"numbingly" poems
Choose **** Choose a dealer. Choose your rolling papers. Choose a **** Choose mind numbingly long conversations about **** all. Choose home grown. Choose frequent holidays to amsterdam. Choose red eyes. Choose the biggets pizza ever for when the munchies kick in. Choose paranoia. Choose chilling with mates. Choose hallucinating about a giant green hedgehog following you home. Choose watching Cheech and Chong. Choose skunk. Choose super skunk. Choose hiding your stash from the police. Choose spilling ***** **** water on your carpet. Choose a fake jamaican accent. Choose space cakes. Choose your future. Choose ****
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 6:08 AM UTC
*tonight when I fled from my cage,
I was secluded from my own head because
all it called upon was you. echoing and echoing.*
like a mother aches for her lost child
I was
gnawing the skin on my fingertips
rustling the ends of my hair into knots
biting numbingly into my tongue
all so nonchalantly
like a fool.
who is so simply chasing his own tail
in circles and circles and circles and just such endless cycles
until they send themselves to sleep
Sep 2, 2018
Sep 2, 2018 at 9:48 AM UTC
Stochastic perfection
Staccato smoothness
Screaming comfort
Mental duress
Gutter rat beauty
Sensory control
Primal sophistication
Mutating soul
Indecipherable pitch
Blinding vision
Deafening clarity
Reckless precision
Simplistic genius
Street-wise intellect
Monosyllabic truth
Politically incorrect
Emotional apocalypse
Raging articulation
Distorted calm
Dominating freedom
Numbingly sensitive
Inappropriate dignity
Contemplative explosion
Tempestuous tranquility
Feb 14, 2012
Feb 14, 2012 at 5:20 PM UTC
Leave the light on for me.
I know it's late,
And I'm out wandering the streets
But when I promised I'd come home tonight
Whether I was belligerently drunk
Or mind-numbingly high,
I meant it.
And now I'm wandering the streets
And the streetlights are all blending together
As though they are strung out
On the christmas trees
Of the apartment buildings
On our street,
Except I'm not sure if it's our street
Because I have stood on every step
Of every porch with the light on
But no one seems to be home
And I can't help but wonder,
Did you forget to leave the light on?
Or do you not feel like coming to the door?
I'm trying not to over-think this
But the police officer across the street
Is beginning to stare at me
With beady eyes
That remind me of the rats
That I passed in the subway
Just twenty minutes ago,
Or was it thirty?
I can't read the numbers
Engraved on the buildings
Aligned like tombstones
As though even they know
Our love is going to die here.
Or is it already dead?
I guess I'll know
In the next thirty seconds
Because I have one more porch to go
And I can't help but wonder,
Did you leave the light on?
Aug 21, 2013
Aug 21, 2013 at 1:00 PM UTC
To the Ginger I Met on Tinder,
I'm sorry I didn't linger
longer in your arms,
but I've known you barely
three weeks and this is crazy,
but kissing you tasted like
ice water, *not that it was too
wet cause it wasn't!*
I'm doing this all wrong,
let me start again:
You see I don't take chances
on hopeless romances.
But kissing you was electrifying
like shock therapy gone
wonderfully, horribly, *mind
numbingly*...well. So well that
I lost my mind, temporarily.
I found it, unfortunately.
I found it was very confused.
You started out as a picture
on a screen, all I knew was,
red hair, big eyes, and nice arms.
Even when you were in front of me,
arms wrapped around me,
big beautiful eyes looking
down at me full of life,
even when I could reach out
and touch you, you didn't
feel real...
Do I feel real to you?
Do you wonder how to
make your fantasy feel
like reality?
Do you wonder if you should?
When the photo starts talking
back what do we talk about?
As badly as I want to
break the laws of physics
with you, I know I can't.
Because I don't matter, to you.
Nothing can be created from nothing.
My time and energy is not destroyed
by you it is only transformed into new
understanding of my standards.
Lightening bolts will never be
enough for me, they're too dangerous
too unpredictable, I crave constancy
alongside my intimacy.
So to answer the question
I hope you're asking yourself:
Yes you are kind of an *******
but no you didn't hurt me.
Regretfully Yours,
The Blonde You Met On Tinder
Dec 9, 2014
Dec 9, 2014 at 3:59 PM UTC
Mulling about
The muck
The haunts we are hardbound
Foggy fetal leavings by the sea
Right before the light;
The days of purple haze
Of sallow street cars, street lamp, amped up
Yet dampened loss of desire
Pop another oxy-hydro-fire.
To be able
To muck about
With inner abandon
the abandonments deep
Numb battlements / "Hoorah!"
Semper Fi the pain
Only significant
With derivatives
From ******* plantations
Opioid addiction’s contractually binding
Lingering love notes
A vice grip on idle minds
So many now that prey
But with a side affect of
Try holding in your ****
for three-plus days
So as not to feel
Not at all
Not even the rage
We keep anxiously pacing
Clawing at
Nonexistent strings
A Beast inside our cage
Forgiven by preacher men
Proclaiming to hallelujah
Change
At war with illusionist
Freedom
The boys fight for still
A country of patriotic pill poppers
Believing in heavenly kingdoms'
Healing
Secret silent pleading
Because nothing takes away
The pain
Like Hydro Oxy foxy pills
Self medicate down wind of will
If unaffected "consult your physician"
He’s at the edge of the stage
A Spearmint rhino making it rain
For Peaches
From patient list of his *******
The business of lust
Is feeding the loss of will
If you still feel lost -- and war sure did
Give them nothing but
PTSD & bad dreams
Machine gun migraines
Pop another pill
Jagged little killer
Softly knocks you off your feet
Black is cheaper
Smoke out not to feel
The muck-about days of
Constipated pains
Reader Digesting heavily,
Numbingly unreal.
Casualty of a nameless waste
That’s his deal / what it's like :
Most fecund
A life on the toilet
In wait for relief…
Get off the ***
Can't give a ****
Like this bowel movement
His heart has called it quits
To all this unholy *******
Veteran
Patriot
Manhood’s defeat
Damnation
Mucking about...
Jun 17, 2018
Jun 17, 2018 at 11:02 AM UTC
but I had to go mad
to become real
a diagnoses of mirrors
permission to feel,
I miss the drugs
when I swallow the medication
mind numbingly beautiful
with veins like seaweed
wavering in water
salty
thirst never quenched
I crave it like he does.
Jul 25, 2013
Jul 25, 2013 at 9:15 AM UTC
A tyrannical itch
That is never satisfied
The skin, broken
Smudges of blood
The rugged epidermis
Swelling.
A need that isn't supposed to be there
A soul-crushing phantom
An obsession with the computer screen
For the likes, the applause
For significance.
Like a drug-induced falsity
False euphoria
The itch grows unbearable
But mind-numbingly pleasant.
Such is the nature of attention-seeking
And toxic social media.
Dec 13, 2020
Dec 13, 2020 at 9:15 PM UTC
on the wall
hung a clock
melting in the day's ire
running toward the ground,
it ran fast sometimes
and occasionally
mind numbingly sluggish
in the washbasin
the rags i wore
soaked in a soapy stillwater
waiting for the wash
that these tired hands
must do
these blemished hands
how they hurt
strained from work
like the oil stains
on his shirt
they are worn
they are torn
and are without comforting
though his resolve is strong
his will is weak
from the havoc wreaked
from a life of low pay
struggling to live
week to week
knowing you deserve better
Apr 1, 2021
Apr 1, 2021 at 11:33 AM UTC
You are so
mind-numbingly
beautiful.
You didn't have to say a word,
you just closed the door behind you
and your presence filled the room.
And I am so in love with you
that the outlines of your face
are enough to make me smile
for days.
And it's so strange
how I have never heard these words
come from anybody's lips
until today
when I caught my own reflection
in the window
of the train
and muttered them
to myself.
Oct 25, 2018
Oct 25, 2018 at 2:28 PM UTC
What am I between these driving
delusions of all my anxieties, aside?
When every moment is a revolt against
suicide and my steadying decline
and my internal monologue dissolved
into reminding myself why.
Who am I but ceaselessly unsure
of the lens of my own myopic, miserable mind?
Between the shadows stirring
in the corners of these drying eyes
and the alarming cry for predators nearby,
these countless confines multiplying wildly.
How often I find I am fighting my brain every second, all the time
my own excessive efforts led awry
as my uncertainties undermine.
But now all I know is I am finally
freeing myself from being so spine numbingly paralyzed
now that I've realized I lie
underneath somewhere within
the way of still waking up
from this frozen comatose demise.
Mar 2, 2017
Mar 2, 2017 at 11:50 PM UTC
We look past meaning, still blinded and dreaming of riches,
Which leads us toward track homes and condos, cruel chapels
While the hapless live in the world’s mansion: the most open convent
And what we don’t see is sometimes the crux of our content
The streets offer a morose array of the discarded
They, the wise and most wretched, who humbly suffer
Are perhaps the truest, comely Christian-hearted men and women
They bless the day as they pray to the ground
Where cracks become twisted crucifixes upon which
The most selfless are displayed for public derision.
Ironic is the formula written with precision on the tome of our existence
Iconic moments of pain bloom into the banks that loan out inspiration
Each electron is one thousand eight hundred thirty-sixth of its proton
And this proportion, though grandly and numbingly unimpressive
Is the basis upon which we live and whir and spin as matter does
Coincidence is a lie in the face of the certainties within what we cannot see
For, though one decade separated the births of Crockett and Bowie
And, though their names might conjure knives larger than pockets
And hats, stolen from conquered bandit-faced creatures’ tail ends
It was on the same 1836 day that they evolved from flesh into legend.
Joy is a strange element that seems to come and go without a plot
Yet some know how to wield their emotions with little thought
As if joy and love were as a hammer worn neatly at the belt
So, I yearn for one day to grasp a handle in a hand that has never felt
The shape of certainties, once discerned as chance and circumstance
And when the hammer falls, I hope it breaks a twisted crack into my heart
I hope to, from my reflections, thus bereft,
Find some perfection hidden deep in death
As one might decipher, through foreign language,
A light that warms within a sonnet
In a way, I think my life depends upon it.
Feb 19, 2013
Feb 19, 2013 at 4:35 PM UTC
real; the unscabbed scars on my knuckles and arms remind
me of rough trees and the grimy surface of soil stomped
on, you compare them to wildflowers but i know that this is
only because you are the type of person to enter a restaurant
with a sign that reads caution and order something anyway,
simply because you are too nice and hate to think of businesses
shutting down and of people failing, maybe this is why
you love me, i still have not figured it out yet
real; walking into school makes me feel like a deflated balloon
and everyone that says hello to me is blowing me up
again with methane i am slowly becoming too big to be tied
down with a ribbon called responsibility and fear,
the anxiety that enters my mind when i am forced to stand in
front of strangers with judgemental eyes and fake smiles
becomes mind numbingly painful and it makes me question
whether or not i am still alive. i still have not figured out
why i am yet.
real; your smile lights up the lights on the lamposts by the
train station where we met it transforms phantoms into people
paper planes into reality and nightmares into dreams
your touch leaves nothing but good intentions and blissful hope
and it leaves my cold unbeating heart yearning for warmth. i
still have not figured out if i like it or not.
not real; you love me. you kiss my wrist because you care
about me not what i went through. you love talking to me, you
wonder about how stars could ever die because you
think i am a walking sun. you keep your promises and tell me that
you care every night. i'm a good person. i have aspirations.
those pills on my bedside are not mine. the mirror is shaking.
i never meant to hurt myself. i'm sorry for all the things i've done.
i have potential to be better. i am beautiful.
*not real not real not ******* real*
(h.l.)
Dec 2, 2015
Dec 2, 2015 at 7:09 PM UTC
Today,
Something bit me,
An insect of some sort.
The next thing i know,
My whole right arm was swollen.
I coudnt bare the pain.
Tears run down my face.
I can feel the wound pounding, literally.
This wound reminded me of you.
How I dont know how to get rid of you.
How numbingly painful it is to feel you.
How i know that you will be gone
After a few days,
few minutes,
few seconds.
But the thing is,
I will never forget the pain
because of the scar you left
on my impeccable heart.
Jul 5, 2015
Jul 5, 2015 at 3:37 AM UTC
the world is mind numbingly quiet
the streets drenched in nostalgic sepia,
the kind that ushers you into a movie moment reeling in
under the notes of a power ballad
and all of a sudden you just feel
alive but detached from your life.
your body is immobile in a moving vehicle,
your brain takes pictures
of the people that is around you,
and you realize that their life
is not yours.
they are under impressions of sunrises
and the shading of trees in the summer's sleep,
while you exist
because of the way the street appears
at night beneath the empty moon.
Sep 28, 2015
Sep 28, 2015 at 12:55 AM UTC
in the beginning, there was only darkness. a vast expanse of nothingness, as far as the eye could see. it was quiet. it was mind numbingly peaceful. my world was still and undisturbed. and that was the beginning.
and then you appeared in the middle. suddenly, a beam of artificial light appeared out of nowhere, a spotlight cast on the love i felt for you. it's like the heavens opened, when really it was just the devil in disguise and the earth's fiery core of hellish natures taunting me. taunting me with you. there were natural disasters forming in my heart and my mind faster than you could say "i love you". and that was the middle.
and then came the end. the artificial light disappeared, and revealed that that's all i ever was to you. artificial. my mind stopped overthinking. my heart stopped overloving. my eyes were wide open to the world for once. they looked into yours and i could remember your soul gently whispering to me that this was it. this was the end.
May 24, 2015
May 24, 2015 at 8:17 AM UTC
I have been so mind numbingly lost between the static in this room that I've forgotten what your voice felt like. searching for the promises you buried in your pillow before I try to get out of bed every morning, I've forgotten what your hands sounded like. but, like broken glass on soft feet I walked recklessly into a fight I could never win with you. you were always stubborn and selfish. I spent years searching for reasons you couldn't love me in boys that swore they did and only ever came up with me loving you too much. I loved you too much I suffocated you with 3am drunken phone calls and 6am good morning texts. I loved you too much with surprise lunches and coffees when you're home alone. I loved you too much with poems and songs that have your name written on every page. I have been so whole heartedly consumed in your dark eyes I forgot how light your hair looks in the sun. I sold the devil my soul knowing **** well you never wanted me at all. but god knows I will always ******* want you.
Aug 4, 2015
Aug 4, 2015 at 1:51 AM UTC
I see you on beautiful days
the kind that make your heart stop and your mind take mental pictures,
when the sun is setting just rightly enough
that shadows are long but the day isn't sad because it's ending,
merely continuing its natural cause-
you are in those shadows,
your figure mirrored in their calm, lenghty presence
and in the words of the birds
speaking joyfully-
it's you they gossip and sing for.
The little fragments of light on the water
when the wind hits it like a painting
those are your eyes
your smile
the gentle paper noise of the leaves on their branches
that is your voice
speaking to me in a way nobody else has ever tried
a different language
all our own.
You're in the air itself
so clear and cool and mind numbingly brilliant
it's all you
even miles and hours apart
even while you're doing your actions and I'm completing my routine
and even when I feel lonely without you to enjoy such a wonderful sight
you are already here,
to selflessly make the sensations of existence just that much better.
Mar 12, 2013
Mar 12, 2013 at 6:41 PM UTC
Delight!
A polite specter clasps the borders of my sight.
A slight incline of final flights of fancy forms the falling night.
Fright and fury forging flustered flames to feed The Furnace's Fight.
A foolish fate to sort through all those effing thoughts at night.
Delighted me!
Blessed ever be these visitors I see.
We shall lay together in a twisted manmade canopy.
A shroud of nightly norm invades and shades us blackened worms.
We wrap in squirming ratkings trapped and wriggling with older forms.
We shall raise the heat and torch to ash what flashing scenes reside inside dilated late-night features til each creature meets demise.
Let their burnt remains stay slain imbued into my insane cranium as numbingly I fumble back to scratch the corners of my former eyes,
then realize with--every tear I bare here-delightfully deluded sight.
White light!
Respite.
May 16, 2015
May 16, 2015 at 8:12 PM UTC
The platform is cold,
Numbingly uncomfortable,
The 15:03 train is delayed,
Good.
I would rather wait in the bitter cold
Than return to reality.
It finally arrives,
Sighing as its engines
Relinquish all strength
It has to carry on.
I chose the longest journey to London,
Every stop,
Every pause in tine that I can temper
Linger in.
The fatigue may settle
And my hands may quiver,
But the memories of this week
Are irrevocable,
Laughter,
Friends,
Alcohol,
It was bliss to say the least,
But all good things must come to an end.
There is still the journey through the underground,
Maybe I could lose myself in a sea of commuters
And culture?
The urban rebels
And buzz of tourists who yearn for adventure?
The only thing that propels me
To step off the platform in the first place
Is the thought of ending up in his arms
By the end of the evening.
Feb 6, 2015
Feb 6, 2015 at 10:19 AM UTC
To mull about
The haunts we are bound
Foggy cemeteries of cubic square feet
The days of purple haze
Of sallow street cars, street lamp, lamp light
Loss of desire
Pop another oxy-hydro-fire
To be able
To muck about
With abandon the abandonments
Numb battlements / "Hoorah!"
Numb the pain
With derivatives
From ******* plantations
Lingering ghosts on our minds
So many now we prey
But with a side affect of try
Holding in your **** for three plus days
So as not to feel
Not at all
Not even the rage
We keep and hold inside our cages
Proclaiming to hallelujah
Freedom
We fight for the countries
And mystic kingdoms' reign
Because nothing takes away
The pain
Like Hydro Oxy foxy pills
Self medicate down wind of will
If unaffected "consult your physician"
At the edge of the stage making it rain
The business of death
If you still feel -- and war will
Give you bad dreams and migraines
Pop another pill
Jagged not to feel
The muck-about days of
Constipated steel
Numbingly unreal...
This is what it's like : life on the toilet.
Get off the ***
Can't give a ****
Like this bowel movement
My heart has called it quits
To all that unholy *******
Sep 19, 2016
Sep 19, 2016 at 11:04 AM UTC
My mom asks me what I'm studying,
And I say The heart.
Her interests peaks,
Because she's always seen
The body as a work of art.
She wants to know more,
So I give her the brief about pumps,
What makes it faster or slower,
But I don't want to talk about this,
In truth, I haven't told my parents much since I started to go here.
We've studied anatomy,
And how bleeding works,
Biochemistry,
And why swollen red skin
Seems to always hurt.
But the more I've taken in,
The less I've given out.
As if being an expert for only you
Is what becoming a doctor is all about.
I tell my friends my grades are good,
Though I definitely study less than I could.
And after saying school is fine,
I skip to some other line
Of thought,
Like I suddenly don't have the time
To include my friends in this new life
Of mine.
It's not that they wouldn't understand,
Because these pals are smart as hell
And it's not that they wouldn't want
More details than "I'm doing well."
And it's not that to learn,
You have to forget,
About the people who matter,
Who got you where you needed to get.
It's that this world is skull-crushingly,
Mind-numbingly full
And at the end of the day,
Escape seems the goal.
But creating two worlds
Makes it easy to leave one behind.
And I wouldn't want to lose the rhythm
Of my values
Just to learn more medical rhymes.
So I need to work harder
To tell my mom about the heart.
To make these two lives
A little less apart.
How there're really two pumps,
No, really there're four,
And in some people's hearts,
You can hear a dull roar
Of a valve slamming shut
Or opening at the wrong time.
And if you've got pulses in your feet,
You're doing just fine.
To tell my friends the truth,
Instead of sloughing it off,
That asthma and emphysema
May have a similar cough.
Or that there are really two systems
That your body uses to clot.
And platelets aren't the only
Thing that you got.
To become a good doctor,
I have to become a good man.
And I thought until now
That was a simple enough plan.
But it might not just be about
Good bedside manner and empathy.
It might be more about how I treat
Those important to me.
If I can give everyone Zach
Without a dodge or excuse,
I'll become a doctor in training,
AND a doctor in truth.
Apr 25, 2017
Apr 25, 2017 at 2:23 AM UTC
Melodies
mumbled through the corrosive
coating of plastic
pieces jammed directly into
damaged ear drums.
Songs
strained across beats
berating the mesmerized
mentality of awesome into the
auto-tuned automatons.
Notes
numbingly droned on rhythms
righteous in their
thinking that all problems are
part of the present past.
Words
are what brings the perfunctory lives of
people to a stop,
singularly holding onto
hell in lines and
living in the storing
of stories for
future generations to remember,
regardless of race gender or class,
creed religion or background.
Poetry, the
truly precious example of
earnest men and women
wearing their lives on paper
lined suits
strengthened by the emotional bodies
broken and bled for ink and
imagery, is capable of
capturing the base of humanity while
hearkening to the Immortal and his
ill-mentioned brother, is made
material by man and
meaning more to each whom
enter the world left
when they began, is
perfection without ever needing to
win, is love
without ever having to
hear the other speak, is everlasting and forever
evolving just as
all life does.
Oct 20, 2011
Oct 20, 2011 at 2:43 AM UTC
I'm beginning to see my brittle bones make an appearance through my fragile skin.
I can see the curvature of my bones and where the connections begin.
I fear that the lack of my appetite will soon turn me dry of food and water.
And my mind and body will begin to weaken and my perception will alter.
I numbingly watch the vultures circle around me under bright lights.
I want to cry as I listen to them say they loved me with all their might.
And they'll want to know how could I have possibly done such a thing.
Not realizing my lonely sessions consisted of my disorder to binge.
I can not chew without getting the sickening feeling of nausea.
I'd plainly just rather not eat until I pass out into euphoria.
Wake up sick once again, and the cycle repeats.
I lay weak in bed wondering when my disorder will put me into defeat.
I believe that is my goal, to torture myself in the ways that I can so I can go away.
Vulnerable in front of a mirror, wishing I can be put into the earth to lay.
I am weathering away, day by day, night by night, tracing the bones of my rib cage.
I can't eat, it will all come back up in a violent rage.
The growing pain residing in my stomach hurts.
But if it promises me death, I want to stay in this desert.
Jan 17, 2018
Jan 17, 2018 at 6:35 PM UTC