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Amanda Frost Mar 2013
You think I'm oblivious
You tell me I'm stupid
you think it's okay

You think I don't know
what you think of me
to notice what you say
and you leave the words
on display

I don't hear what you say
but I can see the hatred
it suffocates the air

It pollutes me
not only does
it affect me
but it affects others

It mutilates the people
who stay around you
they become immune
to your pollution

They breath in your
hate filled air
and become permitted
to your profanation

You suffocate me
and you don't even
seem to care

Please let me go
I cant bare the words
lingering in the air
Jane EB Smith Apr 2013
Here’s what a divorce does:

Divorce
Takes a remnant of a family from the house they moved into 10 years before
when their family numbered 6
then added a 7th

Divorce
Takes them from the house where a new daughter came home
a new Marine came home
the first daughter-in-law came home
the first grandchild came home
the newest daughter to be came home
where we battled illness and survived
where we laughed till we cried.

Divorce
Takes them from the house where friends have gathered to celebrate
birthdays
bonfires
a prom
a dinner dance
a wedding.
Divorce
takes one away
puts two in limbo
makes three leave
four-legged family members
who can’t live
where they are going.

Divorce
shatters family
abandons dreams
mutilates memories
condemns the future.

Divorce
only helps the one who wanted it.

4/13/2012
Chuck Jun 2013
Strange times are surrounding us
The baby bird is eating its mother
The rain ascends and fog descends
Strange times are surrounding us
Superfluous confusion dissolves concrete
Medicine sickens the the terminally ill
Strange times are surrounding us
The ambulance mutilates the patient
The moon obliterates the unsuspecting sun
Strange times are surrounding us
Jim Marchel Sep 2016
Cutting and slashing
Is love everlasting
Never breaking the skin
It mutilates from within
Tru Baker Feb 2013
She can feel a change, she's looking for it.
But she's a smart girl who wears lots of sweaters and drinks cocoa.
She talks about books and issues and kisses in the rain.
Yet, she slightly mutilates the natural state of her body in order to be deemed acceptable.
She is unconventionally beautiful.
And *she does her loving in the winter time.
Its gone
Said and done
Drunken stupor for you
Pushes me to the edge
Conceals the pain
**** the truth
My lips are burning
My organs are on fire
Swallow hard have another pill
Go to the place that you  know
Blackness taste the best
Just like china white
Mutilates my spine
Allowing you to implant this disguise
Annihilate the cells that can't speak
Asphyxiate  on your own blood and pain
RIP to my brother 2 years.
Tommy Johnson Dec 2013
Father demolished in a collision
Dark feelings brew in the young man’s soft murmuring heart
Pain in the eyes of his victims
Fear in the spine of his weakened targets
Hate in the frozen debt of winter
Angry and tortured night and day

Suffering screams, he mutilates them
Violence brought to a family on vacation
Chaos caused by confusion
Arrogant resentful greed

Father why?
i Know exactly who you are,
and i know very little of where you've been
who's touch left a mark
or suckled at your side ---
i don't really care to know,
but i also don't really care.
you may prEtend
that i am just another blindfolded
beauty --- you don't but you
Very well could
not at my expense
by in your defense
scared child
and one who chides
In fury
like a seesaw in sway
a question toppling another ...
i'm not trying to dig so deep,
    it happeNs
    it shrugs
    you shrug
           i tear on off
today tada no witchcraft here!
--- you know exactly who i am.
there is something i can't hide.
there's a place i don't know about.
and it creaks
collects dusts, mutilates
and folds over in a creepy
crouch, just Zoning inandout
of your consciousness.
you've found the deceAsed girl,
the 'I-could-never-love-a-soul'
under troll-bridges girl ... and i've been nowhere

but here.

and i know nothing of you
excePt as you are to me
when you're tangled in my extras
controlling your relAxandrelease,
and i'm the pretender, i act like i knew anyThing
before you
as you Atmosphere around me
and ship me off in mist to sleep
Let me hear him, let me hear him

Whose tongue does emphasize

A drama of frenzied elements

Impoverished by ridicule of vicious energies

That try to shape coherent form

Between contending factions

Thus registering predicaments

In a tragedy of vivid language

That mutilates a cannibalism of words
Bleeding eclipse splatters anguish, scorching frozen terrain
Reservoir transmits despair, vaporizing humid remains
Noxious fumes plague ventilation, incinerating methane mutilates
Inhumane detonations ignite smog, dismembering shrapnel decimates

Bombardments stimulate hallucinations, assailants discharge magazines
Incendiaries barrage trenches, vulnerability flourishes disease
Artilleries eject carnage, atrocious quarantine impedes retreat
Projectiles massacre infantry, heinous airstrike parries deceit

Howitzer impersonates tempest, kamikaze technique revealed
Nautical battleships converge, perilous adversaries concealed
Submarines launch torpedoes, oblivious warships sealed doom
Submersed submersibles clash, claustrophobic vessels entomb

Drowning agony crushes depths, forsaken lagoon transforms necropolis
Aquatic daemons consume decrepit, infernal torment surrenders providence
Condemned mortals cauterize compassion, genocide exterminates consciousness
Snorkeling corpses mound topside, eradicated infestation forfeited holocaust
Holocaust [May 11, 2017]
Category: History/Fiction/Relative
What if WWII ended differently?
Waverly Feb 2012
Your love is hard
like rocks
in my belly
in the morning;
like starting the countdown
to a three-day drunk
a week later,
at every turning point,
every shadow
of an angle,
I am taking roads
I have never
crossed,
I am watching
water run
in crystalline rivers
toward alleys
I've never known.

When they ask me
for money
or Marlboros,
I say yes,
please,
I would like those too.

I would like to eat
bagels
in the sun
with crinkly paper in my teeth
and sour cream cheese
sweetening in the liquor.

My landscaper's shoulders
and granite deltoids
are now green with lime
and lichens.

Girls like to run
their
hands over them;
but they are hungry
for your hands
and the lavishing footsteps
of your fingernails.

When I wake up
I put enough water in the
coffee-maker
for about
twenty cups,
and enough
***** in those
twenty cups
for a three-day drunk.

Your love is hard like ice-cold *****
and boiling coffee
that
mutilates tastebuds
and
makes my belly feel real good.

But not talking to you for awhile;
it's easier to warm up in the morning
so I can cool down at night,
and by the pink dawn
of darkness
I could get back to working my belly
with *****, rocks, and
Marlboros.
karin naude Apr 2013
pictures of past lovers are looked through the eyes of a woman scorned
dragged down into the depths of hell
by a fiery monster that mishandles me
striking yellow eyes
each breath felt on my bruised skin
he mutilates me for fun
my screams echos through the empty corridors of hell
all the while having to watch my past over and over again
made to relive each moment magnified
torture would have been a far lessor punishment
my face has to remain neutral as i look at pictures of lovers past under the careful gaze of others

the anger in my ever grows
these men they toyed with me as if i was not human
in there eyes my soul did not breath
i was no more than a second thought
i run through the corridors
trying to open doors while trying to stay out of the clutches of my captor
i need the find the door to mercy
i stumble
broken the monster finds me
West of a mutilated day, wormwood salts are scattered for some wild-chinned Controllers on a high pinnacle with viva vox in the Mandrake, Vernarth's house of Orion:

Saint John the Apostle says the proverbial Psalm: “In the lofty Cage, Gregorian sylphs, with skillful gestures and mania for cheering, are graced for coming to the Way of the cheap and venerable souls that are made up of the bodies of the evil-born on their railing. , in quagmire of swallowing spittle where the cold winter is banished, to jump from the cold oriental, having to walk with the elbows, and with the daring screams of the Sylphs that shake themselves among the foggy and fleshy tangle with rags and fur cloths flying smoothly through the tops of the oak trees in smoke to purge for Vernarth! Gospel, gospel in the barn of the delicate humus was felt, and that it was refracted in the refined forest with philosophical sacred love. Lord, all of us who are because we are, are you Lord ..., all in my exercises of loving gaze, are channeled by the indexes of my thumb to the little finger at the bottom of the sea, and float again from the little finger to the bottom of the surface. Waving in the transience of the world and holding back, Father God thunder, this with laryngitis when he outlines himself with the vast earthly sight, he covers with his right hand, the phlegm of ***** that made him drive an empty tremor, in my lack of security he testified by singing thousands and millions of choirs at this auction. The first ring of the profile will be carried by Jesus light, rubbing his back with some eyelashes of a drunk beetle, while the beetle will collect water between its extensions that will wail real needs of every morning albi - rosaceous that will travel in a circle towards the auditory of the Last auctioned saying: "As I have not to be where I was and was ..., if at night my beloved morning row impulsively and goes against it so as not to stumble into the night ...". Each cut piece of the dermis will have to be auctioned, I had Faith and the screenplay, encapsulated and embedded in each hope of the ramshackle flock, the impiety-weary ogre needed to stow his empty viscera with the cloth of the celestial kingdom, which at auction was beginning to squeeze and vanish when regurgitating smoothies and disintegrated spaces of belonging of the devotees of Vernarth. The writing is signed with lupus, this Lucia emanated from the morning resentment of skin envy, and from the massif drenched in anarchy and city archeology, lying hesitantly ..., as if the forest gave it some indication of rebirth, under the shadow of twinkling doubt, from the high front where they were nuanced over the engendered banners of truth, elucidating the forbidden and true matrix.

Adelimpia, Vernarth's grandmother, was squatting cutting the drool from the dwarf tree that lost a forage, at around 6:30 p.m. on the 39.9th day of a supposed 14th month of another dimension, almost winding up in a tangled series of productive hesitations and rituals, taking her victorious chariot in Lent where the teacher without felt traction, weave sprinkles of forgiveness on her distributor, starting her shaft and not her running engine, she already knew herself as a commoner with the wake of a ship without knowing where to go. Those who did not see themselves more backward intrigued to be part of the central bar of the rocker of the nymphs in their stadium, with a yawning lip where no one was invited. Mega-watt snitches go to the sacristan, breaking speeds of intangible entities that abide by her law, as a sage vilified in her secular realm, even in nowhere, the atmospheric larynx hissed widening through the flakes of the auctioned field, Joshua leaping with her. Cranky black horse Equus, with his anthropomorphic hooves, accelerated with action that put him among the lost belongings of the plateau, whose east limited him to two half-quarters of each other, and two-thirds slowing the sunset from ruby to ruby, brightening in the shades of green and green. Vernarth  Bernardolipo's father swallowed crops, from whose movements were born out of place gestures of residence, parturient fairies appeared emerging at once, or perhaps not emerging, the afternoon crushes the unplayable sun, Hugh and Anne covered their supra orbital eye areas, more towards a hillside where thousands of repertoires were being knocked down, and copious tableware with caked sugar, which seemed to reduce the acoustics from the beginning in what seemed solidly to fade to postulate in new shades of the weary rubbed rainbow, like thousands of shades doing the times of zascandil  in a curled comb, re-sprouting certain storm deities in the natural bow of the wind entangled in each stratus, sprinkling on the hectares of Possessions, standard deeds, sales orders, mutual funds, bonds ... the coffers and the earthly decomposed. Before each onslaught, a highly dense fog arose, highly ignored, anti-critical, and more disparaging of amassing a high scarcity with a local, in his quintals of his last bread for the flock. Lashes that exceed the grammage, foliage from leaf to leaf, from today until tomorrow, in a traveling satyr of dry leaves, "The Sphincter of the World will need Purgative ...".

Marathon of poisonings,… Lord, you have looked me in the eye; with your boat I will follow you, to your privileged perspiring cinnamon dock with various vociferous songs. What fared more than seven zeros, now they will be eaten by rodents, Lord attend my prayers, the pink mast has been sailing at several knots from the north, and it is rapidly losing its polar location, between verbs never traveled or driven, I dared to show off that the path of the gospel in small distant fragments will abound in infinite space, only the one that predominates will glide over my forehead with an accumulation of everything seen and that today in this sale; where everyone you own and care for, like a baby in front of a dissimilar kinship of good adventure and progeny that will leave your hands. "  

Etréstles says: "Soft and mellifluous presumptions ..., where do I have to look if nothing is heard? What is proposed and permeates the law of possessing and not, perhaps the strap reaches an infinite house, where the sun breaks down ..., the spout of my minimal rebirth slowly turned it into my reoriented defined cell. My grandfather Joshua fertilizes the new sales every day with his hooves bandaged with hemp, the sebum stones since they were so are already spirited circles, the hand of the maker is being compared with his tactile sense, Kaitelka's lungs, full of phosphate residues and sulphated, for the first time they milk in medium drops on their udders, although saying and what they prefer to assert of a worthy Down! If it were not, for his regal model of cetacean ostentation, he would not be in the Horcondising taking from today, towards the end of the curtain in the regular blushes, to create the great detachment, so necessary for the pulsating plain and purge his master Vernarth . The night covers it with sulfur oceanic satin, with the spauto of its jet and a magical moving game. Everyone was distracted when she circled over the routines of well-magnetized charms. More than two subjects were deprived of their well-placed jaw, when the overtime ran not crossing in the entire field in which she lived. It was time to unmask the interveners, the boatswain of the alfalfa field had been eating almonds with oil from the sole of a Joshua bototo shoe, she folded her wings at halftime to take a modest breath, to resume weak paths, deprived of confidence and not. To know who they would obey and to whom they would yield the fruit of their old and stock market work in the garden. Chaos for them, light of Lights, for those affiliated with the ruler who is Joshua, who will live behind a makeshift Patagua tree, erecting  aquisus tents and the dogmas of tomorrow. The magnificent concessions in the Horcondising massif continued to fall precipitously; some rummaged through their accounting almanacs, distanced and squandered their exquisite profits. The stagecoach is moving away, and the barrels of water were scarce, the aroma and tastes of roasted beef comes out over the bushes, the stores sway in a naive wind of blooming daisies, the sales were coming against the owners themselves, the taste of the laughter degraded their own present absence, the paraphernalia of the little birds on the carpet of the mountain plateau were, they began to do mercy of the tip in the exposed beams, the hundred feet with calluses came down from the semi-incinerated poles. Nothing smelled of pride anymore, just the last shadow of Joshua's Chief Sheriff; Vinicius, who thinned out the spotlights of the semi-strongmen still trying to collect his heavy wealth, now that among clouds of heavy cargo they went to give him only one habit to try to fit his body, just to wear his outfit. They looked, looked and kept looking at his octogenarian tearful sapro- genito dream, where the first dream ends, and his exile begins. Vinicius, locks the door, and starts drinking mate tea; while screams of those bad jackals were heard fighting for their inherited evils, in manners of not conquering those who lose a dream of their patriarchal courting-love, under the shadow of the most powerful bush for the rest of their lives in groves. Crumbs come off the beards of Joshua, his galvanized knife cuts multiform slices, to feed everyone equally and continue the purge of Vernarth "

The most desolate deity came; he walked in full sun, shelled and unattached, full of elongated bridles and with haste in his eyes. But not in its strides, thousands of years passed, and it brushed with my lost zeal in the quarrels of the Argolica, in the salinized and rotten feces of Eurymedousa, with its snowy and tricolor feet, hooded with its goods! , therefore, unable to sustain its own air from its nasal socket, dropping it likes brave foam that fell in the fired distance. Bad cooked fruit, with the flavor of a sleeping cinnamon stick, mitigating in its kind balsam, frayed wind yielding 360 and so many more suns, before the last one that I carry on my limbs ends. The end of the End began, in the seven ends adorning my steps. The obscene deities came, with their rebuilding geo music, breaking endometriums of goddess’s mobs and their almost massacred Pillan Mapu, among thousands that were, thousands of nowhere they are ..., in a today already anesthetized. He lies in the stench of the corrugated floor, in the wooden handles and rods stacked on the floor gesturing; the god Pillan Mapuche, under a generic vault of sleep falls into lethargy on the faces, leaving his unintelligible hollow free; and its unbalanced environment, crossing the basaltic moraine that circulated one day from the placenta of the fatigued cemetery. Dreams in kilos everywhere of pressed ducks, with dense covering and grasses on the hooves of bucephalos, crucible, living trident and extraordinary flowers ***** in floating skirmish, with dosing globules, thirst that is born from the whiteness of the first day in confessional liberation, cell of white with a looted look, shields of osculation, like icy air that transpires his ninth life and that is born from his ninth death, splinted in the face of death that mutilates his fingers when crossing his genes of perfidious and monkish plot of a life bypass. I sing or I do not sing, I lack my throne from where I observe the glances with time and impudence, possessing everything behind the back of the macabre time in counter-steps of tender golden plague, in foreign skin growing on my right blanket, from so much passing lights with cracked night outings, walking towards me, between roads and between Monday nights with faces of long and sinuous unctuous branches, with great step and size. Now I have to draw the curtain, on light lying in the shadow of an opening scattered in warm beets. With sincerity ..., and mistake there is no will to germinate in them, I will be born without being with them, to be meaningless without them ..., and that it is above other absences, with great eloquent and numerical weight on absent.

They are still plastered, washed out and with the frizzy pigments of a parnassus Paradise, where it has been intervening over its bloodless headers. Joshua walks thousands of steps on with his Equus skull, like a meridian slipping off certain rods of decay. Thus they all floated in the cephalous porous airs, with great airs of Cain collapsing on Abel recomposed in reserves of a millennium that fell twisted and stunned, captivated by an ominous word. Sendal covered themselves in bandurrias that covered the melodious icebergs of exulting individuals and swollen with passion, with their rummaging and thunderous noises going along with their flowers to the sea dissipated. My paternal grandmother was delimited; she paraded from the openings with cough-covered mounds of the frozen volcano, growing reflective slits of dense gradation in the nervousness of the overhang and angry sighing heat, in all the vertiginous and venerable spirits numbed by the darkness of so many sorrows on their bluish heads. Eurymedousa, already ill-fated to continue in Rhodes, appeared on stilts and with agonizing lights and yielding to the crossbows of the centaurs gagged by the Beauties; they consisted of their seesaws before the agreement with the Master, who gave us her Hellenic manifestos, and no less to others. My uncle King Arthur carried news of the locked consonants of his string and with a riding crop for his steed, tangled in rows that tore his face into small abscesses on his face, which were superimposed on those capillaries of the sweat of Heaven. Blessed Lord, the knee had grafts of golden steel, the horns of the radio sol brego that were broken in its metaphysical pregnancy, and its food collector that had solid gold baths towards a tabernacle fussing through its mucous orifices of alfalfa with the a flavours of irradiated cattle . He paraded with his loving mount flying down his track and kept clueless, at times he ran so swiftly that he crossed evil omens with Joshua, he was seen as weak and white in insulting slanders, Tamayo; his friend, who was a Talamite native, followed him on horseback, his son rode the sheep every summer, passing wool of pure holy insignia of a healthy man.
Along the banks of the reeds, he came riding on a donkey, Edward my paternal uncle, the third of Adelimpia, came three steps before his donkey, and he counted three times before riding him with provisions for good waters, wrapped in an energetic fire of Saturday tobacco in his mouth in mourning, who lovingly watching over himself, looking at today towards a peak for his sheep, looking at them for a manger of borders and tiny hunching phrases of black song about legends of the offender, which tempted to show off invading their fields. He is to the right of his mother Adelimpia, and under the rib of his father Bernardolipo overflowing, giving sugar to the colt Dolly in the sunsets, bequeathing affection with syrup, and a thousand compliments in December of 9,900 AD, Joshua, I remained in shreds of pageantry and endless lives, I always said, my lady, here I bring you a peasant's soup in flower of primed twisted canvas, in this three-year period I must call them to dinner in past lands with sweet potatoes to eat and candlesticks of flying seeds, with eager candies of a crack and their thirsty mouths. Gentlemen, I am Edward, their son, I want to sleep in your arms, after escaping from my worst perfidious toothless bite that still hurts inside. After eating great cholesterols from all over the world, amidst the tools of my children I am, always putting a tobacco leaf caught in the scrawled pieces and in great coinciding strokes, in circles dancing to throw away the bad and broken places badly thought and done. When I get to the end I will cling to the Joshua habit and shout not to leave me alone in the middle of this world, without toasted flour, cheese and tobacco. I am not a malignant man, I am only like those of us who are far below, feeling footprints on my spine, and I do not tell my wife Molly, so that she does not lack chickpea flour for our children wrapped in regrets and ***** with hunger and light blue in goodness, like saints and media, but in the end with clear blue water in my glasses. I invite everyone to my table to dine on oceans and worlds of clear celestial light, because with this hand I break this piece; I am the Son of Adelimpia and the supplier. They brought me in anemone branches when the Lord's headache invaded him, when he felt nails in his hands, to the east of Eden, without steps or turgid edges and a rough runaway palfrey”

The Horcondising massif turned into a great mountain, Edward was in the limestone of some potters and followers of Joshua molding him, they began to bait the rope that merges the mountain range, with the valley at the foot of all the mapus, mud flowing from the monastic floods , here they polisonated in the stony atonement of each lamentable trunk. They say;… faramalla  demonion, would be with a Silfife facing the mass of the vital obstacle, with faded coffee fiber, smeared in wine and bread, with eternal vintage vine. Luccica, Vernarth's mother, tackles familiar corners, with anointed frames of fiction in irrational ergonomics…; in numerous steps that will reach your distinguished heart. An ocean of doubts has fallen due to the inheritance that has precarious injuries, of battered egos and scrubbed by undue ignorance. Mountain delusions and manias, which run through the fibrillated vigils of some soft ropes and their abundant bristles like the choppy of an echidna escaping as it tingles by my twisted temples ”. The Horcondising  tam tam modulates through its crater and its pale face of a perpetual cell. Towards the forgiveness of the primordial ones and the commiseration of the orb burying itself in creation, this sacred and over the pale Sudpichian region will rest, in the roots growling in capillaries of the carbonated earths and in its badly wounded footprints. Horcondising is in quarantine, the elevation of the constellations are hyperillusionible, they migrate Along with Albalalhue and Carnivorous, the succeeded nymph that extracts exudation from a flushed match in the palm of some ideas on rollers, higher up and on angular from other right angles. Toiling with her hands, and rubbing possessions with her mazote and her patronage full of rakes.

Etréstles says: “Beyond all metal of hatred of every god not heard, beyond all evil of timid hatred I have not heard. I hold the playful phrasing of Edenic song, which calls us in voices full of long journeys, especially on this day fading. Through the hollow, belts and picket rings breaking the timid lights of the last sunset.  Cardinals in envelopes of fragile strengths, mountains with borders and deposits in the last voluminous plagues on the mason's eye.  Binding themselves in a pile, with saffron nails in their ears, with moths that run through the unforgivable morphologies. Do not lose life, abandon all noisy fight in coalition with the uninhabited *** of coins, there are forty days left to say goodbye to the god Faramalla, who lies with closed tec, limps to his lost pupils, and the sky swirls over his day when nothing not fit for any drinkable air with light bulb. Horcodising loses millimeters within minutes and rising, towards harvests to harvests, they lose merged schedule of a time without a past, reviling themselves from a present of consanguineous evil with an abstinent future. Luccica; Vernarth's mother, she is a sylph dragged by the tempest moraines, being detached to a contemplation and intake of life. The membranes of the accordion burst, and between brittle passageways crying without union, succumb to the teachings of foolish fate, Luccica as a portion owes its origin to the sea, taking its physiognomic bark from a seal specimen of aqueous flattery, to frize it on a similar surface umlauts on the "u", with phosphorescent and indeclinable forges, making it a beautiful maternal nymph, like the beautiful female picking up a moon in her arms, clinging to a new hallucinatory satellite to engender. "Live and talk with your peer, her dazzling sneaks in and laughs at this prominent queen, to exhale on those who observe her."

End Ellipsis Chapter XXXI
Horcondising  Castle Reign - Sudpichian
Transversal Valley  the Ferments - Parapsychological Regression
Mandrake, the Wild Auction
Rose Dec 2014
***** everyone who says they’re “there for me”. You’re only there when it’s convenient for you. I mean, I can’t blame you. I’d be the same way, if some crazy ***** with ninety-nine problems and not one friend to help came whining to me. That’s a lot to deal with, I wouldn't want to get ****** into that. That annoying laugh. That horrible skin. ****** hair. Hypocrite. ****** *****. Over-emotional, easily attached. Clingy. Hard, if not impossible, to love. Cold. Selfish. Slutty. Such an extensive past with repeating patterns over time. Reputation: worthless. Ugly. Annoying. Easily forgotten. Needs help. Wants help. Dreads help... Doesn't want help. Self-medicates, self-mutilates, self-help not found. Reliant on others. Dependent. Immature. Irresponsible. Ugly. Ugly. Ugly. Violent. Stupid. **** up. Messed up. No one wants a part of that. The only ones who do are desperate enough that they don’t know any better. Once they realize their mistake, they leave—Leave! Gone. Goodbye… Goodnight.
There's something awfully delightful about the burn as it mutilates perfectly clear skin.
There's something mysteriously incomprehensive about the power this pain has.
It can control ones life, it can ruin another's.
How unfathomable.
smallhands Mar 2017
"the roots of love come tumbling down" when the winter exits and spring takes over, melting the snow and whispering to the sproutlings
transforming the ice into a river, the cold into warmth, the deadness into newness

no intelligence decides the weather- if clouds thicken, rain abounds, if impressions ****** the soil to the worms
a single thorn mutilates our trust, staining any emblems worn that winter day, but
the crumbling love outside rests tonight

-c.j.
inspired by "The Roots of Love" by Big Wave
Amanda Edens Feb 2015
That song comes on
that one we danced to
and I can't stand it.
It makes my eyes water.
It makes my heart clench.
It makes my stomach sick.

And it plays on and on and on
even after I change the station.
It leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.
It leaves a sourness in my gut.
It leaves a sorrow in my heart.

Why didn't we work?
Why didn't we try?
Why didn't we do anything?
Why didn't we see the change?
Why didn't we linger a little longer?

That simple song
mutilates my peace,
tears my resolve,
tramples my heart,
clouds my mind,
destroys my life.

I hate you sometimes.
I love you more times.
But I still hate you.
For the love you gave
and stole so thoughtlessly.
But mostly,
I hate that you made a song
meant so much to me.
The bay of Patmos brightened in the scaphoid Trinitarians of the Colosso de Apsila, the combustion of the alma matter constituted Solomonic vademecum until the rebirth of those who preserve their sclera that accompanies their cruel torments in muscles of passion, for those who prostrate and recline on the pain that the soul itself asks to alleviate morbidities in the hay that grows when nothing rises before the tragedy of the pious fragments that divide the heart of a Sufi. Everything pretends that it is religious epilepsy bubbling vapor of faith through the mouths of the gods when illegible gestures of stars shine through from others that are greater in light and form when chaos was first, and the darkness became entangled in chaotic truthfulness of what converts the sacramental guarded by the angel Iblis. Judas Iscariot was a hybrid to dissent from Asmodeus, taking him from those fates of the firmament that had six apices, thus enrapturing him of the Siblis who had gone into exile in the caravans of Morocco, then falling from the despotic saying that shook the heads of the Achaemenids indicating anticipated conversions of unbelievers, when seeing that the six vertices of the first star of subjugation were declared, coming behind the second-star splint that was made up of other hexagons taking out ruinous cults that lay in the infertility of skepticism, not tolerating interpositions in any other way. Everything indicated that the light of the Shamesh of the Ruach Hakodesh in the roadstead of Patmos could already be asserted so that all the fires of the fertility of the Holy Spirit waving a loud voice that raises the worlds in the ablutions of the effluvium, with the emissions of Delphi, and with the lightning bolts of Zeus that would be encased in the scapulae of the Colosso de Apsila, silencing the delirium that only spoke out loud in those who did not know more than to hear in another sense, that avoids subsistence and where it grants more sap.

The Siblis says: “with my hands, I take what remains of life, and what will remain I will put under my comforts where everything will speak with withered corners of the lullaby, and of what the asylum of what it despises. Thus, everything that comes before the fourths happens to the fifths, and I subtract them from my hell, Iblis. The deities are withdrawn and the almighty is constrained further from the clouds that shelter the consciousness of the burning, and from the rays that exceed a thousand volts and more lights with large megawatts over the wings of the body that will experience growth, when it is a dream may he remain alive on the one who is at odds and is knocked down by his gesture of triumph that never annihilates, he only hangs on the body that is defeated "
The high tide was decomposing in degraded red blood cells, strangling bodies that were banned from their automaton skeletons, and from what was sacrosanct of Allah, which was also of the Mashiach, making a refuge that would make bones rest for more than thousands of years that did not rest. In the forging of a bronze frame, leaving every paradigm to the patronage of the amulet for anyone who suffers merciful debasement of the talus, beginning to flare up in the fords of capsular phototropism, leaving on them springs that cause and fill hearts that do not pulse, but if after an acquiescent nucleus of the rarest corporal alive or not! Praising what he writes by himself when for thousands of years everything has separated us instead of joining the immense room called Megaron Áullos Kósmos, eminent, free of all symptoms where impudent politai paraded through the flattened flowers that mix monstrosity of their cheers and the strings that surround him elliptical from the perihelion far and reviled and dangerous preventive. What exceeds the stature symbolizes the wrought iron that in a series of thousands becomes siege weapons instead of farming, and what the high sword invests leaves its merit when it discovers the weapon of punishment, cut off in deaths that are crossed when revived. from the same edge of the converted spirit of the one who wields it. The pairs of symbolisms protect almost depopulated those who have dwellings in paradise, with bent consciences that ****** Xiphos of conversion into staves of a mortuary color, which mutilates the mezzanines that are typical of a black cane exiting the human figure. The ruins produce architectural syncope that concerns the ineptitude of the castrated humanity of the Berith Milah, as a baptism of ancestry and circumcision slicing courses of arteries that fragment hemispheres of reason to found adherence to who really lives in you ..., if Hanael or another who has always been livid in you without becoming fatigued at the disposition of calling you a degraded son, materializing spiritually and becoming symptomatic of prevalent shocks by having them exulted by ancestral kindnesses.

The resentment caused planetary rumblings and extreme unfolding that sprouted from the exact diameter of its joints, leaving the grasses connected to neurosciences that slaughtered at dawn, and collected the expiation of what it is not capable of resisting in its faded sacrosanct body when all they were going through the drain of Judas Iscariot. Reflecting majolica and boches encrypted in themselves, withdrawing from the incense, from Hellenics who have never stopped beheading spheres that doze in the oasis where the water seeps through meadows that fill creek beds, apriorism of infusions that are injected where the meadow do not flee! Patmia was the silence of the tabernacle superior to the sizes that annul all composure in the cusp and in the spaciousness, and if it were to be seen like this, syllables would be limited that they uttered their only cheers that agonized at the side of their enemy, gracing them with the pain celebrated in courtship linguistics in its parallel.

Judas thinks: “In the next dawn everything seemed as if the world had just begun to be reborn, the whole world appears as the greatest satisfaction in the world. Some wondered what had happened or what it was that transformed everything when they observed from afar when an image came that pretended to be further away from the whole world, encompassing the realms of abstraction. They are the hearts that beat far away and they think that the strong reason is supported by the stratum by orpheons of angels, where the Master does not bother to teach us that great dreams are always accompanied by great beats "
Battle of Patmia  Part IV
jeffrey robin Sep 2014
///  • |
<>  
                   \             )
                      /\       /\

###

Playing with dolls

////       ////

I wrote a poem !

I said

YOU BROKE MY HEART !

The whole world rose up as one !

Everyone was crying

I FEEL  YOUR PAIN !

////           ////

Playing with dolls



I want to thank you all for

FEELING MY PAIN !



I know we'll all be saying the same to eachother

When we're all in little pieces in the street

••

It's good to know

That when the WAR mutilates us all

We'll all be

FEELING EACHOTHER'S PAIN  !

////           ////

Broken little dolls laying in the streets
Jeffrey Robin Apr 2016
.



child lover

Walks the neon midnight

Dreams of a reality

Softly emerging





But oh ! No !

...:

What's going on ?

//////

Questions linger


The child lover cowers

Drunken in alleyways

Staring at the scars


Waiting for the healing

That never comes


••  ••

Child lover

Lost in shame

::;

Wins the Hello Poetry DAILY

&

Proudly


Mutilates herself again !


AND LIFE GOES ON

)(

She walks the neon midnight streets

Where dreams of a reality

Die so very ugly

Pushes her shopping cart

With all her useless memories

Piled up and over-flowing

Onto the filthy streets

//

Remembers her old poetry

Her old gods and mythologies


Nights of neon splendor

And artificial stars

Shinning
Shimmering


In polluted skies



.

— The End —