"nacked" poems
It’s that of losing sensory touch,
my every emotional synthetic lost beneath this skin.
Plastic or that of parchment flesh,
feelings no longer flow and flex beneath,
the electrical current died mid dance,
all is hollow,
no outer force relieves my eternal,
this faceless numbness,
the only emotion that leaves a sting,
cinges my cadaver nerves
is the flame of frustration,
the itch of anger and irritation.
I find it much more playful
than the spineless dolls of dorment feeling,
it’s the only one that gives me a response,
the latter are that of loosely tangible
lost to that of my feelingless far spaces
of the brain for later use and development,
for now all is lukewarm,
so muffled in psychopathic,
isolation carves the human out of me,
leaves nacked nerves sensitive only to that of the burn,
i’m best left dead when alone,
i’m more than half way there.
Oct 3, 2011
Oct 3, 2011 at 11:27 PM UTC
Moonflower, Moonflower,
Cuddled beneath the sanctuary of her father,
Formed by the virtue of love.
Moonflower, Moonflower,
"Let the white lilies bloom!"
Under chastity, bathing in elixir.
Moonflower, Moonflower,
Humans live inside a trojan horse,
Camouflaging, be aware of the feathers of a hawk.
Moonflower, Moonflower,
Nacked-embellished in a silver platter,
Oh!moonflower was so young.
Moonflower, Moonflower,
"You should have let the white lilies bloom,
Preserved for the spring to come."
Moonflower, Moonflower,
Epitaph wrote in the stone
"Moonflower was so young."
May 2, 2020
May 2, 2020 at 8:30 AM UTC
The face, scarred beyond recognition
A nacked exposure against the real
Every fantasy crushed under the weight of being
Being is nothing but nackedness
A void in the midst of his heart
Amidst the dream of eternal happiness
A broken life, travailing under *******
A framework of meaning presented by lust
Nacked came I out of my mother's womb
Among ten thousand aborted infants
One woman in travail dies to bring life
Life tarnished by sores and boils!
Soothing his body with a porcupine's quill
He vomits and laments outside the scope of life
The grave seemed an inviting space
Why did the ****** ever give birth?
Why was he not among the aborted?
Why was he not a sacrifice to Baal or Molach?
May the day he was born never be remembered
Life toys with him like a cat does its prey
And lo the great consumer arises from the depths
Great as the darkness that arose in cosmic proportions
It was he which consumed the first star
It was his terrible laughter that echos in the grave
The raw laughter of pure jouissance beyond flesh and body
Beyond the confines of matter hard and real
Beyond the nature of every genus ever known to humanity
Sacrifice and die, ********** and die, this is sacred religion
Dry bones around the alter, viruses dying with hunger
No more corpses, no more decaying flesh
Create once more O divine creator, so we may eat and drink
We will once again ****** and consume
Outside the scope of the dead he lay with his sores
Discharge of stale blood and mucus surrounds his being
He was mocked for all eternity for his suffering
He refused to die, he refused to yield and he refused religion
And they took his flesh and offered it to the great beast
The one who's appetite does not rest
The one who's desire is endless like the skies
His heartbeat is the sound of negative infinity
But his flesh was devoid of nourishment
And his bones hollow without marrow
His blood was like empty air in a broken container
He was nothing but a wound- a divine wound
He himself was death, disease and pain
The trauma of the real opens up and all fantasies disappear
They disappear like the mist in the light of the morning sun
The wound is now the cure and death is now life
Feb 25, 2014
Feb 25, 2014 at 11:16 PM UTC