"necrotizing" poems
Lucifer just said I'm two-faced;
But the reality is I wear many faces
Each one a mask
Picking a bouquet of oopsie-daises
Unabashedly lashing out at you
I eviscerate; wielding a scalpel
Then I pounce; scalped him,
Pelt dangling from my ***** pack
**Went Kerouac on ***** ***
Surprise, surprise
Palpable attack
Thumbing tacks into your eyes
Lame as a bad sitcom
Band-wagon careening off the laugh-track
Everybody loves disarray
**** Vamoose!
Underlying interloper
Feel the allusion in high resolution;
Little tike on the *****
Anne frankly I'm that Führer fomenting furor
Have you lost your marbles?
Inaudibly garbling warbled garbage
Mauled to death
**I **** narwhals**
Convoluted revolution
I revel in it
Elusive illusion
Testify, I bring the excellence in electrocution
I'm the executioner
Putting the fun in funeral
Like a neurotic necrotizing narcotic
A lobotomy to the temporal
I dreamt the demented torment of descent
Cascading like a torrential waterfall
Ghoulish delight
Primeval upheavaler
With hopes to elope, many fold
Mic bold, but I suspect she's hitting the slopes;
Ice cold
Evoking emotion but a hopeless show
marionette in a stranglehold
Mar 1, 2014
Mar 1, 2014 at 9:01 AM UTC
necrotizing fasciitis
the fat man’s cancer
Dec 2, 2021
Dec 2, 2021 at 8:06 PM UTC
You are
The full moon
I stared at from a car window
As a child
On a long ride home
The sun beaten spot
On the floor
I seek, like a purring cat
For warmth
The foamy ocean wave
That stops just before my shoes
At the shore
Of the edge of the world
The exquisite fallen leaf
From an autumn tree
In the center of a forest
Filled with solitude
The smell of sawdust
Gasoline and
Damp basement
The crackling aftermath of fireworks
Cacophonous church bells
And deafeningly silent snowfall
The sunken benzodiazepine mattress
Disheveled hair brushed out of my face
A chronographic measure of a heart beating
The necrotizing infatuation of mortality
A dancer trapped and tangled in tissue
An oscillating fan in the summer night
The hand pressing down on my hip
Swishing of a brand new switchblade
Fibonacci sequence knots in fresh cedar wood
The polished stone between my fingers
A drop of black ink on eggshell stationary
And the soft glow of a night light
You are a collection
Of the best, unspoken
Parts of me
Nov 29, 2017
Nov 29, 2017 at 2:03 PM UTC