"nosebleed" poems
I thought I heard
Canadian slang
from the opposite bed-side
Like it's 2009, rub some lines off my face.
Inner space bleeding outward,
deep red, a nosebleed,
angled points on white of The Maple Jack.
A Nip at the Sal's on Esplanade-Riel.
Grab your runners and toque,
it's warm, but not forever
and these legs are sore. Polar bears
on the sweater you wore in the Fall--
Churchill, Manitoba, the streets are full of teeth and claws.
Awoke and wanted warmth lacking.
I thought I heard Canadian slang.
I thought I heard "it'll be okay"
from the voices of feathers fletching arrows falling.
they whisper and screams sink deep behind
eyelids
closing.
A sentence unfinished,
sinking in flesh
in time
sinking
in snow and ice
sinking
in water in Summer
sinking
in memory.
I thought I heard
plans being made
and shy laughter.
I heard it 5 times. Didn't I?
Days fade, ears dull*
Walking on streets, in the cold
towards her home
I thought I heard laughter--
heard something
like laughter--
I thought I heard rain, as the Lodgepoles drank water.
I thought I heard laughter.
I thought I heard wax melt.
I thought I smelled fairness.
I thought you wanting more time
to bleed and blur tenses.
I thought I heard rivers rushing and roaring
their battle cries--
--asserting their presence.
I thought I heard cars pass and sounds of the daytime
and late March walk along bridges.
I could swear I heard something
Like Canadian slang,
sweet
water
light
laughter.
Something.
Jun 28, 2018
Jun 28, 2018 at 1:28 PM UTC
Nakakalungkot
na tayo'y binabalingungoy
sa sarili nating wika.
*It's sad,
that our noses bleed,
using our own language.*
Apr 27, 2015
Apr 27, 2015 at 5:05 AM UTC
What colour are Mondays?
Red? Well mine are.
The same colour
you’d imagine a headache to be,
tomatoes, morello cherries
or like a nosebleed.
Does that mean Tuesdays are blue?
That mouthwash shade,
brain-freeze after a Slushie.
Wednesdays? Perhaps purpley-pink
as burning potassium,
Parma Violets under your tongue.
Thoughts on Thursdays? Fake-tanned,
tangerine skin, the ugliest orange
for the ugliest day.
But Fridays are a healthier green,
think telephone-pole celery,
cucumber truncheons and kiwis.
Saturdays then? Funeral black
speckled with brown sugar
though Sundays are white.
Hurts-your-eyes-like-snow white,
almost transparent, for they come
and dash by with no tone in-between.
Jan 13, 2014
Jan 13, 2014 at 2:31 PM UTC
perfumado...
del aroma escapista.
me presentas tu género en la cédula,
los ciclos de tu luna,
los resultados del eco,
la decoración de tu baby shower.
Sep 21, 2024
Sep 21, 2024 at 11:28 PM UTC
Watching life’s play,
From the nosebleed section.
If I die today,
It’s natural selection.
I hear what people say,
But don’t make the connection,
The past fades away,
To a vague recollection.
99 problems,
No retorts or solutions,
Trying to pay my bills,
Without resorting to prostitution.
Losing is a life lesson,
Hard to learn,
It’s a truth I mention,
In no uncertain terms.
They say if you get knocked down,
Get back up,
But sometimes when I’m knocked out,
I’ve had enough.
My drive and ambition,
Is out of gas,
But I’m stuck in my position,
Can’t change the past.
They said, “It’s okay chum,
There’s a future to make.”
But no, it’s okay son,
I choose not to partake.
I’m on the road of life,
Just taking a jog,
But I can’t run right,
Cause I’m an underdog.
I know I’m not perfect,
I’ve made mistakes,
But I really do deserve it,
So give me a break.
Girlfriend told me,
I’d never succeed.
I choked at her,
Cause I forgot to breathe.
I was told to walk,
Off the beaten track,
I talk one step forward,
Then whisper two steps back.
I’ve been made a fool,
I’ve played the clown,
I never broke the rules,
But I still broke down.
When I look in the mirror,
To examine my features,
It brakes when brought nearer,
So I pick up the pieces.
You know I don’t deal,
In self depreciation,
So what you find here,
Is honest estimation.
I’m not clever as Copernicus,
Or strong as King Kong,
Even when you’re learning this,
You knew it all along.
I’m on the road of life,
Drifting through the fog,
But I can’t see tonight,
Cause I’m an underdog.
Aug 30, 2010
Aug 30, 2010 at 4:13 PM UTC
Awoken from a 4 1/2 month dream
Find myself hanging by my feet
30,000 above and swinging wildly
Nose bleeding like waterfalls
Eyes suffering drought in Arizona
The dream was about you
Unsure if it was reality
It sure wasn't fake though
A "steal" heart shall sit in my chest
because you stole the one that beats
Swing, Bleed, Suffer some more
Fake airplane air makes me wonder
Where I am whenever I awoke
Captain, "To the right lies Kansas City"
I knew those lights in the distance
They twinkled like your ***** eyes.
Jan 9, 2013
Jan 9, 2013 at 4:25 PM UTC
building up
a big mountain
then tear it down
give it to the clowns
nosebleed
for a feast
endless bottom
as a treat
*it’ll likes get up
tear it down
it’ll likes get up
tear it down*
trail of tears
chopped off
nail of thoughts
stopped short
ego invoice
taking drugs
fat berg sewer
horrible vanity
*it’ll likes get up
tear it down
it’ll likes get up
tear it down*
Apr 22, 2015
Apr 22, 2015 at 5:07 PM UTC
Anxiety is the colour red like the stinging remnants of my tears that have passed,
Anxiety tastes like black coffee at three am,
Anxiety smells like a drip of my nosebleed that just wont fade,
Anxiety sounds like the constant pounding in my pluse,
Anxiety feels like the lump in my throat from the starchy medication,
Anxiety is my hidden enemy.
Sep 24, 2013
Sep 24, 2013 at 12:54 PM UTC
it's not even noon, but
my thoughts are drenched with
*** bound and gagged.
you're dancing around the kitchen, clad
only in a pair of
lace ******* you paid
too much for at Victoria's
Secret liaisons by the
seaside, sand sieving through your hair:
all forms of metal-backed currency taste
like ***** on your fingertips stuffed
roughly in my mouth,
call me a ****
pretty please?
promethazine slathered over
watermelon sherbert and
soaked in Sprite; put a lid on it and
shake vigorously until well mixed.
Xanax exacerbated migraines mean
naptime for me, and I forgot to tell you
the Gatorade is spiked with *****
(or maybe tequila; I've well and truly
forgotten) and all of this
is just another means of
replacing you.
you're wrapped in an
ecru trench coat,
cinched at the waist over
concealed weaponry:
unlicensed pistol and wet coral *****
constrained by a black leather holster and
cobalt cotton.
you kissed me with
******* in your nostrils and
nosebleed on your lips;
you killed me with
contempt in your mouth and
venom on your nails.
Sep 2, 2014
Sep 2, 2014 at 5:18 PM UTC
You are the sunrise
that illuminates the twisted roads ahead.
The photocopier
that seems to do what you didn’t want it to.
The branch
that sways precariously in the wind.
The clock
that stops, starts, stops, starts.
The froth
that dangles a little too far over the side of my cup.
The peach
that contains a solid stone under the façade.
The book
that always ends with unanswered questions.
The confetti
that looks glorious but doesn't stay for long.
The nosebleed
that stains my pillow at night.
The boomerang
that flew off in the distance, yet to return.
Mar 7, 2012
Mar 7, 2012 at 10:07 AM UTC
When the first words out of his mouth was
"Sup *****
I knew a certain few things
1. He was not getting laid tonight.
2. None of us in this room know why he's the party leader,
All glancing at each other in awe
nodding like a hive mind chanting
yes, this man is in fact an *******
no, i don't know how he rose to power
yes, he did just call us *****
3. I could think of a million one liners that would earn me way more respect up front than that.
I don't know what I was expecting
walking into this basement
Maybe some small fame
The same small fame I get from getting on a stage for slam poetry
or being cast in a reality T.v. show
Or singing kareoke at my local bar.
Maybe for the free pizza
We've all been there.
And yes, maybe it was for the revenge.
the campaign slogan you stamped
recruitment posters with.
Join the evil league of evil!
Launch revenge against the modern heroes of today!
But when I sit down in this small fold up metal lawn chair,
in what is presumably his moms basement
Behind a projecter (also probablly his moms)
Next to captain nose bleed
And princess ********
I already don't have a whole lot of faith in his agenda
So when his opening line
Was "Sup *****
Like that is some sort of impressive villanous monolouge peared down into one and a half words.
I lost any ounce of faith I had in this cult.
And decided to Usurp this "Party Leader".
Now you might be asking:
Why?
Why would you want to be the head of the evil league of evil?
Founded in this pre pubescent boys moms basement
Whos only followers so far seem to be captain nosebleed,
and princess ********
Well
clearly
You don't understand.
Captain nosebleed is already under the thumb of princess ********
I mean lets be real without princess ********
We're three dudes in a basement
Pretending to be super villans.
And you've been known to be pretty charming.
But in your friends evil lair.
Sorry
Moms basement.
You start to evaluate your situation
Gotta make a descision.
Are you fighting for Revenge,
or the small fame?
Apr 19, 2016
Apr 19, 2016 at 2:53 PM UTC
**** them all
I'll wear what I want and my nose ring too
that principal ***** is scared of me anyway
she looks every direction except mine
I try to walk near her in the hall
so she'll see I've busted the dress code
she's good at getting really engrossed in a conversation when I'm near
like the waitress at Applebys that looks right through me when I wanna order
people are so good at looking right through you it's scary
I can't look through anything
I see it all
I see my footprints on the sidewalk
fuckin' followin' me
I see fuckin' atoms splitting
I see all the colors of light in the air
but sometimes I just see black
I go to fancy department stores
just to pull out clothes and let 'em drop
nobody fuckin' looks at me
except they're wondering if they'll have to call the police
maybe someday they'll have to call the police
then they'll see me
maybe for the first and last time
**** them all
sometimes I walk behind someone and grunt at 'em
I giggle when it scares 'em
but they always step aside and don't look at me
I just keep walking with those footsteps followin' me
and those colors turned to black in my eyes
I do like the **** who knocked me down that time
instead of steppin' aside
I like him fine
at least he saw me
at least he looked at me when he punched me
even if he did give me a nosebleed
and I lost my ring
tore it right out of my left nostril
and now there's a fuckin' scar
the janitor bandaged it up for me so I could go to class
I love that janitor dude
he's fuckin' awesome
he gives us *** and has a black cape hangin' on his wall
we can put on if we're in that kinda mood
it feels good to wear that cape
like Captain Fuckin' Invisible
sometimes it takes the black away
sometimes the *** brings the colors back
I'd rather skip class and smoke *** with the janitor
but we're reading The Metamorphosis
now that's a fuckin' great book
a fuckin' nobody who becomes a monstrous vermin overnight
nobody's gonna forget that that's for sure
I wonder if Kafka locked himself in his room
like I do
I could turn into an insect and no one would know
since they don't look at me
well if they do look they don't see me anyway
I guess I am a vermin to them
the principal who doesn't wanna see me
and my sister who pretends she doesn't know me at school
and even my mom who only looks at me
to make sure I'm not wearing profanities on my shirt
**** that
fuckin' big huge vermin fuckin' creepin' up behind you and grunting
and nobody even sees it comin'
that's a giggle right there
nobody sees it comin'
'cause nobody sees me
nobody sees me at all
Dec 17, 2012
Dec 17, 2012 at 4:06 PM UTC
She sits in the stands
Up in the nosebleed section
Cheering wildly, admiring her boys
In red and white
While he is under her hood
With soot-covered hands
Making sense of and fixing
Her mechanical mess.
Later on, she makes his favorite meal
To show him how much she loves him
But he shows up with takeout
And complains about how long it took
Just to replace the starter
In her red Corolla.
There's a difference between
Admiration
And love.
Sep 22, 2016
Sep 22, 2016 at 9:20 AM UTC
- Hi, I'm calling to tell you that:
I wrote down everything you ever said to me (in the literal sense, standing stretched against my own uncultured and violently ****** vocabulary)
- And am regurgitating it back to innocent passerby - my sincerest apologies to those poor victims of circumstance, suspended in the projectile ***** of my dysfunctional disdain
(In a slew of worm guts and warm bodies, mama-bird to baby-bird saying "please don't leave the nest" - it's too hot for blankets anyways)
My original letter to you was written on the backside of an airplane **** bag, where I detailed my favorite scenes from a movie we subconsciously made entitled "Baby's First Time", while blissfully unaware of my stern faced in-flight companion.
My first draft, though, was a series of half-hearted winks and very, very drunk texts, beginning with:
SEXT: I offer my services as sacrificial ******
(and followed a whopping six months later by)
SEXT: I am still young enough to accuse you of statutory ****
(The art of seduction seems to be less of an art and more of a particular science)
You are:
- My own personal Edgar Allan Poe, just blonder and younger, with a bigger gut and a bigger ego and (alas!) a complete lack of interest in your sweet Annabel (but I could change my name)
- And oddly enough, I'm the one writing the poems here
(The whole world's a stage, with me just watching your sad indie boy band from the nosebleed seats)
Sep 10, 2013
Sep 10, 2013 at 12:56 AM UTC
No hearth is left burning
In our closed space of four walls
Where once joy stood
A flash of bright teeth
But now
All there left is a crack
And the stain from nosebleed
A day ago
When his calloused palm
Collided
Against my round plump face
A howl breaking loose
From the heart bleeding
Onto the floor
Sep 27, 2018
Sep 27, 2018 at 10:48 AM UTC
i have a nosebleed
and i breathe steam
seamlessly from this black hole,
******* life-air away
from those who actually
deserve
to live.
why this blood-red mud
frightens my friends
i'll never know-
it's me! so real!
me, the drinkable.
me, so easily consumable.
me, in a manipulative form.
my clay brain, melted,
sliding through my nose,
it brings the *****
little piece
of **** that i am
out into the light
where everyone can see it.
Apr 6, 2014
Apr 6, 2014 at 3:47 AM UTC
i was living life on my knees when
I met JB, he was a song with a body part
in the title, a guardian, a saint, maybe a one-time
guitarist for Kiss.
(The last man to see Jesus, as far
as I am aware of, was the apostle John.
sometimes in his sleep he still whispered
“please don’t bury me, please
don’t bury me, please”.)
but JB had bowed to Baal, had kissed him,
bought a 20 dollar nosebleed from
a man with seven stars in his right hand,
a sharp thing in his mouth.
JB was not an apostle,
but he knew the knees of my heart,
gave his knees to the needy,
shoved soldiers, stared.
we spat in our gloves.
he said I have a swordfish mind,
but I have left 7,000 in Israel,
loved the oh of his mouth as the
stone rolled away, I have
met Jesus, face-to-face.
please don’t bury me.
these were the Great Days,
the First Aid: a myth that cost lives
taped us tight, and when he told me
that 150,000 people die in Britain every day
I said “instead, tilt your head forward,
pinch your nostrils shut and breathe with
your mouth; a half-sitting position with
your knees bent and head and shoulders.”
he did as I said and, later, John
put his **** in my mouth.
Reactive arthritis
affects the large joints, the knees,
causes pain, swelling,
an ectopic tongue on the floor
of the mouth.
Oct 27, 2014
Oct 27, 2014 at 11:41 AM UTC
You drove away and I thought my nose would bleed
The lump on my head makes me wobbly
Or whatever they stuck in my drink
The roar of that old red engine ringing in my ears
Go die
The boy who doesn’t know how to be in love
Leave me alone to get drunk
On the tears you leave me to
It always ends in tears
Don’t leave me like this
You always leave me like this
Go die
And leave me to mine
The lump on my cerebral cortex is getting bigger
Swelling by the minute
And I’m drinking water
And trying not to let whatever you stuck in my drink
Get the best of me
But I think I’m leaking
Leaking salt water and your own ****** fluids
Leaking my dwindling supply of iron
I’m bleeding
The lump on my head swelling to golf ball proportions
My heart turned to a solid lump
I wait for you to come back and apologize
But you never do and you never will
So maybe if you woke up the next morning
And I didn’t.
Maybe if you heard the words
“her brain hemorrhaged in her sleep”
Maybe if you had to go on without me
You wouldn’t complain about the way I fall in love
And the way you can’t feel ****
You don’t know ****
Jul 26, 2011
Jul 26, 2011 at 8:28 AM UTC
strawberry dress and clear lip gloss
laying your head on a soft bed of moss
the way you run off
reminds me of ballet
and your smile in the sun
just makes my day
but you're like a nosebleed
you really taste so sweet
i wanna take care of you
but you're no good for me
i've never had a nosebleed
i wish someone would hold me
and sing me soft songs
in their arms as i fall asleep
your scraped knees are so cute
i wanna say that i love you
but by now it's too late
you've got a boyfriend anyways
i spend all my money
on a tissue box
and waste all my time on
the show you watch
hoping that one day soon
i'll get to be the one with you
but you're like a nosebleed
you taste so ******* sweet
but you come with a punch to the face
and you make me wanna leave this place
you're like pulling teeth
it's what i need
but i ******* hate you
you're like a nosebleed
know what i mean
you taste so sweet
but it's painful
and just like me
you want everything to be perfect but you're so unstable
begging to be taken on a table
you're a self inflicted injury
and i've been clean for several weeks
Sep 11, 2021
Sep 11, 2021 at 10:50 AM UTC
Mother dearest jumped the gun,
Thought she found the chosen one
In the reflection of an eager bride
Who looked too deep and died inside.
Bang bang,
Mary shot her down
And plucked the thorns from off her crown,
Aphrodite got too close
And lost her face beneath the smoke.
Time has never looked so sultry
As when she falls from noon with a nosebleed.
Mother Nature lost her mind
Trying to pacify humankind.
Ashes ashes, there's nothing real
When all that is, lives to be concealed.
So bury me beneath the ground,
Next to those who also drowned
In something of a sordid tune,
The funeral can never come too soon.
Helen brought her face of gold
Plastered in cement, frozen cold-
For, who we are isn't what it seems
And nightmares are but twisted dreams.
Wake me up so I can feel
The bitter pang of all that's real.
Momma has gone and leaped again
Deep into the lions den,
Down and down her figure drops
Until all at once, everything stops,
Torment has yet to look as docile
As when it rests upon her heavy smile.
So prepare my casket and let it sink
While I loosely cascade off the brink.
Jun 16, 2013
Jun 16, 2013 at 1:44 PM UTC
we find ourselves crumpled like paper
my nosebleed acts like glue
you smell and taste like pixie dust
my eyes roll around the room
ascending towards heaven
i grip your ribs like handrails
you stop me short -
'i'm going to...'
and like a napkin under the dinner table
i’m falling off your lap
you'll remember me when you need to clean up
when you need to wipe your hands
May 5, 2016
May 5, 2016 at 11:55 AM UTC
I recall, until my head pounds,
by the tides I shall be led,
the landscape of your body
in the ocean of our bed.
Among terraforming bedclothes,
old fires leapt anew,
my scent was freshly salted
by the minerals of you.
Blood catches pace and thunders
this sea is not so kind,
the ancient powers rise to claim
all the helpless they can find.
Headlong unto the harden'd shore
by joyous, raging speed
carried into ecstasy
my nose begins to bleed.
Small roses bloom upon you
as you wipe the scarlet spots.
So I will lie here, shipwrecked,
'til the pounding stops.
I cannot see another spit
of coast or island land
from the vantage point of head tipped back
ceiling sky and pinching hand.
The creaking timbers echo
with the lifting of your chest,
"ssh, don't move, it's stopping"
so I close my eyes, and rest.
Awakened from a slumber
without dreams or care,
I find a lonely rosebud
dried within my hair.
Your eyes contain the oceans,
shifting immortality
your fingers are still bloodstained
salt and blood, that's you and me.
Dec 19, 2013
Dec 19, 2013 at 9:22 AM UTC
every morning i imagine waking up someplace different-
to be surrounded by the clatter of early morning traffic and blatant conversations,
and to sip coffee from my favorite mug while sitting on a kitchen counter contently breathing in adulterated air
and simply existing
i am in so much pain.
t.b.
Dec 19, 2014
Dec 19, 2014 at 1:20 AM UTC