hue worthy enough to frolic with the afternoon dew,
And then your brain smiles to your ******

And you choke on a giggle
And wiggle an index finger just a little
And remember black widows
Were once angels who bought into self fulfilling prophecies

Like wearing Armani suits barefoot
And breathing through your skin
Hoping life doesn’t die in your arms
And leave a beautiful corpse
With great stories suffocating inside

And make the subpar ambitions of an unborn child jealous.
Now ever heard a genius cry?
‘cause then you’ve heard an artist cry.
Ever ate pork fried rice on a Sunday afternoon?
‘cause if you have you’ve heard the words of Leviticus cry.

Ever read these written words?
‘cause if you have you’ve heard memories die
And pains scream in alphabets of pleasure—
The universal language of immaculate deception
That sweeps through every tongue in involuntary pneumonia

Like waltzing to the Amen’s of the devil
With oxygen choking your nostrils
And monoxide nodding your fingers to pull the trigger
Of death dancing on the tomb of your destiny

Like how a dose of metamorphosis
And a 1mg of juxtaposition
Is the repertoire of a king of curmudgeon.
But ever heard a musical note?  
Then you’ve heard the story of how joy lost the war of happiness to bitterness.

Ever heard the sound of silence?
Then you’ve heard the face of evil and the thoughts of serenity
Joined at the hip of rock of Gibraltar,
Nodding heads at the gospels of Gothic prophets
Spewing sermons of a perfecter way to word the meaning of love.

Ever heard a Mockingjay sing?
Then you’ve heard the lullabies of suicide,
Like falling from grace from the eyes of your one true love
And landing on the plastic bag made of her silence
Only to wake from the land of death and catch your voice breaking at mid sentence
And mend it with the lies of sunshine that you call your life.
http://www.amazon.com/OLAF-Nothing-Above-Fiction-ebook/dp/B009XZ9OVY/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid;=1353822133&sr;=8-1&keywords;=olaf+last+king+of+nothing
Ashwin Kumar May 2022
We humans have messed around
With Mother Nature and her eco-system
For years and years
Decades and decades
Centuries and centuries
Felling gazillions of trees
Turning forests into concrete jungles
Filling ponds, lakes, rivers and seas
With tons and tons of toxic waste
Releasing enough carbon monoxide into the air
To wreck the entire troposphere
The list of sins against Nature goes on and on
With no end in sight
Given all this, who are we to complain
When Mother Nature has had enough
And unleashes her fury on us
Through earthquakes and tsunamis
Avalanches and volcanoes
Hurricanes and tornadoes
Floods and droughts
And so on
Remember, Mother Nature has blessed us
With oodles of riches
In the form of plants and trees
Mountains and forests
Ponds, lakes, rivers, seas and oceans
And last but not the least, oxygen!
It is time we show her some gratitude
And more importantly, respect and compassion
And stop messing around with the eco-system
Remember the famous old saying
Live and let live
It doesn't mean infrastructure shouldn't be developed
We can build roads
We can build a railway network
We can build houses
We can build schools and colleges
We can build hospitals
We can build libraries
However, as my grandfather used to say
There is a limit to everything
And we should also plant trees
Build gardens and parks
Switch to renewable sources of energy
And cut down severely on emissions
A balance should be maintained
After all, messing around with Mother Nature
Will only bring about our own downfall
There have been enough natural disasters
Caused by human negligence
Let's not add to the list
Which is already longer than the river Nile!
Self-explanatory!!
Chantelle Jun 2012
A heart that's filled up like a landfill
A job that slowly kills you
Bruises that won't heal
You look so tired, unhappy
Bring down the government
They don't, they don't speak for us
I'll take the quiet life, a handshake of carbon monoxide
No alarms, and no surprises
No alarms, and no surprises
Silent
Silent
-Radiohead
Maya Gold Oct 2011
this isn’t love.

this is another

addiction.


and that’s what i tell you,

conventional facebook wisdom,

from a mountain range away.



i can see the crinkle of

spontaneity in the folds of the

bouquet you bought her,

the red and gold and pink

of the sunsets i left behind;

they wilted when you put them

in her car while she was at work,

the unspoken knowledge of an

unlocked door,

shutting in a touch of

pollen and hope, dusting her

rearview mirror.



i wonder if she’ll be able to drive and

see clearly.



i know you have an addictive personality,

that you cling and destroy and renew with sadism and intelligence and love,

but this isn’t going to work.

this isn’t going to solve

half a year’s worth of her saying no,

and a year and half’s worth of a repetitive, vicious cycle,

that she was all too right to break out of.



no amount of flowers will bring her back,

even the largest bloom will not be enough to be a

sufficient metaphor for your renewed passion.



all you have left is the receipt of ashes

that you left in the driver’s seat.
http://youtu.be/RGFytiWwsRo
(this is a link to a video that I created for this poem)
Ridgewood (Where We Wait)
We take the most delicious train
to the Queens-Brooklyn border to get here
Where everything is liminal, uncertain, undecided
Even the foundation, Arbitration Rock, at the house on Onderdonk
Was buried for centuries, dug up, and chucked on another imaginary line
The streets are on a grid, and the border on a diagonal
making a stair-stepping hypotenuse of the confused
A challenge to put your time to good use
even on the oz-like yellow brick road on Stockholm
You hear Poles on the street muttering “Marnowanie mojego
czasu tutaj” through the bachata dripping
from the apartments above the stores on Fresh Pond Road

Two of the best restaurants in the boroughs
Rosa’s pizza and Zum Stammtisch mark
the north and south borders of the hill where we wait  
During the seventy-seven riots, Ridgewood
seceded from her stepsister, broke from Boswijk and Breuckelen
-
There’s racism here like carbon monoxide smoke:
at the Ridgewood Y, a man sweats through his shirt
revealing swastikas pierced through the skin underneath
and the Romanian dentist down the street drilling
says “Cred ca am pierd timpul meu aici”
through the machinery scream and burning enamel
she won’t say this if you understand what she means

Walking past the 99 cent stores and the pharmacies,
remembering that there is good, fast, and cheap
But you can only have two of them at the same time,
Crazy Loretta, under her navy knit woolen hat
in her pink sweatsuit and winter coat, smokes
her shaking hand-rolled cigarettes below the train
trestle grinning with her jaw-jutting through
her inch thick specs.  She waggles her chicken bone fingers
saying, “Hiya honey” when you walk by.
If you are brave enough to stop and talk to her,
she’ll tell you that her nephew plays
for the Texas Rangers and her daughter
is a doctor and she’ll probably give you bedbugs
She’ll tell you, fascinated, like a child: “when you squish them - the blood comes out”
She’ll tell you the same thing tomorrow - Loretta forgets.  
In her mind, a phrase like green smoke from her youth
Ich glaube, ich bin meine Zeit hier

The playgrounds are packed with children
practicing how to swear, the girls huddled
reading Twilight like the Bible, and the boys
huddled reading the girls like the Bible
A woman yells to her son to come home a third time
and mutters “Creo que estoy perdiendo mi tiempo aquí”

Buried in Machpelah Cemetary less than a mile from my house,
is the place Houdini is still staging his greatest escape
He has a wide audience.  Sometimes I think there are more dead
residents of Ridgewood than living ones.  The cemeteries stretch
the borders of the appropriate spilling into Christ
the King high school’s front lawn.  Driving Cypress Hills street,
the Manhattan skyscrapers rise looking tomb-toothed parallaxed and
blurry through ephemeral sepulchres, stones, and cement angels pointing at the sky

On one of the stones it says simply: Videor perdo temporis hic
I think we are wasting our time here.
There’s too little time.
To think that
by halving and halving and
halving again
this can be drawn out.
Somehow be avoided.

Death is no holographic dream.
It’s as real as circuitous
firing triggers of phosphene.
I see light suspended
in this final moment.

The tugging burin
etches away at the
last things it can shape.
Muggle Ginger Aug 2012
My big brother has always been a hero in my eyes
His actions were misleading, sort of in disguise
But I looked to him for the path to walk
Even before the days when I learned to talk

We were just kids, we would stay up late
Talking about our problems and all the people we used to “hate”
But as time went by, as if in the beat of a heart
We found ourselves in worlds; different and apart

The things he did and all the people he knew
Were of no use for me to actually get a clue
Begging for help, without ever saying a word
Makes it hard for your little brother to know your pain

Like the haze of smoke, we got caught coughing, trying to breath
But the oxygen was gone from the brother’s past
Nothing left but monoxide to toxify the bonds of brotherhood
We separated to two separate countries, how it was always supposed to be

But it was exactly different than it should have been
My brother is a hero for he showed me what not to do
He showed me who’s not cool – by being their friend
He helped me set my life on its proper way

So my brother I want to say,
You’re my unexpected hero.
Molecules of two elements, nitrogen and oxygen, comprise about 99 percent of the air. The remaining hoity toity 1% includes small amounts celestial seasoning luxurious riches as argon and carbon dioxide. (Other gases such as neon, helium, and methane are present in trace amounts.) Oxygen is the life-giving element in the air.

Earth's atmosphere is 78% nitrogen, 21% oxygen, 0.9% argon, and 0.03% carbon dioxide with very small percentages of other elements. Our atmosphere also contains water vapor. In addition, Earth's atmosphere contains traces of dust particles, pollen, plant grains and other solid particles.

Even when the air seems to be completely clear, it is full of atmospheric particles - invisible solid and semisolid bits of matter, including dust, smoke, pollen, spores, bacteria and viruses. Some atmospheric particles are so large that you will feel them if they strike you. However, particles this large rarely travel far before they fall to the ground. Finer particles may be carried many miles before settling during a lull in the wind, while still tinier specks may remain suspended in the air indefinitely. The finest particles are jostled this way and that by moving air molecules and drift with the slightest currents. Only rain and snow can wash them out of the atmosphere. These tiny particles are so small that scientists measure their dimensions in microns - a micron is about one 25-thousandth of an inch. They include pollen grains, whose diameters are sometimes less than 25 microns; bacteria, which range from about 2 to 30 microns across; individual virus particles, measuring a very small fraction of a micron; and carbon smoke particles, which may be as tiny as two hundredths of a micron.

Particles are frequently found in concentrations of more than a million per cubic inch of air. A human being's daily intake of air is about 450,000 cubic inches. This means that we inhale an astronomical numbers of foreign bodies. Particles larger than about 5 microns are generally filtered from the air in the nasal passages. Other large particles are caught by hairlike protuberances in the air passages leading to the lungs and are swept back toward the mouth. Most of the extremely fine particles that do reach the lungs are exhaled again - although some of this matter is deposited in the minute air sacs within the lungs. From these air sacs, particles may go into solution and pass through the lung walls into the bloodstream. If the material is toxic, harmful reactions may occur when it enters the blood. Fine particles retained in the lungs can cause permanent tissue damage, as with Coal workers' pneumoconiosis (black lung disease), caused by buildup of coal dust in the lungs, and with silicosis, which is caused by the buildup of silicon dust.

If the air is still, given sufficient time, all but the smallest airborne particles will settle to the ground under their own weight. Their rate of fall is closely proportional to particle size and density.
For example, vast amounts of fine volcanic ash were thrown into the air by the eruption of the Indonesian volcano Krakatoa, in 1883, and again by the Alaskan volcano Katmai, in 1912. In both instances, the finer dust reached the stratosphere and spread around the world high above the rains and storms that tend to cleanse the lower atmosphere. In fact, many years elapsed before these volcanic dusts entirely disappeared from the atmosphere. Since a two-micron dust particle may require about four years to fall 17 miles in the atmosphere, the lingering effect is not in the least surprising.
Dust storms are also prolific producers of airborne debris. Europe is sometimes showered with dust originating in the Sahara. In March 1901, for instance, an estimated total of two million tons of Sahara dust fell on North Africa and the Europe. Two years later, in February 1903, Britain received a deposit estimated at ten million tons. On many occasions, Sahara dust has fallen in muddy rain and reddish snow over much of southwestern Europe. During North America's droughts of the 1930s, dust storms blew ten million tons of dust at a time aloft in the heart of the continent. Occasionally, high winds swept the dust eastward 1800 miles to darken skies along the continent's Atlantic coast.

When the wind strikes the crest of an ocean wave, or a calm sea is agitated by rain or by air bubbles bursting at the surface, the finer droplets that enter the air quickly evaporate, leaving tiny salt crystals suspended in the air. Winds carry these salt crystals over all the Earth. Normally, airborne salt particles from the sea are less than a micron in diameter. It would take a million of them to weigh a pound.
Salt particles play an important part in weather processes because they are hygroscopic - they absorb water. Raindrops usually form around tiny particles that act as nuclei for condensation. Generally, each fog and cloud droplet also collects around a particle of some type at its center. Tiny crystals of sea salt make better condensation nuclei than other natural particles found in the air. Thus, salt particles in the air help make rain.

Dust from meteor showers may occasionally affect world rainfall. When the Earth encounters a swarm of meteors, those meteors that get to the upper reaches of the Earth's atmosphere are vaporized by heat from friction. The resulting debris is a fine smoke or powder. This fine dust then floats down into the cloud system of the lower atmosphere, where it can readily serve as nuclei around which ice crystals or raindrops can form. Increases in world rainfall come about a month after the Earth encounters meteor systems in space. The delay of a month allows sufficient time for the meteoric dust to fall through the upper atmosphere. Occasionally, large meteors leave visible trains of dust. Most often their trails disappear rapidly, but in a few witnessed cases a wake of dust has remained visible for an hour or so.
In one extreme instance-a great meteor that broke up in the sky over Siberia in 1908-the dust cloud traveled all the way around the world before it dissipated.

Large forest fires are among the more spectacular producers of foreign particles in the atmosphere.
Because these fires create violent updrafts, smoke particles are carried to great heights, and, being small, are spread over vast distances by high altitude winds. In the autumn of 1950, forest fires in Alberta, Canada produced smoke that drifted east over North America on the prevailing wind and crossed the North Atlantic, reaching Britain and continental Europe. The light-scattering properties of this dense smoke made the Sun look indigo and the Moon blue to observers in Scotland and other northern lands.

Wind-pollinated plants are the most prolific sources of foreign particles in the air. This is a problem for people with allergies.

Spores are closely related to pollens. Spores are the reproductive bodies of fungi, which include molds, yeasts, rusts, mildews, puffballs and mushrooms. Tiny spores are adrift everywhere in the air, even over the oceans. Although they resemble pollens in general appearance, spores are not fertilizing agents. Instead, they are like seeds, and give rise to new organisms wherever they take hold. Spores have been found as high as 14 miles in the air over the entire globe. Most fungi depend on the wind for spore dissemination. Once airborne, spores are carried easily by the slightest air currents.

Once, physicians were taught that infectious microorganisms quickly settle out of the air and die. Today, the droplets ejected, say, by a sneeze, are known to evaporate almost immediately, leaving whatever microorganisms they contain to drift through the air. Only a relatively small fraction of microorganism’s human beings breathe cause disease. In fact, most bacteria are actually helpful. Some, for example, convert atmospheric nitrogen into usable plant food. Pathogenic, or disease-producing, microorganisms, however, can be very dangerous. Most propagate by subdivision-each living cell splits into two cells. Each of the new cells then grows and divides again into two more cells. Provided with ideal conditions, populations multiply quickly. Fortunately microorganisms do not thrive very well in the air. Unless there is enough humidity in the air, many desiccate and die. Short exposure to the ultraviolet radiation of the Sun also kills most microorganisms. Low temperatures greatly decrease their activity, and elevated temperatures destroy them rapidly. Still, many microorganisms survive in the air, despite these hazards. Among the tiniest of airborne particles are viruses, which are on the borderline between living matter and lifeless chemical substances.

Earth is the only planet we know of that can support life. This is an amazing fact, considering that it is made out of the same matter as other planets in our solar system, was formed at the same time and through the same processes as every other planet, and gets its energy from the sun. To a universal traveler, Earth may seem to be a harmless little planet in the far reaches of one of billions of spiral galaxies in the universe. It has an average size star of average brightness and is joined by seven other planets — which support no known life forms — in its solar system. While this may be fitting for a passage from The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy, by Douglas Adams, in the grand scheme of the universe, it would be a fairly accurate description. However, Earth is a planet teeming with vitality and is home to billions of plants and animals that share a common evolutionary track. How and why did we get here? What processes had to take place for this to happen? And where do we go from here? The fact is, no one has been able to come close to knowing exactly what led to the origins of life, and we may never know. After 5 billion years of Earth’s formation and evolution, the evidence may have been lost. But scientists have made significant progress in understanding what chemical processes that may have led to the origins of life. There are many theories, but most have the same general perspective of how things came to be the way they are. Following is an account of life’s beginnings based on some of the leading research and theories related to the subject, and of course, fossil records dating back as far as 3.5 billion years ago.

The solar system was created from gas clouds and dust that remained from the Sun's formation some 6-7 billion years ago. This material contained only about .2% of the solar system's mass with the Sun holding the rest. Earth began to form over 4.6 billion years ago from the same cloud of gas (mostly hydrogen and helium) and interstellar dust that formed our sun, the rest of the solar system and even our galaxy. In fact, Earth is still forming and cooling from the galactic implosion that created the other stars and planetary systems in our galaxy. This process began about 13.6 billion years ago when the Milky Way Galaxy began to form. As our solar system began to come together, the sun formed within a cloud of dust and gas that continued to shrink in upon itself by its own gravitational forces. This caused it to undergo the fusion process and give off light, heat and other radiation. During this process, the remaining clouds of gas and dust that surrounded the sun began to form into smaller lumps called planetesimals, which eventually formed into the planets we know today.

A large number of small objects, called planetesimals, began to form around the Sun early in the formation of the solar system. These objects were the building blocks for the planets that exist today. The Earth went through a period of catastrophic and intense formation during its earliest beginnings 4.6-4.4 billion years ago. By 3.8 to 4.1 billion years ago, Earth had become a planet with an atmosphere (not like our atmosphere today) and an ocean. This period of Earth’s formation is referred to as the Precambrian Period. The Precambrian is divided into three parts: the Hadean, Archean and Proterozoic Periods.

The Earth formed under so much heat and pressure that it formed as a molten planet. For nearly the first billion years of formation (4.5 to 3.8 billion years ago) — called the Hadean Period (or hellish period) — Earth was bombarded continuously by the remnants of the dust and debris — like asteroids, meteors and comets — until it formed into a solid sphere, pulled into orbit around the sun and began to cool down. Earth's early atmosphere most likely resembled that of Jupiter's atmosphere, which contains hydrogen, helium, methane and ammonia, and is poisonous to humans. (Photo: NASA, from Voyager 1). As Earth began to take solid form, it had no free oxygen in its atmosphere. It was so hot that the water droplets in its atmosphere could not settle to form surface water or ice. Its first atmosphere was also so poisonous, comprised of helium and hydrogen, that nothing would have been able to survive.
Earth’s second atmosphere was formed mostly from the outgassing of such volatile compounds as water vapor, carbon monoxide, methane, ammonia, nitrogen, carbon dioxide, nitrogen, hydrochloric acid and sulfur produced by the constant volcanic eruptions that besieged the Earth. It had no free oxygen. About 4.1 billion years ago, the Earth’s surface — or crust — began to cool and stabilize, creating the solid surface with its rocky terrain. Clouds formed as the Earth began to cool, producing enormous volumes of rainwater that formed the oceans. For the next 1.3 billion years (3.8 to 2.5 billion years ago), the Archean Period, first life began to appear and the world’s land masses began to form. Earth’s initial life forms were bacteria, which could survive in the highly toxic atmosphere that existed during this time. Toward the end of the Archean Period and at the beginning of the Proterozoic Period, about 2.5 billion years ago, oxygen-forming photosynthesis began to occur. The first fossils were a type of blue-green algae that could photosynthesize.

Earth's atmosphere was first supplied by the gasses expelled from the massive volcanic eruptions of the Hadean Era. These gases were so poisonous, and the world was so hot, that nothing could survive. As the planet began to cool, its surface solidified as a rocky terrain, much like Mars' surface (center photo) and the oceans began to form as the water vapor condensed into rain. First life came from the oceans. Some of the most exciting events in Earth’s history and life occurred during this time, which spanned about two billion years until about 550 million years ago. The continents began to form and stabilize, creating the supercontinent Rodinia about 1.2 billion years ago. Although Rodinia is composed of some of the same land fragments as the more popular supercontinent, Pangea, they are two different supercontinents. Pangea formed some 225 million years ago and would evolve into the seven continents we know today. Free oxygen began to build up around the middle of the Proterozoic Period — around 1.8 billion years ago — and made way for the emergence of life as we know it today. This increased oxygen created conditions that would not allow most of the existing life to survive and thus made way for the more oxygen-dependent life forms. By the end of the Proterozoic Period, Earth was well along in its evolutionary processes leading to our current period, the Holocene Period,  or Anthropocene Period, also known as the Age of Man. Thus, about 525 million years ago, the Cambrian Period began. During this period, life “exploded,” developing almost all of the major groups of plants and animals in a relatively short time. It ended with the massive extinction of most of the existing species about 500 million years ago, making room for the future appearance and evolution of new plant and animal species. About 498 million years later — 2.2 million years ago — the first modern human species emerged.

Did You Know? The first modern human being was called **** habilis, the first of the **** genus. This species developed stone tools for use in daily life. **** habilis means “Handy Man.” He existed from about 2.2 to 1.5 million years ago. There are earlier species related to modern man, called hominids. The images show the skull shape and probable appearance of **** habilis.

The PreCambrian Period — accounts for about 90 percent of Earth’s history. It lasted for about four billion years until about 550 million years ago. About 70 percent of the world’s land masses were created in the Archean Era, between 3.8 and 2.5 million years ago. Rodinia, widely recognized as the first supercontinent, formed during the Proterozoic Era, about 2.5 billion years ago. It is believed that the oldest human family member was discovered in Ethiopia and lived 4.4 million years ago. It was named “Ardi,” short for Ardipithecus ramidus.
spysgrandson Sep 2014
balking, then walking into the suburban night,
I have escaped the TV, the PC, the clutter of memories
and the last two hanging, breasty incandescent bulbs in the galaxy,  
soon to have their filaments burn out amid the indifference
of florescent pigtails and their infinite, incessant hum
I have escaped into this night      

marching on, marching on
the sullied, sacred sidewalk squares
past the dentist’s house, past the woman whose husband was murdered
by his best friend over a case of beer, and had her eternal fifteen minutes on Dr. Phil
past the retired educator, past the woman who…hell I don’t know what she does--she drives a gold Avalon
and never retrieves her Sunday paper before noon  

marching on, marching on  
I count cadence, move as if I am headed
to another battle, and I am, but I won’t see my enemy tonight
he is yet on the black horizon, waiting for me, and you    

marching on
when I pass the widow’s house a second time, a third (?) time
I smell her cigarettes and see the orange glow in her garage, like  
a lonely firefly moving to and fro, in the universe she creates for it
before flicking it to her oil stained concrete graveyard, stomping it out
never to let it fly again, though by my next circle she will have birthed a new one  
and given it a foul fickle journey of its own    

marching on
a truck passes me on my final lap  
its fumes mixing with the cool moonlight
I hold my breath, wanting neither lunar light
nor carbon monoxide for my evening repast
  
when I breathe again,
the scent of tacos soothes my olfactory,
I do not know its greasy origin in this dark place  
nor do I care, but I inhale again more deeply
daring the odor to tease me again  
and help me forget what
I escaped to find  
marching on
DieingEmbers Jul 2012
would you...
**** your tail pipe


So willingly inhaling death?
Just a poem I don't want smokers hate mail lol
Mateuš Conrad Jan 2016
i started smoking cigarettes
with my ex fiancé (olé!),
after i started smoking ****,
aged 21,
i was so anti smoke
that i remember my tobacco stink
clothes being aired
after a night out at the disco (ha ha,
oldie, discotheque quack -
albeit disco tech', not disco phi reek
of sweat and elongating cheese limp
limbs doing the dance of pharaonic
irony to banana ram boom bomb la la lamb),
so i moved to the quickie of all addictions,
as one jazz fem soul said:
a cigarette is the most satisfying dissatisfaction,
in a span of five minutes...
so i see the young poets mention coffee...
where's the cigarette though?
oh right, you left it at the gym, on the treadmill
along with don quixote? i bet.
so i started smoking aged 21...
vocally i went from angelic soprano
among the mule smog thickening over cities
to a personal base baritone of a personalised
exhaust engine...
but when i reached the reach of the rhapsodic
thespian choking on his own ***** of
un-originality i started sounding like darth vader
playing the didgeridoo -
i know the smokers' cough tuberculosis,
but lack of nicotine does that,
and active ingredient missing, head spinning
carousel of carbon monoxide...
as they say... take in the carbohydrates...
off the top of my head nietzsche said:
god is dead... yep... true that, esp. now...
and the replacement? diet...
centimetres of calorie intake:
drain the fat from yoghurt and fix it up
with sugar tax...
you do that while i relearn brushing
my teeth, once a day,
with a pea sized dollop of fluoride paste,
~20 seconds of brush and rinsing,
my teeth don't look like worthy of
twice a year visit to the dentist to get the nicotine
stains off my mandible bones - clean as norwegian
rain... shame the beetles didn't write a song
about norwegian rain of acid, export from
old coal england on the industrial complex
pacified without a warring-industrial complex just yet,
awaiting u.s.a.
otherwise it's a compositional irony,
i like walt whitman, i do, i like ****-****** literature,
but then walter becomes pompous bombastic
when writing about a *******: the damnation
of all homosexuals: i.e. writing about prostitutes -
spare the details of your identity... tell me
the parts where you squeezed the orange out
into goose pimpled juice.
Brandy C Zoch Jun 2016
planning suicide
taste-testing cyanide
gun powder blush
drunk driving lush
hit on myself
burried by a shelf
pretty lace noose
back-rolling caboose
trip to a cliff
rat poison spliff
davey’s locker dive
****** du killer bee hive
releasing the Kraken
monoxide hose in the back end
a sleep not to dream
an end to the mean.
a dip in formaldehyde
planning suicide.
Dec.24, 2013
JP Mantler Dec 2013
He was Mordovan which to dispute raised on the shoulders of a bull and carbon monoxide poisoning from drinking moonshine samovar on the dispute. Not too encouraging.

He was Mordovan who had traveled on the shoulders of a bull. His ***** steamed from the cold frost grass  after the drinking of his disputes.

He was Mordovan which to dispute an eternal damage of drinking his ancestors' remains, the moonshine potent as Hell-fire. As carbon monoxide poisoned his body, he had fell off the shoulders of a bull.

Not too encouraging.
Bowie
left town
blasting off
from a
Lafayette
rooftop
his ***
spewing
a rainbow arc
liberally
sprinkling
Gluten-free  
golden glitter
onto chichi
Houston Street
bistros
liberating a
fawning glitterati
eager to prance
about a
shanghaied
High Line

for a
NY second
the best dressed
homeless dude
in NoHo
spotted a
Pale Duke
apparition
fluttering over
a posse of
faux
figurine
graffiti
splashed across a
Banksyless wall
tagging the
sunny side
of the finest
neighborhood
car wash

a ghostly
Lou Reed
dressed to the nines
in sleek
Transformer drag
watched
chuckling,
scratching his *****
humming
the final bars of
an Eno
inspired
Perfect Day,
marking odds
when a
long overdue
Iggy Pop
will crash the
Pearly Gate
mosh pits

Ubering
through
the choppy seas
of urban sludge,
lightning bolts
streak down
the sullen faces
of cash strapped
honey dippin
lust for life
hipsters,
luxuriating in
a well nursed
millennial
angst
stew

Fun City's
frenzied
bare footin
Little Monster
darlings
imprisoned
in soulless
high-rises,
still a
quarter shy
from annual
bonus time,
pace
white
stained
minimalist
spaces
indulging
notions
driven
by economic
compulsion
to dial up
flush with cash
fund managers
to seek
margin loans
on their
large positions
in alpha rich
distressed
asset funds
while their
diamond collared
Schnauzers
wait outside
the corner
State News
licking the
oozing sores
encrusting
Lazarus's
feet

Ziggy's
lapping tongue
marks time,
waiting for
the stretchy
panted painted
ladies scoring
Iman's
organic rouge
at a corner
bodega

listening to
a sidewalk
trash can
yelp today's
Daily News
headline
"Major Tom
Myna Hero!"
bekighting the next
15 minute legend
a talking
Myna bird
named
Major Tom

the vigilant
Major
alerted occupants
of a Brooklyn
townhouse of
a furnace leaking
carbon monoxide
when he stopped talking
and dropped dead

a veritable canary
in a coal mine story

a special service
marking
Major Tom's
supreme sacrifice
is planned,
in the spirit of
neighborhood
beatification
the family
implores those
wishing to express
condolences
in lieu of flowers
to please occupy
Prospect Park
to drive out
the rapacious
squeegee men
and feed the
hungry pigeons

Bowie's earthly star
may have gone black
but the ashes of his
disembodied voice
will forever
mark the city
like the
ubiquitous
gray splot
ashes of
pigeon
guano

David Robert Jones
1.8.47 - 1.10.16

Well Done Beloved
God Bless and Godspeed


Music Selections:

David Bowie, Dollar Days

David Bowie, I Can't Give Everything Away

David Bowie, Black Star

Jazz Messengers, Wayne Shorter
Lester Left Town

1.17.16
NYC
jbm
Mateuš Conrad Dec 2015
the famous czech immunologist (miroslav holub) got it right, holding his complete works, seeing the precious output,  then hearing him say it: 'i'm not against the repetition, but what the hell would i write if i lost my first ambition of a career? i would write dross, but i'm not against balzac or dickens doing the ironing work - but i just couldn't do it - better me likened to a butterfly that was the czech spring of '68. indeed mummified flowers between the pages.'*

the main reason poetry books will never be
shelved, itemised, on the inventory: BEST SELLER,
is because they use priceless things in their contents
section of approved poetics ticked off...
poets mention the moon, the night,
the sun, the orange glaciers of skin of suntans
bundled up in fat and sold as ****,
poets forget they are touching priceless things
with words, i'm sure a readership numbering
1,000 will dry your socks after that marathon
run on lake verbose in the middle of hunting season,
but it will never go past that,
that's the fury and the fear surrounding
hunting down the poet who exceeds producing
the noble prize winning output of a szymborska,
~100 poems a lifetime means you really did live
it out, and wrote with slithering undertones
the art, the paradoxical art of the ancient world
trumpet or saxophone - it wasn't philosophy
that attacked us... but the woodwind instruments,
the harps are safe, i stashed them while cracking
and playing bone poker dominoes with my fingers.
poetry doesn't attract the most socially acceptable
form of lying: namely fiction -
poets don't lie - there's no genre that does it better
than writing fiction - and if they do lie,
it's un-intentional - mechanical, like the world,
like the world being so mechanised it almost
feels self-content without applause but an opera
chorus of screams and other forms of hysterics.
some books talk of seen and unseen realities,
i beg to differ, i can claim certain unseen realities
in the seen realities, take for example
man's ability to walk the method of onomatopoeia
like virgil walking dante through the inferno...
man as an animate thing can clearly imitate
other animate things.... he can howl, meow and bark,
he can imitate the pig's and the deer's snout
when impregnating a mare...
the grunt hot breath riff of things...
but he misjudges his accuracy of recording sounds...
he simply cannot fathom the sounds of inanimate
things in the realm of onomatopoeia;
it's not that he mishandles the 26 symbols,
but when he tries to make the visible doubly-visibly-divisible,
to notate knocking on a door, to notate
the scorching sounds of the sun in the equilibrated
exchange of hydrogen & helium (sun gods
laugh after all), when he tries to notate
the carbonated water fizz, the beer bottle cap
charles i pop / apache scalping with a tomahawk...
he's off by a mile and a marathon...
we can't mutilate words into sounds just to see
certain sounds (primarily of inanimate things)
with letters... there's an impasse about the whole thing;
this is trans-verbosity, overt-verbosity that cannot stand...
it's pointless trying to see a complex sound
with letter governed by the onomatopoeia...
it's enough to hear it... touch it... seeing is not believing
in this instance... this insistence...
after all we're utilising priceless things to get out message
across... so if man makes it worthwhile,
an onomatopoeic antonymous decision i have crafted:
the sound of the universe's vacuum "silence"
is counterweight to neither the sound of atoms congregating
into celestial orbs... but rather the place where man
out to shove his parallel representation of thought.
you can already see invisible realities within the realm
of visible realities, the many missing and the many amiss
onomatopoeias of what animate things echo from when
interacting with inanimate things... paradoxically
atoms are in an inanimate equilibrium as animate things
likened to the celestial bodies in orbit,
but in fact they are inanimate in an animate equilibrium...
worth a worth's worth of study in a laboratory allotment...
and if it was a cow's digestive system you were investigating,
the inanimate equilibrium is being worked on:
the equilibrium of what sort of usefulness from experience
can be possibly passed on;
but wait, you can't write me the onomatopoeia
for the crating of carbon monoxide (CO),
or formic acid (HCOOH),
or myristic acid - nutmeg  (CH3 branch with twelve CH2
and the carboxylic ending),
nor the ester (RCO2R) - because now you're
using a chemical alphabet of the periodic table,
and all necessary onomatopoeias are lost
to the names of the necessary elements
that begin with hydrogen, and end with anything
remotely removed from a famous scientist
by the elemental name akin to einsteinium.
Jade Jan 2019
⚠Trigger Warning; the following poem contains subject matter pertaining to suicide, self-harm, and eating disorders⚠
------------------------------------------------------­-------------
how do u know if ur having a nervous breakdown
-------------------------------------------------------­------------
signs of a nervous breakdown
-------------------------------------------------------­------------
can u be hospitalized for having a nervous breakdown
-------------------------------------------------------­------------
grounds for admission to a psychiatric ward
------------------------------------------------------------­-------
what's it like being admitted to a psychiatric ward
------------------------------------------------------------­-------
thirteen reasons why hannah baker suicide scene
----------------------------------------------------------------­---
how do u know if ur having a panic attack
----------------------------------------------------------­---------
are panic attacks and anxiety attacks the same thing
-----------------------------------------------------------­--------
whats the difference between a panic attack and an anxiety attack
----------------------------------------------------------­---------
generalized anxiety disorder symptoms
--------------------------------------------------------­-----------
thirteen reasons why hannah baker suicide scene
----------------------------------------------------------------­---
borderline personality disorder symptoms
--------------------------------------------------------­-----------
thirteen reasons why hannah baker slitting her wrists
----------------------------------------------------------­---------
why are my hands always cold
------------------------------------------------------------­-------
prozac side effects
---------------------------------------------------------­----------
thirteen reasons why hannah baker slitting her wrists
----------------------------------------------------------­---------
bipolar disorder symptoms
--------------------------------------------------------­-----------
seroquel side effects
----------------------------------------------------------------­---
does seroquel make you gain weight
----------------------------------------------------------­---------
thirteen reasons why hannah baker slitting her wrists
----------------------------------------------------------­---------
how to refrain from eating
----------------------------------------------------------­---------
how to force yourself to throw up
--------------------------------------------------------------­-----
eating disorder symptoms
--------------------------------------------------------­-----------
binge eating disorder symptoms
----------------------------------------------------------------­---
bulimia symptoms
----------------------------------------------------------------­---
anorexia symptoms
----------------------------------------------------------------­---
thirteen reasons why hannah baker slitting her wrists
----------------------------------------------------------­---------
insomnia
----------------------------------------------------------------­---
can you overdose on melatonin
----------------------------------------------------------------­---
thirteen reasons why hannah baker slitting her wrists
----------------------------------------------------------­---------
how did sylvia plath **** herself
---------------------------------------------------------­----------
carbon monoxide poisoning
----------------------------------------------------------------­---
thirteen reasons why hannah baker slitting her wrists
----------------------------------------------------------­---------
how many advils do I have to take to **** myself
----------------------------------------------------------------­---
thirteen reasons why hannah baker slitting her wrists
----------------------------------------------------------­---------
major depressive disorder symptoms
--------------------------------------------------------­-----------
suicide warning signs
----------------------------------------------------------------­---
IS PATH WARM
----------------------------------------------------------------­---
thirteen reasons why hannah baker slitting her wrists
----------------------------------------------------------------­---
tortured artist
----------------------------------------------------------­---------
why did vincent van gogh cut off his ear
-------------------------------------------------------------­------
virginia woolf suicide note
------------------------------------------------------------­-------
thirteen reasons why hannah baker slitting her wrists
----------------------------------------------------------­---------
songs about suicide
----------------------------------------------------------------­---
thirteen reasons why hannah baker slitting her wrists
----------------------------------------------------------­---------
thirteen reasons why soundtrack
----------------------------------------------------------------­---
billie eilish lovely lyrics
----------------------------------------------------------­---------
thirteen reasons why hannah baker slitting her wrists
----------------------------------------------------------­---------
why do I feel so empty
----------------------------------------------------------------­---
thirteen reasons why hannah baker slitting her wrists
----------------------------------------------------------­---------
empty
-------------------------------------------------­------------------
thirteen reasons why hannah baker slitting her wrists
----------------------------------------------------------­---------
i wish i was dead
Don't be a stranger--check out my blog!

jadefbartlett.wixsite.come/tickledpurple

(P.S. Use a computer to ensure an optimal reading experience)
David Cunha Oct 2022
What scares me through this dark forest?

It is not the dark,
Nor the wet socks,
Nor the treacherous rocks in the way
Nor the rustling of grass unpaved
Nor the occasional shriek of an owl
Nor the cold, nor the starvation
Nor the bats and insects and crawling creatures
Nor the unknown beyond horrid imagination
Nor the screams of sorrow's victims
Nor the silence, or the sheer loneliness

The only fear is existing
Painfully drifting
Having nowhere to go
No journey to bleed for,
Having to watch the forest burn
As hollers of delight emerge from monstrous look-alikes,
Siblings turned beasts of false pretenses and heavy machinery

And the more it burns, the more colorful it gets,
The more join in, the louder it grows, they're having a blast!
Till the smoke touches every molecule in the air,
Till we all suffocate in a carbon monoxide high
Forever frozen in a grin of painful ecstasy,
And the forest turns to ashes, awaiting a kinder generation,
A kinder species, perhaps.
october 17, 2022
3:21 p.m.
Aaron LaLux Aug 2016
Hello & Goodbye

All melodramatics aside,
maybe I’ll die tomorrow,
I ask myself every day,
what am I living for anyways,

sure I’ve got my friends,
friends such as you,
but honestly after I’ve given up the ghost and gone,
maybe you’ll mourn a bit but then that’ll be it,

I’m sick with something drugs can’t cure so why not quit,
I mean I’m bored of this life anyways,
I suppose I can’t go until my parents die though,
because no parent should ever see their son pass,

or daughter,
I authored,
a collection of poetry larger,
than any other author every who bothered,
to even write poetry,
and this includes Emily Dickinson,
but I’m not here to compare,
I’m here to make a statement,

all melodramatics aside,
maybe I’ll die tomorrow,
I ask myself every day,
what am I living for anyways,

chasing my addictions,
not the least of which is women,
not to objectify women,
but honestly every thing and one is a drug,

even you,
even me,
even the words,
that create this poetry,

I’m searching,
for some relief,
or at least,
something to fill the hole in my heart,

I’m missing something,
and I can’t quite find what it is,
I suppose it’s difficult to get what you’re looking for,
if you don’t know what what your looking for is,

fck this,
and no I didn’t mean to cuss,
but sometimes that happens,
when recording stream of consciousness,

this is me,
in all my honestness,
no apologies no excuses,
just these thoughts that turn into muses,

that I’ve learned to describe,
in away attractive enough to get paid,
two #1 books in a row,
and I just give all the profits away,

randomly picking a charity,
because any charity can use the money better than I can,
I just spend it out speeding up my time of death,
and I can’t help it but don’t blame me it’s not like it was part of my plan,

I’ve given all that I can,
dedicated my everything to the words that compose these books,
I’ve sacrificed any resemblance of a normal life,
so that others can live and learn through these words,

I have no children,
and I left every good woman that wanted to marry me,
what many don’t understand is in order to be one of the greats,
you have to dedicate your whole life to the craft,

and that makes for a lonely road,
I guess that’s why every artist is disturbed,
but it’s the pain in the poetry that numbs the pains of reality,
and this much I’ve begrudgingly understood,
since I when I started writing,
wrote my way back from suicide,
had slashed my wrist ready to reset,
because sometimes to really live you’ve gotta die,

I write,
at a fervorous pace,
making up words as I go no time to conform to literary norms,
I’ve got a date with Destiny and we have History to make.

Get it?

A date with Destiny,
get married and have a baby called History,
it’s just another parallel analogy,
see I’m a double entendre monster with this poetry,

addicted to the way these words feel,
like I’m addicted to the way a women feels,
for the love of God,
I love her so much in this surreal world sometimes she’s the only one that feels real,

please,
come here,
hold me I’m slipping,
I’m losing sight of life I need a reminder why I’m alive,

I need you,
I’m not joking,
alone as a tombstone on a deserted island with no cemetery,
alone as a miner trapped in a coal mine or rather as alone as the canary,

feeling sick from the carbon monoxide and other toxins that this civilization spews,
and like I said before all melodramatics aside I’m lost and ready to die but that’s old news,

there is no new news,
I’ve done it all win lose or draw,
I’ve played every game walked every avenue,
I’ve written everything I’ve seen and I’ve seen it all,

so all melodramatics aside,
maybe I’ll die tomorrow,
I ask myself every day,
what am I living for anyways,

sure I’ve got my friends,
friends such as you,
but honestly after I’ve given up the ghost and gone,
maybe you’ll mourn a bit but then that’ll be it,

my body will die but my books will still live,
because every word I write is given as a gift,
I was given this gift of gab so I use it,
to scribe our collective consciousness,
it’s a ***** job but somebody’s got to do it,
so I guess I’ve been elected with is fine it’s not like I have any kids,
and sure when I’m gone I might be missed,
but you’ll always have my books and I’ll live through these words,
immortalized like a statue of stone erected in the museum of life,

I’ll take this one for the team don’t worry I’ll be just fine,

I,
I,
I,
I feel sick,
I’m ready to sleep,
I’ve given this world every word that ever came to me,
now please,
just let me be,

lonely as an abandoned house becomes,
after all the children have grown and gone away,
after the parents become old and pass,
and nature begins to reclaim every inch of him,

ivy grows along the outer walls,
tree roots crack the foundation,
the roof finally caves from the incessant rains of time,
and the soul of the home is sent to another destination,

I’ve been waiting,
for someone anyone to come here and hold me,
to tell me that they are here that they love me and will never leave me,
but no one’s come yet and if they did and they said that they’d be lying because everyone eventually leaves,

Hello,
goodbye,
I’m,
leaving,

all melodramatics aside,
maybe I’ll die tomorrow,
I ask myself every day,
what am I living for anyways…

∆ Aaron LA Lux ∆


24/08/16

Sintra, Portugal
What more can I say?
Mateuš Conrad Dec 2015
as i said before, the real active ingredient in cigarettes is not nicotine, nicotine is the flavoursome bit, the real active ingredient is carbon monoxide, the thing that spins your head a little on the first cigarette of the day.

oh god my nicotine hangovers
are worse than my alcohol hangovers,
i get this cough when waking
that makes schnitzel from my lungs
on the cough up (you'd think
it was tuberculosis), but recedes
once enough active ingregient in
my addiction is inhaled...
but the odd thing is...
when by odd chance i do get the classical
hangover with a headache...
my nicotine hangover is not apparent,
i don't cough...
and i cure this hangover by not
trying to think, thinking and brain
pain don't work together...
so i lie in bed, sing some *rammstein

and later drink enough coffee
for the caffeine cure of increasing
blood pressure / blood flow;
or the classical hangover could be due
to the fact that i was headbanging to
sepultura's ratamahatta...
   any coin flip is just as good to explain
this scenario.
Crimsyy Jan 2017
Carbon Monoxide

I would like to believe
I was born in the clouds
amongst the angels,
bathing in so much sunlight
that now I can't help
but despise it.

The truth is,
you denied my heart
too many beats;
my heart's a bombsite
filled with carbon monoxide
and all your lies.

My own blood curses me,
dripping with your name,
I try to tell it we're
not the same;
I can't stand you,

You heartless, cruel monster,
imposter.
Molly Nov 2014
attacked me like
a rabid dog
eager to taste flesh

bit into me like
raw meat
(because really that's all I am)

tore me open like
wrapping paper on a gift
you weren't supposed to see yet


I shut down like
a restaurant with health code violations
infested with rats

fell into you like
pavement
from thirty stories

poisoned myself like
a carbon monoxide car garage
falling unconscious long before death
Sal Lake Jan 2013
It's cranberry sauce
That’s it, I’ve done it
My brain is mush
Heartbeat through a megaphone
I’m pulling on my pant legs
Tightening my veins around my bones
& I think the thermometer in my brain needs reprogrammed

I. Now I’m a cozy embryo
With cotton in my marrow
Last of my breed so the bad men can’t see me
I’m sitting here in my own bullet train
Flying through metro lights at night
With coruscating sodium vapor
Vibrating in my peripheries
My appendages do not exist

II. We are the carbon monoxide leak
We are the cold coaxing hypothermia
Still trying to define the agony of existence
& Beauty of meaning through definition

III. “If you don’t get old, you die”
Shut up & pay your taxes old man
I can stay young for as long as I want
I am healthy
I am eternal
I’ve got all the cotton in the world

IV. I wonder if all sentient life deals
With the same paranoia as humans do
It’s the reason we never shut up
& hold love for vague idols

V. I like smiles
& I like sadness

VI. What does loneliness see when it chases its
Shadow?
You’ve got a mouse in your hand that cannot know that you are
Sentient.
You are a wooden giant from outer space that burned upon
Entry.
Where does apathy sleep when it has had too much to
Eat?
Why can’t you see your house from three million miles
Away?
If you need help breathing then you deserve to die in
Appalachia.
If I lie here long enough under enough blankets, then
I'm not real
Is it possible to save up enough money to avoid humans
Altogether?

Just like that, the spiral ceases
We were packed
Like sardines
Wrapped in butcher paper
Blind night vision
Then deer in headlights
Kissing the pavement
Mutually requited
Uninterest
Nico Reznick Jan 2016
Not often, but
there are times
when the noise in my head
turns way up
and the dial breaks off,
and all I want is quiet,
when I feel the pull
of something terminal,
feel the dark, velvety lure
of swallowed pills or gun barrel,
the stealthy seduction of carbon monoxide,
the skull-exploding swan dive
onto shocked concrete,
the warm bath with low light and sharp blades.
I can covet that big, simple answer, too, sometimes.
I can long for that complete, forever silence.
But I know I'm only window shopping.

— The End —