"nags" poems
Such A Lovely Bubble Rise
Bulbs And Spark To The Heart
I Kept Watching You With My Eyes
Hearing Your Voice Awakens Art
I Picked The Words In My Poem
To Point Them On You Like Apollo's Arc
On My Eyes A Desire For The Aim
Reaches Jupiter To Leave A Mark
So I Can Say It On Each Verse
Through The Soft Arrow Of Anteros
Till The Endless Part Of The Universe
Beyond The Level Of The Erotes
With A Sublime Blessed Grace
I Described The Beauty Of Your Face
Pale White Conquered The Place
Such A Stardust Perfected The Space
Then You Paused The Time!, It Never Ends!
Astonished While Our Spirits Ascends
So I Drew You On Every Potential Star
With Endless Feelings! Unconquerable Grips!
You Rised And Forgot Who The Humans Are!
You Teased The Sun To Touch Your Lips
Once It Got Very Close, Still Pretty Far!
Your Care Launched A Thousand Ships
While Your Innocence Nags And Glare
What An Existence!, Such A Cosmos She Grips
A Galaxy That Craters The Beauty Of Mercury!
Drives Venus Jealous To His Very End!
Then Uranus Gave Up On Such A Mystery!
Pluto Wolf Whistled His Frozen Wind!
Mars Was Not Able To Belive His Own Eye!
Neptune Was Busy Losing His Own Mind!
Saturn And His Ring Felt Like A Fly!
Earth Was The Blessed Land!
Yet Jupiter Was The One To Tie!
Author/ Aladdin Aures H.
Aug 16, 2019
Aug 16, 2019 at 5:15 AM UTC
when a lost muse is no excuse,
when the mundane and the profane
are away on summer holiday,
and you are currently on the divine’s
'u **** - no write list'
nonetheless the itch in the private
spaces is driving you crazy,
write a poem, write a poem,
in the way a grandmother
(or a mother to a grown child)
whiny nags,
*its a nice day, go outside and play
with a strange man*,
whatcha ya gonna do, the walls are all painted,
and the good bad boys are out of town, all with the
*other bad good girls,
who got there first,*
but we will write of
nipple-rings and
other crazy songs you sing
it is not important you the reader understand every verse,
like Patton said, "it only matters that I know,"
which line is a joke,
which around your neck is
your customized yoke,
which is why:
plaintive wail to no avail,
the regret that never can be sated,
the frustration cratering inside the chest,
which is just,
(and unjust)
just enough
to make a semi-satisfactory smile
upon the lips appear
whose lips?
who cares?
as long as you don't have to hear me sing my poetry
but hear me smiling at
the power of whimsy writing
and the return of
my no longer muzzy^
Ms. Minx A. Muse-me
<£>
2:13pm
Aug 19, 2017
Aug 19, 2017 at 2:32 PM UTC
Right now, as we speak, there's a little boy, aged five
Pushed aside on the corner of his mat, where he naps
His fingers are clenched onto shredded crumbs of bread
He managed to get his hands on this morning despite his mother's constant nags
About having to save the last few bits for his new born sister
Ashes and rubble are his best friends ever since he can remember
Disturbance aches him no more
For everything he's ever known are dents
He wouldn't know what the other side of the rainbow looks like, let alone both
For he's never encountered a rainbow during his yelps of pain
Pressure, abundance of destruction, humiliation
His innocent weeps never reach aid
He is now used to it
No more room to present emotion
For everything he's encountered will forever be frozen in time
He wouldn't know what peace is, ever
For contrarily that would be foreign to him
Therefore, somewhere in this world, silence takes over
This little boy whose whole life has been built on lies and disruption
Aug 20, 2016
Aug 20, 2016 at 4:57 PM UTC
I find as I get older
I have to censor what I say
I can't say that a happy man
Seems very, very, gay
I never got the memo
When certain words were made taboo
I never got that message
I' missed that one , did you?
My Nan would send my brother
To the shops to get her ****
I know we aren't allowed to say this
I've been told by P.C nags
I remember the old story
Of Black Peter and St. Nick
Now you can't say either one
or you'd be branded quite the *****
There, I used another one
***** somehow made the list
Has anyone seen the memo
It's the one note that I missed
You must call someone Richard
You cannot call him ****
**** political correctness
Just brought me back to *****
If you sit and watch the telly
you can't put your feet up on a ****
that gets us back to gay again
The PC folks would hit the roof
Don't start me on Brazil nuts
Remember what we all called those ?
If I put that down in writing
I'd be PC'd in the nose
Men and Women are all persons
This PC stuff just makes me sick
But, just look at them both naked
There, I've worked back round to *****
It takes the fun out of saying swear words
You have to censor all the time
There might be a PC zealot
waiting for a language crime
So, in closing let me tell you
And I will do it with some class
They can take their PC memo
And shove it up their....buttocks (I think is the term used nowadays)!
Jul 26, 2012
Jul 26, 2012 at 8:19 PM UTC
Mummy I love you
It pains me to look pass your shell
To see that inner being
So many struggles that seem bleak
As your daughter
Helpless, what can I do to ease the pain?
Thank you for bringing me to this world
The worries and frustration in nurturing
I am forever grateful
For your sacrifices you've made
I will never forget those times
Where you were the only one I could rely on
I'm sorry for being rude
Ignoring your nags
Dismissing your efforts
I could not appreciate
I could not understand
I was too young and naive then
As the years pass
My wish is for you to love yourself more
To be who you wanna be
Start to live a life of your own
Not to live for us your children
Mummy, I love you
May 24, 2014
May 24, 2014 at 6:26 AM UTC
Snorers all
scattered world-wide
in offices and homes
in boardrooms
and bedrooms;
O Snorers all
loud and clear
low and shrill -
listen ye
to the loud wake-up call
as from Rip Van Winkle's Snore
stand up united
and drown the howl of protests
against snoring that is surely no less divine
than the Chorus of Angels in Heaven -
for the great God who made the Aurora
no doubt also conceived of the Divine Snore!
and so, stand up, ye sonorous Snorers!
unite! I call unto ye!
unite against the detractors
and the critics
and the complainants
and those of low culture
who cannot
lie still and listen to Snoring
as one rightly would at a concert hall
listening to the delightful play
of a quartet of violins
O how long will you take it lying down,
ye blessed Snorers of the World?
let the world know
the first divine music was indeed the Snore;
and the very height of human communication
is the unabashed snore
for all other modes of communication
lead to mis-communication
but the language of the snore is always exact and crisp!
the message of the Snore always precise!
the meaning always loud and clear!
and the very height of the snore
(let us declare to the world)
is the couple in bed
snoring away together
beside each other
making such divine music
making love with the rolling thunder of snores
so that one might say:
*do we have a couple of wild boars
copulating in the next room?*
stand up, O Snorers of the World -
and defy the mockers
and those who seek divorce
on grounds of insufferable Snoring;
stand up against those who sue
for loss of sleep from
friendly, neighborly Snorers;
stand up now
against these losers, these whingeing nags
uncouth and untutored
in the mysteries of the art of the Snore!
stand up and with one loud blast of
a universal Snore,
with one melodious Snore
let us
drown their dissenting voices,
their unprovoked cacophonous complaints!
stand up, Snorers young and old!
unite, Snorers black, white and gold!
defy the world! O ye Snorers
of quite nights and of lazy days:
let us overwhelm the world
with the pleasing symphony of Snores;
let us bless the ears of the world
with the dulcet streams of varied notes and arias!
stand up! unite! - O much-maligned Snorers of the World!
with one voice raised
in a triumphant Snore
let us declare:
*No longer will we be silent!
Our voices will be heard!*
Oct 22, 2010
Oct 22, 2010 at 7:21 PM UTC
You mumblers and raspers
Of resp'rat'ry rattle:
Open your throats!
Forsake ye! the gaspers,
You quoters of cattle
And prattle of goats!
Or lay ye with horses
Whose tongue ne'er divorces
Those ivory choppers,
Those sibilant stoppers;
You lispers: beware,
Whether stallion or mare,
While you nibble your oats!
Stop your speech-stumbling!
Go suckle an udder
You dizzy, damp calfs!
Restrain your talk-tumbling,
And swallow your stutter
Nor utter foul laughs!
You outspoken nags
Mimic bolt-broken stags
As you bleed allegations
Down paths of my patience
And clatter your antlers;
What heavy-hoofed ranters
For no one's behalf!
Apr 1, 2014
Apr 1, 2014 at 5:06 PM UTC
I know there's something wrong but I don't know what.
I know I have to change but I don't know how.
I know that I'd stop crying but I don't know when.
I know some people hate me but I don't know why.
Nobody loves me, that's what I'm starting to feel.
Nobody needs me, that's what they made me feel.
I am but a burden and that's what I'm feeling.
Torn between the thought of dying and trying.
I wish there is someone who'll listen to my rants.
I wish there is someone who will understand cries.
I wish there is someone who will tell me I am right.
I wish that someone would tell me: everything will be alright.
I wish to cheer people, when they have to deal with life.
I wish to be useful, to the ones who brought me here.
I wish to be someone, who would listen silently.
And not to be someone, who is selfish, nags and rude.
I wiped my tears, but they didn't stop falling.
I faced the floor and they just kept pouring.
I stopped hiding my tears, 'cause nobody noticed.
I cried 'till tears ran out and blood started falling.
I don't want to live dying, but I don't want to die living, like a corpse in daylight, walking.
Life is beautiful, life is cruel
Life is a gift, with endless burden
I should've been selfless, and learned to appreciate.
I should've understood them when I wished to be understood.
I should've been more careful, with the things that I have said.
I should've been a good kid, and listened to my parents.
If only I wasn't me, with a different family.
If only I had something I could do so perfectly.
If only my steps, had the right foot to start with.
Would I still be sitting here, waiting for my death?
Jul 24, 2016
Jul 24, 2016 at 11:25 AM UTC
Anxiety keeps Depression
Up all night and then
Depression sleeps
All day.
And every day they
Argue over the things they
Did or didn't say
Did or didn't do.
Sometimes they watch
TV together
But they never
Enjoy it.
Anxiety is in college and
Depression doesn't help her
Edit her papers when
She asks nicely.
Depression had a good job
She enjoyed but she ended up
Losing it and now Anxiety
Nags at her to find another.
Neither of them can
Find friends, so even though
They hate each other
They're all they've got.
They keep trying to date
But every time one brings
Home someone else, the
Other scares them off.
Depression is messy
With piles everywhere
But Anxiety keeps the kitchen
Spotlessly clean.
Anxiety can't stop bossing
Depression around
But Depression can't stop pulling
The covers over her head.
Anxiety and Depression
Are roommates
In a mental
Apartment building.
And I'm waiting for Anxiety
To forget to renew the lease
And Depression to be too
Tired to do it herself.
Jul 18, 2016
Jul 18, 2016 at 2:20 PM UTC
A ***** drills inside my core
It nags, graps, pans, the hands
They knot in spins and twists
My crux left at the river side
Breathing,gasping fast, faster
Body out in the open rawness
Persisting resistance of the force
An outward shield winning
Winged left,right, up, down
Another day, a greater pace
A passive taste, ranting in haste
In bricks ***** all I taste is hate
All walking in dead silence
Heads shouting with dreams
A roll of sweet and sour sate
Echoes of taxes and budgets
How will they evolve us?
Snatching more from pockets
The rockets burst to mock us
Pulling our all to fund them
Nuclear bombs creating tombs
Distribution of lies and wars
Missiles disposing as lyrics
An objectification of reason
Figure brushes on magazines
Incisions of bits and **** hoots
To boost of the hot posed ***
No truth is scaffolded as real
A psychological brainwash
Pollutes and limits indefinately
Mar 16, 2016
Mar 16, 2016 at 2:59 PM UTC
Nothing dies, it bursts to birth
Before the requiem is half done,
Before the suitable tears are shed
Or the mourning of the underbred
Nags out its course, the death is dead.
The sighs shoot into the long trombone
It blows so hard it shakes the earth.
The flowers in a breathless rush break through;
If one has collapsed, then out spring two,
Insatiable for things to do.
It is unnecessary to atone
For sin: he is the losing one;
With all his conjuror's cheap disguise
No geese fly north because of his lies
No cause is lost, and nothing dies.
3k
I can’t sleep.
An endless wandering
piano strain
caught between
broken
finger
bones.
She lays
her head
against his
chest
listening
as
ships
sail
across his
heavy heart.
A sad
mourning
wail
of
wind
echoes
in
each breath
he takes.
I hope
that
soon
death will
come
like
hundreds
of arrows
in
the night.
Each aflame
with the
lies
and conceit
of the
human race.
Only then
will I slumber
content
beneath
the skies
of
moons
and stars.
Glistening in
continuum
with the chorus
of
small voices
and the movements
of the
universe.
A haunting
twisting
melody
that
reminds
us of memories
and their purpose
of nostalgia.
The notes
that
urge
us to go
on.
To hope
when hope
is gone.
Because I can’t
sleep,
I dream
of brokenness
and hopelessness.
A darkness
darker than
the night
disturbs
my unseen
eyes
and billows
beneath my
hair.
I look to them
both,
standing
so close to
the edge,
and I pray
like sweet honey
that
drips from
cultured
lips,
I pray for
them both,
The girl and the boy who haunt my sleepless nights.
I watch
as they
peril
in
my demise,
slowly
my brain
rots away
and
my limbs
deteriorate.
They have
nothing
left
of me.
Only
a fleeting
idea
that nags
at their
consciousness
each footfall
bringing
them farther
from my
soul
and closer to
their empty
air.
It was
like
they too
never existed,
as both
fall
to the
violin
that soundtracks
their never-ending
sorrow.
The girl and the boy who haunt my sleepless nights.
Now we
both
will
slumber
forever
beneath
the moons
and
the
stars
for
eternity
forever
content,
unsatisfied,
restless.
Mar 24, 2014
Mar 24, 2014 at 4:13 AM UTC
of trying to keep a schedule
trying to stay updated
pleasing my **** fans
im getting sort of tired
of trying to be... "deep"
"thought-provoking"
and "pithy"
**** that.
i do not write to please you
i do not write because i want "votes"
and "comments"
i do not write to even keep my sanity in check
not anymore
i write because something nags me so much
that i either turn it into words
or **** myself
simple as that.
so please
please do not think
that my oh-so-romantic poetic suffering
is all for you
it's not.
it most definitely is not.
Jul 30, 2014
Jul 30, 2014 at 9:36 AM UTC
The minutia of cotton fledglings, I play them over and over
In my head, the most enjoyable, a layer of dynasty added to
The mallard kingdom. And a rocking horse swims across
Each pond too, its head heaves and nags creating massive, huge,
Undulating circles around circles. One more coat of gesso and then
Even I, in my speckled red paint Commune jeans, and holy holy Protestant tee shirt, I can travel the world; maybe even brush up on my
Cuyp.
Whipping through the sedge-brook grass, busting out, shooting Through the other mucilaginous nimbuses rolling
Outward first, then fled upward into the beacons of the heavens-
Shouting, whistling, oozing albicant heraldic pillars and shields.
Twenty more colours to mix.
Together, the mallards and ewes and rocking horse, and I;
prancing, little dots, filing into order. Where nursing
Against the sunken pillows of grain, I enter each round of
This papyrus jungle. Neatly folding my hands around each
Milky white shade, rushing out into the aurulent sunglow. .
Apr 10, 2014
Apr 10, 2014 at 6:40 AM UTC
I forget worries and cares
The unrest in the world I see
When I look at fields and flowers
When I behold a tree
I forget what nags a day
A sigh, a tear and cry
When I see a galaxy of stars
A golden moon in the sky
I forget jarring cacophony
The discord and the strain
When I hear a stream gurgle
And the patter of summer rain
I forget what ails the heart
With the breath of the breeze
It soothes and calms the spirit
It brings quiet and peace
I forget worries and care
When in Nature's company
Disarmed by her gentle wonders
Her beauty and her melody.
Jan 17, 2017
Jan 17, 2017 at 9:14 AM UTC
In all the silence a piano shall be heard from the upstairs room,
A beautiful girl that came out one day of her mums womb,
Growing up was hard,
Being away so long,
No more father no more brother,
Just a mum and a couple dogs,
First she lived out of state,
Never did she hesitate,
Now with the fear of living here,
She made a lot of wrong doings and mistakes,
Learning from the past,
As she sat and watched the hour glass,
Learning everyday how the states can be so bad,
Different people, different places, different ways of doing things,
In every single place was the same familiar face,
T'was a face in the reflections,
Of buildings big and tall,
By the rivers edge, deep or shallow,
Wide or narrow,
This reflection helped her to stand tall,
But the one thing this reflection did was help her to never fall,
Everytime in the reflection,
She saw her mums face,
It told her to be proud, and stand her ground, and to never let things get her down, even if she felt out of place,
Even when the rivers were dry and the buildings collapsed,
She remembers that day from her past,
The one song that she played for her poppet; yes it was her only friend, a doll, back as a child before she grew up tall,
She played her piano so beautifully, Then one day she stopped...
The pain and sorrow from the fear caused her to lose all at all costs,
Friends were there to show they cared, but she grew stubborn and couldn't see,
Past all the hurt and all the pain,
Past all the anguished misery,
Locked in a room behind a door,
Soft tears had wet the bed,
Days went on and weeks went by,
With the same thoughts stuck in her head,
"I have no friends, and nobody cares, why am I living in this stupid place, my mum only nags that I do so wrong, that I need to grow up and get my own place, for what cause i'm losing a race?"
As those tears hit the bed,
With the thoughts stuck in her head,
Her phone was ringing off the hook,
But she never even glanced,
Didn't even give one look,
It was all the people calling her, for all the days in a week,
She kept on sobbing and her heart was throbbing as she was in so much hurt and pain,
But all the friends calling her saying
"Don't give up just yet, for you have so much more to gain, keep your head held high and stand your ground, do not lose this race, show the others that you can win even in this evil place, stay positive and keep your smile, for it will be all you are worth, do everything you can for us to never leave this earth!"
She walked to her piano,
Took a seat and played her mums favorite song,
It brought back all the memories of how she was to grow tall and strong!
Jun 26, 2013
Jun 26, 2013 at 1:33 AM UTC
Someone's speaking in the kitchen,
though I know I'm on my own.
It's no ordinary sound of house.
We do not usually converse.
Its chatter is perverse,
so dialogue leads to friction,
when it nags me into cleaning,
while competing for attention
with the garden, growing, greening.
Like twins they twist my tolerance.
That speaker's spoiled my thinking,
so easy to displace,
but I'll stop his broadcast bleating
and tune to inner space.
Jun 24, 2015
Jun 24, 2015 at 2:20 PM UTC
The Last Kiss
Since Nan died the black dog circles, the scent of grief in its nostrils, waiting, sensing my vulnerability.
Regret sits heavily on my shoulders, for words said and not said, for journeys not taken, for wasted opportunities, for unsaid goodbyes.
Denial prods me unexpectedly, the reality hard to accept, where is she?
Self pity nags at me, an indulgence not to be tolerated, but it creeps in.
Remorse visits me; could I have done more to ease her mental pain?
Loneliness engulfs me in the quiet times, the darker hours; activity and light loosen its hold.
Anger irks me; it arrives sporadically without real reason.
These emotions, relentless, unyielding, almost my constant companions, take turns to envelop me in a dark mantle called grief, which must be worn, sometimes pushed aside, but never removed, a reminder of the debt which is owed, and paid out of love, with copious tears, but hard to bear.
Life is not the same since Nan died, but she is embedded in my mind, where I go she goes, etched deeply is the memory of our last kiss as she lay still and cold.
Apr 21, 2016
Apr 21, 2016 at 6:36 PM UTC
A beautiful butterfly beams by in the brisk bright morning hours.
The alliteration of the first line is enough to make you swoon.
Beauty comes in many forms as such as an amazing altogether auspicious line of aggressive, aggrandizing well written word play
But just think of the amount of well written expression that was possible with any of those starter lines.
Instead you are full of nagging narcolepsy that nags at your knees.
Falling below even the fewest standards
Jun 27, 2016
Jun 27, 2016 at 7:38 PM UTC
Hanging by the post box red front door
Since 71
A long trench coat, shade of green
With flat cap on top, peak smudged
From fingers that had gripped
Pulled it from a head,
Both, an umbra of post war world gloom
To the boy, now the man who looks at it
Memories contained within its pockets and creases
Of boiled sweets handed to his bairns
Of neatly folded plastic bags,
For the necessary emergencies
He was so convinced he’d meet
Of hands that belonged to the coat,
Strong, firm that tousled this man’s hair,
Yet gentle and playful, full of fun
Of the head that wore the cap, the grin,
The mischievous glint, when his Peg wasn’t looking
As he slipped some coins into this boy’s tiny hand
Stories told, of times before the war,
Of stopping trams, driving pigs through N’castle
As a butcher’s Boy, on slaughter day
Of the day he met his Meg, down by the coast
Of showing off, and coming a cropper
And oh, how his Meg laughed
A coat holding so much of the past,
Of shipbuilding by the dark, ***** Tyne,
Boats that loomed over the houses
Taking this boy to see them launch
Dreaming of exotic, oriental places
He would never visit
Of betting slips, crumpled in pockets
From long gone nags, who caught his eye
Torn envelopes with Megs writing,
Bread - brown, tin of carnation milk (small)
Rich tea, sultanas, flour – plain
A use for his plastic bags,
Dec 13, 2015
Dec 13, 2015 at 10:40 AM UTC
If they have them on Handlebars and steering wheels,,WHY aren't they always there when YOU need them Most?? {grips ,you know, those things you hold on to}... If Grandma Elizabeth was always telling me to say "Stand behind Me-satan",,,How come I'm always turning around and looking for him?? I'm sure glad Water was made just the Right thickness and AIR just Light enough ,to **** it in,,Aren't YOU?? Hunger, it sure has a way of "just-Keep-on-showin-up",, It sort of Nags at you,Tugs at You. Urges You on, Leads you to seek it's satisfaction...Is there anything else in Life that Behaves in Just about the same manner?? Why does it seem that all the things That are Bright and new Right now,,can"t be seen as what they really are,,10 years from now?? Should we buy only 10 year old things,,or even 19, just to be safe,and Paint Past pictures of them on the walls of our mind?? Funny Thing about Clouds,,some are Wispy and Signal WIND AHEAD,,,some are Full and DARK to signal the oncoming storm,,Some are Fluffy and light, moving ever so slowly, announcing the Gentleness of the Day.. Have you tried catching one Lately and feeling it's very existence?? Who WILL JOIN me in cloud flying,,a GIFT from THE "ONE IN CHARGE"....
Aug 10, 2010
Aug 10, 2010 at 4:55 AM UTC
Suitcases get tagged, prepare for jetlag
As you mount the stairs to the plane
Four layovers on your way over
You hope it doesn't drive you insane
Announcements vague as your house slips away
Leaving for another country
You flew the globe and moved your home
Five times before you were twenty
Now the transit stays just can't faze
Your ******** travel attitude
You never feel sick with the seats you pick
And adjust well to the altitude
But something inside nags and asks why
You're always in constant motion
You wonder how it would feel now
If you'd never crossed that ocean
You forget the feeling and just quit dealing
With memories left behind
But the thoughts come back, you've got some packed
In the luggage of your mind
Feb 3, 2014
Feb 3, 2014 at 12:52 PM UTC
With my hands
I move myself
to the side of the bed,
and stare around
with sightless eyes,
wondering if the nurse
put the commode
near the bed
as she said she would.
I try to balance
on one hand
as I search around
with the other.
The pain
in my leg stumps
nags at me
each time I move.
I touch
the commode arm,
and try and move myself
in a position,
that I may
be able to get
on the commode,
but as I move forward
I fall into darkness,
and hit my head,
and land on my back,
and stare into
a painful blackness.
Grace,
a voice says,
what are you doing?
I face the voice:
I wanted to get
on the commode,
I say.
You must ask,
the voice says.
I want to be
independent,
I say.
Not just yet;
now keep still
while we assess you
for damage,
the voice says.
She calls out for help;
I hear footsteps
running and another
voice says,
what's Grace
doing on the floor?
She was trying to get
on the commode
by herself,
the other voice says.
Shall I call a doctor
to examine her?
I'm all right,
I say,
nothing broken;
just the usual
pains and aches.
Your head is bleeding,
a voice says;
other voices come.
I lie still
and stare at
the darkness
around me,
attempting to stare
at faces
I cannot see.
Jun 17, 2016
Jun 17, 2016 at 2:27 AM UTC
My wife always nags me.
This seems to be a problem with most women I marry.
Or most women in general.
They all nag me.
I'm laid back.
Or as my past wives say,
"lazy".
Sure, you could say that,
but I prefer the term,
laid back.
Anyway,
so my wife is always nagging me.
"Do the dishes" she says.
"Do the laundry" she says.
"Vacuum the house" she says.
Eventually, I would do it.
But the nagging got worse.
"Fix the squeaky front door" she says.
"Clean out the gutters" she says.
"Sort the trash from the recyclables" she says.
Eventually, I couldn't take it anymore.
I had enough.
So I took my wife,
and threw her in a vat of acid.
I watched as her skin slowly melted off her body,
like ice cream melting on an ice cream cone,
minus the stickiness.
I watched her hair dry up,
and disintegrate into nothing.
Her fingernails slowly fell off,
and her eyes began to slip out of her head,
as she let out a final scream.
She looked just as beautiful as she did the first day I met her.
My eyes feasted on the greatness before them,
although it does get kind of boring after the fourth time.
Nonetheless, I still enjoyed it.
There's nothing like throwing your half asleep wife in a vat of acid on a cold Sunday morning.
Apr 3, 2012
Apr 3, 2012 at 9:56 PM UTC
I can only identify Autumn as entirely bittersweet
I cringe at the sting of it as I breathe it through my teeth.
Isn’t it ironic how it’s viewed as beautiful in most eyes?
The season when everything transforms and withers away and dies.
The leaves changing colors, the forests in flames
And the vague sense of comfort in the shortening of days.
It’s underneath the ocean of stars I overanalyze my place
And I realize I’m just one out of the entire human race.
There’s something about Autumn, when everything dies,
That nags at me, insisting that I acknowlege I’m alive
And that no one can take that life away from me but me
I am not like the forests and the leaves and the trees
And I do not need to engulf myself in the colors of the flames
And I will not wither into nothing in Mother Nature’s name.
It is not neccesary for me to die once a year
Or hibernate all winter just to dismiss all my fears.
So why is it when I breathe Autumn into my bones
I become hyper aware that I’ve constructed people into homes
That have long sense been forclosed on, windows boarded up
And I’m the last to understand that the doors are locked and shut.
"That habit causes chronic homesickness," the doctor explains,
"I have no cure to give you, I just have something for the pain."
It’s in a self-medicated stupor I re-evaluate and say,
"I’m the only one to blame for why I ended up this way."
And in my cloudy mind state I think of what I’m fighting for
It’s been years of battles, mostly won, but I fear I’ll lose the war,
For overnight Winter will creep up to my window and make its way inside
And the tired worn out troops I have left will be taken by surprise.
My mental health will grow sleepy but I’ll push it to stay awake
And I’ll cling to that last dying ounce of comfort Autumn gave.
Oct 10, 2013
Oct 10, 2013 at 4:42 AM UTC