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Peach Sep 2014
Their lips and memories soaking in *****
And dead intimacy that they try to revive.
Alcohol burns the throat, but numbs a heart’s bruise.

He drinks to flood his sober blues.
She peers into her cup and takes the dive.
Their lips and memories soaking in *****

Bodies twist together, as they confuse
Passion with a polluted *** drive.
Alcohol burns the throat, but numbs a heart’s bruise.

Loneliness tagged on their souls like tattoos,
But in a whiskey glass true love cannot thrive.
Their lips and memories soaking in *****.

He counts the number of girls he screws.
She kisses in order to feel alive.
Alcohol burns the throat, but numbs a heart’s bruise.

No concern for dignity that they are eager to lose,
Artless *** as a means to survive.
Their lips and memories soaking in *****,
Alcohol burns the throat, but numbs a heart’s bruise.
duhastnach Mar 2015
You're a one night stand
But we spent too many nights
I lost count of it.

You're that unexpected kiss
On a drunken wasted night
Of vomits and *****.

You're that awkward hi
Exchanged by strangers who
Thought they both knew each other
But were clearly mistaken for another.

You're the bruise that turns blue
When I accidentally bump my leg
On the corner of the bed.

You're the scar that I never
Knew I had.

You're the bittersweet taste in
My mouth every morning.

You're the last thought lingering
In my head before slumber takes me
And you're the vagueness that
Haunts me in my dreams.

You're the scalding hot shower
In a cold freezing morning.

You're the boiling tea that numbs
My tongue for the rest of the day.

You're the obsession
I will never learn to let go of.

You're that person I will
Never get to call mine.

You're the one that got away.
Umi Dec 2017
The blush of the dawn is so relentless
driving into me it numbs all my senses,
Oh beauty of the heavens far above
You fill my heart with so much love,
Thus I turn my gaze up to this glorious sky
Watching all of these fluffy clouds passing by
Until finally the sun rises..

~ Umi
Vivid demise guides
Me; can anyone hear me?
Why won't you save me?

What numbs me worthless,
The vast veer of intention,
Why won't it take me?

Evolve existence,
Into inaudible cries
For mental relief-
I've been working on long poems, with these stories, I kinda just wanted to make something small, but with a bigger meaning. I hope I did that in this one.
All feedback is welcome and appreciated!
Anon C Nov 2012
In a dark corner, pondering the state of the world
as I write this, I take another drink
drowning in this thing, the drink I mean
opening my mind allowing me to see
everything much more clearly
for is this not what it does
heals wounds, numbs the pain
whilst killing you
how ironic
but I can't stop and I hate it
such a dependence, thoughts much more attuned
when intoxicated and alone
and God how I love it, how I hate it
I know I am weak
I say with cigarette and drink in hand
but it dulls the agony so why not
why not
there are those sober, suffering, judging
at least I can admit it
yes I admit it, I am weak
I love music, drink, loneliness, drugs, misery
I am most alive when I look out
and see those in denial of the horror
I know the truth, I know it is real
I accept it
my friend, this is what it is to be human
I love the idea of peace, love, happiness
but the entire world won't accept it
so I drink
I smoke
I sit alone in a dark corner
and ponder
what if
what would I be if humanity coexisted
Jay Altezza Nov 2013
We live in a world where:
An illusion is called reality
And truth is a conspiracy;
Slavery is freedom
And all work is tough work;
Logic makes no sense
And school numbs the brain;
Our faith lies in those in power
And materialism is the religion;
We want to stand out
But keep trying to fit in;
Blood is not always family
And our tools are our best friends;
Friends are actually enemies
And love is equated to lust;
Peace is fought for
And humility is weakness;
Priorities come last
And talent is disability;
The wolves are the sheepdogs
And the Shepherd is ignored;
Our way of life leads to death
And medication vitiates;
Sanity is madness
And creativity is destroyed;
The past is disregarded
And the future seems bleak.

Centuries ago,
Shakespeare left us the question: To be or Not to be?
I guess it is clear which answer we chose.
katewinslet Oct 2015
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Destiny Odeh Sep 2015
Osas, there's a certain darkness in me. I can't explain it, but I don't curse the darkness, because it's where we found each other. After I found you, I stopped searching for rainbows in the far reaches of the sky, you were my sunshine. You cast away my troubles and wrestled my demons. You were the missing piece that finally made me feel whole. That’s funny, because you always said that being whole is overrated, it's the holes that make us beautiful. You always made me feel beautiful. Even though the beautiful moments we once had are slowly fading, turning from vivid to grey. I can still feel your palm, gentle on my blushing cheek, stroking my hair backwards, tucking every curly strand behind my ears. The same ears you'd whisper a bouquet of wonderful words into. We were sweet together once.

You see, I wasn’t always a hot-tempered ****** like you’d often call me. I hated that word, “******”. No! I am not a ******, I am not hot-tempered, I am not viscous lava, I am not fire. I am the phoenix that rose out of the flames you lit. The same fire you came running into, but while trying to save me, you forgot to save yourself.

You were the erupting volcano. You were vicious and violent. You were a deadly collection of everything vile. You were hot and cold, you were yes and no. Did you even love me at all? I guess I will never truly know.

Ok, I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry. I'm sorry I wrote that last paragraph. I know you loved me dearly. I'm only scraping for a reason to hate you; to cleanse my conscience. I feel so stupid right now. I can't stop crying. I can't stop thinking about that night. The error of my deed still haunts me. The least I can do is to keep writing you back to life, writing back into my arms.

I got 12 years; I'll be out of here just in time for menopause. I never cared much about having unruly, noisy, silly little babies running riot, leaving a trail of ****, puke and toy cars lying around. But I cared about you. I still care about you deeply Osas.

We were of the same form, you and I. Passionately understanding each other's darkness. You understood me perfectly. Better than all the others before you. You knew how fragile my heart and mind was, yet you broke both. Why? I was crazy in love with you, you took away the love and left me plain crazy.

I hate the drugs they give me here, it numbs my mind and takes away the pain, but why will I want that to go away, when the pain is all I have left of us? I feel so hollow inside, I’m an emotionless wreck now. I have lost myself! Maybe if I dig deeper, I'd discover an avalanche of emotions still buried inside me. Sandwiched between my ice-cold heart and the poisonous blood coursing through my veins. The same veins I want to expose to the spirits in the wind, and as my warm blood pours on this cold concrete like leaves on a forest floor, I’d finally be at peace. I hope to find peace in death, for death is not a dark abyss, but a ladder to light - an ascension to another realm. And in that realm I hope to find you, my darling, to explain to you why I did it. Why I pushed you off the balcony.

I’m sorry, but I couldn't look you in the face anymore. You disgusted me! I saw you with her in the breakroom at the office party. Yes! I saw you on your knees with your face in between her thighs! Even though you claimed she seduced you, I still saw you! I can't get that horrid image out of my head. It was in that moment I knew I couldn't live another day hearing you tell me another lie.

I got a blade today, from a lady in the shower, after I let her touch me in all the right places, still it felt so wrong. You have no idea how hard it is to find even the simplest sharp object in here. Random body cavity searches, routine cell shakedowns, constant reminders that I have and I am nothing. At least she was gentle when she slid her fingers inside me. Aunty Julianna was never gentle whenever she touched me in the bathroom stall at church camp.

I’ve truly lost myself, Osas. Nothing, and no one, can make me whole again. I’m covered in holes now and I don’t feel beautiful anymore. I feel bitter, sad and shattered. Even mirrors no longer lie to me. I see myself for what I am now - a monster.

"I have to do this, this is the only way." I calmly reassure myself, while clutching the rusty blade and pressing its jagged edge against my deathly pale skin.

"Calm down Adesuwa, you’re having an episode again." A voice echoed from the corner of my dark cell. Your voice. But still I didn’t believe.

"Is that you Osas?" I whispered. "Have you come to forgive me or have you come for retribution?"

"Here's your dinner." said the prison guard, before spotting the blade and sounding the alarm. I was on my belly before I could say a word, my arm bent behind me, my fingers pried open... my ladder gone.

Another day. I guess I’ll die another day.
Aniron Jul 2017
I abandon the path and mark my visit
deep into natures greens and hidden groves
how the beauty of everything intoxicates me,
and consuming it all leaves me only with no sense:
speechless and bewildered, like a baby.
words seem but a lost cause to me ;
it is almost as if the ferns and its charms
don’t want to be spoken of –
not even a praise.
upon astray land I leave my trail
up the thick pine hill, down the lonesome glen
I sit desperately, in search of only half a word –
it makes no difference at all.
a hint, a hum of frigid air
deep twilight falls upon me like a star
and I fall with it into my own silence.
the hypnotizing haunt of crickets in unseen places
numbs me, almost becomes me
and I become them, like everything becomes
the other thing that lives in its own way.
and just hearing the wise creek babbling,
the traveling breezes’ secret murmur ;
I know I have been unaware all along.
the poem was never mine to write:
I have only to listen.
David Jul 2013
Stereotypes manifesting always,
Trying to form themselves from something once seen,
But not really believing in oneself,
I see ignorance,
I see arrogance,
I see the lack of hunger,
Observing such savage pride of life,
I run from it all into a previous state,
I've reached the heights of total in-completion,
I build walls of isolation upon myself,
I am the collateral default of widespread degradation,
I stand in the gap between teeth and consumption,
I am the breed conceived by prey and predator,
Widespread suspended animation: that is our future,
We've tried to replicate the human makeup with mechanical frames,
And the translation of electronic gates,
Yet this is a folly,
For staring at the mirrors of selected life in an artificial environment,
Numbs our lives with emulation and self delusion,
The days of nobility dismantle into fragments and sink to the bottom of the glass,
Never to be turned over again,
Living among remnants of a life once lived with some sort of intensity,
Now smoldered in a quite ferocity of anger beneath the surface,
(Quiet tremors coming in flames)
Because we don't live our dreams,
We stand in the shadows of ruins,
We are afraid of the future,
We are afraid of the past,
Where does that leave us?
Leave me?
I stand on the edge of The Void
I'm holding myself hostage in the self sabotage entourage of the usual suspects,
Our friends, our families,
Disconnected with all intentions of coming together,
Because they die in front of their screens,
Not really living,
Light pollution massacre...
We'll fall like stars
authentic Jan 2015
There is something about being numb that is addicting
It is, sometimes, the only real way to not feel the pain
There is numbing medicine that we have all heard of
Anaesthesia, which means 'loss of sensation'
It is used to induce sleep, which prevents pain and discomfort
We have no problem with people using this to numb
Alcohol is my anaesthesia
It numbs my body, it numbs my mind
It pulls me into another time zone where the hands on the clock move faster
But everything else around you moves slower
All you can do is focus on the next drink coming
Rather than the pain being inflicted on you that made you go out in the first place
We all are addicted to numbing
Some sleep, some get drunk, some get high,
We all cannot deny the sweet flavor of feeling nothing
The needle piercing your skin but only feeling the cold, not the sting
The liquor scratching itself down your throat but loving the burn
Igniting a wild fire in your mouth, going down a ***** rubbed with gasoline
Numbness is an obsession
There's something so beautiful in the art of forgetting things
Even if it only be for a few hours
Alcohol dehydrates you, leaving you dizzy with a mind like a static TV
I would rather feel empty from alcohol
Than empty in the bed that we used to sleep in together
I would rather be numb in a bed next to a boy that I do not know
Rather than feeling all the glass I've stepped on walking away from you pressing into my skin while lying in bed alone
vircapio gale Aug 2012
ok, so this is the upswell
of wheeling free without wheels--
you taste the unknown on the wind
and endless vigor vibrates in your bones.

sidewalks, dumpsters, fields for beds,
star-gaze drowsy thinkings, underfed

but overzealous of an openness we'd never seen, we'd never see again! the planet turning magical in unexpected
ways of wanderjest--
consummate rest of freedom undenied, joyful celebrants of every day!

the strangers sudden friends stop
to gather in the journey up 'til then--
tales of kindness or of danger
sharing in some facet part

integral, shining, random and forgot--
we each diverge in thanks
or so it's been with me
despite mass fear of ****** sprees
we help each other's spirit's free

some begin and end with sore feet soothed,
the destination moved;
others with a steath-pipe harshly clean:
ember throat-smack numbs the breath
and giddy paranoia settles in
as 'the white house' sailing by perverse
-ly urban planning plotted bums who smile missing ob
-ligatory chili dogs in crowded bl
-are full to frighten morning parking lot we pitched
our tent and woke to soaking feet and sleeping bags submerged in runoff corner-lake

another time we simply waited at a truck stop,
piles of the rigs just running ready there
and one for us, he said he'd bring us north,
and more, he told us of his brothels,
his debt-collecting days, the cokehead legs he shot
for honesty, he said, and sang us poems (he wrote)
of foreign women loved, some with pictures,
pickled eggs and cooler-hotdogs stale,
my first menthol cigarette: inhale and fall
into an understanding outlaws have
of skipping all the weigh-stations, of
friendship gleaned by chance, ephemerality
in strength of truth to last:
he took our picture on the exit ramp,
gave us hugs and left us waiting there,
more than just an ex-**** trucker,
hired gun for pushing coke, but a human
sentimental in a context undefined
like justice in the sense of kindness to rewind

the rain... a joyful merciless accord
of being in the storm of open-ended
waywards torn in being home and on the road
life untenable in farther reaches worn of ages never understood

but standing in a trailer whipped with highway gusts of water-gratitude
though slipping in the bouncing hay and horse manure fertileness
we joke eternal swinging backpacks soaked and knocking spin on balance play

meeting lovers simply known as such
for nights or only one, talking into dawn
at random campus dormroom sheltering
when sober, high, tempted into impulse act
afraid or pleasant easy unknown facts
just passing by she offered for the night
his first intoxicant beyond the ***
surrounded puffing passing groaning
in the rooms above below i'm listening
smirking at the undeserving joy i swallow in her eager kiss
to throb the floating line of destiny in endless acts of freedom's light

though a ride can be a head-ache too...
piled beer cans on the floor,
clanking with each swerving,
the driver even stopping for a ****,
thankful? to be riding, not walking,
but observing when we're there, the ground, this time, i bend to kiss

Sam was the most generous:
he brought me to his home, his father took me sailing, swimming with the family
serving food on lakehouse dock and later
reading with the kids, dinner bonding
then such sleeping    deep    peace
and in the morning, after breakfast
on my way with lunchbag tastes of kindness never lost

there are many more
tucked away in word-gifts, also
blueberries to pick along the roadside, more
than i'd ever seen or thought to see
cows to sleep by, horses randy for an audience to claim the pasture for

the offer is a type of gift you question to refuse,
not to lose your wits
some are quiet, kind,
most are liberal in ways they couldn't ever elsewhere be:
snapshot saints in momentary boons of spontaneity and love.
some cross lines.
so, grateful i'm ok, but never worried otherwise. i run the 'risk' it's called,
and run it still: i ask the random for assistance,
in upturned eyes discern the weather
as in ancient times the host and guest stood cultural across
in making kin of unnamed walking in,
gifting company for company along the way
trusting always in the limned choices traveled, with a existential grin

In the end
Life numbs YOU
Why are you pushing me away?
With this final masquerade
Given UP
In pieces
Crawling away
I am powerless
Bringing me One step closer
To Somewhere I belong
With Heavy heart
What I've done?
I'm a paper-cut survivor
Let me bleed it out
Let me burn it down
I've no more sorrow
What's this new divide?
I'm Breaking the Habit of LIFE
Shadow of the Day elongating
I'm Waiting for the end
I remain the messenger of LOVE
Lying for YOU from life
Guilty all the same
From the inside
Let me crawl back in your life
In the castle of glass
Give a Place for my head
Otherwise I'll be gone
I'm out of time now
Traveling the roads untraveled
With black heart
I am rider of the storm
Living the Battle Symphony
Burning in the skies
So don't let down me
I'm victimized
So slow Ya roll
Let me hit the floor
Away from lies greed misery
See Inside me
In the end we made it
with YOU
I LOVE In the end
Love can save our LIVES

A tribute to Chester Bennington
Best song listings
In the end Chester wanted LOVE
LOVE could have saved his life...
Ariel Taverner May 2014
I love?
Your          POSION
dear one
It numbs mine?!
Matthew Rousseau Feb 2015
One can build a house,
Or even a thousand more,
But still they're a mouse,
Hide under the kitchen floor,
To see above would drive it mad,
The wonders are divine,
The fear numbs one and they're not sad,
The knowledge makes us blind,

But aspire to be,
Know you're small, but stretch sea to sea,
Claiming land you all can see,
But can you all be?

A question old as time,
strikes the clock and we rewind,
Oh no our fates have fallen,
We were grand, but never mind.
Toni Lynn Whitt Dec 2009
It sneaks up on
It makes you miserable
It pushes away your friends
It pushes away your family
It will drive you crazy
It make you think your not worth anything
You can fight it but it always wins
You can run from it but it will always catch you
You don't even want to get out of bed
You don't want to eat
You don't want to carry on
Medication just numbs it
You will feel like a zombie
It can make you cry
It can make you angry
It can make the best of us doubt
It can break you
It haunt you
Its a child
Its a mother
Its a grandfather
Its your brother
Its your sister
Its your best friend
Its you but most of all
Its me
Its the person in the checkout lane who looks like their world has ended
Its the man that has the tears in his eye
Its the teenage girl who holds her head down
Its grandmother who was at one time a joy to be around
and this disease will eat you
It will bring you to your knees
It can take your life
It is called Depression
igc May 2015
Remember me as a Letter
Carefully written in order to best explain
Everything it is I couldn't seem to say
               write me easy
               write me deeply
               write me only once.

Remember me as a Love Song
Structurally crafted lyrics filled with melodies
Sweeter than the first time we met
               sing me to your mother
               sing me to your lover
               sing me to your children

Remember me as a Poem
Metaphor coloured emotions
Putting together moments amidst events
That never really happened
But we would swear over and over
That actually did
               colour me purple
               colour me blue
               colour me Red

Remember me in your Nightmares
Think of me on those nights that simply closing your eyes
Causes fear to prickle on your skin
And adrenaline to race through your veins
               close your eyes anyway
               embrace the feeling of helplessness
               let it help you remember

Remember me when you Don't Want To
Promise to think of me in those moments when
Remembering numbs you more than feeling nothing at all
               love me easy
               love me deeply
               love me only once
duhastnach Oct 2012
So this is melancholy
That bittersweet taste every time
We part ways

That deepest sigh I always utter
Whenever your lips touch mine
Because I know in a second or two
You will be gone

I have never looked forward
To our meeting
For you have always
Left me breathless
And wanting

This is insanely foolish
And I know soon
I’m about to face my doom

But every time
Your fingers
Trickle my spine
Or your breath
Suffocates me
Or your taste
Numbs me…

I find myself
Completely giving in

Until your whole being
Inhibits my system
Slowly poisoning my veins
Until my blood ceases to flow
And my heart resists pumping

But there I go again
Poisoned from the reverie
Of you and me

The car engine starts
I know this is goodbye
So long then
Until the next confluence
Of our thirsty mundane
Incongruent lives
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2018
sitting there, fiddling with my beard,
trying to manage a pseudo-payot -
twirling it, and twirling it -
attempting to lose weight
with due process - of gaining
a pointy shrub of *****...
            i really had something to attest
             ****, lost the marbles...
      going to see a turkish
barber is about as obnoxious for
me as seeing a doctor...
     no one ever heard of going for
the feral look?
              in whatever agony,
i'd rather that sort of a death sentence,
than this, prolonged,
power ****** / grabbing delay
      i seem to dream up  the following
   given that the space we call
universe is primarily a medium
of time...
               and death row?
the execution bound to an electric
chair, isn't the actual execution...
the actual execution?
   it's the waiting "game"...
   by the time the shitshow is over...
sitting in the electric chair...
is a death's bargain of:
gambling on death's gambit...
  there is no pain in concentrated
posits of delayed "gratification"...
    (who jumped into a burning
     Diogenes (who died by holding
his breath)...
there is nothing inhumane
about the rite of the execution...
it's the delayed artifact of it being
postponed that's degrading...
    mind you...
all the ****** victims,
at least experienced the pain
numbing adrenaline shock intermediate
     like hannibal lecter noted:
the shock, numbs the pain...
       but waiting
for an execution?
      up in arms for the death penalty -
but, not... cat teases mouse
waiting game...
          only last night i found myself
lying in bed...
humming out, groaning,
   an attempt at relief...
              pain is ultimate...
waiting is relative...
    here i'd side with Cain...
     execute... but please...
            don't make him wait;
waiting is the execution in itself...
if not more...
   this: reflection of what
the victim's life could have been...
taking the bible literally:
what, marked, and allowed to roam
free in a place like Siberia, or
the Canadian woodlands?
       keep it fresh, keep it simple,
give the perpetrator the same
adrenaline high...
some laws are non-debatable -
    on a high, squiggly clean, fast...
the death penalty makes sense...
but only if there is no
waiting game involved -
             the waiting is worse
than the actual execution...
                  say what you may about
the french revolution...
   but since the guillotine?
  the american electric chair...
  wasn't exactly any bias
for improvement...
          snap tactic!
   i hate, what these covert sadists
disguise as a course
of justice...
            this waiting game...
it's like Einstein's relativism never
took off...
           because a caged, waiting game
with a Cain, has no objectivity argument,
and there's no quality filter to
ascribe to this argument...
          by comparison -
   the Abel of the matter was shown
more justice, even if within the confines
of the irrational premeditation of
the abhorrent act...
                   don't people realize that,
being confined...
   subsequently providing the original
zenith of sentencing (i.e. execution) -
death, becomes a saint,
and found itself a friend and martyr?

       it is no longer an execution...
but a release -
and the person being executed -
has an inability to recant for the past crime...
he slobber and makes solipsistic
                there is no closure...
with the evolutionary sadism of capital
punishment delay...
     why not make the killer and victim
lovers - in the case of Cain and Abel,
Siamese twins?
        waiting for the execution,
           is worse than the execution itself;
last time i heard,
in england, the pork was "herded",
piling onto each other, in claustrophobic
cages... suffocating each other...
     i sometimes dream of being a
maximilien robespierre -
dreaming of ghosts -
  and supervising the drop of the guillotine,
like i might think, about reconsidering
having a shave.
Aaron Kerman Jan 2010
“Everybody has won, and all must have prizes.”- Alice in Wonderland

“Everyone knows it’s a race, but no one’s sure of the finish line.”
        -Dean Young, “Whale Watch”

Children rarely listen to any armchair advice from their immediate family, relatives they commonly have contact with or anyone they haven’t known for more than a couple years because in kindergarten or day care they often got gold stars just for showing up… Little glittering prizes plastered on poster boards in elementary school classrooms regardless of grades or mistakes…

On the windy day when you lower the green jet-ski instead of the good one, race it to the north end, out of the safety of the bay, into the choppy waters, you’ll get bullied by the wave’s splash like the cattails of a whip. The lake will overwhelm you; you’ll inhale some of the water,  a sharp pain will course through your body as you try to breathe those short shallow breaths, which you will force yourself to do as seldom as possible. You will cough and keel over on the craft; It’s not uncommon to spit up blood; you will have to return to the dock and raise the jet-ski back onto the boatlift.  You will stub your toe on the cracks in the planking, stumble and get a splinter in the ball of your foot heading towards the deck but won’t notice. All feeling numbs against water trapped inside your lungs.

Jackie Paper’s mother made him a hotdog with potato chips and served it to him on a plastic plate outside so he could enjoy it on the newly refinished deck while he watched the schooners and speedboats, stingray’s and ski-nautique’s jet in and out of the bay. He didn’t wait five minutes after he finished to fly from the deck onto the dock into the water where he free styled too far and got a cramp. His mother almost lost a son that day.

If wet some recommend running around the shore of the lake until the air has thoroughly dried you off. Listening to the gulls dive and racing through the varying levels of grass on the neighbors’ unkempt lawns, in between the oaks and elms, keeping ever mindful the sticks and stones and acorns that litter the ground in lieu of stubbed toes or splinters. You will most likely fail, but you will get dry.

When you **** your big toe on the zebra mussels while wading in the shallows, near the seawall beside the dock, trying to catch crayfish and minnows darting between the stones underneath the water, and the blood doesn’t stop flowing for 10 minutes and the H2O2 bubbles burgundy on the decks maple woodwork, instead of that off white color it usually bubbles, and stings something awful, don’t be a little ***** about it.  It’s your own fault for leaving your aqua-socks on the green marbled tiles in the foyer closet next to the bathroom; where you changed into your bathing suit and got the bottle of peroxide.

Last winter Christopher Robbins drove his red pickup on the ice (near the island, towards the North end, where even when it’s been freezing for weeks the frozen water seldom exceeds six inches in thickness) at night and fell through.  He felt the cold water enter his lungs.  Although it was snowing and no one had noticed he survived; it took him the whole of an hour to reach the nearest house and call home; he lost his truck and suffered from severe hypothermia and acute pneumonia. At the hospital it was determined that while there was ample evidence of the early onset of frostbite in his extremities, amputation would not be necessary.

While sitting Indian style on the dock next to your friends, settled on the plastic furniture, sipping whiskey and beer, comparing scars assume, no matter whose company you’re in, that yours are the smallest. Those cigarette burns running down the length of your right forearm are self-inflicted and old- reminders that you haven’t had to force yourself to breathe in quite some time.

When you jump off the end of the dock you’ll forget to keep your knees loose because you were running on the wooden planks trying to avoid the white weather worn and dirtied dock chairs and worrying about getting a splinter. The water is inviting but during the summer the depth is only three feet four inches. You will roll your ankle at the very least and probably sprain it because, Like an *******, you locked your knees and jumped without looking.

Two summers ago Alice was tubing behind a blue Crown Royal when she hit the wake at an awkward angle and flew head first into the water in the bay a few hundred feet off the dock at dusk. The spotter and driver simply weren’t watching and the wave-runner didn’t see her due to the advancing darkness.  She cracked her head open on the bottom of its hull; swallowed water.  She needed 70 stitches and several staples but Alice made a full recovery.

Mothers often tell their children to should chew their food 40 times before swallowing to aid digestion and to wait a full half hour after eating before engaging in physical activity. Especially swimming.

When you’re at the lake house this summer skipping stones swimming and running on the dock remember not to listen to any advice.  

If this were a race to get dry you’d be much closer to first than last.

The internal bleeding eventually stops.  The splinters all get pulled out, staples and stitches are removed, lacerations heal and the feeling returns to the fingers and toes.

The water eventually drains from the lungs and only the scars remain:

Gold stars on poster boards;

because everybody has won, and all must have prizes.
Christian HM Apr 2013
It was one of those mornings
where you peer out your bottom floor window,
and look up at the raindrops freshly fallen.

You feel broken,
and yet rushed with an unexplainable emotion.
but you know it’s a good one simply with a bad aftertaste.

You see people everyday, no, you stare at them.
You wish for relationships you once had.
Others you wish you could hold,
and those you could never give up.

Have you ever heard the saying about faking a smile?
It’s an understatement.
It’s not sadness, or anger really, just pain.

It doesn't start out as pain, it just evolves, over time.
The madness results in Emotionally caused Physical pain.
The pain doesn't hurt, it just...sits.

This emotion that we've nicknamed pain, rushes through the body,
Arms numbs, legs shaking, eyes holding back, everything.
It’s all caused from sight, with a drop of longing.

You see this person everyday.
You long for the same people every single day.
And your body just longs for them.

It’s not as lustful as it sounds.
You just possess an attraction to these people.
An attraction that even the most specific and descriptive of words could not describe.

You sit there and you are bound by society’s lock on intermingling.
You are bound by the mock and disgust of others.
You are bound by that person of which you desire.
You are bound simply by yourself.

All this.
All of this Emotion, if you will, was bound in that little drop that clings to the window.
That was but a drop of what I feel every single day.

You can’t imagine
but don't let me sound as if I am exaggerating.
For I am not.

I have felt wonderful things.
Things I am not sure most of you have felt.
Though I wish you could.

I wish I could place my hand on your chest
I wish that all of that energy, that emotion, would flow into you and then back into me.
I could look into your eyes, and I would know, that you know, how I feel.

You could understand everything.
You could sympathise.
but the fact of the matter is, you simply can’t.

I do not believe you have felt what I have felt too, no.
Different version and variations, yes.
But this feeling of impossibility, I know you have not felt.

You are common rebel,
this is not bad, no not at all,
you have more opportunities to release this emotion than I ever will.

And i envy you. All of you. Every Last one.

You look away from the rain drops.
You go back to living.
You go back to hiding.
You go back to solitude.

Yeah, it was just one of those mornings I guess.
Maria Etre Dec 2016
Fall in love with a writer
they say and you will never die (quoted)

Fall in love with a writer
they say and you will find yourself
embodied in words

Fall in love with a writer
they say and you will find yourself
stretched over lines and pages


What if a writer falls in love with you?
What happens is that their untamed mind
becomes an asylum where
words smash themselves
on the walls of their brains
their hands just
to let them out

What if a writer falls in love with you?
What happens is that their addiction
to falling in love is amplified
and when they love
they get a certain high
that numbs their inhibitions to reality
and shuns logic to a very far away land

they  reach a mental state
that lifts you to high enough
just to see a glimpse of their world
just to taste a drop of their
but not all of it

What if a writer falls in love with you?
What happens is that their eye *****
birth and harness flames that burn the coldest
of hearts and warm the strongest
of selves

What if a writer falls in love with you?
What happens is that their mind soaks up
every bit, every breath
every call, every cell
every touch, every talk
just to embroider it
in the quilt of thought
that's weaving endless stories about you
in their mind

What if a writer falls in love with you?
God have mercy on their soul
for their craving becomes dangerously
intensified, wrapping itself
to their muses,
giving them the sole purpose
of existing

For the more they love
the more stories they write
and more they feel
the longer
Ellie Geneve Sep 2015
I told you I love winter,
and you thought that will change
when the cold numbs my feet
but it didn't

I told you I love vacations
and you thought that will change
when long vacations leave me unproductive
but it didn't

I told you I love you
and you thought that will change
when you break my heart
but it didn't

Loving you was like loving winter
a constant in my equation

and although I was never really great at math
I learned how to make a system of two equations

you are not a constant in my life's equation

**but you are a constant in my heart's equation
LJ Chaplin Feb 2015
Inject me,
Pierce the skin
And it let it merge
With blood cells and
Press your lips against mine
And slip the pill onto my tongue,
Don't pull away until each grain
Stacks of cash
From selling love in bottles,
IV drips,
Losing our minds as we
Become entangled in unconsciousness.

But when I wake up you're gone.
Sweaty palms,
The fear of relinquishing control,
Or even losing my mind?
We become addicted to the visions
In our head,
The dreams we steal from dark corners
Of the brain
When we are intoxicated,
Yet with each passing of time
We rely on what numbs the pain
Of what we lost.
Kyle Dickey Jan 2015
I've been broken and fallen to prices,
I've tried so hard,
Tried to make it work,
Get you to love me,
Been the sweetest most romantic guy,
I've delt with your problems and imperfections,
But you break me and I've had enough,
Enough of you and your ****,
You will never be mine and have ignored me one too many times,
My feelings have fallen back to numb and you're the one that made them emerge,
So I'm over it all and back to the way before we met,
Before you crushed me,
Not feeling, no want,
Nothing but anger that I controll with ease,
You won't break me again but I may you,
Because when you come back,
Wanting me,
Wanting my protection,
Wanting me to make you feel happy,
I'm gone and out of your reach,
You will never know how much you missed.
Kay-Ann Feb 2014
Your music is sensual, dark and languid
Mysterious and ****, hypnotic and sultry
The slow tempo and rumbling bass drums are a heavenly mix
I close my eyes and let the forlorn echoes immerse me
In a sea of falsetto vocals and stuttering percussions

Your music is enigmatic, puzzling and seductive
Pacifying and troubling, calming and cinematic
Your champagne crooning is a movie in itself
Telling me the tales of a gloomy ***-infused hangover life
And it connects to the depths of my soul
Even though I've never experienced it

Narcotized slow jams filled with samples of punk and rock
Transports me to an actual dream world
Your subtly crafted harmonies and beats are celestial
And your lyrics a painkiller
That numbs the wounds in my soul and takes me higher...

Your voice is R&B; but your lyrics are ***** rap
You take such vile words and turn them into something beautiful
and I adore that.
Ye distant spires, ye antique towers,
That crown the watery glade,
Where grateful Science still adores
Her Henry’s holy shade;
And ye, that from the stately brow
Of Windsor’s heights th’ expanse below
Of grove, of lawn, of mead survey,
Whose turf, whose shade, whose flowers among
Wanders the hoary Thames along
His silver-winding way.

Ah happy hills, ah pleasing shade,
Ah fields beloved in vain,
Where once my careless childhood strayed,
A stranger yet to pain!
I feel the gales, that from ye blow,
A momentary bliss bestow,
As waving fresh their gladsome wing
My weary soul they seem to soothe,
And, redolent of joy and youth,
To breathe a second spring.

Say, Father Thames, for thou hast seen
Full many a sprightly race
Disporting on thy margent green
The paths of pleasure trace,
Who foremost now delight to cleave
With pliant arm thy glassy wave?
The captive linnet which enthral?
What idle progeny succeed
To chase the rolling circle’s speed,
Or urge the flying ball?

While some on earnest business bent
Their murm’ring labours ply
‘Gainst graver hours, that bring constraint
To sweeten liberty:
Some bold adventurers disdain
The limits of their little reign,
And unknown regions dare descry:
Still as they run they look behind,
They hear a voice in every wind,
And ****** a fearful joy.

Gay hope is theirs by fancy fed,
Less pleasing when possest;
The tear forgot as soon as shed,
The sunshine of the breast:
Theirs buxom health of rosy hue,
Wild wit, invention ever-new,
And lively cheer of vigour born;
The thoughtless day, the easy night,
The spirits pure, the slumbers light,
That fly th’ approach of morn.

Alas! regardless of their doom
The little victims play!
No sense have they of ills to come,
Nor care beyond today:
Yet see how all around ’em wait
The Ministers of human fate,
And black Misfortune’s baleful train!
Ah, show them where in ambush stand,
To seize their prey, the murd’rous band!
Ah, tell them they are men!

These shall the fury Passions tear,
The vultures of the mind,
Disdainful Anger, pallid Fear,
And Shame that skulks behind;
Or pining Love shall waste their youth,
Or Jealousy with rankling tooth,
That inly gnaws the secret heart,
And Envy wan, and faded Care,
Grim-visaged comfortless Despair,
And Sorrow’s piercing dart.

Ambition this shall tempt to rise,
Then whirl the wretch from high,
To bitter Scorn a sacrifice,
And grinning Infamy.
The stings of Falsehood those shall try,
And hard Unkindness’ altered eye,
That mocks the tear it forced to flow;
And keen Remorse with blood defiled,
And moody Madness laughing wild
Amid severest woe.

Lo, in the vale of years beneath
A grisly troop are seen,
The painful family of Death,
More hideous than their Queen:
This racks the joints, this fires the veins,
That every labouring sinew strains,
Those in the deeper vitals rage:
Lo, Poverty, to fill the band,
That numbs the soul with icy hand,
And slow-consuming Age.

To each his suff’rings: all are men,
Condemned alike to groan;
The tender for another’s pain,
Th’ unfeeling for his own.
Yet ah! why should they know their fate?
Since sorrow never comes too late,
And happiness too swiftly flies.
Thought would destroy their paradise.
No more;—where ignorance is bliss,
’Tis folly to be wise.
Nathan W Smith Nov 2013
An Apathy for Effort

What happened to the world?
What happened to all of the happy people?
Drugs, money, *****?
None of the above.

I'll tell you what happened.
People happened to people.
Although, not others and to each other.
People happened to themselves.

Satisfaction became fiction
Men and women lost the grip on their vision.
Not eyesight, but people forgot the initial mission.

The concept of being happy
with what you have got
And worrying less about what you want.

If everyone would just shut up
And see how truly blessed they are,
Perhaps they would see
How truly blissful life can be.

Because what is bliss, but simply
A continuity with the whole.
And not a hole in the wall,
but the make of two halves.

If half the world gave half a hoot
We might experience bliss.
But we all individually feel deserving of more
As if we should get more than what we work for.

Yet NOBODY, is willing to give more
than a lift of a finger to attain.
It's too much of a chore.

We all expect the doors of life
To open to us, like a Walmart Super-center.
Where's the effort?
Where's that fighting spirit?

It's taking a nap with all of the hypocrites.
Those who spend their days feeling
sorry for themselves.

Those who left their aspirations
in a a Mason's jar
High upon the shelves, then claiming ignorance
as to what happened to their dreams, like lost car keys.

They know where they left them.
Hanging on the seams of their memories,
Abandoned when it became too hard
To work to achieve.

It's a sad state of affairs
When a man settles for his second choice of lifestyle.
Simply because his first choice was having an affair
With difficulty. Making it fairly difficult.

What is that man scared of?
Failing? You only TRULY fail if you don't try.
so instead he settles for second best,
While his heart sits idle and cries.

His heart cries:
"WHY?! Why won't you try?"
He is scared to lose,
That's why.

The sad thing is.
It's not as hard as that man thinks.
He simply needs to go out and do it,
and he will know happiness for the rest of his life.

But of course he's now too busy,
******* it all away.
Sipping on his bottle of sorrow drowning firewater,
somewhere when it's 5 o'clock.

As the whiskey burns and numbs his senses,
he attempt to consent himself with his settlement.
Living out his days with his mind and his heart
In constant battle.

Wondering what could have been.
What SHOULD have been...

So I beg of you,
don't choose to be another misfit or mishap.
Be you and always be true.
True to your heart and ideals.

Don't ever be frightened by adversity,
Be EQUALLY adverse.
Do not ever lose your grip on what makes you, YOU.

                                                -Nathan W. Smith
utter futility of self righteous anger
wraps it's dark cloud around me.
my brain becomes foggy, and my
perception becomes distorted.

love feels like hate, and pain feels like freedom.
my fear leads to anger, which leads to a split
second choice where my fists punch a concrete

my hand explodes with pain that spreads to my arms
and then to my whole body.  the pain numbs my inner
pain and discomfort.  I want to be a spiritual person, but
sometimes I'm just a frail human being afraid to feel hurt,
so I numb myself with pain.  Utter insanity to try to escape
suffering by self-harm, but that's what happens sometimes.

I am left facing the wall cradling my hand.  I am left with a feeling of utter futility.  My own powerlessness over my
self destructive behavior leaves me humbeled and willing to ask for help.  God, help me let go. Help me not harm myself and others.  Help me feel emotional discomfort without resorting to
punching walls.  Help me be free.
David Bojay Jan 2014
I think I have found more reasons to hate myself.
I know life is about cherishing yourself being.
But I feel like a car crash that was unintentional.
Maybe my mom was right, maybe I am an accident.
I rather be a” was” right now.
“He was an accident” engraved on my stone that will stand on top of me when the earth is sinking me in.
There’s many ways to cure, but I’d rather not be cured, I deserve everything that people say I don’t deserve.
I’m a senseless kid not knowing better than to run outside half naked when it’s 16 degrees.
It’s just that I’m far too careless about myself now, and I don’t care, I just want to help people.
Maybe my soul was meant to be broken down to pieces and given out to the people who need some.
Or maybe I just spend so much time thinking I forgot about it.
My body knows me so well; it numbs itself before I torture it by punching bricked walls.
It knows me so well it has a springer in my throat because it knows how much I don’t like feeling heavy.
I know myself so well I smoke until I shouldn’t feel.
I wonder how it would be like to forget at an instant.
I wonder if true love truly waits.
I’m sorry for the love I give that isn’t enough,
I’m sorry for the love I give that is too much that you don’t want.
I know if you drift away, your reasons will always be for its best.
Maybe I’m not good at what I love to do.
Maybe I should stop trying to get people to express what they truly feel.
Maybe I should because you expressed what you truly felt about me and now I’m here playing happy chords on my piano to feel lifted from the grief.
Whatever it is that is causing this, I know its reasons are for its best.
You should really let the river in.
Maybe I am what you think of me; maybe I’m just in denial.
I’d love to see me the way you see me, why do you look up to me, why?
Is it possible to love life but also hate yourself?
How do I enjoy one thing I can’t control?
Maybe it’s progression within you.
I surely do feel a person can be classified as art by their mannerisms.
I adore a few people because I see them as art; they see me as art too do to the little I do that has helped.
I wonder if pride gets in the way of doing something beneficial to the world, what if it’s stopping people from happiness.
I think money comes and goes like happiness, you can never be so sure.
I’m only sure of very little, but who knows.
I think people tend to remember more of the bad times whether than the good, sadness is a long story, it can ruin and make you forget, and it can build and make you remember.
Throughout today, I’ve gone through a variety of emotions.
Yesterday was something I wasn’t prepared for, I always am but everything came to a sudden breakdown.
I’m going to record what I feel throughout this day until I feel like I’ve progressed with everything in different ways.
I hate time so much.
I hate how I thought a home could be in someones heart, my home is still there, but I think I lost the key; I think it’ll be lost for a while.
My demons inside want to unlock themselves, but somehow I still feel the love, I think I’ll always feel it, I’m glad I can feel imaginary things.
You know, sometimes I feel like I shouldn’t think about anything much, I wonder where I’d be right now.
At the end I feel like it’s two against one, I’m not sure what goes against what, there are just things you feel, and sometimes feeling is stupid.
I really don’t know how everything I’ve encountered has inspired me to be the person I am right now as I’m typing this in my dark room.
Little by little I start realize things I should realize when something bad happens that I overreact to.
I really don’t know what I am, sometimes I feel like my Christian phase is coming, and sometimes I feel like I shouldn’t believe.
I strongly believe in someone I love dearly, I don’t feel like I should believe in anything else.
I think that person is enough, more than enough.
But who knows, I mean I know but I don’t know.
It’s been a day since I’ve written anything on here, and I’m broken, it seems like I take a step forward due to hopes, then I step back two steps.
I’ve been contemplating so many things, I say nothing so I won’t be a burden, it feels nice to be worried for but at the same time I hate it.
I think my mom was right, I’m such a disappointment.
People at school give me reasons to look high of myself though, that’s makes me feel much better in all honesty.
I feel like if they’re secure before I am, then I’ll be okay because I’ve helped.
Its 4:11 pm and its November 25th 2013, I’ve never felt like this in my life.
I think I should be a diary to some people, I think I am.
Today was horrible, I’ve always talked about controlling my days and balancing them out with happiness but at the end I find ways to hate myself and something always has to go wrong.
Who knows, maybe my luck has ran out.
I’ve never actually believed in it, but if I did, I don’t think I ever had any, except for some cases; the people I’ve met are most beautiful.
There are days where I feel determined, there are days where I question my determination, and maybe everything will be okay.
But then again there are always those doubts that bother me.
Its 4:32 and I’m contemplating something really hard.
I think it’s time for me to go.
It is now January 12th
Im back.
Save me.
a polar vortex
swirls eastward
on Siberian Tiger paws
bounding over
Appalachian Highlands
gobbling geography
gelling Great Lakes
spawning Erie blizzards
sculpting Wabash ice floes
clogging commerce all
along the Ohio River Valley

this voracious
juggernaut’s wide maw
bears icicle teeth
laughing as it swallows
Pittsburgh, Little Philly,
and a Big Apple, before
gorging itself on
generous portions
ladled into
simmering crocks
of steaming
Boston Baked Beans

blue arctic
air blasts roar
bursts pipes
savages the heat
of blasting furnaces,
bubbling boilers, hot
belly stoves frantically
drinking oil, flaming gas
burning wood and
burping soot

the blistering
jet stream claws
screech a slashing
stratospheric hum
as Frigidaire blasts
swallows breath
brittles limbs
chafes cheeks
gnaws earlobes
crystallizes tears
nibbles nostrils
cubes snot
numbs toes
bites digits

diving sub zero
gradient subdues
batteries to
deaden states
delays buses
derails trains
cuts power
constricts veins
preys on
and animals

get the homeless
off the street!
bring the animals in
check on your
elderly neighbors
don’t get caught outside
and shut the **** door!
do you own stock
in the Public Service?

beware the polar vortex
and next months heating bill

Sonny Boy Williamson
& Otis Spann
Nine Below Zero

oliver o Jun 2018
there are nights
in which my body plays cage
the space we take up feels too much
everything numbs
and that feeling returns
the one i can only describe as burning
and we are merged
and we are divided
we are overly aware of our limbs
yet we cannot feel them at all
my body does not love me
she returns
making herself home in my belly and *******
there is something familiar about it
something comfortable
like sinking and floating at the same time
the cold and the dark and the deep
carrying me off to places unspeakable
embracing me
sealing me up as if i were a letter
and it an envelope
i am sent with no return address
and my heart sighs the song of my wonder
if this body will ever be mine
Michelle Emma Mar 16
Depression is feeling anxious, sad, lonely and numb, but you don't know why
Depression is feeling weak and tired at all times
Depression is feeling like you just want to sleep forever
Depression is consuming alcohol because it's the only thing that numbs the pain
Depression is making plans but then cancelling them last minute because it feels overwhelming to socialize
Depression is being distant to your friends and family because you don't want to burden them with your darkness
Depression is wanting to be alone but not wanting to be lonely
Depression is feeling like your life is one step away from collapsing
Depression feels like an impending doom that just won't go away and it creates chaos in your mind
Depression makes you feel like you just want to die
Depression makes you feel hurt inside
Depression is masking all of these things into a smile
Depression is far too often the happy ones
Written on March 24, 2019
24 hour sign posted outside of the over night pharmacy in a town
where it seems to be night the majority of the time
he sits in his room and counts the cars that hiss by his window
anxiety starts at his feet,
and numbs them as it makes its way up to his neck
and strangles him in the high of another attack
his mind is a galaxy of concoctions
his pain meds, cough syrup, happy pills
swirl around with the blood on the white marble sink
until it creates an unsaturated rainbow of a man's grievances
the 24 hour pharmacy is open
to satisfy your 2 a.m. needs of a fix
when you suddenly decide you can't continue
the 3 a.m. decision to end it all
the 3:30 a.m. promise that maybe if you just get some sleep,
it will go away in the morning
the 4 a.m. insomnia that leads to bloodshot eyes at 5
and the overdose pharmacy will still be there
as you struggle to breathe;
drowning in the ocean you've created
I just want to know you're ok
Sam Knaus Aug 2016
An Open Letter To The New Boyfriend....

A few things you should know before dating me.
1. The first time I realised I was infinite,
I was staring down the mouth
of an alcohol bottle,
my head swimming, laughter bubbling
from my lips,
it was also the first time I realised
I am guilty of living for fleeting moments.
Something inside me is screaming
that we are a fleeting moment.
2. My life is a whirlwind of
passing daydreams, photographs,
ex boyfriends, and re-used poetry lines,
that's something you're gonna have to get used to
because sometimes, I just don't know
when to shut up
and it'll annoy the crap out of you.
3. I'll tell you about things
you don't want to hear about,
ties between my exes and my illnesses
and everything in between
and it'll depress the crap out of you.
4. Trust that I'll love you
more than my own self destruction,
which, let me tell you,
never ******* stops,
trust that I'll love you more
than the razors across my skin
spilling out my regrets
and the nights I spend heaving
over toilet bowls
the burn of whiskey down my throat
that numbs my thoughts,
trust that I'll love you
more than I hate myself,
trust that I'll love you more than I romanticise
my own death.
5. My memory is crap.
Please don't get angry
when I don't remember your favourite pasttimes
or the songs we dance to
when the dates you take me on fade
into the back of my brain,
peeling off the walls of my brain
like paper
and falling to the floor of my mind
memories that you'll never forget,
I like long walks on the beach,
romantic candlelit dinners,
dancing under the stars....
Now, wait for me to break down into tears
because "Dancing Under The Stars" was the name
of a song the man I **** near sent to jail
wrote for me.
6. I live in metaphors.
My realities consist of my own broken promises
and I pen my feelings in suicide notes
but I still insist that happiness
is just a trip to the stars away
I insist on inhaling the stardust
and exhaling the twilight
and tranquility
of my peers,
I still see their faces etched
into the corners of my night skies...
When I said I lived in metaphors,
I wasn't kidding.
3. I'll tell you about things
you don't want to hear about
and the idea of that terrifies me so much
that I hide away in my room
because if I don't say anything,
I can't say the wrong thing.
7. I bet you expected this poem to be happy,
or funny.
8. This poem is not happy, or funny,
this poem is my truth
and my truth is that I don't know how to live
without some semblance of destruction
inside of me
and it's ruined every relationship I've ever had.
8. This poem is not happy or funny,
this poem is me,
and while I am not happy or funny...
I do find happiness and laughter
in those fleeting moments.
Fleeting to me, of course,
because I never ******* remember them.
9. I never remember anything
10. but I'll always remember how I feel about you.
Even if we don't work out,
because I first met you 3 and a half years ago
we stopped talking for two and a half of those years
and I didn't even recognise you when I saw you
but as soon as I heard your name
I broke down in tears
because you were somebody that I never truly forgot.
10. I'll always remember you.
0. I remember everybody
and that's something I'll never shut up about
10. I'll always remember you
and the way you make me smile
and the way you make all of the things I've talked about
fade into the background.

— The End —