"nauseated" poems
I like to call this counting crows.
A boy told me he liked me while I was high and crying listening to some indie ********
My ex girlfriend smoked everyday, 3:11 pm, after school in her backyard, and I guess that is sort of cringeworthy.
Tell me you like me.
I like to call this counting crows.
And I wish I was pretty without make up, but I sold my soul and became demoralized.
My ex boyfriend split his wrist one day and blamed me, and I guess that is sort of cringeworthy.
Tell me you’re okay.
I like to call this counting crows.
And you really can’t call me pretty because once, I loved someone and they called me pretty, but now he says I’m not the same-
He said I’m glass, but I always thought I was marrow.
I like to call this counting crows.
And I keep throwing up water and candy and syllables, but you won’t like me once you reach the smell,
And I’ve been empty for a long time,
but eating and eating and eating will only make you nauseated.
There is a pit in my stomach filled with sand.
I like to call this counting crows.
And I didn’t expect to meet you here, but there you are smiling at me with top and bottom marbles that I’d love to play with someday.
And here I am rubbing my knees trying to stand up without looking as feeble as I feel-
I remember little things.
Princess Diana died on my birthday.
It takes one man to change a light bulb and a woman to light it.
What the **** was the punchline?
I really want to sleep.
My best friend keeps making plans.
I want to kiss you shoulders.
Please lock the door”
May 18, 2015
May 18, 2015 at 7:07 PM UTC
Lustrous but also lackluster
We are gems yet salvaged
Formed inside of a shelled world
Waves waning and whining
Sailors nauseated on our waters
Drifting towards an aggrandized land
Where they might find us oysters in the sand
They'll tear them open,
In search of what only we bear
Camouflaged amongst the cultured,
Or even those with nothing there
Darling,
We are wild,
Yes we are rare
Open up to me,
We've so many layers to share
Your metallic smile,
Your iridescent articulation
Everything happened so naturally
A miracle to be in the same location
They won't crack us,
For our muscles will defend
Our valuable and vulnerable interior
From the worlds vinegary intent
May 21, 2015
May 21, 2015 at 10:13 PM UTC
Mediocrity
Mediocre
No good melody
A definition stained on the upper region of my brain
Actively producing fungi fumes
Nauseated, you are excused
Instant hate when uttering its name
It makes our hands shake, to be displayed in such a way
It has no purpose, only an intention
Killing curiousity, by outlining others self righteously
Mediocre is my creative space for acceptance and I have requested an invitation to everybody
No reasoning just letting go of expectations consuming
Hope to see you soon
Jun 4, 2016
Jun 4, 2016 at 4:00 PM UTC
"It's not that bad,
I tastes good, I swear"
It was cold, and bitter, and vile
Yet I still ordered it
Every
Single
Time
Like a magical elixr
Of momentary freedom
From the wires of guilt
Welded into my neural pathways
Just enough-
To not cause suspicion
But not so much
That I'd collapse
Strong enough
To make me jittery,
Anxious, nauseated,
But still incomparable
To the unspeakable sin
Of sustenance,
So when I saw stars standing up,
Or buckled over at the knees,
And wondered why
It was even worth it?
I'd come to the same conclusion
Every
Single
Time
And it was this:
It doesn't matter anyways
Because I'll never
Be able
To stop.
May 30, 2021
May 30, 2021 at 9:49 PM UTC
My top and bottom eyelashes
Get tangled up in a twist
When we kiss
You ring me out
Like a ***** rag
All my feelings gushing
Out
Into your drain of a mouth
You spin me around
Little tea-cup, equipped with a steering wheel
I want to throw up
You make me sick, nauseated
With this thing called puppy love
Jul 16, 2016
Jul 16, 2016 at 3:33 PM UTC
I am what’s left of a dying breed that called life beautiful
Truly worth living and dying for
But it was your kind that fornicated, violated, and devastated the soul of a beautiful entity
Who gifted us with art, beauty, and taste for desire
Maybe it was her who corrupted us for loving us too much
Or was it our nature to have more than we are given?
Demanding more and more
Until we ****** the life out of the meaning, be grateful for what you have
I’m sick and nauseated by the false portrait of life
Sick and twisted figures painted with false smiles
True emotions hidden under heavy painted sunrises that tells a different story
Literally sweet and innocent characters erasing themselves from this reality
Just to escape the hardship of this imprisonment your people have created.
I can’t stand to see your kind preach to us, we do it for the art, for the beauty, and the taste
You cursed that meaning
You ripped the soul of a greatly spirit
You proudly preach a lecture of hypocrisy and false love
If you truly cared to love us
You’ll not be worshiped like a god
Deep down
Angels are dead
Demons are dead
The doctrine of the trinity
Is my doctrine of my divinity
I am the Father
I am the son
I am no holy ghost
I am a plague
Not from hell nor heaven, but a world that rejoiced beauty from an unbalanced reality
Of love and hate
I am not your God
I am not the Devil
Both are dead
No creator can save you
I am your deity
I am your life
I am your death
I am your escape
I am your only freedom
This profound meaning
Ascends through my heart & soul
The flower of life spreads through me
Like a wildfire
No angel or demon
Can’t stop me
Proclaim me as one in all
I am divinity!
You absorb the supplements of life
Resources are obliterated
Left & right
By tonight your life will be ended by the knife
I've awaken from an eternal slumber
Count down the numbers
You oppress Art
The beauty
You tainted the taste of absolute harmony
Your desire to have power
Has blinded you
You eat our flesh like starving vultures
You left us to be tortured
The rapture will soon be among us
Nature will take it places
To immaculate this famine land
Natural selection will have entirely new meaning
I’ll pick up where you left off
For now…
My sentiments for aesthetic judgment
Will run through every vein in your body
Clogging every end
Suffocating you in every way imaginable
The oceans will dry
This green sphere will rebuild itself
New seeds of life will cleanse
This heinous reality
Mar 8, 2013
Mar 8, 2013 at 11:57 AM UTC
There are dark times upon me,
While I stand here a victim of your unforgivable actions.
I feel the repentance of our love as a knife through my stomach, as it sinks deeper beyond the dermis- feel its blade turn horizontally whenever you return into my thoughts
I become nauseated by your presence,
Not of disgust-
Rather from the suppression of tears, fighting back weakness knocking at my chest cavity.
I'm angry,
I can't help but weep
I remember the times we danced, and we laughed,
And the aching feeling of confusion overwhelms my sanity.
I break when I see your unmistakable smile, your intelligent glasses I remember you despising but me adoring.
I swoon as you don your best clothing, for I remember you trying so hard to look your best
For me.
You threw me out like Wednesday morning garbage. I wonder if you weep as I do...
That's a lie,
I know you never would.
You have more important things to fill your head with-
***
Beer,
Oh ya, and education.
Thanks for putting me second, you ******
I totally understand after a year and a half that you would treat me the same as a disposable diaper.
I get it...
Nov 24, 2013
Nov 24, 2013 at 3:51 AM UTC
Let me apologize to begin with
For the way I have to say this to you
Instant and digital with the flawless
12 point form in a unison moment
All these words flow like lies from a child
And flawed, a 1984 Brave New World
Jacked in and online, I swear to God
Microsoft is a virus in my veins and the
Side-effects leave me nauseated and yet
Comforted with the connection I feel
With everyone under this epidemic
And Mac is a twisted strain of my particular
Insanity. Glossy and chic in my pocket, on the go,
Steve Jobs is the ancestor of Doctor Wily
Making *** some bandwagon that needs jumping
Like SkyNet will make me safer, I’ve heard it before
I wish this paper was yellow and crackling
With the orange firelight it was written under
On a sofa, pipe in hand, with the Raven tapping
Melodramatic to the point of genius
Rather then the cliché that emotion has somehow become
And abbreviations become acronyms and symbols
Who has killed the fair maiden of language?
Beautifully laid and strung, pearls upon my page
Folded into my pockets and on the margins of reality
Like a child unwilling to wait to show his parents
The words escape and flee and I panic, pen trembling
Mind to tongue to hand and nerves in the ink
Like meter and scheme trying to restrain this infinite
Strand of DNA that is the flawless combinations of letters
And letters! Curved like a woman tempting and pleasing
To round my pen and finding sanity in the corners and points
Or the cursive dribble of calligraphic art practiced endlessly
By the scholars, monks, orphans, or even the X of a slave
Bearing his mark, leaving himself branded on the page
But I most apologize, I will get carried away
And that is not the way Times New Romans likes it
Mar 15, 2011
Mar 15, 2011 at 7:23 PM UTC
You will feel protected, safe and small
Isolated from the cruel world around you
No wars, bombs, *** racism
Immersed in a protective shell
Nothing but that protective shell
You will feel aware, smart, and powerful
Isolated from the cruel world around you
Wars, bombs, *** racism
No big deal
Immersed in a protective shell
Nothing but that protective shell
You will feel putrid, hate, and nauseated
Isolated from the cruel world around you
Wars, bombs, *** racism
It's all thanks to the ******* poor, rich, stupid, smart, and corrupt
Immersed in a protective shell
Nothing but that protective shell
You will feel useless, pathetic, and weak
Immersed in the cruel world around you
Wars, bombs, *** racism
It's a cruel world we live in
Broken from that protective shell
Nothing left without that protective shell
Aug 22, 2013
Aug 22, 2013 at 12:37 AM UTC
omnipresent sick to my ******* stomach
dressed in mosquitoes that are woolen
like the lining of my english ******* and
coated in a complex mixture of secreted proteins
i follow the screen of the teleprompter as it storms,
blue and brilliant behind a mess of optical wiring.
lip and teeth
theres bile at the base of my throat
threatening to bust with each greased second
as my brain becomes nauseated by the snow-drift
of sentences burning the back of my eyelids.
i've never believed the things i read
so now i'm mute but spitting, spiteful and unoriginal
visualizing their greyhound decapitations in high colour.
nearly implying transit to our friendship or something
that would only churn the stomach like rich food after famine
so yes, i am the cruelest female of august
shipwrecked on the front porch with the lamplight raining in my mind
and i'm asking the moon as it rises like a solemn word
why i'm sick all the time, sweating
from everywhere but my tear ducts and
waiting for several breeds of cold to attack my corpse
Feb 22, 2010
Feb 22, 2010 at 11:39 AM UTC
if i didn't care
this whole thing would be easy
i'd be cool, detached, and distant
and we could so easily be coexistent
if i didn't care
trying to talk about my feelings
wouldn't leave me nauseated
and losing you wouldn't have felt like a limb being amputated
if i didn't care
i wouldn't keep trying so hard to make my heart colder
only to find myself once again crying in your arms, on your shoulder
if i didn't care
i wouldn't look at you like i still do
letting you see it in my eyes
how much i still love you
if i didn't care
this whole thing would be easy
if i didn't care
but i do
May 7, 2018
May 7, 2018 at 10:39 PM UTC
been feelin' lousy lately
lethargic
lacking in energy and appetite
nauseated
something is wrong
it is a virus?
or a backlash from all that's been going on?
the interment was hard
my oldest brother presided
he's a former priest
my youngest brother sang and played guitar
he almost didn't make it through
but as he sang
the sun broke through the overcast
they put his ashes in a small white sarcophagus
afterwards, mom wanted to bid her farewell
by resting her hand on the "coffin"
my oldest brother led her there
they seemed to linger so I joined them
with one arm around mom
and one hand on the coffin
it had been a full month since he died
I thought I was all cried out
afterwards, we had a backyard potluck at my sister's
just family
four generations in attendance
and two gracious cousins
we were quite a crowd
it was good talking with my nieces and nephew
they're growing up
I don't see them nearly enough
like when they were kids
now there's only the future
yesterday was my birthday
at my age I used to dread it
and try to ignore it
but my younger brother's death fomented an urgency
to live and enjoy life
so happy birthday to me
at times he was my best friend and my worst enemy
my partner in night time bike riding
my parent's squealing pig prince
that got away with everything
good bye Terence
for the good times and bad times
I thank you
Sep 3, 2010
Sep 3, 2010 at 11:22 AM UTC
I think if Madness were a person he'd be a handsome, sharp dressed, man. He would wear a well tailored suit with a deep purple, velvet, waistcoat. I imagine he'd wear a black fedora for the mystery and a pocket watch to keep time. A little old fashioned but ageless.
A few days before he arrives I always get antsy. My anxiety acts up and I do things like leave the grocery store in a panic and empty handed. I take my kids to the park and then I find I suddenly can't breathe and the world feels like it's ending. And then....there is the inevitable knock on my minds door.
"Oh it's you" I'd say.
"Dont pretend like you didn't know I was in town..." He pushed past me , drops his stuff , and easily finds the whiskey cabinet and pours himself a full glass. He has been here before. "I was at the grocery store yesterday and the park a few days before that. " he turns, glass in hand. He smiles and it sends chills down my spine. "Well..." He continues, "you should have known I was coming . The signs were all there." I turn away, nervously and indignantly.
He sips his whiskey, studying me.
"Right. You thought some vitamins and sunshine could keep me away."
The thought obviously amuses him. He laughs and downs his entire drink in one gulp. He loves this game. He pours another whiskey and walks over to me. He puts the drink in my left hand and stands right up against my back, his hands on my shoulders, his lips near my ears. I can feel his warm breathe and I am nauseated and comforted at the same time. He slowly moves his hands down my arms to my hands. He locks his right hand with mine and wraps it around my stomach so his arm is around me too. His left hand brings the drink up to my lips. I close my eyes for a moment wishing him away. It doesn't work.
"Now" he whispers "where were we?"
Nov 4, 2015
Nov 4, 2015 at 10:34 PM UTC
Yesterday I woke up in a feeling of pure nausea.
I threw up in the shower, but I forced myself through because,
I have to keep up with this facade that I have my life together.
That somehow, in some way, I’m getting better.
Yesterday I went to school and I felt scared and alone.
I have no one to talk to, all I have are memes on my phone.
But I have to keep up with this facade that nothing is wrong.
That I haven’t been suicidal and depressed for this long.
Yesterday I came home in a feeling of exhaustion.
I saw a message from a so called friend who said it was me he would abandon.
I can’t keep up this facade, god **** it, I’m already so alone here.
Why would you abandon your friends for a girl who barely knows what personality you wear?
Yesterday I broke down crying from the loneliness and silence in my room.
I tried to sleep it off, but I just woke up in a nauseated doom.
This facade is only a wall to block those who wish to care.
And yet I always claim that I’m not being treated fair.
...
Yesterday I slit my arms until they bled.
Because I’m tired of the things that everyone said.
I can’t keep up with this facade that I’m happy, because I know I’m not.
I feel it every day and it makes me feel like I should lay on the ground to rot.
Yesterday I...
Yesterday I wished there was no yesterday.
Only a silence to fill the room of a body in decay.
But I have to keep up with this facade that nothing happened last night.
I put my long sleeve sweater, smile, and quietly march on, hoping they never notice another lost fight.
Jan 31, 2018
Jan 31, 2018 at 10:05 AM UTC
There really isn't anything new
On this year's Christmas Giver Menu.
First we have the 'Accidental Insulter '
Who needs to hire, a clever gift consultor.
While handing you a gymnasium voucher,
Turning your emotions from 'sweet' to 'sour'!
Insults dressed up as compliments are nothing new,
But still, Cuz, it's a bit hard to chew!
Next in line is the 'Relentless Re-gifter'
With telltale signs on my "new" game of Twister,
Footprint stains and greasy hand marks,
My goodness, my fury is starting to spark!
"Do you love it? " She asks. "I knew you would! "
She was feeling heroic like Robin Hood,
Passing me that tired looking parcel,
I wanted to fling that **** gift right back to the castle!
I thought to myself, "Hey there Squire!
Your ****** gifts just aren't my desire!! "
Will I fret about this gift? Not one bit,
I'll just re-wrap it, re-gift it and,
Give it back to them next year!
The message, I bet, will be loud and clear.
"The Cheapskate"! Oh, what can I say here?
It's the same lame excuse year after year!
Buying gifts, eluded his 'plan',
He was far too busy, getting his tan.
Gifts to him just didn't matter,
As long as there was a lobster on a platter!
"The Handmade Lover" has a
Life affirming talent making,
But that 'Floral cushion cover collection,
I fear, by now, is OVERTAKING!!!
The "Gift Certificate Easy Roller",
Forgot you were plus five and a stroller,
Smiles smugly, as they hand it over,
I'd need more luck, than a four leaf clover,
Taking them all in to get my nails done,
Doesn't feel like a barrel of fun.
So, in future to avoid this mad, crazy dash,
I'd love to receive some COLD HARD CASH!!
Now, nothing makes me feel more nauseated,
Than "High Perceived Value packaging". "It's totally overrated! "
But I take courage in the "One Who Knows Me Best"
Their presents always outshine the rest!
"Merry Christmas to one and all! "
I hope that Santa heard your call,
"H-E-L-P!!! "
1 Nov 2018
Nov 2, 2018
Nov 2, 2018 at 5:42 AM UTC
1:22.
She puts her phone back on her bedside table next to a small blue vase overflowing with fresh white tulips. Her feet are tucked behind knees still jeaned and under thick blankets. She lays down. She sits up. She turns on her side to the left and pulls her shoulders down. She turns over.
1:30.
She wants him to call. She wants some water. She has a song stuck in her head. *Don't **** with me, don't **** with me now.* Something doesn't feel right. It's just a little too cold. It's been just a little too long.
1:43.
She still hasn't gotten water. Someone is dead or dying in a swimming pool, somewhere. That person got a lot of water, she thinks. She thinks about holding his hand. She thinks about being next to him. She wonders if he wants to be next to her, too.
1:47.
She closes her eyes and can feel him kissing her, his hands on her hips, his lips on her forehead and temple and cheek and neck. She is reaching out to him. But maybe he went too far away and she can't reach him anymore. Maybe she pushed him too far.
1:54.
She stops that train of thought, brings it to a screeching halt. She stretches out. She sits up and finally fills the water glass. She looks outside to dark gray and yellow skies and wonders what he's dreaming about, drug-induced, nauseated. She thinks perhaps if she can sleep, she can meet him there.
2:07.
She puts the phone back down next to the vase. A tulip petal falls on her hand. She places it gently on the pillow next to hers, closes her eyes, and heads in his direction.
Oct 9, 2013
Oct 9, 2013 at 1:50 PM UTC
Little mouse shakes erratically;
spasms and quakes under the butcher's knife;
comprehends, for a moment, finality;
becomes nauseated with fear.
Nov 7, 2012
Nov 7, 2012 at 1:59 AM UTC
Anxiety,
Is when your thoughts suffocate you with panic,
When your stomache flutters with worry.
You feel nauseated with the waves, and waves of panic which you can't escape,
Stress and Anxiety claws and screams at you, your brain, begging for release, and the worst part,
The worst part is you don't tell anybody, you just pull a hesitant smile and say the line you've had to repeat most you life,
"I'm fine."
Feb 27, 2017
Feb 27, 2017 at 4:34 PM UTC
Make some music, write some songs,
intellectual poetry, thoughtful monologues,
for those imitators, those who chant,
those who admire your mere act.
Sell some music, write more songs
about the sinners, about their wrongs
so they'd believe, so they'd see
the chaos of their century.
Make millions out of your music, write some ******* songs
for the money. Oh, the money it brings along!
The forthcoming fame, that dazzling stardom,
and for a minute, you forgot where you came from.
Sickened by your own music, nauseated by the tasteless songs,
you mourn your very existence, your insipid outcomes.
No secrets kept to yourself, a life full of lies;
you lost yourself drowning in disguise.
Forsake the ****** music, abandon the imbecilic songs,
book a plane off to nowhere, freed from inquietudes so overlong.
The shouts and screams are now gone.
It's you in your bed all alone.
Unable to listen to music, they're all monotonous songs
about the same subjects, the same wrongs.
You point a pistol to the anarchy of your head,
giving in peacefully to the only thing everyone dreads.
You'd be waiting for your daughter and wife
where that altar is.
Too bad no one remains here long enough
to tell us what truly happens.
Sep 9, 2014
Sep 9, 2014 at 2:15 PM UTC
woe is catching the last droplets of champagne in a wine glass on a friday night because getting drunk by yourself is what you call a celebration of freedom and independence but that's a smoke screen for the loneliness and i mean, you'd rather not get drunk at all but it's easier to blur your thoughts than conquer them when you're running out of armour and ambition
woe is seeing the person you would've done anything for holding hands with someone new and you pass in slow motion and smile and it's bittersweet and both of you are nothing but strangers now
woe is sleeping within her sheets and feeling like the temperature is minus degrees because you aren't the way you were when you first met and nostalgia hits hard at 3am
woe is watching the sun set because the transition reminds you of her eyes as she fell asleep and the phases of the moon encapsulate her shaggy hair and crooked smile and you're sure you catch a glimpse of it every time and you need it, you need it to hold on to because falling out of love is hard when your heart refuses to let go
you remember the first time she smiled at you over dinner and you couldn't contain all the butterflies spelling her name profusely in your stomach and you felt nauseated from excitement and nervousness and you can't recall for the life of you what she was talking about because there were too many times that getting lost in thoughts of her was more than welcoming
woe is not you and you are not woe
woe is collapsing memories and fading effigies
woe is incarcerations of the mind projecting hallucinations intermittently and protecting the fallacy of a world existing in your galaxy
woe is that galaxy belonging to her
woe is that galaxy being named after her
woe is that galaxy existing because of her
woe is not you and you are not woe
woe is you and her
Jul 28, 2015
Jul 28, 2015 at 7:50 PM UTC
Describe it to me; that perfect moment, when the sun peeked out of the horizon and you were standing there, up on the hill, waiting for her to emmerge.
Describe it to me; that dazzling day, when you held on to the very end of your sanity, rocking it in to the burial ground you had been digging for years.
Describe it to me; that cold winter day when the river was full and the tide strong, and you decide it was a good day for a swim.
Describe it to me; that quite evening, right after the sun set you sat through, you saw a cluster of fireflies and they glowed like the world was a good place.
Describe it to me; that fatal day when you went out to your garden and the flowers didn’t look pretty anymore so you took the gasoline and a match, and watched the inferno swallow your lives work.
Describe it to me; that hectic weekend when you fell in love twice in two days and you couldn’t believe your heart was big enough to accommodate such strong emotions. You felt dizzy and nauseated but also suspended far away from gravity like a rollercoaster ride on the moon.
Describe it to me; that never ending month where your only companies were the blanket you loved and the music that stacked your phone. You felt lost as if all roads were interminable maize’s that you were tired of going in circles in.
Describe it to me; that quite night, you first tasted the lips of a cigarette and you held it between your own squeezing ever so gently. You sighed sensing the choice in your hands, whether or not you decided to die from this magnificent sin were yours and yours alone and you smiled crookedly as the match found its peak.
Describe it to me; that well played afternoon where you were only twelve and you were with her, your first love even before you were acquainted with the very concept of love and she told you to close your eyes. You felt it, that first pressure against your lips and you never remembered why your eyes stayed close but you assume it was to preserve that instant for eternity.
Describe it to me; that wet morning as you stood away from the moderately assembled crowed and you watched as they slowly descended your heart in a casket with her still holding it and you could never forgot the deafening silence that followed the crash of sand atop her as if it was the instant you went deaf to the world. Tears never left your eyes because there was nothing left to cry for.
Describe it all to me as if I was never there to witness it.
Aug 31, 2018
Aug 31, 2018 at 9:17 AM UTC
“Am I Pretty?!”
A stroll through the land,
Of the past,
Heart beating fast,
All eyes follow me,
Is there nothing else to see?
Am I pretty,
Am I pretty?
Words pounding fiercely,
Getting down to the nitty-gritty.
What is it you behold?
Can’t be good with looks so cold,
The answer is one I cannot fathom;
Question is am I a beauty,
Or merely a travesty?
The world yearns for a Barbie,
Yet she is a woman in the mirror,
I’ll never see,
Not that I desire to be,
An unfeasibly beautiful lady.
Salacious eyes of a gentleman,
Gaping upon my petite exterior,
Deeply inside feeling greatly inferior,
As I enter a room,
With hips that sway,
Only entranced by my lovely perfume,
Not by the words my heart could say.
Am I pretty,
Am I pretty?
He only wishes to touch me,
Oh, how his eyes did speak,
Leaving me nauseated,
And immensely weak.
Questioning who I am,
Forced into a double life,
Stunned, scared, and laughing,
Neck brushed by a knife,
At the thoughts of being his little toy,
With eyes begging me to please,
Oh, Joy!
If I say yes,
He’ll give me a squeeze.
The caress of his hands,
Shall make me feel desired,
Oh my!
Yet my yearnings do not consist,
Of car windows full of mist,
Or such libidinous palms,
Upon my soft skin,
Screaming for love from chambers within!
Am I pretty,
Am I pretty?
Searching for salvation,
To heal my flaming wounds,
With dreams of adoration,
To distract me of this void,
Ghosts of neglect,
Photographs of a little boy,
Reminding me in certain minds,
I shall never achieve pretty,
Or merely be a toy!
Do I like what I see?
You tell me!
All I ever yearned for,
Was to feel pretty!
Please reveal to me,
If being beautiful shall ever be,
My reality!
Apr 6, 2013
Apr 6, 2013 at 9:19 AM UTC
numbness, my old abusive life partner, trickle down my spine and gush outward like a broken levee.
stay up far past a reasonable bed time to think about a reality where purpose is more evident. work, work, work. learn the circuitry of computer programs that will never solve world hunger. listen to sad songs on the drive home. empathize with roadkill.
float above your body. smell the surroundings and mimic all of the textbooks you've read on active listening. grin and nod while your mind transforms more and more into pile of melted wax. become nauseated by the stench of your own life. let it seep into your bloodstream like a rotten batch of dope.
think about death. think about death during breakfast. think about death when the sun goes down on an uneventful Sunday afternoon. think about death during *** think about death while getting drinks with friends. ponder why this earth decided to play the role of an impolite and overworked host. feel sorry for the sun for having so much responsibility.
cry until the faucets allowing your tear ducts to stop are broken. let your dinner become play-dough. be a gracious host to the parasites in your mind. swim with them like the dolphins. lose grasp of why waking up is so important. swallow whiskey like saliva. promise yourself that you won't drink four tall-boy Pabst Blue Ribbons on a Tuesday night. drink four tall-boy Pabst Blue Ribbons on a Tuesday night.
hold numbness while it cries in your lap and promises that it will change-that things will be different. allow it to feed you lies like someday you'll enjoy the sunrise and someone will realize that you're not too broken to love
rip skin off of limbs. try to make it another day.
Jan 15, 2017
Jan 15, 2017 at 9:38 PM UTC
love is the scariest part of life
there is no philosophy behind love
just like there is no philosophy behind the meaning of life
leaving a missing puzzle piece for subjects to discover
what comes out of love is frightening
and what one puts into love is even more
love makes people desire, dream and long like never before
and live as if they were dying
love is unexpected and obscure
when you look it straight in the eye, it looks back at you
without a flinch
showing power, showing fearlessness
it can be destructive and messy
hopeless and obscene
or it can be a deep abyss of passion
of lost and hearing that the the stomach is nauseated by
the truth is. no human being fully knows what love is
its properties are unknown for a reason
it leaves surprises and unexpected turns
and revives life from the overwhelming mundane.
and those who have the privilege of love
of seeing love
of believing love
are the only ones who are real.
Dec 24, 2012
Dec 24, 2012 at 3:35 PM UTC