"necrophiliac" poems
I wish to get this out in the open,
I wish to clarify something
I must confess something to those who care about my writing:
My sense of humour is... well...
If you know me in person, you know my sense of humour
or what could be errantly said
to be a sense of humour.
I draw heavily upon:
facetiousness, mythic interpretation, sarcasm, satire, excessive formality, irony, wordplay,
a somewhat predisposed tendency towards not taking most things entirely seriously
even and almost especially when I am 'supposed to',
resorting to profanity on rare occasions,
and quite simply and succinctly a ****** up world perspective*
amassed over many years of living in this society
and from living with my late, similarly minded, brutally honest alcoholic Father,
in this society, nonetheless,
who in fact was at least *quite ******* directly* responsible for my aforementioned errant sense of humour.
If you knew him, you might say that I'm a "chip off the ol' block" in some ways,
but I know I'm quite ******* deviant from it in others.
So, to those of you who simply know of my existence via this digital outlet/public-sketchpad for my new-found passion of writing down every ******* thing I think it worthwhile to ponder again later, or perhaps even share with similarly minded, or at least accepting people; I wish to convey my deepest and most sincere pity, not in that it is anything that was your doing, just in that you can't possibly know my sense of humour and tasteless applications of irony and satire, and as such; I've probably offended some people.
However, for some anomalous reason,
some of you seem to like this stuff
So I'm going to keep it up.
If you read this: thank you,
but if you did not, then **** you;
however, if you didn't initially read this but were later directed to it by me or by some other personage,
fictional or real,
or for some other reason happened across it,
I rescind the aforementioned **** you" in light of conveying my deepest and most sincere
"Thank you for putting up with my weird-ass ********
I appreciate anyone who finds any value in my works.
I also appreciate the improbable nature of anyone liking my brain-vomit.
I love creating and I love sharing my creations,
so when that all works out,
I'm ******* fit as a fiddle;
Giddy as a schoolgirl on Prozac;
Happier than a young necrophiliac who achieves his boyhood ambition of becoming coroner.
Apr 20, 2013
Apr 20, 2013 at 7:02 PM UTC
arms rip away at this skeletal heart without question:
a useless muscle that means nothing to me if i can't hold you.
open up your eyes, beloved.
just because i'm dead doesn’t mean
i can’t love you in this bed
during the night.
for today imagine that this is mutual.
that i am not a ghost and you are not
bound to sunsets with men that don’t
share my exact eye color.
let me lie to you. explain that i don't
********** to shadows ******* anymore,
cross my heart and hope to die.
(i hope you remember that
a heart can beat and still
long for grave-sites).
i know this isn’t a coffin
because i am burning
and you are always here at my side.
pull me up from this
necrophiliac-night-club
and we'll go on
as if you've never found those
maggots in my sock drawer.
i promise.
Feb 10, 2015
Feb 10, 2015 at 1:26 PM UTC
It's time I write a morbid verse
Of a necrophiliac's scent
A love sonnet in a dark hearse
The way sick, evil love is meant
It's sure something to remember
The cold night shaped the mood sedate
'twas an eve of dark December
Beauty lured me to procreate
Though cold and stiff, love's not inept
Melody's morose symphony
I do believe with joy she wept
Dead, she deserves no sympathy
Jul 10, 2013
Jul 10, 2013 at 5:09 PM UTC
you know why i'm not afraid
of plagiarism?
memes...
funny, isn't it,
i don't mind, or, rather,
i started to not mind plagiarism...
because the plagiarists have
been inseminated, ***** even,
i don't know whether i ever
owned a puppet,
but if i'm plagiarised i own a:
cohort...
it's nice...
you can rule by ridicule
rather than be ridiculed
as ruling,
notably the english monarchy...
it's nice to have pawns who
don't even think they aren't
pawns...
but that's the beauty
of intellectual virology -
an idea is like a virus,
and the fact intact remains
signifying:
well: go ahead with it...
i don't mind anonymous
"credit" 4 it...
you think i have
i have any complacency to mind?
rot the gnat and vermin...
i am the one to fuse
plague and language together...
man was
always endowed with a heart
and woman with a heart,
when it came to, politics...
women always, meddle...
how isn't punctuation
important in writing,
given it be necessary that
equate punctuation with rhyme
and consolidate prose with poetics...
punctuation = rhyme -
overseer? yes.
- and why do i not mind plagiarism,
pontius pilate...
the only person worth
being remembered of the new testament...
oops..
why do i not mind
plagiarism... i know they'll mutate,
morph...
but that doesn't matter...
a part of me remains,
and all the better should the plagiarism
be otherwise be defined...
but it's too late:
the innocent seed competes
with the forbidden fruit...
i have my paupers and my
puppets...
for grit and gift of word,
i have my: assembly...
you can plagiarise all you want,
all i ever gain is yet another
puppeteer's string of
limb annexed.
i love the idea of memes & plagiarism...
it means the utmost anonymous
influence being exerted:
how far is the puppeteer away
from the necrophiliac, may i ask?
thank you for a chance to
not prioritise a demand for
a gene chronology on the altar of Cronus,
allowing me, to,
********** my meme,
rather than consecrating my gene
in the ******* of fake white
and...
the agony of what would be to come...
ever wonder the mystery
of autumn, when a southern wind
blows?
Nov 21, 2017
Nov 21, 2017 at 8:26 PM UTC
I hunger for the blade against my skin
Like a necrophiliac lusts for
Cold decaying flesh
I need the blade to feel the rush
Like an addict needs
A shot of ****** racing through their veins
I want to see the blood
Like a murderer stares in amazement
At his latest masterpiece, all gore and guts
Oct 16, 2013
Oct 16, 2013 at 11:30 PM UTC
deep ocean steel
challenger deep steel
abyssal
like a bulkhead
behind the temple like lapis lazuli
fleeing something
the closest thing to life that isn’t living
i’ll put you up against my flesh
and compare and contrast
fleeting images of cold rainstorms
and flashes of light
flashy blade
from far away, a signal
candid steel
lucid steel
halcyon
mute sensations in a cathode ray tube
except in exactitude unmatched
and louder than the loudest
vocal cord vibration
and silent too, not a breath
escapes the hostage
with steel against its trachea
unsolicited speed
home run
thrown into the wall stud
luxurious scentless tasteless
and so rich and tasteful and sensual
if I’m in love with you steel,
I must be a necrophiliac
or not
May 28, 2016
May 28, 2016 at 10:31 PM UTC
you say
"youre a ******* fool, red"
and i say
yes i ******* am
for talking to you again
only an idiot
would trust the words of a boy on the internet
you are sweet boy, ryan
sweet like a wolf who wants his way
sweet like a bird of
prey
i will not let you cut a piece of my arm away
again
even after three years
the old ones are still red
no more messing with my aching head
im already dead
what could you possibly want from me
this time?
Dec 4, 2013
Dec 4, 2013 at 6:23 PM UTC
Chivalry is dead
and it was killed by the fairer ***
lipstick red cigarette butts
and wine glasses
squeezing the trigger
to complacency
and if romance is dead
then I guess I'm a necrophiliac
because I still believe in the chase
and the grand gestures
and don't tell my male friends
but I cling to the stories of true love
like a kid too stubborn to believe
that Santa is really just old ma and pops
blown out in a haze of smoke
the dust cleared to clarify
that crazy chaotic chances
won't always land on snake eyes
but I keep throwing the die anyway
and one day I'll die
and then I'll die a second time
when my words die
and maybe I'll be proven wrong
and be alone
but I won't stop
I can't be an atheist
because I understand all too well
the depth of the well of faith
so I'll keep on walking like a blind man
carrying my romances around with me in a hobo sack
until I find what I'm looking for
Aug 12, 2013
Aug 12, 2013 at 11:46 AM UTC
two cats i own were bathed today,
the larger male started to
sniff the female out,
started to hark a purr out
into a meow which sounded
too fierce, i had them on
the windowsill, each time he did
so i wetted his snout,
and cut him short from full exaggeration,
unlike brown-nosing expected
he gave up... she was frail and welcome
2 pounds' coin wide-eyed,
- you smell like she does, why are you parhing?
- i'm not a cobra about to spit venom, i'm a cat
- you're about to blind her eye with venom
akin to a spider building a spiderweb for milky-eye...
- i'm harsh meowing,
- you're rhapsody in hark mad!
- i smelt skunk.
- so you did, trot down the stairs.
- lazy society breeds philosophers / zoological up-keepers;
- lazy society breeds anything...
- cannibal's yawn being a mouthful...
- and a large mouth...
- two kept an earpiece to keep the slogan:
the walls have ears... earned each a
slammer and slogan a stiff door opening itch...
unlike well-oiled hinges:
for an aid... a slave woman named
didgeridoo had her humming ready to box box box
beat a heart among livers, supposing
each had a rhythm... it's hardly necessary
for your high-school friends to want you to fail...
but expect them to turn you into a necrophiliac...
just so there's a story for their grandchildren...
i'd ask to cage them for their partaking in
unresolved imagining of things... they wished
to have encountered...
rather than... a cold lamb sandwich.
Feb 6, 2016
Feb 6, 2016 at 7:03 PM UTC
Humans are ****** up.
We search and search for the approval of others.
We coordinate clothes in order to get "that image."
We make our music selections based on what everyone else is listening to.
We don't shower because hygiene is so uncool.
We starve our selves to get concaving clavicles.
We boast of the ***** and drug abuse in order to appear "hard."
Why?
Who cares what ***** is wearing if it makes them feel good?
Why give two ***** if they don't know that band, it doesn't make them inferior or you superior?
******* shower, if you don't shower for own personal enjoyment then power to you but because "greasy hair is in" isn't acceptable because I can tell you, it's not.
Collarbones aren't hot or romantic, the only thing deep about them is the depth, very few people like to cuddle skeletons, maybe necrophiliacs but if you want to cuddle a necrophiliac then good luck to you.
Being a heavyweight, smoking **** cigarettes, hard drugs aren't ******* cool. If you do them then do it for yourself and not because you want other people to know you do them.
Riddle me this,
If we accepted ourselves for the clothes we wear, the choices we choose, the body we've been bestowed, and everything we are, then would we need others' approval?
Is having an image all that great? Think about it, your image in the mirror, you dissect it until you want to change almost everything about yourself.
I understand that I am the worst hypocrite of them all because I have yet to approve of myself but that's me. I accept that. Can you?
Feb 21, 2014
Feb 21, 2014 at 3:17 PM UTC
I swore...
your death would not stop me loving you.
Mar 15, 2012
Mar 15, 2012 at 9:34 AM UTC
*I stared at her with amazement
she looked like she hasn't aged a bit
she had the same silky black hair
mixed with those beautiful blue eyes
her lips were still tender and moist
but her hands were as cold as ice
I remember the day she died
I was holding her in my arms
the tears fell upon her breast
and the blood dripped from her mouth
her lips were chapped , her arms filled with cuts
scrapes, lacerations and stitches
and her baby blue eyes had gone gray
I remember the day they buried her
the purple silk sheets hugged her form
and the long flowing black hair had return
she look like the girl I fell in love with
she was the girl I fell in love with
she was my everything and still is
but If I could not have her in life
then perhaps... I could have her in death...*
Mar 3, 2016
Mar 3, 2016 at 10:17 PM UTC
I met you yesterday
And I fell in love
Like nothing I have ever felt before.
Love at first sight never existed.
Until you stepped into mine.
…
…
…
…
And got ran over by a car.
Blood running down your chest.
Spattering from your mouth, and nose.
Staining the street a dark scarlet.
Like a flood.
…
…
…
…
You always wore all black.
So I wore that to your funeral.
You looked so dead.
Not peaceful at all.
But I was still in love.
…
…
…
…
I wanted to get with you.
But that’s impossible.
I’m not trying to be creepy.
But somehow you make
Dead look so good.
May 1, 2014
May 1, 2014 at 4:33 PM UTC
1
Once you go necrophiliac
You NEVER go back
2
Holy **** look at this *** on this one
The things i wouldnt do to her
I'd love to just bend her over
something and pound the...
Hey
Thats my wife you idiot
Oh
Sorry dad
Jul 28, 2015
Jul 28, 2015 at 12:09 PM UTC