"nauseate" poems
Angry Pen, Angry Pen, oh how I hate you Angry Pen
I wish you'd do some changing
Cause you're the only one demonstrating sin
You make me angry, Angry Pen
I know the writing can't begin
If you're too angry, angry, angry, angry
You're a raging pen
And sometimes, I just wish you'd disappear
Don't get me wrong when you're happy, I love to have you near
And when you're mad, well
It's a sad thought, cause it's never been this bad
But when you're mad I trail off like the tail of the rat
And it only gets worse
Sometimes I just wish you were in the back of a hearse
I want to put you to death
Put you to rest
And I don't mean to curse
But you **** me off angry pen
This pain isn't something I deserve
But Angry Pen, I don't understand, why you have to be so cross
Were you created that way or were you just taught
and if you want to be that way, well, then I'd rather you not
Because of you angry pen people think I'm a slob
Angry Pen, Angry Pen
How you nauseate me pen
I don't mean to be hating but I think I feel a changing wind
You used to make me angry
I used to think you were demonstrating sin
But that seems to be fading
Because I wrote this poem with the so called 'Angry Pen'
-Slang
Sep 16, 2013
Sep 16, 2013 at 7:12 PM UTC
Shadows of pain block the sun
Joy turns sour in the shade
Twisted desires nauseate
Self-hatred masquerades in smiles
Demons come out to play
Casting nets in daylight
Trapping hearts and twisting dreams
Nightmares turn beautiful in time
Charcoal and ash
Charcoal and ash
Burn memories into scars
Marking territory
Claiming all they see
Making them beg to be taken
Beg for more
Begging for the honor
To be twisted unrecognizable
Freedom in acceptance
Relinquishing all
Feasting on the beating hearts
Of the innocently depraved
Gambling souls
Playing for keeps
Feb 14, 2014
Feb 14, 2014 at 3:28 PM UTC
The rush of gentle wind overwhelms me--
meaning only to propel me,
but instead
it makes me stop.
The thoughts in my mind
nauseate me--
churning and spinning and crashing
along my sides,
Mutinous--
threatening to throw me over.
From wave after wave
of connections unknown
all I have learned is that
I cannot surrender.
Dec 27, 2013
Dec 27, 2013 at 2:50 PM UTC
Rebels rise to take to the streets
With sickening thoughts of powerful cheats.
"We can show resistance to their cowardly words"
But, God forbid we offend as we curse.
Defy, refuse and disobey orders
Maybe one day we'll find ourselves in warmer waters.
Whilst the suppressed may just nauseate,
The depressed don't even have the will to debate.
The revolt may not be the action we take,
But the feelings we get from liars and fakes.
These statements suggesting the minority can overthrow
Well, they're big,but they're certainly not for show.
My stomach churns for the people on farms
Claiming that we should take up arms.
Waiting for the day the firearms cease
Though we may never face just one true peace.
Oct 3, 2016
Oct 3, 2016 at 2:47 PM UTC
Below One-Hundred Frequents,
Rattle,
They disturb my soul,
Rolled off,
Pushed away,
Drawn back,
With an introspective grin from ear to ear.
Penetrate thoughts with,
Waves of sub-aural patterns,
Trample them with raised rhythmic textures.
Wind down,
Breathe in,
Dark and let them permeate.
Twenty-Seven Frequents,
Stir my balance,
Nauseate the brain,
They flush the dance floor iridescence.
Nine Frequents,
To tremble the cage,
Until marrow sings.
Five cracks the walls it held,
Shatters the casing.
Two builds the pressure,
Pushes red through the glove.
And One is the,
Lub Dub,
Lub Dub,
Lub Dub.
Sound is a Lifeforce…
Aug 29, 2010
Aug 29, 2010 at 7:06 PM UTC
This current state of being,
A byproduct of my upbringing,
To a shred of sanity I'm clinging.
I'm condemned, I am ******
It's not like this was planned.
Those pesky chemicals are a torrential rain,
Carried 'round by cerebrospinal fluid in the brain,
Are unbalanced, unregulated. I am agitated.
Emotions now unchained.
The feelings I suppressed
Now a hysterical, pathetic, crying mess
This silent monster is cunning and bold
Has defiantly stepped over my mental threshold
The more I try to ignore
The more intense the outpour
The heart drops into the stomach,
Unpleasant pulsating in my ear canal
I tremble uncontrollably
I obsess over thoughts until they nauseate me
Down a rabbit hole I'm going
Due to insufficient dopamine and serotonin
The ideas of inadequacy and failure are growing
As logical a girl I am
To these irrational thoughts I am ******
I attempt to talk myself out of it
But my reasoning just won't fit
No matter how hard I try
I cannot find a reason why...
At this point my heart is racing
From the epinephrine rush, I am pacing
Back and forth across the floor
In and out the bedroom door
You have no idea how happy I'd be
To have a life of "normalcy"
No matter how much I plead and plead
This quiet monster won't take its leave
At my wit's end, my sanity's gone,
I'm all out of my Buproprion.
Jan 27, 2017
Jan 27, 2017 at 2:56 PM UTC
Your name has a bitter
taste, like cologne. A muggy
sweet scent that deceived me so easily.
I always tried
to spit it out, but the spray
stuck fast
to the roof of my mouth.
Made me heady,
heavy. Sleepy. I started nodding,
going. Wake me up later,
give me a month or two.
Shake me when the sight of the back
of you won't phase me.
Shout when your eyes and your smile don't nauseate me.
Please let me sleep off the feeling
of losing again. Of everything slipping
into the ocean, of my life
crumbling and cracking open like old brick walls and peeling front doors
and old wardrobes.
I thought you could be
that breath of fresh air I needed so badly,
to come rushing in when the bell jar
cracked open.
But you weren't,
you weren't anything special,
you were an Oxfam shop
bottle of cheap perfume.
Oct 12, 2016
Oct 12, 2016 at 1:45 PM UTC
You infiltrate my thoughts
Sporadically throughout the day
And haunt my dreams
Occasionally throughout the night
We might not speak
During the day
But boy by night
Let's just say
You come out to play
But now
You nauseate me
And frustration seeps through
The surface
Of my body
Permeating the air
With my "love" for you
As my nose recoils from the stench
And it sickens me
To my core
I wait for the day
Where you
My "boy"
become a
faint
distant memory
that I have to
struggle
To remember
Sep 9, 2018
Sep 9, 2018 at 2:47 AM UTC
One, two, three, four,
I can't take these words anymore,
And maybe, maybe you were right,
And I can't win this fight,
If I don't know what I'm fighting for.
And you, you called me all the names,
I'm a ***** its a game,
And you ended it before, before it became,
Became what I wanted what I needed
And I'm shamed.
Shamed that I cared,
Shamed that I groveled,
Shamed I was scared.
And I let you walk over me,
Me. The scarred queen bee,
I offered you my heart and gave you the key
And you played me.
And maybe, maybe you were right,
And I can't win this fight,
If I don't know what I'm fighting for anymore.
And they say,
Beer before liquor never sicker,
But I beg to differ,
Because the words that you say nauseate,
And if I could I would recreate
That feeling.
But words, words,
They just don't come out,
Sitting here in silence when I want to shout.
The things that I say get so twisted and abused,
Maybe forgotten is better then used.
And maybe, maybe you were right,
And I can't win this fight,
When I don't know what I'm fighting for anymore.
I gave you my heart
And you tore it apart,
And I know I should have saw it,
Should have stopped it,
Should have dropped it,
But you can't blame a girl for her fantasy.
In a world where they want to throw her down,
down,
face up on the ground,
Broken dreams and beliefs
Lying all around,
And I can't see the stars anymore.
And maybe you were right,
And I can't win this fight,
When I don't know what I'm fighting for.
Not anymore.
Aug 13, 2012
Aug 13, 2012 at 11:36 PM UTC
There was thunder and there were black skies.
I was on the roof of my apartment building.
there I was.
It wasn't all that tall. Three stories.
I wasn't sure if that was good enough.
Just before that.
My sister was in the hall.
She was reading I think.
I had just showered. Before the power went out.
The rooms were occasionally lighted by the thunder.
Just for a second. I was lying on my bed.
I didn't wear pants because I couldn't see where the closet was.
It was dark and the power was out.
It still didn't rain.
I heard something splatter.
I get up.
I sit there still of a second.
Minutes.
I lie back down.
I've a terrible headache.
I get up after a while and feel nauseate.
It wasn't something I ate. I look around.
My parents aren't around. It wouldn't matter.
They would be famous soon for all the wrong reasons.
I think about how funny it'll be if I snort some ibuprofen.
I get up and drink some water.
I walk out to see the sky.
I keeping walking.
I think about how it'll be from the roof.
So I climb up the stairs and I keep going till I reach the top.
I look around and see that the power has come on.
I stand up on my tip toes to have a better view and then I look around.
It's still thundering.
I get up higher on the ledge now.
I think of myself.
My father thinks I am a liability.
I think I am a liability.
He said he doesn't have anything for me.
I have nothing for me either.
I think and I think and then look down.
I see myself lying there yet I'm here.
On the roof. I look down and I see myself lying there
but I'm here on the roof.
I look down and I see myself without life.
My head is open, bright red spilling out.
The rest is white noise. I look down and I'm no longer on the roof.
The rain finality falls.
It dilutes my blood to light pink.
Just the colour I liked when I was small.
The rain carries my blood away from my head.
My family doesn't even know
May 4, 2016
May 4, 2016 at 9:27 AM UTC
I wash my hands constantly, as the smell of anything unnatural makes me uneasy. I smell the tips of my fingers and the palms of my hands nervously; the smell of metal, carpet, and reluctance all trapped between my fingers nauseate me. I run to the sink and pump soap into my hands before frantically rubbing them together, forming as many bubbles as possible.
I only like my hands when they smell like soap or oranges or lavender.
I have nightmares about you during the day. I sit awake and wonder how much of you was real and how much is just sound that I created in a desperate leap for love. The leap I swore I would take over and over again.
There is paint on my arms and my hands right now and all I can think about is how i wish I were an artist
I wish i could draw myself into things the way I can push myself into things that hurt
My mom told me I am brave that I am fearless that I just do things
but I think I am reckless with myself
the way I run into pain face first and tear into it with my fists over
and over again
I have never been afraid of change
The way pain rolls over you and makes your stomach convulse
your whole body week and your sobs so huge that they don’t make sound beyond the frantic gasp for air at the end
I have always been to proud of being human
for some reason I think that the way I feel the way I live is somehow monumental
running into things over and over again
Sep 27, 2017
Sep 27, 2017 at 10:22 PM UTC
White clouds
sailed down
like a whiff of melancholy
to kiss to the mountains
before wafting to the heavens
to join the cosmic mystery.
Thoughts are putrid air
in a dingy room.
They nauseate.
My heart pains.
Can light ever disobey
the one who said “let there be light”
and camouflage into
the sacrilegious web of darkness?
Light never knocks,
it gate-crashes to live
it’s destiny; it’s a melody,
no one has seen its wings;
the discerning floats
with it to join in the cosmic mystery!
Oct 3, 2018
Oct 3, 2018 at 6:42 AM UTC
Boys
Nauseate
Me-
I
Cannot
So
Much
As
Imagine
Desiring
Men
Like
I’ve
Needed
Her.
What
does
that
make
me
Sep 21, 2020
Sep 21, 2020 at 10:07 PM UTC
DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, still moving?
that ego of mine
will be the death of that spine
that nose in the sky
in dooms when thinking a fly
like black & white tiles
still moving right & left not high
can't help the crave of the cold
the one for the illusionary stillness been sold
yet what coldness do you see?
the one that shelters a shell of pure heat in me?
foreigners despise them borders
them feels excluding a hexagonal soldier
do you indulge that part of my be?
the one them thoughts seem to poke my free?
or that urge to write the sights surrounding
worship the floor those souls float a grounding
don't ask which is which
let it comedown on me let it slip let it stitch
a reflection of the past some mindless ghosts fabricated
a reason to a reason to be reasoned on my chapters situated
clinging lines & yearning for the words to utter record letters
something for the universe to swallow in feathers
have them digestions rip in shreds their tongues
nauseate the trachea from those lungs
but I rest it forgive forgave & let it be away
forget not shall stay
tired of the things they never admit to a said
yet my satisfaction of looking back entrapped a bled
makes me deny a defeat
for the respite of jubilance wasn't a retreat
pushed my feet to that lake
put a pen to a paper & called me on stake
never have I ever said yes to a dawn
for that dusk my hopes come clean & drawn
jumping on one single foot loose
holding my own form on an one-ended-noose
------ravenfeels
Apr 6, 2022
Apr 6, 2022 at 7:30 PM UTC