"morbidly" poems
i am so ugly, why am i ugly
i am not happening, what is happening,
still so ugly, i am trash
so minnesota, i am abstract
forget my alibi, i am so ugly
**** what im worth, i have these maggots
inside me living, morbidly filthy
deserve to live me, i am so filthy
no one has done me,
no one i am
i have these maggots, here to preserve me
i am not me, i am these maggots,
they represent me, deserve to live in me,
i am so filthy, plz just **** me
forget the feeling, i have no feeling
simple being, i am so ugly,
i feel so ugly, feeling like stealing,
i am stealing, breathless feeling
senseless beating, set fire to me
i am so ugly, so ******* filthy.
Feb 25, 2017
Feb 25, 2017 at 3:21 PM UTC
I'm the epitome of unattractive
The definition of ugly
I have a round stomach
My legs touch
My **** sag
My hair is thin and frail
My teeth aren't pearly white
I'm pale and my eyes are shallow
Brown with no depth or color
*** is an impossible task
When there is so much fat
Separating my body from the other
*** is an impossible task
When I'm only thinking about my body
Rather than feeling the passion and heat
*** is an impossible task
When I won't allow anybody to see me
A terribly ugly body resides
Underneath the loose jeans
And oversized shirts
I'm the epitome of unattractive
I'm more than just ugly
I'm more than just fat
I'm morbidly obese
I'm disgustingly put together
Nobody could want me
There is no question
Only an answer
The answer is no
No, I am not wanted
No, I am not desired
No, I am not beautiful
No, I will never be ****
I'm the epitome of unattractive
May 25, 2014
May 25, 2014 at 1:57 PM UTC
only an idiot like me, the rain poured down, my socks were wetted, and i looked at the pavement for glory, instead i found a £10 note and imagined my right shoe on my left leg, and my left shoe on my right leg... just to prove the luck.
it came from listening to rotting christ's kata
ton daimona...
i wrote the poem on two tesco receipts
numbering them no. 1 - .4,
it made sense to just give it a narrative...
the naturally apparent lisp of greek is due to...
lies between theta (θ) and phi (φ)...
check feta cheese... it might be less morbidly fermented...
that's why the greeks have a natural lisp...
it's theta and it's phi...
in english it's like chinese.... w & r...
something's rolling something's waving,
something's trigonometric...
harrison fowd was almost jonathan woss if i care...
the chinese in english debate with chin-chin-wanker
scissors piece of paper stone good luck on the handshake:
lost the price of interest being gained for excavation
purposes of dinosaur bones and inflation via the
ptertodactyl of the extended mohawk shave...
english dicionary makes me confused...
it places theta alongside the, than... but then
it's therapy... thermometer...
too many unique examples i'd have said...
that's the lisp there... sidelined phew and engaged in phew
in byzantine...
english linguistics is filled with too many "unique" examples
of expression... coupled with the celebrity culture...
i farted and a person took hold of a *** squeeze...
how's that?! english language in summary?
pleasing on the eye... but the spelling? a burden on the tongue.
i know that slavic linguistics would make enlgish that's written
ugly...
it wouldn't be pharmacology but farmacology...
then it made sense, i stopped asking the english dicta
written down, the greek θ wasn't a couple of th & etc...
a few athenains in death metal said it like i said it... the 2nd f...
it was απηθανoν - because it was simply athens - fern fence...
and not d... defence, or anything easily acquired as a prescription
of zee wee point of german scottish.
Dec 10, 2015
Dec 10, 2015 at 7:04 PM UTC
Cracks in my character
Lined with silk
Lovers touch
Like a sharpened blade
Gliding smoothly
Only painful when removed
I'm a story book of unfortunate events and cliches
And the morbidly curious find their way
Into my arms
A comforting fear
A lion taming circus
I'm not sure anymore if this gun
Is still loaded with flowers
But you
Hold me so tight
Squeeze out the anxiety
Catch it
Make me a balloon animal with its breath
Oct 5, 2017
Oct 5, 2017 at 2:03 PM UTC
We just drove through a small town
It was fascinating
Fascinatingly morbid
Morbidly surreal
There were probably 10+ plots that were haphazardly converted into graveyards
'Ratchet' as my generation would think but not say because that would be 'disrespectful to the dead'
In each of the graveyard were hundreds of graves
And it was strange
Strange how such 'ratchet, disrespected and haphazard' graveYARDS
Contained such Beautiful and ornate gravestones
As if to say that nothing could lessen the glory of their death
They would leave behind an impression of beauty
Even in death
(Even though they never chose their gravestones. But don't say that because it would be 'disrespectful to the dead' in their blissful abyss)
It makes one think
That in a town of less than 1000
There was easily more than 2000 gravestones
It shows how life goes on
How, even in a small town, we are insignificant
Apr 1, 2015
Apr 1, 2015 at 12:45 AM UTC
...
☔
"This is a big dream, it may eat you up."
I do not flinch in the face of chaos.
〰
(Forecasters)
I counted as seven gods
ascended the iodine skyline.
We all call them "misfortune in the flesh."
They waltz in pairs but the very last is a composer;
Seven deities promised the sun would catch scarlet fever.
We danced to the music to summon fate and disorder,
building a coffin in the middle of hungry waters,
The sun is our noble sacrifice in ruby robes;
So lets just hope the sea was starving for fire.
(Brew)
Metal ghosts slip among the sky
and lock like iron gates to form an army of grey.
The weight of sober clouds are intoxicated with turmoil,
Unbalanced weight, scales faltering, "no sudden moves please"
Obsidian giants collect the welkin until it boils over
the edges, the pillars, the cage
Why does the dark taste sweeter?
(Beautiful downfall)
The raindrops are ashamed
of the bitter liars we're all becoming;
We've succumbed to narcolepsy by the hand of water;
within the jaws of hurricanes we were consumed,
teeth formed by the angry fingers of the wind
thunder rejoicing as the land buckles down,
rain feasting on the earth in ecstasy
hail and rain are merciless foes
lightning still swinging,
morbidly screeching
chaotic smile,
a sword,
a single,
a cut.
Yes,
I am the one
(☔)
who fed the sky
my name.
...
Mar 13, 2016
Mar 13, 2016 at 3:30 PM UTC
The Holy Ones
I want to shove socks in my pants, so it looks like I have one of those Italian-line painting ***** I want to do it when I go to the grocery store so fourteen-year olds and thirty-year olds alike stare at my junk as it fills the stitches of my pelvic arena, I want to make eye contact with mothers and grandmothers, brothers and dads as they shift uncomfortably in those handicap battery powered carts that are reserved for the handicapped but are often only used by the near-morbidly obese, near because they’re not quite dead yet, morbid because they can’t help but imagining my **** sliding past their tongue and what it feels like as the tip pushes past their uvula and they gasp for air through their nose because they’ve never had a **** like this in their mouth before. This would be my **** **** This would have me making lists of adult film star names for film star jobs I’d never take because I’d be busy making lists of phone numbers, the college girls I’d have my pick of ******* and the mothers and grandmothers who I’d be happily turning away from while I select my own organic radishes from the produce department at the specialty market on Vine. This **** is better than a rolled up wrapped stack of hundreds or the leather jacket I had in high school, it’d be better than when I walked down Michigan Ave in Umbro Valentino donning a Parisian accent, I can see me having to buy new briefs just to make room for this **** And my own **** getting jealous of the girth I’d be faking it’d swell up, and in the middle of ordering my four-pump Vanilla Almond milk Latte from Starbucks my gray wool socks would fall to the floor, and up from the band of my Acne Jeans would bulge the tip, just the tip, like she said when I was in college, or just the tip like I said when I just needed to feel something other than how emotionally wrecked you made me feel when you told me not to touch you anymore. You ****** me up righteously. And still, 380 women later, I’m ****** up and I don’t have a single pair of socks to wear
Jan 13, 2018
Jan 13, 2018 at 1:34 AM UTC
Countdowns have always seemed bittersweet to me..
The steady ticking away of time
The trickle of sand through the hourglass.
The fading of connections not curated.
I’ve always been morbidly aware of my own doomsday clock,
Slowly beating, decreasing, releasing my
Seconds into the atmosphere around me,
As I wait, sometimes impatiently, for it to hit zero.
Some days, I hope for my hourglass to run dry,
And while I know that that isn’t a healthy mindset,
Some days it is all that I can do to not hurry it along.
Not to take that revolver in my dad’s lockbox,
Not to take those pills in the medicine cabinet,
Not to take that rope and the one wobbly stool
that has sat at our bar for the past five years…
Just beckoning me.
Just wanting me to take that final step
into sweet, sweet oblivion.
But.
If I do take that final step..
Who would be there to pick up the pieces for them?
To clean up the mess that this disgusting body left behind?
Who would be there to finish my paintings,
To sing my unsung list that is ever-expanding,
To write these words that have seemed so forced these past months?
Who would be there for them, when I could not be?
Someone, I am sure, but I have been told that I am irreplaceable,
And while I may not believe that,
I am scared of leaving a mess behind
That my mother cannot bring herself to clean up.
I am scared of leaving behind a mess that would irrevocably break my father,
A mess that would torment my brothers,
A mess that my sisters would never even remember.
And maybe..
Maybe I am scared of the call of oblivion..
Or scared of the unknowingness of it all, rather.
Or perhaps I am tired of thinking
of myself as a mess to be cleaned up,
Nothing more, and nothing less.
And maybe
That is all I need
To survive one more day.
Apr 18, 2023
Apr 18, 2023 at 11:32 PM UTC
crinkle the chippies
wrinkle the bag
savour the salt
you're now a potato lad
buy the chippies
bag after bag
don't bother
about the belly sag
you're now a potato lad
wonderous flavours...
to be had
don't you worry
if your skin has gone bad
you're now a potato lad
cholesteral rising,
have trouble prising,
your doubled in sizing,
couch potato spread.
no, not you
you're a potato lad
don't worry bout that,
at least, a third of the
world is morbidly fat.
besides my man,
you don't need to cry.
they went organic,
buy, only happy, free range kipfler joys.
they reduced the fat,
changed the taste.
and now your favourite
chips, are too
expensive to buy.
so my boy, you,
no longer can afford...
to be a potato lad
*here endeth
the unhealthy
potato lad
fad*
Apr 10, 2014
Apr 10, 2014 at 5:23 PM UTC
Where will this take us now?
Is it us who outruly guiding us as we march dramaticly to the next room?
Will it be us who slams the door shut, or will we be boxed in with some automatic door opening and closing as more and more people come right in? Will we move along romanticing every little acomplishment we do, or will we morbidly and silently stubble on as we are poked and proded to keep moving? Will we finally rest as we see fit, or will we be told we have done enough? We all can easily anwser this in a way most people would generaly. We could stubernly and pridefuly declare that nothing shakles and moves us from one feeding trough to the next. We could so easily be just another rebel with a hollow cause that eagerly awaits to rip open the binds of all those around him, and finally take his spot in the limelight of respect and admirition. We can continue to dream and strive to be the philisophical moses of our generation, and lead our fellow brothers and sisters into a time where we all walk at our own pase, we all slam the doors we ourselves opened, and take any path we wish to travel in a way we feel best suits us. We could all be the one to hold on to the chains, or let the cattle go, but all of us are simply black sheep. So again I ask, who? I do not know, but I non the less seek an anwser.
Where will this take us now?
Mar 27, 2014
Mar 27, 2014 at 8:53 PM UTC
He had just sat down to dinner
at the Heart Attack Grill.
The fab Las Vegas nightspot
where the fatties eat their fill
A place where the morbidly obese
and Summo wannabees
can chow down to their heart’s content
cause Fatties eat for free.
Nurse Bridgette brought his burger
and he started feeling ill.
As he slurped his triple milkshake
did he feel a sudden chill?
Was it the unfiltered cigarettes
He went through by the pack?
Or the triple bypass burger
that brought on his heart attack?
He started turning purple
and was rolling on the floor.
He was regretting his decision
to bypass that health food store.
Nurse Bridgette practiced CPR
and dialed emergency.
Thanks to her ministrations
He'll make a full recovery.
Feb 16, 2012
Feb 16, 2012 at 10:14 PM UTC
Another day, another hour spent looking at cadavers,
Surprisingly fun, and suspiciously fresh bodies-
"Hey Mrs. Johnson, what do you think John did with his life?"
She gave me a look that didn't seem too pleased at my inquisition.
Or the fact that I named our body John.
Morbidly, I thought she looked at me like a zombie would look at our friend John like a cold cut subway sandwich,
Although I figured if I were a zombie,
I'd prefer my meat fresh, and not embalmed
with formaldehydes and ethanol.
"That thought seems inappropriate and not respectful of the medical sacrifice 'john' made " she said dripping with in my opinion too much sarcasm for me to NOT respond too.
"Well, John is dead, I don't think he's getting offended anytime soon," I retorted.
Her smile contorted like the prudish smile John offered me in support.
"I'm not worried about offending the corpse as much as I am the ghost, and this Lab will NOT be haunted under my watch"
(Her pride in her wit inflated much like Johns body inflated with decomposition and bowel gases.)
I apologized internally for the comment and action I was about to make-
"This medical dictatorship has to collapse sooner or later-
and I still want an answer too my question"
And with that,
I took the nearest scalpel to his bloated stomach,
and watched in disgust and glee as everyone else ran for cover amongst the ****** of stomach contents and Johns final retribution in death.
I got an A+ in that class.
Apr 5, 2021
Apr 5, 2021 at 3:25 PM UTC
My reprehensible mind
Slipped you into my dreams last night
You were there for me
Cared for me
Said you were mine
I cannot say
I did not enjoy this dream
While it was happening
It's been a long time
Since I've even thought about you
But when I realized your words seemed true
My dream took a turn
Something morbidly new
I said the things I wanted to say
Instead of just saying sorry
And... "It's okay"
I cursed and I screamed
I put you down the way you always did me
I broke your fragile, pathetic heart
Tore your soul apart
I was so cruel,
Yet, I still never reached your level
With what you did to me
You'd have made friends with the devil
I was an angel in comparison
Enjoying my first little taste of sin
God, how I loved watching you crumble
And fall
Made me feel larger than life
To make you feel useless and small
All the times you pushed me down
Watched me laying,
Crying on the ground
I finally had my turn
How do you like me now?
This may make me seem
Like a terrible person
But... I Don't Care
My dream made me smile
You weren't there
You didn't see
All the terrible, painful things he did to me
When I woke up,
I was finally able to laugh at the past
Like I never was before
Truly Enlightening
A new beginning
I'm not in pain because of him anymore
And I never will be again
Nov 23, 2014
Nov 23, 2014 at 12:56 PM UTC
Quite admirable , awe-inspiring , a divine piece of manufacture
It’s capriciousness is an equivalent of swooning of rapture
This carpet conveys itself as flawless , the fragrance is pleasant
The glossy finish generates a yearning to have it present
The blissful texture is mesmerizing , subject to perfect knitting
Not to mention it’s size is perfectly fitting
~
Though the alternative side seems worn and tattered
And the fabric surrounding is scattered
There are pockets and splits
There are strewed fiber bits
Along the edges are multicolored spots
And the yarn had formed knots
~
At that point the onlooker would become flustered helplessly
Were they to take it into their tenancy ?
Sure it was depleted
And maybe it was slightly untreated
Though it was equally handsome
Despite it’s opposing filthy expansion
~
Then the beholder would ponder a tad
And realize the flaws weren't so bad
They were to be contemplated abnormally
Though as well stood out morbidly
The allotment seemed now suitable
And each side was mutable
Feb 9, 2015
Feb 9, 2015 at 6:03 PM UTC
I stay up for the moons
Quiet gaze
The light by the bedside
Carves shadows of you
Into my bare frame
The air itself is naked
Vulnerable of all scent.
I kissed you thrice,
One on the lips
For devotion,
One on the ribs of
Your teeth,
On the elbow of your
Favourite book.
As all writers do.
I created that arched frame
That pulled your
Tendons tight
To my inked sheets,
Shot you into blind space,
While I teethed on
The bow of your
Fingertips
Our skin tarmac,
There was roadworks
Of our bed.
Toes dancing morbidly
Between bursting stars
While night gulls
And ravens watched
Through the window
Waiting to peck
At the mangled carcass
Of our hearts.
Apr 26, 2016
Apr 26, 2016 at 10:40 AM UTC
I am constraint
In a constraint body
I move from thought to thought
race between a permanent
solitude
I hear a screaming voice
and it´s my own
She´s screaming out my own
deepest secrets
Who did I tell my shame?
If not you
You keep me, in a confinement
locked in among my frustrated fears
morbidly amused by their strenght
I stay in here.
Where else would I go
If not back to you.
Apr 6, 2016
Apr 6, 2016 at 4:51 PM UTC
Pray let me become relieved of this the mortal coil.
Year in and year out my brain and body toil.
Stretched and taut.
My body caught within a life exhausted in which no man can ever win.
Twists of stress as the double helix is unbound.
Secrets of inheritance morbidly uncoiled.
Pain of heart and aching bones.
The wailing aged woman moaned.
The pain is but psychological in nature.
The aching of the joints and bones flow in unison with becoming mature.
Nature states it runs that way.
My eyes are fading.
Get no passes from ones, who once were Lotharios.
Nowadays, there are none who are brave enough to take their chances.
My eyes are somewhat misted.
I can't see through my glasses.
I am not going on the pull, for I want not to make a spectacle of myself.
As from grace and fun of youth I tumble.
My palace is made from crystal lips and crumbled teeth.
The angel who was guarding me.
Fell **** up on the deck.
What on earth is left for me?
A thought to hold tight in my mind.
At least that still works.
At least it does.
I think I find!
(C) LIVVI
Dec 1, 2014
Dec 1, 2014 at 10:49 AM UTC
Mountain dominion
••.
••
She struts her suicidal world with well practiced authority
She is the Queen of Cut
In the insane cult
Of the morbidly infantile
Cheap release
•••
She has a home
\\\
The mountains are Too Free
///
And bid her also follow
To where the sky and the waters meet
And she won't go there!
There's something there that she must know
She who claims to know
Everything !
••
••
Images of sages
Of mystical children
Mythical beasts
••
She fondles her tarot blade
Her ***** she calls
MY BOYFRIEND'!
He hurt her so!
(That is ---- the battery went dead!)
••
Mountain dominion
Tomorrow
Real
••
Only truth
SHE LIVES IN HER MIRROR BROKEN AND SMALL
she don't want no truth at all!
••
MOUTAIN DOMINION
(Calls)
I ll meet you by the waterfall
Nov 8, 2013
Nov 8, 2013 at 2:35 PM UTC
I am a ghost among ghosts
in an inescapable town filled
with judgmental eyes peering
around sharp corners and
through closed doors. My
pumping pink ventricles
are turning white
with every passing second
that I spend waiting for something
with life to cross my trail.
Unfortunately, holding my breath
for things that
never come has become a
***** habit that I can't rid of,
and my lungs are brittle from the
compressed breaths and
toxic cigarette smoke I subject them
to. They say it takes
twenty one days to stop habits,
but an hour doesn't pass without
me thinking of all the reasons
I am unwillingly invisible and
how you made me this way. The
only thing that acknowledges my
form are clocks,
and they only remind me,
with every tick and grind,
that I am one unit of time closer to
being another collection of
dismembered bones
covered in dirt with a
chunk of stone telling others
my label and a saying that tries to
put meaning in something
that was never going to matter.
Many say that I am being
morbidly negative about my
existence, and maybe their right,
but on good days I like to think that
maybe i was meant to be
good fertilization for lovely flowers
that a senseless boy will pick for a
troubled girl someday.
Feb 15, 2014
Feb 15, 2014 at 10:34 PM UTC
I'm a little late, so I'll put in my drawer in my night stand a letter I found. Is it a letter? No, it is an invitation to your funeral plans.
As if that is not a smack in my face...WHAM!
You thought I wasn't ever a loyal man because I went away, unplanned. But let me take a stand, for you missed the part where I gave you my hand. I was on a flight one blizzard night. When I get off, my rental car was towed because the company said I owed more for how many miles I put on it. See, the car and I were on a trip to gather your family for you, but you didn't believe me. I stayed in a hotel with them, missing you. Their phone connections were off, too and all I had was the TV in that hotel room. To pass the time of course was my only intention, but when I saw our precious 2 story house on the breaking news, I saw that a fire had taken you. I was utterly confused. I pinched myself because I thought I was dreaming. Until, one day, I saw your will claimed we had nothing to do with each other in terms of our engagement. What a scam! I cried and denied the will until I no longer could feel. It's been months and the detectives are still interviewing me. See, your life was important; way more than me. I went to visit and kiss what was left of the fence. I pleaded with hopelessness, "We want you back!"
Suicide letter found.
It reads:
"Winter grows dead leaves, and the trees are morbidly idle. Our nights grew earlier, and our fights were a given. So I bet you'll view it on the news that house number 652 blew away this winter day. What was my defeat? We were a mismatch, that you knew. You were a backstab, I took it through and through. You were half snatched when I was into you. I never wanted you to be this fool that drools over the fun little boys do. I put you on this pedestal, blind to know the rest of you. I was frozen into your atmosphere of departure, thawed to my agony. Why did you ever leave?"
Jan 21, 2016
Jan 21, 2016 at 11:41 PM UTC
I feel more sedated than alive,
Defying reason and questioning reality,
It’s like morbidly walking through
The endless fields of familiarity.
Slowly losing the ability to feel,
I can no longer distinct what is real,
Cold melancholy and apathy creep in my heart,
My existence becomes shrouded; like a rainbow in the dark.
Testing the bounds of sanity,
Human excess and passion flood the mind,
Releasing any bonds of any kind,
As I’m consumed by the snakes of vanity.
Laying among the ruins of my life,
As my paradise plummets down to Hell,
Because the confusion of chaos defeated me,
With kind words of reverence.
“Pride cometh before the Fall”,
As narcissism festers in self-loathing,
The feeling which makes your soul crawl,
Will cause intimacy to be exposed like clothing.
Fear is a thief for whom I hold no grudge,
And pain is a rehearsal for death.
I looked down at the abyss and took the lunge,
As my world was compressed into a single last breath.
Jan 21, 2014
Jan 21, 2014 at 12:05 PM UTC
Welcome to my magic show
Where only the brave dare to go;
Beyond the depths of reality
Hidden under lock and key.
There's not rabbit in a hat, no graceful dove,
Just an angel with broken wings, fallen from above.
There's no illusion, no trick of scorn;
Only a lonely girl, tattered and torn
Welcome to the freakshow, look through the glass.
She cowers in fear, gazing at the points and laughs.
They mock, they tease,
They bring her to her knees.
With a desperate plea she lifts her eyes
And everyone sees she's a devil in disguise.
The confusion is evident on every face
This girl has a side that caused her to fall from grace.
Assumptions are made, a decision reached
Everyone with an opinion they morbidly preached
The girl lifts her hands in absolute fear
And in a flash of smoke she disappeared.
I hope you enjoyed the show
Where she went, you may never know.
Dec 9, 2013
Dec 9, 2013 at 11:25 PM UTC
there we were, late for takeoff
and too early for landing.
all bruises and tears,
and ringing in the ears.
there we were, barely standing.
we were clinically, morbidly,
gloriously grotesque,
and **** picturesque,
nonetheless.
Nov 6, 2018
Nov 6, 2018 at 4:29 PM UTC
The rigor morgasm
last bus to spasmville
will you rise to the occasion,take a ride,go on vacation or will you fail,sails up,head down,sink or swim,win out or drown?
These thoughts are what occur to me,when thinking somewhat morbidly about what age may do to me,and when or if it happens, will I see, or feel the loss of my virility,it really bothers me,it never did before,but then I'm almost at three score,(I'm talking years)
when fears of that impotency may be more important than what I think of as my potency,and I ask the lord libido to show me some high rise clemency and let me be the man I think I am.
Fevers of the mind when the motions of the body blind, slow,
you know,
but you don't say,
you love me anyway
I love you
sometimes and sometimes at times I come through,making love with you,counting calendars,dates and we are the best of mates,lovers too.sometimes you love me sometimes coming through,but always love me making love with you.
We may be old and often told that all is past,
and then we smile and kiss,
cast off our wrinkled skin and dive in to swim in each others winning ways,making it,sometimes at odd times of the days or nights and lights off or on,
and if this goes the way we think it should
I would not complain.
There comes a time sometimes when we have to read between the lines and tell the Doctor on prescription about the failures of ********
I ***** a monument, to this my plea,
let the lord libido be kind to me.
Nov 18, 2013
Nov 18, 2013 at 8:37 PM UTC
I hate myself.
But clearly not enough to fix me.
I continue to hate myself everyday,
the hate grows bigger.
It's not a hate that you can hide either,
people know that I don't love myself.
My hate attacks my body
my mind
my relationships
My heart.
I'm morbidly obese with hatred
I'm dying, but
I hate myself too much to care.
Jan 21, 2015
Jan 21, 2015 at 7:02 AM UTC