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Alex Apples Jun 2013
Your love is not a hurricane
It is not an earthquake
It is a sweet, sweet salve
to an old heartbreak

Your love is not lightning
It is not a tidal wave
It is a deep, deep breath
at the end of a long, hard day

Your love is not a fever
It's not an addiction
It is not my nicotine
nitrous
Novocaine or
nitroglycerin

Your love is not suspenseful
seismic
shellshocking
stomach-churning
sugar cane saccharine or
surprising

Every love before you has been
a frantic, careful dance of
close
but not too close
honest
but not too honest

Yet you
strange you
can look at me from across a room or
across a tabletop and
there is wonderment,
but no wondering
passion,
but no pondering

Defined by choice
not whim

We always crave the love
that is our
hurricane
Novocaine
sugar cane
to sap away
our pain

But what about the love
that simply is?

Is that what makes it real?
Is that what makes love
Love?
What if we embrace what we need
instead of what we want?

To forge our way towards happiness
and disregard any distractions
that stand in our path?

What if we chose to every day
trade the roller-coaster romances
for the life-long loves?
A Mar 2014
He read me my precautions
Only removing my own decay
In return his novocaine 
Don't you worry about nerve endings,
They'll splinter up eject themselves away
In time you'll teach yourself to capsulate the pain,
Just sign your essence away,
I'll give you more novocaine.


*"Sometimes it's better not to feel"
Hayley Simpson Sep 2012
Dear Pickle,

You are making my face sour. Mom is mad at you for skipping school and I have to talk her down again.

Maybe next time you can write me a 1200 word essay on "How stupid your decisions are", So I can mark it up with red pen before you lose grades on your ribs.

Sister, you need to calm your *** down, because the world isn't a race and the underdog doesn't always come in first, or even second.
But take a second to stop breathing that smoke you call air, everybody is choking on the smell of teen-spirit.
The tattoos not yet ingaved in your skin will serve as a reminder of how you took last place in a family full of sharp broken pieces of glass.
I tell Mom "Don't worry, it's just a phase, she just needs a second to find her place, in this world" But, at this rate, I'm not sure you will.

Because, people will knock on your door and hand you bottles of quick fixes and Novocaine, and I hope that this poem isn't in vain to serve as a reminder of that little girl that still caught fireflies in her teeth.

And I am sorry I left for 3 years without watching your molecules multiply, but I wrote my times tables on the back of my diploma for you to study.

That 6 year old girl with woodland creature cheeks hasn't been forgotten.
That 6 year old girl who never failed to puke in the car after a glass of milk hasn't been forgotten.
That 6 year old girl that cried every time we told anyone you are cat food under the kitchen table hasn't been forgotten.

I am sorry, can you bring her back now?

And for me, could you stop making Mom cry, she has watered so many Forget-me-nots that I am afraid her roots are drowning.

Don't get me wrong. I appreciate all the time you bared swords and shields to defend me against the stereotypes that threatened to staple them themselves to the inside of our cheeks, but come on...get your **** together.

We are blood-brothers...with vaginas.
Don't you dare break that bond because if you do I will lock you in the closet, turn the lights of and leave you in there screaming and crying until the rebellion leaves your bladder.

I'm your sister, not your mother. I will not birth any more brother *****-ups for you to father.

Love,
Vinegar.
Written (2012)

Author: I wrote this for my younger sister who is only 3 years younger than me, the youngest one in our family. It started when I used to call her "Pickle".
Robert Watson Mar 2021
Dizzy, dazed, and sedated,
Nightly rinse bleaching brains,
Slowly spinning me apart.
Roses flashing on screen, withered.

Worshiping at the Pantheon,
Novocaine for the brain.
My habitual easy friends.
Lust conquering love.

Lights go out!
Alone in the dark.
Guiltless shame,
I'll quit after tomorrow.
If you understand the poem, you'll understand the struggle that many deal with. I'm with you! Resistance is possible.
alasia Mar 2017
when she says she is empty,
she is not asking to be filled.
stretch her thin and you will see
gold
peeking through her worn body.
stretch her thin and you feel her
fire
burning what you hold.
do not hold her.
when she says she is numb,
she is not asking to feel something.
do not wait out her novocaine
mood
drooling down her chin.
do not wait out her novocaine
high
she is elated.
do not bring her down.
she is a bookmark holding someone else's place:
do not move her.
someone left her,
waiting,
she does not know the other side:
that does not mean you show her.
someday she will be fire.
she will dry all that she has soaked with her
ravine heart.
you will follow her black markings to something
gold
she will be followed.
do not be surprised when she does not moan,
she will not moan,
she does not feel.
she is still ice.
when she says she is ice
do not try to melt her.
she will be fire.
Jae Elle Jan 2013
someone will be tired
one before the
other
that's just the way
it is

I wait for impatience
in my lighthouse of uncertainty
& doubt is diverted
through sunlight-kissed waves
nearly the precise hue
of his eyes

someone will be tired

how could you love anyone
with such a hidden
temper?
the kind who stalks herself
through the night
never fully satisfied with
destination or
decision

she wakes, inadequate
& improperly
rested
the day is a haze of
unpaid bills
empty cabinets
& her rebellious toddler

don't be her

don't be tired

don't say a word

the imaginary harbor of hurt
shall subside with the
rush of
tomorrow's tide

& she'll still wonder when he'll tire
Sydney Ranson Sep 2013
August still catches in my head like that Manhattan melody
        when he was my little vial of Novocaine.
        when the moon showed her face and we slept on my floor
and our knees and hips and
shoulders—all the hinges of our bodies—washed with
a twilight of mauve and Bordeaux.
And one night he painted me with
two rows of clenched teeth—dipping in and out of white pools of Selene.
I have a bed now that he has left
        with sheets that billow on the right side,
        with real blankets that aren't hospital blankets.
And he is my little vial of Novocaine
that took a train to states away. And the miles
between have left me with a weight in my chest that I'm sure fell from
his suitcase. I've got
        bones made of buildings,
        and a metropolitan heart,
        and a steady smile
knowing this same moon hangs over him and that borough.
Steven Fortune Apr 2014
I tried to be cordial with inactivity
washing it with weeping juice like a pardoned effigy
but the diamonds of determination were so wrapped in mind debris
that I threw away a fortune in potential

The smiles of the platitudes are louder than their laughs
An appeasing of their attitudes I warrant with the gaffes
of an undertaker's underling bestowing upon epitaphs
another deadened and deprived credential

Seeing days in ways that never did occur to me
Every end a mending by default, a sour recipe
for compromise eroding in a rusty *** of empathy


The dentist rubbed his fingers when he saw my gritted teeth
No sermon on the mount from me, more a mumble on the heath
My incisor is a tack that would support a giant's wreath
Thorns of novocaine will numb my Christmas wish

For the sake of universal order I will freeze a yawn
Mostly harmless said a hitchhiker of Earth so I can spawn
a batch of clones to live on hold where all the battle lines are drawn
I'll zip up and in the universal order I'll languish

Seeing nights in ways that never did occur to me
Every satellite a telecast of fault, a sour recipe
for sleeping juice to boil over in Big Dipper's empathy


Where's a pound of flesh when needed? I've grown tired of these ribs
On the grill of soggy marrow, hungry haunts will have first dibs
Call on William Blake to send the weepers to their cribs
Wishful thinking I'll preserve beneath the floorboards

With a hand in nothing new and an incisor in the usual
intestine chains surround my motivation's hot pursual
Don't read too much into my implied acceptance of a dual
with a messenger of fact's implicit hoards

Seeing days in ways that never did occur to me
Every end a mending by default, a sour recipe
for compromise eroding in an empty *** of sympathy


Sound the bugle for my bed is made, I'm rested for detention
Solitaire I'll play in my confinement for the crime of sought attention
I revolted the philosophers in plugging my intention
I would not concede that lab rats had it worse

The satellites are full and bright, the shadows walk on lakes tonight
I'll dream of sleep but eyes will play me in my bedroom's voided sight
Lay with me and sigh and the elastic laws of nature might
halt the quivering continuum of fate's forsaken course

Seeing nights in ways that never did occur to me
Every channel plays the same old cooking show's ensoured recipe
Compromise a minor seasoning in liver-flavoured empathy


04 15 14
There may be a couple of spelling errors...the rhyme scheme was inspired by Dylan's Tombstone Blues, and the title was inspired by another Dylan song, Just Like Tom Thumb's Blues.  I tried to capture a bit of his rambly style as well.
Nicholas N Jan 2018
(Hypnos- God of Sleep
Eros- God of Love
Nyx- Goddess of Night)

ME:
I closed my eyes
And met 3 strangers
Whose names I knew but,
Could not express.
They stood with grace and prowess,
Each one grander than the next.
They petitioned me to ask them,
Anything at all,
So I asked them about dreams,
Given to us by gods.

HYPNOS:
A weak internal monologue,
Lapsing into night.
They sleep and breathe
So slowly,
They sleep; and breathe so deep.

EROS:
Their dreams I clouded,
Tinged, with crimson haze.
They long for one another,
They long;
To find each other.

NYX:
The dream ends now!
As my darkness overwhelms.
They no longer need to think,
They drink;
As to forget.

ME:
Pretence keeps up my dreaming,
Innerspeaker of my thoughts,
Past tense reveals it all:
Groundskeeper
To my soul.

An arrow from your quivers
Surely would do the job,
Of a thousand
Quarts of liqour
Or novocaine, or god.

NYX:
When you see light
You will see clearly,
The truth of misery.
Though I know nothing of such light,
The darkness lives in me.

EROS:
Soon your day will come,
To feel as all the rest.
The burning fire of passion,
Bellowing wild,
A fire without smoke.

HYPNOS:
And now as you awake,
Arise! Dear sir, go forth,
Knowing of what you learned,
In this episode,
This dream.
Novocaine

I need some for the heart.

Novocaine rubbed to a worn out heart.

Easing the aches of hours of exercise

to prepare it for more length of emotional highway ahead.

Rough starts

Harsh Falls

Sweet Restarts

Turbulent Trials within Moments

Just like a cracked tooth, it can be a pain

Ease the length to the refreshment of healing time

Back to the point of strength and enlightenment

A numbing presence to ease hours of access feelings

which only deepen the strains.
brandon nagley May 2015
I want her to shoot me,
   With her novocaine saliva,
             Her tounge as the needle,
                   To kiss me passionately as the doctor that I seek...
you've a skeleton mouth.
static crumbles in your throat —
please enunciate.
i am no translator of this archaic language
of sidestepping the truth,
i am merely a pair of lips and a heart
constructed for you to do with what you will.

here's the thing: i like you.
i like you how a flower girl might like
tossing petals to the air and watching them
flutter down:
with a foreign innocence
that instills in me a voracious appetite
for your sacred space to invade my own.

i liked you in october chill,
when rosebuds were your cheeks,
and with gentle panic
i think i am falling for you
crept into my unspoken lexicon.
novocaine verbatim numbed words
that would otherwise violently swell
to the tip of a stained tongue,
and i liked you in a little black dress,
just as all the stories said i would.

i liked you in moments
when nothing could logically tether me to you,
and i think it stays prevalent in the curve
of the husky laugh i can so easily drown in.
i like your laugh,
but what i like most is
that it comes from your mouth.
Nina McNally Feb 2015
Now here we are, what have we become?
Our world is not like it use to be... It's
Very messy now, and people not caring. What happen here?
Our world needs our help! What happen to this
Culture? We were suppose to be the dreamers
And  the creators, but wait!! It's not too late.
If* we start now, we could still save our world and maybe the
Next generation can do better; *learn from our mistakes.

Everyone: We're all in this together!!

*Together we can change our future!
Written on February 18th, 2015
©McNally, Inc.
Title and inspiration (as always) from Fall Out Boy
Just something I wrote tonight before I head off to bed.
Please don't be my novacane
Because that is no good for me
Don't try to numb my pain
Pain is my sweet misery

I don't want a love additcion
Because I know you won't stay
I couldn't bear your rejection
Your love is a drug to me
WickedHope Feb 2016
Maybe I don't like to admit when I'm wrong
But then again, neither do you
Maybe trying to find each other in foreign places was the worst way to meet
But your heart eludes even you
Maybe I should have shown you honey before stone
But stone walls have always been safer
Maybe I was never good at knowing who to trust
But I thought that I could let you in
Maybe taking shots in the dark is ineffective
But it doesn't matter now that my heart's broke again
No idea what this bunch of nonsense is. Nope. Happy St. Valentine's.
dj Apr 2012
no novocaine, no experience
the nurse on break
tells me to "wait right there."
the big lights above the pleather chair
my pale skin illuminated and glowing
under rays of white white light -
and I'm tied down like a
banded submissive
to a blacker than black chair

it's only me and invisible monsters
in a game of
cat mouse tick tock
tick tock

sweating, I realize I must move
there's no other option for this lab rat
I feel like
All I've ever been, is here -
sprawled out in the open
hand choked of blood and oxygen

I cannot take this
   I cannot take this!

Something in my mind turns off
Something in my mind turns on

I chew the soft parts away easiest
it slides in my mouth
my teeth are cold and wet now
Chattering and lurching sounds
come from my mouth & teeth
as the splinters of bone
crackle away in my bite.
It took either a minute or a day
But it was over.

And so,
I left it there
tied to that black chair.

I opened the glass-paneled door with an exit 'bing',
and I was happy I never met the Doctor.
I'm being purposely deceitful~ wrote in the dead of night a few years ago. forgot all about it
AllAtOnce Oct 2017
when was the last time you actually felt anything?
let it course through your veins like clay and novocaine

your stomach flipping like dolphins
and your heart absorbing the endorphins

etching words in your skin until you bleed like you don't even know the feeling

of being in your sober mind more than just once or twice

because if we are going to do this I want to see your eyes close when we kiss
and feel your fingers shake
and let your skin hiss

i'm feeling everything for you and you're inhaling smoke fumes

i know it's not fair but I guess it doesn't compare to the mask you try to wear

made from cheap alcohol and the way I'll fall

ending in a broken eulogy at merely twenty
and that's not the way I want it to be
Nat Lipstadt Jan 2018
I Am that I Am (אֶהְיֶה אֲשֶׁר אֶהְיֶה‬ ’ehyeh ’ăšer ’ehyeh)

for Eléa

the requests are assiduous, regularly arrivaling, some shy,  
some heinous demanding and denouncing,
inquisitors inquisiting this revelation,
as if it could be bought in a Five and Dime,
with a childlike whining insistence

just  exactly who are you?

this is not my name above,
but one of seventy the Father gave himself

He named me in a fit of efficacy and whimsy and in and from, a fit of a deep veined mystery

You Raise Me Up

all this on the ****** side of corny, and would not blame you
if you moved on…

so nominated in honor of my mission, to travel with you in
all the travails that ail,
to raise you up to raise me up and thus salve the universe's cracks,
fill the crevices and the ****** scars invisible,
with the precise refreshment that make my life,
a slave to your thankfulness

I am the wetness of a mother’s lips upon
a thin red tear on a child’s skin,
I am the the rock hard father’s shoulders grasped by a child’s arms, the child does yet understand that human is illusion,
human is human, however strong,
it is the allusion of human limitations
that is our magical

I am the present re-borning come with a morning glory,
the time when the Am and the Pm  future merge in a name
without tense,
past present and what I may be is simply what
I am

when the past is but another sky bright star, untouchable,
but winking at you, to you personally

I am the touch of the untouchable,
a messenger commissioned to remind you when
the reminders are too far apart,
or even too close
and thus make a breathing space
in between for the living and the missing

I am the
no difference
between a newborn’s soft skin cells
relentless multiplying,
that offers the same precise sensation of the
grandmother’s delightful wrinkling cells of smiles of her
relentless dying,
for all, one and the same,
the child in her is you, baby

I am the fall before the rise, the first that defines the last,
the standard, once obtained, nevermore unobtainable

I am the first fruit of the summer,
a tongue blossom, a burst of memory, always recalled,
always the same, that begs for forgiveness for there are no
new words to describe the profound finding of the
simple pleasures that sustains the blessing over all things new that
are recurring and truly
renewable (shehechayanu)

I am the crinkle in the eye, the one that hides in the fine lines
and upon the lips,
when you purchase the hope however fleeting of a
$2 Powerball ticket,
the very same hope preserved when you laugh when you lose,
for there is contentment in knowing one may hope spring eternal,
yet again in a finite
three more days for and too another lousy two bucks fantasia

I am the ruse of happy satisfaction of a man
in the dark of alone at home,
staring at his sizeable bank balance
and the happy knowledge that its loss  it will make it greater someday when it  happy converted to memories and photos that  are worth a thousand times its multiplicity
if only,
or when,
he knows how

I am that pain in the left side of your red sea-parted soul that cannot be dismissed but is religiously ignored,
that you alone know of
due to its persistent existence, and because it is just tolerable,
it is a sad but comforting pain,
an acknowledgment that a companion travels with you
and that in someway is ok and you exist

I am the water on the night table that extinguishes the dry throat of recurring visions in eyes that always end badly
and make the bed’s welcome a fearful thing,
which is a fearful thing for in good sleep is the
re-naissance and re-formation and the salvation
that was given to you as a gift inside thy mother’s womb,
and that
it is I,
whispering the hum of easy soft lambs,
soft breathing you
unto welcoming rest

I am the poem that must end because of our
frailties and impatience to live in
the reality of human touch,
that must be put aside for any novocaine of words

I am the one who can only be alive
when he raises you up and
you begin a new poem all your own,
and then exit it too, willingly,
to embrace the raising up of living

and that is the
who I am
that I am
raising us up
Joseph Valle Aug 2012
Night beckons to strange people.
Actually, if you can accept this premise,
then the mind makes everyone strange.
And still yet, there is something specific about darkness,
I cannot put my finger on it,
that sends odd sparks of real life
on a mission to city street corners.

I hide in my car after leaving the café
with the hope of seeing, "The Pigtailed Man."
This isn't his name.
However, I need say no more to any stranger
for him to envision my character.
We objectify him and his image becomes clear
even when spotted in narrowed alleyway darkness.

He has a beautiful wife
with locks past her shoulder
of auburn and lillies,
and two wonderfully bright children
who sit on his knee when listening
to nighty-night, bedtime stories.
Their ringing laughter illuminates
the darkest corners of their happy home.
They'll never know why he needs
to go bye-bye at dangerous evening hours,
hunting sour scowls from passers-by.

He's unkempt: legs unshaven, chin covered
by midnight shadow, beer belly hanging over his
plaid picnic-basket red schoolgirl skirt,
and his face sags as if a topical novocaine
was applied generously to his chubby, rosy cheeks.
Upon seeing his aimless strut
and dead-to-self eyes, I wonder: Where does he dress?
Does he put his outfit on from plastic grocery bag
around the block from the lamp-lit looks of
the neighbors' friendly daytime greetings?
More importantly, if I were friend
and was to catch him in the act,
would I say anything?

Darkness calls out the most intriguing creatures.
We're afraid to call them "human beings,"
because being human most certainly
does not look like this.
Or, does it not look like this?
Shadows claw walls around all
because not one body projects light.
There are some who know, and some who appease.
The pigtails hang to his knees as he stares
at the mannequins of pretty women
in the window of the closed department store.
You're still breathing
But I can't sleep
Please don't leave me
Please don't leave me
Let me hold you
And rock you to sleep
With lullabies laced with Novocaine
Rest in peace
Rest in peace
I promise I'll be here in the morning
Will you?
Say you will
*Say you will
The Suicide Diaries
AM Apr 2016
lead the way, my darling
down to hell and suffering
I won't feel anything
cause you're that something
C S Cizek Apr 2014
Sheepishly held-down dental floss
guitar strings and cracked hands
like sink-side toothpaste.
Cuspid picks in a mint-scented, plastic bag beneath textbooks
and a zipper rusted like gingivitis.
A backstage house of pamphlets
slurred time like novocaine speech. Thirty-two people sat at coffee-stained tables talking about their routines between sips of créme de menthe cocktails and water.
Fluoride lyrics dripped from his mouth as people closed theirs.
Vellichor May 2021
~
Look at this girl
With wildfire eyes,
Beautiful flames
That will burn you alive.

Look at this girl,
A tornado in skin.
She tears through hell
With a bone chilling grin.

You think you know
That she’s numb to the pain,
That novocaine
Somehow runs through her veins,

But her wildfire eyes
Hold tales she won’t tell.
Her bone-chilling grin
Is just to spite hell.

You’ve become passive,
So absently blind.
Her fiery facade
Has convinced you she’s fine.

But her wildfire eyes
Can’t relieve her lament.
Her bone chilling grin
Can’t change hell’s torment.

She’s dying alive
As the fires of hell churn.
She’s not fireproof,
And she feels every burn.

This girl that you see,
And her wildfire eyes?
They’re beautiful flames,
That burn her alive.
~
Corcorporus Mar 2015
White.
All around me,
Everything I see--
White.

Blinded by lights,
Brighter than the sun,
Iridescent and reflected by
all of the
White.

A sickly woman in a nightgown.
A set of tubes.
"Breathe through your nose."

A series of small bites
in a location that I can't find.
And then the scream of some horrid machine,
Like the scream of an insolent child.

A large,
violent pain is radiated.
The smell of burning is the same as its taste.

Curled toes,
Tense muscles,
Wet eyes.
"Are you okay?"

More drugs.

Eyes closed,
everything moves at a slow pace,
as if I'm simply watching it happen
from a stool in the corner.

Writhing,
the sound of crunching bones
somewhere in my head.
"Just breathe through your nose."
Yeah.
Okay.

A hand pulls a string,
but I don't feel anything.
Like a puppet doing its master's bidding,
so I obey and succumb to this disembodied hand.

Slowly I am lifted
from the dream world I am in.
Bright lights fade,
I am reborn as a helpless child.

But I have legs just the same as you.
I can ******* walk,
so let me walk.
Don't you see?
Those drugs don't make me incapable of handling myself.

...Or do they?

"Don't stand up so fast."
Don't worry.
I know the limitations of this new person.
But the taste of blood reminds me of who I was.

And going back is equally as scary as going forward.
I've been afraid
Not of the truth
But of what it would do to you
I've wanted to slough the burden
Of which it weighs me down
Words have not been given
Me
That would shine a brighter light
Sufficient to reveal and yet
Dim enough so as not to blind
For it is not to you that I would send them
Neither do I expect you to listen to them
I would rather you didn't
But what comes around goes around
And I have lived vicariously through
You
For many, many years
Surely the truth will find it's way
It's own special way
I should embrace it, let it set me free
But I fear it
I fear death, too

There is something pushing against my back
Something heavy and forceful
The momentum of it's ******
Finds a center in my chest
Where I can only imagine a heart rests
My secret room, my prayer closet
Storehouse for everything I've ever known
Wasteland of every forgotten thought and memory
Embryo of my spirit
Womb of my soul
The weight of all that follows me
Threatens to raze it all
All I ever was, pushed into nothing
I feel it strong, it doesn't stop

A vacant numbness envelopes my mind
Some kind of mental Novocaine
I see the beauty of the world
I hear the music of your voice
They crawl into open holes
And pass straight through, down the spiral
Until the spiral implodes
In upon itself
Disappearing, vanishing, out of this world
Unregistered by the attention span of a zombie
Still, there are moments of cognizance
That I would cherish fondly
If only memory would cooperate

I do not want to die
I want to disappear
I want to close my eyes and never have to open them again
I want to dissolve into nothing
I want to ride that spiral myself and find out
To where the visions travel
I want to float in an ocean of light
Millions of miles from land in any direction
I want to be able to give up everything
That makes me want to stay here
A list, by the way, which gets shorter by the year
I want to walk into the light
That condemns me on this side

I would give up heaven
To go back to the womb
To call this life a draw
Before I could get the chance to ruin so many lives
Then slice open that womb
And let the placenta drenched shell drop into a bucket
You'll never see me
The scalpel will never press cool surgical steel
Against anything I could be, would be
Into anything I am
And let my mother shed no tears
And grieve me not
I am where I always hoped to be
I am where I am

The light shows this heart of mine
That's where I want to be, too
And this may sound like something
But it's not
I will hold on to hope
Even as it dies to an ember
Invisible to the naked eye
I am a strong man
My soul has been beaten down
Many times
But I always pick it back up
Stuff it back in
Move on
Move on
Move on

And I know what love is
I just can't feel it
Which doesn't make it any less love
But it lives in a hollow place
Where it stings like a hornet
When touched
Like the poison of a catfish gill
That once slipped into the skin
Makes you never want to go fishing again
Love that can't be felt, is it worth living for?
Precious Lord, is it worth dying for?

These pills won't cure you
Hopefully they will keep the illness at bay
Bravo, pharmaceutical science
A B Perales Jan 2014
Most of these choices
evolved from
random thoughts.
The learned way had
been abandoned.

The air held hostility
and the peoples
minds were
polluted
with a threatening view
of the world.

There was still trust
in the talking heads
and trust in the
Novocaine.

I found I could
drink and use
and be able to
stay cool while
everyone else
was panicking.

A radio played
and the lyrics rang true.
"Trust in me and fall
as well."

The pigeons sat on
wires in groups like
gray clouds full of
anxiety and doubt.

Stray dogs shared
negative thoughts
and ran the streets
with pink tongues
swinging from
in between
stained and bloodied
canines.

The moon took
flight and produced a new
era of paranoia.
A Fleeting feeling of
worry and reasons
blew in with the
wind.

I closed the door and
thought out loud.

Why risk it all
and step out
into the world when
I look around and
listen hard and find
so many reasons
to avoid it.
Gerard M Mar 2022
I’m the one who walks a lonely road the only one I have ever known

With my own ST. JIMMY who I ask to GIVE ME NOVOCAINE

The one who gives me my novacaine, so I won't feel a thing

And be a 21ST CENTURY BREAKDOWN losing what's left of my mind

Just being one of THE FORGOTTEN inside someone’s memory

Always singing the punk SONG OF THE CENTURY

Wishing I wasn’t the song EXTRAORDINARY GIRL

Hoping that I’m not always ST. JIMMY THE AMERICAN IDIOT
names of Green Day songs are in all caps
Vani j Aug 2016
She took the stairs
and followed her mind shaped road to nowhere.
Nowhere had novocaine and a whole lot of what  should not be shared.
Mind trips,
Dulled her to otherworldly stares,
Bruised lips,
And no one in sight to look for her welfare,
Comatose limbs taking her from nowhere to nowhere.
Fogged brain
taking away every bit of care,
But her dulled heart,
Still dare.
Thump, thump, thump.
Third Eye Candy May 2013
NONE OF THIS EVER HAPPENED BUT IT DID

your nightmares had their petrol and fondled the dead pools of your eyes.
they troubled the next world you just got use too
but then; you had that thing with your eyes.
you bit the moon in some kind of
bite the moon why ? not frenzy.
you kept your cell clean
but bartered for mice
that harbored a cat's
hate,

you sleep with jewish nuns from the planet Stop.
you shared dreams with neanderthals of ponderous love.
you had Novocaine to talk too.
the brilliant sleep of Houdini and Passion.
you had your demons sweep the floor of your cave
and you ain't been seen
since you got
that way.

gone are the things you had before the having was all ready false.
you might slip into a giant's maw and cling to the uvula of " now what ? "
i remember your scars like broken promises in a prom dress.
you had your soul varnished by madness and black cotton...
soft tufts of rough judgement and lightning
and bad blood. a conglomerate of was.
you're impossible if you might be you.
i dream you
a wrinkle
in a Paradise

for all the right Reasons

for you.
Geno Cattouse Oct 2013
Ivory towers like third appendages flipping of the sky.  Profane.
Rivers run cris-cross beetles in the bog.Traffic logjam.
Instant grats.                     Gratis time bomb ticking.

Age is an obstruction. mindless pursuits of Material security blankets.
Thumb suckers rule. Knuckleheads telling tales out of school. Glass house myopia.
A cornucopia a chorus of jabbernows.              Verbal diarrhea on wax. passes for reason.

Sin-taxes pay the way
Syntax gone astray. What the @*#* did she just say ?

Novocaine mainlined. Numb all over talking heads on the hill.
Need a few meg-volts to jolt flat-lined hearts to do the people's will.
War is raging, storms are raging. Quiet storms.

Oil. Fuels from long dead fossils. Habit handcuffs.
Cant get enough. Lites out soon.

Powers that be.
Juggernauts...Battlebots...  Taking giant steps backwards.
Chaos is local until in your locality.Doomsayer.
The Giant slayer kneels to place his head in the guillotine. Appease the ruthless.

Know it when you feel it. Babylon is falling.
Samantha Apr 2015
She is blue raspberry slushee tongue
Meets feminist rant.

She is Moon Pie wrapper personified.
She is purple lipstick stains on wine glasses
Filled to the brim with cranberry juice.
She is three cats, one bed.

She is a scratch in your favorite record during your favorite song.
She is bubblegum bubble pop,
She is the definition of hypochondriac.

Curiosity didn’t **** her,
She killed curiosity.

She is dry heaving into the toilet bowl,
Claw marks on the inside of her stomach.
She is naproxen sodium
Swirling down throat,
Gagging up bullet sized pills.

She is the other side of unrequited.

She is no ones favorite poem.
She is her own favorite poem.

She is perpetual headache.
She is screaming for justice.
She is the jersey devil episode of the X-Files,
In other words,
She is a hot mess.

She is nature walks cut short due to laziness.
She is laziness.
She is lay in bed all day,
Drown in the sheets.
She is too many books, not enough time.

She is funeral song at a wedding.
She is dethorned rose, declawed cat.
She is waking the dead.

She is a renaissance painting come to life.
Botticelli would cry if he saw her,
His Venus,
Splashing in the water.

She is Jezebel mourning Ahab.
She is Jezebel being eaten alive.

She is ankle deep dimple.
She is never could quite get the words out.
She is lip bite, blood drip.
She is covered in bruises and she likes it.

She is listerine flavored whiskey,
She is a shot glass of formaldehyde.

She is an oak tree,
Thats what her sister tells her.

She is the x on the back of an 18 year olds hand.
She is conspiracy theory.
She is playing possum.

She is change the subject.
She is cry when being yelled at,
Cry when no one is looking,
Cry when everyone is looking,
Cry because theres nothing else to do.

She is leather jacket in july.
She is crop top and mini skirt.
She is lullaby.
She is dancing to the Law and Order theme song.
She is 8,000 tweets.

She is see how long she can go without talking.
She is goes so long without talking
That now she can’t talk.
She is novocaine needle pock mark.

She is her own mythology,
Her own god.
She is fire breathing dragon.
She is knocking on god’s door
Until blood erupts from her knuckles.
She is asking why.
She is Persephone feasting on pomegranate seeds.

She is two siblings in the hospital.
She is “call if you don’t feel right”.
She is disassociative personality disorder,
At least thats what she’s convinced she is.

She is anxious laughter,
Anxious smile.
She is sewing her lips shut.

She is only 11 Instagram likes.
She is learning to love herself with the lights on.
She is sleep to much,
Sleep too little.
She is curl on cheekbone.
She is protruding rib bone.
She is hip bones cutting glass.

She is Lilith saying no.
She is leading the serpent to the garden.

She is vegetarian on moral grounds.
She is not telling her doctor she is a vegetarian
Because what if its bad for her?

She is fate and destiny making out under the bleachers.
She is making nooses out of ****** strings.
She is choke on your own saliva.
She is burnt tongue tip.
She is puking in the parking lot of her dentist’s office.
She is a 1997 themed mixtape.

She is a stanza curving like a lovers back.
She is chapped lips.
She is brick through the window.
She is suffocating on suburban ideals.

She is Anne Sextons ***** bottle.
She is Maya Angelou’s silence.
She is Lucien Carr’s ****** knife.
She is Sylvia Plath’s last manuscript before
She stuck her head in the oven.

She is three am,
Get out of bed.
She is snow in september.

She is poetry.
She is poet.
She is music in fingertips,
Songs molded from simile.
She is metaphor flavored kisses
And a witchcraft tongue.

She is a girl crafted of stories.
A collection of make believe.
She is breathing passion.
She is daughter of nothing,
Lover of everything.
She is afraid of scorpions.
She is the venom.

She is a violin heart screeching out its last note.
Jay Bryant Dec 2012
When I write late in the night or early in the day,
I like dimmed lights,
pressing random thoughts into these keys,
As she lays next to me trying to sleep,
Novocaine plays and describes my day,
My words slur in this hypogongic state.
Lets take a trip somewhere far away.
A voyage to Atlantis or maybe just to another state.
Let my paradise be more then I dream.
Let it be a place where I can enjoy the birds sings.
With painted on scenery, Yeah, thats the way.
Let me groove with you,
let us dance on rose petals I feel so smooth with you.
My eyes are to heavy to carry
But the burden of sleep has already been buried.
Suddenly life's not so bad the struggle is still there but
The Struggles not so bad.
I've revised my ways without any kind of Rehab.
Eyes fall real slow lets hope I don't relapse.
Perhaps this is the quiet before the storm
Or maybe I'm sitting in the eye of the storm.
Tho, I do adore her for more than just her form,
I take whats inside the machine thats inside.
Mechanisms that hide from the naked eye but
I know them well so I can see them without even trying.
How dry is this life without the rain that pours from inside.
A drought thats good if you truly understands whats inside.
Late night missions in place of late night cries.
Stand up for what you feel is right,
I'll play the Stick up kid and rob the rich of their joy and pride.
I'll play Robin Hood in the storm tonight.
Misty Roper Mar 2014
Hummingbird,
reflecting shattered
strains of
stained glass light,
invoking the laws of physics...

You,

Threaded a muted conversation
through soup can telephones
into this delusional bubble
within the Novocaine fog.

Unexpected disruption
in my comfortable illusion,
grating vibration buzzing in...

Inadvertently excavating
that secret chamber,
pressure sealed,

Only to find there are no treasures inside.....

For the Sphinx has lost them,
and the mummy's venom
reactivates in this bent light...

and digests me...

from the inside.
This is my poem that placed third in the Florida Collegiate Honors Council's writing contest for the category of poetry in 2014.
Sarah Spang Jul 2016
It's Novocaine, in a way
Slathered over my brain
In a chemical cocktail
That's supposed to keep my mind
From the endless cycle of self imposed
Punishment.
There's no On or Off
And therein's the problem
Capping off something
With no particular filter.

To clarify, I'm a bit all or nothing,
And the promise of peace they gave me
Also implied artistry of my thoughts;
The conversely sharp and wonderful inner workings
That once gushed forward effortlessly
Are locked up inside in the plugged up
Pool of sludge.

What a paintbrush they have these days,
Drenching things in black and white;
I see the logic in settling, to gripping these little oval promises
Of a better life for sanity.
This cold clarity enables me to remember
What once was with a measured calculation
Of the good weighed against the bad.

Grey is a foreign object after my descent into the Matrix
Red pill, Blue pill,
I finally understand Cipher.
Somethings are better left unknown
Sometimes ignorance IS bliss.
Jose Fernandez Aug 2017
You are so kind.
One of those you search for but never find.
For whatever reason, I can’t get you off my mind.
I want to give you all my time and have an opportunity to call you mine.
We're made for one another, one of a kind.
I feel as if our minds are intertwined.
Created to heal the world… divine.
I know this may not be the right time, but theirs something about us, I have to find.
It's more than chemistry in my brain.
You’re the Novocaine to all my pain.
There is no other I want the same.
And you are the one to blame.
It's your goofy smile that keeps me sane.
And if I am committing treason.
I know I met you for a reason.
I get high looking through your eyes.
Those bright blue skies give me butterflies.
I tried my best to stay away.
Your eyes don’t lie, I look away.
Your heart is pure let's keep it that way.
And he walks away...
M Clement Mar 2013
3 days
4 months
5 hours
6 minutes
7 ways to make you say "ooh"

I bought pizza kittens flying through space
Find your advertising ***-hole on my shirt

Let's travel to Pacoima
I hear it's nice there
Left field relationships
Right behind the nearest Amusement Park
It's getting easier not to give a ****

Oh goodness, language, good sir
Let's me and me lay down naked
Bear's fur

I do enough self loathing for the both of us
Single-awareness
I've tried to keep vigilant
Self-******* for the hell of it
I spaced this one to the right

I take showers in flowers made of Novocaine and sea salt
I just realized the misspelling of lyrics and song names will never by my fault
Long lines of words and *******
Let's go to the nearest cineplex
Bottellas de vino y mas cerveza para mi!
Let's watch Jurassic Park in 3D
Louis Brown Nov 2011
Osama liked his days of glory
Until the Seals made it gory
But there's no grieving this barbarian
He slew so many innocents
He deserved his fast descent
The world is richer far without the man

He died a bullet in his head
Some celebrate his being dead
Except for those who wished he'd felt more pain
Some would have pulled his toenalls, all
And shot him thrice between the *****
Then pulled his teeth not using novocaine

We chased him for the last decade
And finally his bill is paid
We all feel blessed his murdering is through
They threw his carcass in the sea
No angel welcome, c'est la vie
To Satan's antichrist, to Hell with you

Thus reads the story of Osama
Who should have listened to his Mama
But went about destroying the peace
They vowed to catch the shifty ****
The man GW fumbled on
But Obama sent him down to meet the Beast
Third Eye Candy May 2016
The scent of you on my hand and lips
lingers in my dream and limps
through my every day,
I am consumed as I resume my dull way
through the heart of an indifferent
novocaine.

it was like mars had lips to speak of us....
last we met wetly and the Earth moved
from the hole I'd chosen to die in.
we were both of Us
tying to come about
from a dim luck... as we ******
at each other's rust
where our steel was frost and numb
but our towers gleamed young
and less ridiculous
than a close shave
in a black room

too beautiful
to refuse a sun
too small to be a star
and yet too huge
to be
removed.

II

It was a Wednesday
when our Tuesday asked
for Tomorrow
back.

We lacked the skill to atone
for our fumbling
but conjured our errant will.
you had smoke in your dark brown eyes
and I had both eyes
on your wanton thighs...
we clamored toward Utopia
clutching no heavenly thing
save our fire
in Ice.

III

Lately,you seem one with the gone swans.
and I know how they forage thru unforgivable
songs...

but the scent of you lingers on my fingertips
Like a long dawn.

A sunset, upset...
where the light keeps
every dark
gone,

and all the rest
inept

— The End —