"mutilate" poems
the sailors called the sirens beautiful
they wept, tearing out their hair
and tossed it into the ocean
turning it into seaweeds.
the sailors called the sirens beautiful
who then hid themselves in caves, till they passed
their skin growing pale and lifeless
till feathers emerged from their hands.
the sailors called the sirens beautiful
who decided to mutilate their legs
and scar their feet
so they would no longer be human.
the sailors called the sirens beautiful
and the creatures wailed as loud as they could,
screeching noises, ringing
but sounded only like bells to men.
the sailors called the sirens beautiful
but they didn't see beauty or sin
instead,
walking vessels
an empty name
and a prize to win.
Mar 10, 2016
Mar 10, 2016 at 3:13 PM UTC
. Smashing and crashing and angry noises
Name themselves as Mommy's toyses
And only when the last enemy's killed
Can Mommy's tears cease being spilled.
So **** and slash and mutilate:
Spill out your rage - and all your hate.
Cause when you're done and they're all dead,
We know you'll tuck us in to bed.
With our goodnight kiss, we'll say our prayers;
You'll ask our dreams to ease our cares.
And when we wake up, fresh and bright,
You'll be happy, and hold us tight.
Feb 13, 2011
Feb 13, 2011 at 5:06 PM UTC
Two people both alike in character
Of the opposite sexes
Sit across a candlelit dinner
In a lovely, fancy restaurant
The room is incandescently lit
With a dimness that balances between ever so bright and ever so dark
Allowing for a gold tinge to envelop the restaurant
But not gold enough to take away notice of the lit candle set upon the White table cloth
The waiter appears and asks the couple
What they would like for dinner
The couple order the food and drink
Much to the waiter's delight the food and drink is expensive
The waiter returns shortly
With a bottle of their finest Pinto Noir
And pours the blood-red wine slowly
Into each of the couple's glasses
And leaves the couple to sip upon their sweet sin delicately
The food is laid out
Triumphant in its debut
A vast smorgasbord of entries
Including frog legs, crab, and delicious ****** steak
The couple prepare their silverware for the battle that is eating
The man stabs his knife into the ****** steak
Cutting it open and spilling the juices all over his plate
He stabs the meat with the fork and guides it toward his mouth
And slowly but surely chomps upon it with the strength of his fine jaw
And swallows the meat into the unexposed mystery that is his stomach
The woman begins to mutilate the frog legs with her knife
Cutting into the once moveable limbs
And stabs the limbs with her fork and brings it to her mouth
And delicately bites the limbs and politely chews
And swallows it into her fine and precious insides
The couple then split the crab legs
Using their bear hands they split the shells open
And remove the meat or **** it right out of the shell
They swallow it whole and do nothing with the shell
Leaving the shell aside to be as still as a carcass
The waiter arrives and asks how the food was
The couple obliged him with their satisfaction
The bill is handed to them and the couple pay it
Leaving a hefty tip
They then leave the lovingly dimly lit restaurant
To enjoy the night that is ahead of them
May 29, 2014
May 29, 2014 at 1:37 AM UTC
Long lost time stretches blacked out questions and
white
in the place where it should have been
A triple threat of time, continuation, and displaced memories
Backtrack
Slapped back into the
black again
I know it's a sin but I ******* love it
Push it, shove it down, choke on the smoke and the fumes of the ancient
Wisdom is the loss of purity
Awakened
Ravaged
Blended back into the swirling twirling Universes, such perverse pleasure in the pain of it all
I love to fall
The wind in your face, blend it with a trace of sweat and blood as it all
clicks
into
place.
I love the taste
Blasphemous and decadent, giving in and giving out to **** it all back in again
RISE and FALL
I grin a bladed smile all the while, never minding the cries
Such pleasure as it dies
All taint of purity reviled
Desecrate the sacred, mutilate this inviolate aspect of creation
Only a seed of destruction contained within the potential
I see and I lust and I take and I ****
Not a drop of precious life spilled
Without cause
The laws remain, rise and fall, rise and fall,
I saw it all and then I sought a call of FLAW
For in the impurity lies perfection
An insecure dissection speaks the truth
As I now lie and speak to thee uncouth
I regret the best was yet to be
Blinded stumbling through Infinity
....just let it be.
Dec 7, 2013
Dec 7, 2013 at 9:50 PM UTC
You bought the house with lavender
seeded in the front porch.
The scent flutters between the doorsill
and through the letterbox
like bills overdue and invoices outstanding. A postal aroma,
envelope glue smells like flowers to me.
I was never granted the privilege of rearranging flowers
You said, there was more to life than flora,
these emerald, sap dripping, saturated stems
Swelling petals fascinated under my untried eyes,
You said I must not even graze the things.
I longed for a taste of the forbidden flora.
Did buds taste like honey? Were they sour like you told me?
Would they poison these supple
and innocent lips, turn them pink to grey?
Could tastebuds kiss the perennial vines,
the posies, the spray of efflorescence
A taste of simple sweetness -
I remember when you ripped the front-porch-lavender.
The roots could not resist your claws.
You sweat to mutilate strained flowers,
You always work harder. Verdure spoiled.
Ravaged, ruptured, tanked soil.
Oct 3, 2018
Oct 3, 2018 at 4:04 PM UTC
So sell your daughters
**** your sons
Go break your spoken
Vows in tongues
For from these lungs
I storm the loudest
As my furies
Muse the proudest
Wings endowed with shrouds of Nyx
Baptized within the River Styx
So wage petty crusades
And feel
Titanic wrath’s
Achilles heel
For in this heart
My lust will claim
Entire Gaea’s
Set aflame
By bolts of my creative spark
Be sure, I’ve never missed my mark
So bend your knees
And cross your hearts
And mutilate
Your private parts
For by these hands
The story spun
The sickle swung
And shed my young
And led them to the glory sung
Henceforth until the Fates are done
Aug 23, 2018
Aug 23, 2018 at 5:36 PM UTC
My Mother called my Grandmother a "Dirty Gypsy" a long time ago
I never knew what it meant until I gave that part of my heritage a go
The Romani left India about 1,500 years ago, traveling, running ever since
The White people of the Medieval Ages hated them, at their very presence they took offense...
In some areas of Europe it was a common practice to mutilate the woman, **** and stolen kisses
And they branded the men with hot pokers... Who can understand this?
They were forbidden to speak in their native tongue
Yet their songs of joy and laughter are still sung
Apr 21, 2015
Apr 21, 2015 at 11:06 AM UTC
we got it one way or another and we all got our own way of dealing with it,
yeah everyone has their way of
everyone has their way of
dealin, dealin, dealing
with the stress.
some freak out, some take deep deep breaths,
hobbies, crafts, some cut and self mutilate,
it doesnt make you weak, you got strength, lots of strength, hard times come hard times go, yet everyone has their way of
yeah everyone has their way of
dealin, dealin, dealin
with the stress.
© Try
Dec 7, 2018
Dec 7, 2018 at 1:45 PM UTC
I see the sympathy pour from your lips,
A waterfall of meaningful words I'm sure
but I'm fixated on the twinkle in your eye,
it reminds me of the midnight sky
The midnight sky my lover was taken under
The stars stood witness yet they took no pause in their dance above the clouds
Now the stars are hidden well behind the sun
Still,
blue skies don't make you smile
at your lovers funeral
The stars in you eyes make me sad,
Obsession with revenge takes hold
so I mutilate them.
a slurpy cosmic soup
sits behind your tired eyelids
A small victory in the war with the sky
Oct 23, 2018
Oct 23, 2018 at 10:10 PM UTC
I want to
swallow your organism,
taste your bacteria,
swim in your virus,
catch your disease
& become viral.
I am consumed
by your fever.
Stimulate me
with sexy-symptoms,
split me
in you petri dish,
mutilate me,
break my cells
into smaller molecules,
help me to succumb.
Take me over the top,
bring me to
ferocious-orgasm,
one without a cure,
leave me
forever wishing
for no antidote.
Jan 29, 2014
Jan 29, 2014 at 7:07 AM UTC
She Looks Like a Tiger
See how she places her paws so lightly, so as not to be heard.
Silently, she moves through the crowd, head held high, today she doesn't want to hide.
Depicted in peach coloured stripes. No red, no brown, no blue, no black.
Today, is the first day she felt it was safe to show them.
Asking for the first time in her life, for the world to continue doing what it's always done
Lean on her, sing her our our sorrows so she could sing them back and pretend, that we could not see her scars.
She has always been the brick wall.
The concert hall
The shoulder to cry on.
The logic you would chase after with your pedestrian problems and she was the designated driver.
But when it looks like you're a casual on bridges over troubled waters, there 's no one talking you down from the ledge.
She would never have asked you to.
Hannah, your name sounds like a semi-permanent tattoo.
I hope that's what this poem feels like to everyone who hears it
So that every time they think they know broken,
they feel cold lines crisscrossing their body and can honestly wonder,
was this feeling your blueprint.
But I think you look like tiger.
And I know, I shouldn't give time to some little boys who refuse to use her real name because it fits her to well.
Callin' her some emo, weak hippie freak.
she's just looking for attention.
Because when you're the first person to make it through Hell and back alive, you're a liar.
A hitch hiker piggy backing on someone else's problems.
But her arms served as straightaways for razorblades for nine solid years,
and its no thanks to people like you she's still here.
You think, she should be ashamed of herself. As if scars are a ***** in the armour.
Like she was peer pressured into self-destruction and couldn't resist.
No one asks you:
"Hey there, wanna cut? Wanna, self-mutilate?"
Just like I won't ask you not to hate the idea of someone being that low
That every beat of the heart feels a little like ****** assault, and cutting was the best way she could find to say no.
She looks like a tiger,
and she didn't earn her stripes. People rarely do.
But she has earned the right to wear them for what they are;
Battle scars.
Things she's long overcome.
Her head is held high again.
And I know, I shouldn't be wasting my time on people
Who refuse to use her real name,
but Hannah is still Hannah inside out, upside down,
Backwards, Hannah is still Hannah,
Even with her insides out,
Hannah is still Hannah.
She's still here.
Jun 4, 2013
Jun 4, 2013 at 2:21 PM UTC
i want to peel the skin from my limbs
strip by strip
with broken glass making jagged incisions
then watch the blood drip
down my body
dark red is pretty.
i want to scratch my eyes out
i've seen too much now
they'd look better splattered on the floor
just like ***** blotched decor
i want to pluck my nails out from the beds of my fingers and toes
and with a torch burn it all, melt the cartilage off my ears and nose
its too much extra baggage
for when i jump off the ledge
i like to mutilate myself
i’m a ********* as well
i love slicing deep into my skin
or puncturing myself, with a needle or pin.
seeing my blood escape captivity
makes me feel more alive than if it was still inside me
even more so when i carve out an artery
it falls so gracefully down to my feet
i want to display my own bones in my home
and replace them in my body with metal poles
i think feeling pain is better than feeling nothing
and seeing a sharp razor to grate my skin is always enticing
i love how it stings.
blood is the liquid of life yet symbolizes death
i corrupted my soul, now an expired body is left
i want to reach inside my chest
and grab my heart
and squeeze so hard
it oozes like jello through my fingers
and stops beating forever.
Nov 20, 2022
Nov 20, 2022 at 7:54 PM UTC
The voices inside my head are taking over.
These u-u-uncontrollable quirks I have.
My eyes twitch as many times as a heart beats after doing a triathlon.
In my head of runs a marathon of thoughts that don't belong,
things I can't do because they're wrong.
Within my blood stream flows 1.26 grams of dopamine given to me by doctors who don't know how to fix my situation,
only mix prescriptions to intensify vexation. Pharmacists eyeball me fearingly because I appear to be nothing but someone with chemicals wandering around into the little bit of a brain I have left.
Serotonin to regulate my mood, appetite, and sleep but I still only wish for all of this to be nothing but a dream.
All of this making my intestines mutilate, slowly dying inside as if I had Irritable Bowel Syndrome. Otherwise known as I.B.S. but I know for a fact that this is all just a bunch of B.S.
My enterochromaffin cells may just burst, I am often told.
If only I could tell what was real from what was fake.
For I also have A.D.H. - whoa! What's that?!
Sorry, where was I?
Oh. Tourettes Syndrome.
I guess I just twitch it off.
Maybe these are all figures of my imagination from the hallucinogens.
Who knows?
After all, I am a schizophrenic.
Apr 22, 2015
Apr 22, 2015 at 8:24 PM UTC
You will not look at me.
Not even look at the brave face I practiced
Not look at the smile I painted
Not at the dry eyes I skillfully mastered
This mask I made for you to see
But still, you will not look at me
As if my fakeness, will mutilate the image you have of me
I can tell you, it will.
Jun 12, 2014
Jun 12, 2014 at 8:12 AM UTC
You're so cliche
Telling me that I'm fat and ugly
Telling me no one would ever want me
Cliche cliche cliche
Tell me something I haven't heard yet
Oh
Go **** myself?
Starve myself?
Purge myself?
And mutilate myself?
People say these things everyday
I know these things
These words sound cruel but they don't mean anything
Nothing to me anyway
You're so cliche
Go read a book
And if you don't have one
I can give you a book on how to learn any day
You're so cliche if you think that's the worse you can say
Jan 26, 2015
Jan 26, 2015 at 8:38 PM UTC
Have you stared into the eyes of another?
And found yourself out of breath, out of time
Where your heart beats with a flutter
In the realm of beauty, in the face of divine
Where the world begins to slow
All aggression set aside
As the purest of thoughts consumes you
You have found love and I say it with pride.
How blackened must a heart be
To see it as unclean
To mutilate our most beautiful of feature
And do it all in the name of that unseen
Is it feral in its nature?
Is there not but lust they see?
Within their own hearts they know its joy
But in the hearts of my brothers they call it blasphemy
What fear is it that besieges them?
That crept into there mind at night
So that they may stand behind the powerful
To revel in there hatred to revel in there spite.
But do they think they face fragility
A surrender of all that is right
The truth of love is that it will always endure
That is its beauty that is its might.
Know that they are driven by fear
To that their cowardice bound
But I have seen the unity of love
No greater power can be found
Know that oblivion beckons
But it will be them who answer the call
But reach out your hand to meet them
And at last into this pit they will fall.
The world may seem black
Pitiless and cruel
But know there are some who will always stand beside you
Be assured it is the privilege of us all.
Nov 2, 2014
Nov 2, 2014 at 3:52 PM UTC
He passed away
By the time they stopped eulogizing him
He was dead!
Eulogized to death!
••
As if the Sacred is not Real
••
(NOTHING IS SACRED!)
••
•
Sittin around mutilating ourselves
For we cannot mutilate the world
••
World war three
World war three
**** us all and set us free!
••
I was reading about the anxiety felt by a transgender in school
Choosing which bathroom to use
••
I did
(Really)
••
I wonder what BUKOWSKI
Would have thought
••
THERE'S A LOT OF SUFFERING OUT THERE
••
Maybe I should cut myself or something
That seems like it would do the trick
••
If not ww3
Maybe Fukushima will **** us all
••
I'd hate to actually have to bleed to death
••
Oh well
Heaven into hell and then the Super Bowl Game
Nov 5, 2013
Nov 5, 2013 at 7:55 PM UTC
The definition is:
A condition or quality of being sad.
It's more than that,
It is...
well--- how do I put this?
It's a way we express our displeasure with something sadly.
Sadness is an emotion, an expression, a state of mind.
Sadness its weakness...
but also,
Strength.
Sadness is a state where we feel sad and express how sad we feel.
Some of us express sadness by, crying, hiding, and being quiet.
But sadly some of us cut, burn, mutilate, and starve ourselves.
Sadness is good and bad.
Sadness is something I give off as I write this poem.
Realizing what I have done and what I will do.
I strive though to change.
Sadness is something,
Good and bad,
Sadness is something that is seen as,
Strong and weak,
Sadness is seen,
as a state of mind and thought
Dec 10, 2018
Dec 10, 2018 at 10:27 PM UTC
We've both been through a lot lately,
Enough that we make the most
of distractions that present themselves.
I don't like to sit down and study
How a signal from your brain,
Reaches receptors in your toes;
Or how a muscle twitches.
And you don't like to be alone.
It's been our tradition,
The three of us,
Since we were about fifteen,
To modify our bodies;
(read: mutilate).
We pierce and ink ourselves.
You got your jumping Koi
When you were fifteen
Still in high school.
We got our ******* pierced in the last year of school,
Bored with the idea of maths or science
We wanted something interesting,
And that's what we came up with.
You came back to school
And couldn't stop showing people,
Even when they didn't want to see.
We all got our animals together,
My cicada, your frog, your bird,
The leaver's dinner for school was that night.
We were still rebels.
Then uni last year,
Two quotes in braille around our ribs,
And your quote in Latin
(which turned out to be Italian)
"No lies, just love."
Now today,
A new cat on my arm
And a rose on the back of your neck.
We are perfect,
Immaculate.
Procrastination at it's finest.
Apr 19, 2013
Apr 19, 2013 at 3:52 AM UTC
Pretentious smile
There for awhile
Cunning and guile
Mask the bile.
Feel the burn
Tides turn
Emotions churn
Pain we learn.
Turn the key
Unlock me
Set free
But with fee.
Claim your claim
Always the same
Mutilate, maim
Ruthless game.
Games you play
Daggers you say
Honesty you slay
The facade you stay.
Whisper your lie
Get me by
Truth will try
Chains to pry.
Curb your greed
Untruths you feed
Here I bleed
From destruction you lead.
What's your goal
**** my soul?
My naïveté you stole
You're but a mole.
Share my plight
And in plain sight
Steal my light
You're my fight.
I know it was you
Excruciatingly true
Things you undo
For attention you pursue.
Oh how you bend
Honeyed words you lend
Establish your brand
As my deceitful friend
Now I know
Wiser I grow
I will not show
Knowledge I stow
Still you smile
You have for awhile
I've tasted the bile
So bitter, so vile.
I've felt the burn
The tide will turn
Fairness I might earn
Lesson I'll learn.
Jul 29, 2014
Jul 29, 2014 at 9:54 PM UTC
The Pill
Called up big Pharma,
Sad and depressed,
I told them straight out:
Dudes, I need a new karma.
*NO problem they cheerfully replied,
(later I wondered, which pill they were on)
We custom make, haute couture, drug-design,
Mood enhancers, in little canisters,
You need only supply the cash and the system vascular!
Your soul's desire?
To be a better wilder, rambler,
Or a life calmer, better anchored?*
I know what I want, exactly,
A pill that removes
Specific words
From the frontal lobe temple
Verbal storage center.
*NO problem! (so cheery it was kinda scary)
Which words would you like to have
Exorcised, annihilated, irradiated, confiscated?*
I list from below, from side to side,
Let not one be denied,
Bury them all in nether-lands,
Swamp them under mountains of
Granite and sand,
Banish them from my lexicon.
How much do you charge?
But one dollar per word.
The list I emailed complete,
Herein I reprint.
Scars Pain Wound Strain Torture Anguish
Disfigure Damage Mar Mutilate Maim Blemish Deface Damage Ruin Distress
Afflict Trouble Wound Torment Agonize Sad Suffer Sting Throb
Torture Torment Despair Suffer Distress Hurt Vex Trouble
Ache Hurt Misery Woe Bitterness Misery Agony Bitter
Heartache Afflict Hurt Cut Loathing Shatter Broken
Alone Bleed Struggle Self-destruct Monster
Nightmare Cornered Darkness Horror
Loner Confused Goodbye Suicide
Slash Cut Desolate Submerge
Dissipate Dead Stinking
Enough.
Awaiting my concoction sweet,
When an answer they begat,
A response forthcoming, indeed was snubbing!
**Dear Sir/Madam,
We regret to inform you that we are unable to manufacture
Said item. Removal of these words would be a violation of
Federal Poetry Laws.
Sadly yours,
Big Pharma
P.S. Are you the author of "Yo! Yo! Warning: the government is reading your poetry! (Metadata Mining This Site) on HP?"**
P.P.S. Please do not contact us anymore.
Jul 16, 2013
Jul 16, 2013 at 1:53 PM UTC
IN FLANDERS FIELDS THE POPPIES BLOW*
In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Here my comrades and I are laden
We fought for King and Country
Here we are---the fallen.
‘Be proud’, was the national proclamation
‘ You are the chosen’
We left home and our loved ones
Here we are—the ill-begotten.
Some of us once upon glorious corridors
Of Cambridge and Oxford had trodden
The best and most fertile of young minds
Here we are—the forgotten.
How strong we then were, riding on the back of youth
Its dreams so sweet and resplendent
Rained by bullets in the battlefield
Here we are---death has spoken.
Pro patria gloria, dulcis pro patria mori
(Never mind if our hearts were cruel and rotten
We must **** all enemies over the fence)
Here we are---the terrible who were chosen.
Were we born to destroy and mutilate?
But in the battle-front ---all we loved and espoused had been stolen
Buried in dark pits of hate and revenge
There we were----inhuman and despondent.
Those whom we slaughtered and maimed
Didn’t they like us once did hold dreams just as golden?
Weren’t they who happiness sought as we did?
Here we are—to bemoan all the precious from such that had been stolen.
In Flanders fields the poppies weep
For us who are far from home and have nowhere to return
With the wind’s nightly melancholic sighs whispering in our ears
Here we are----empty, with dark sins upon us—for absolution is all we yearn.
• inspired by the opening line of John McCrae’s poem IN FLANDERS FIELDS published in December 1915 (Flanders is in Belgium where a million died or were maimed).
John McCrae (1872—1918) was a Canadian doctor who joined the army as a gunner but later transferred to the medical service.
IN 1918 he was made consultant to all the British armies in France
but died of pneumonia before taking up the appointment.
Aug 30, 2015
Aug 30, 2015 at 6:56 AM UTC
Decapitate, disembowel, tear and mutilate!
Schizophrenic!Psychedelic twisted mind!
Expedite, liberate, Alienate then recreate
Masonic!Prolific piece of mind!
Sabotage, besiege, flank to infiltrate!
Victorious!Strategic tyrannic mind!
Crucify, liquify, impale bleed them dry!
Torturous!Barbaric, sadistic mind!
Derange, insane, crazy and mental!
Hallucinating!Polysyllabic demented mind!
Disturbed, diabolic, vile and fatal!
Parasitic!Infected infested mind!
Nov 14, 2013
Nov 14, 2013 at 4:53 PM UTC