"pathogens" poems
Why can't dying be delightful?
My feverish smile
Pathogens far too strong
I've failed this trial
I'm facing the end
My blood boils within
This cancerous fate
Carries my soul away
Crafting up pain
As the medics embrace
A dance with the darkness
I won't last too long
Carry me under
Where the sun fades away
Lost to the coffin
Finality's somber
Led by the reaper
To eternal slumber
No breath in my chest
I'm finally at rest
Aug 31, 2018
Aug 31, 2018 at 11:48 AM UTC
I have a habit of packing a labyrinth in the back of my hippocampus,maintaining balance,like coasting through ocean,its outlandish.I'm on the tangent of ravenous madness complete with calculus captiousness capturing the effect of parabolic randomness.Long story short,I'm just dramatically imagining,I think my genius is overactive again.Calamitous analysis compatible with harzardous pathogens passing through passages to the abucus of antagonists,but its backwards,shhh.
Sep 17, 2013
Sep 17, 2013 at 1:39 PM UTC
Hot/Cold, Part 2
Hot endings, cold starts.
Hot feelings, cold marks.
Hot temper with a cold reaction.
Hot double barrel with cold pump action.
Hot church with a cold congregation.
Hot merch with cold affiliations.
Hot meat, cold wine.
Hot dollar, cold dime.
Hot queens with their cold mink.
Hot kings with their cold links.
Hot art with cold reception.
Hot mirror and a cold reflection.
Hot woman with a cold reputation.
Hot main chick with a cold side on placement.
Hot funk and cold R&B.;
Hot world but the colds all I see.
Hot information, cold intelligence.
Hot faults, then cold recompense.
Hot forgiveness, cold mistakes.
Regardless of what the world intakes.
Hot ignorance and cold oblivion,
are bliss to those who favour dominion.
Hot pathogens and cold diseases.
Hot gold with the cold diamond pieces.
Hot gat within a cold Gucci belt.
Hot knife inside the skin it starts to melt.
Hot love for God and the cold religion.
Hot pain after a cold circumcision.
Hot skin, cold whip.
Hot hands, cold grip.
Hot city, cold ghetto.
Hot calls, but no memo.
Hot rapper with no demo.
Hot baller with no c-notes.
Hot thoughts, cold emotions.
Hot theories and cold notions.
Hot models with their cold body motions.
Hot love before the warm heart ceases.
Hot hatred 'fore the cold heart seizes.
Feb 10, 2014
Feb 10, 2014 at 3:38 PM UTC
When it's in the air
you'll not know what it
is at first, but once you
smell it once you never
forget
It lingers there as you walk
through it, hanging
in the air as prokaryotic
pill shaped molecules
It always smells different
but the symptoms are
as follows
words stuck in the back
of your throat,
sweaty palms and shortness
of breath
a sense of longingness
juxtaposed
with a sense of fear
An overwhelming need
to communicate all the
new thoughts on your
stone written findings
of what we need to survive
Don't be alarmed, or rush
off to the doctor thinking
"There is something wrong
with me"
We all breathe this in,
multiple times in our lives,
Love's pathogens have a way,
of infiltrating our senses and
controlling our thoughts and
actions like our physical bodies
are more of a third party parasite
to what our souls need
to feed on.
So don't choke on your words,
reach out with dry hands for hers,
the fear will always be there,
because that's love
and this is how we react
when it is in
the air.
May 4, 2015
May 4, 2015 at 3:43 PM UTC
a horror of numerous names
a factory stained in infamous shame
warfare brought prisoners to encampment
oh, the atrocities, the torture that the sheep endured under imprisonment
what lack of morality shroud in secrecy
hidden amongst the seat of war
an epidemic prevention, more like chemical warfare testing
victims, heroes of their country mutilated and murdered by their own
men with no compassion, superior to all
no one came to stop you, unit 731
you treated bodies like logs
cutting them up, using them whatever, whichever way you want
observed pathogens you set into the air
to infect so you can dissect men alive to view and share
results, death progression through biological extermination
you gave birth to
towers housing flames that hid countless bodies
planes showering parasites bred with death over villages
chocolates laced with anthrax handed out to children
how much more could you dish out?
how many more ways could you ****
Unit 731,
no one knew you at the time
Unit 731,
they are still blind.
your secrets are in Uncle Sam's hands
Unit 731
your enemies are your friends
you share thrones to rule over the 99 percent
Unit 731
how many more times will you repeat throughout human history?
Unit 731
Dec 8, 2011
Dec 8, 2011 at 4:22 PM UTC
Is that a frown I put upon your face child?
As I tried to soothe the sadness that smiled on your inside
That festered like pathogens inside your heart
Is that your index finger?
Sitting inquisitively on your lip?
I see the distraction in your whirlpools of corneas
Your hair lays insecurely on your shoulder blades
Let me console you with a joke
Pacify your placidity with these sad bars
You pick up your phone.
You read your texts.
Oh?
Is that a smile I put upon your face, child?
-zaba
Jun 29, 2014
Jun 29, 2014 at 6:10 PM UTC
i.
a girl once told me that sad people close their eyes
so they do not see the world anymore,
and that i should count sheep when i cannot fall
asleep and that her favourite flowers were azaleas.
she also told me that she keeps scabs
on her knees, and on sundays
she comes to me with bleeding wrists.
another girl paints artifice out
of artlessness and human flesh. she
has scalpels for arms and a tempest on
her thighs and she lives in the
mirror and when i blow
ii.
on her i understand, through air condensation
and self- anathema, that i am the girl that she
de-fleshed maliciously herself, slit out of the cardboard
and painted out in artifice and artlessness and
i am the girl that once told another girl to ******* cut
her arm off and i meant it so she would not hurt herself
again because
i am the kind of the girl with scabs on the bone
of her halo, because i believe halos are made of
nothing but cartilage and helium bones, and a heart
as transparent as a vampire and its split opened like a monarch
butterfly, ******* off
azaleas or malarias or other pathogens
giving infants cancerous proclivities and my eyes are
swollen in mauve from divestiture because i know too well
those sheep won't jump over the fence
anymore because they have been ****** raw
in the *** by inhumane prospensity and i understand that
sad people close their eyes because it reminds them of death.
iii.
death is a scientist that theorises the
duality of elusive particles in artificial marrows
and mediocre decolourised melancholia in discordance,
it is the finger forced into our tiny vein and
it is nothing but a dream within a dream
but i could care less and this poem
is not about death, it is about how i
like ugly girls and how i'm just sorry
that i do not taste as corrosive
as the bleach in her mouth.
iv.
when people are dying, they almost sound poetic.
v.
i am the girl humanised by ribbons of
flesh and bile and atrocity, and i am the girl who
understands that a 'broken heart' is
nothing but a metaphor for utter
disappointment.
i am the sleep that dreams long for,
hope for, phlebotomise for
and i am bitter.
vi.
i am bitter because i will not believe in sundays
unless one day, fortuitously, the sun osscilates,
in the most serene of all mannerisms, down the earth
and kills us all.
i am bitter because semantics does not authenticate
the abiding human apathy towards death
and all the flowers in her hair.
i am bitter because people only read my poetry
because they think it is about them.
i am bitter because of other horrible
reasons that words can simply not express.
vii.
ugly girls are always prettier
because god loves ugly
girls, because he ***** them harder than the
rest, and because they know how to
make others feel ugly.
Nov 1, 2010
Nov 1, 2010 at 6:40 AM UTC
it's like we never left mt. calvary
2018 is 2015 again
only my escapist mechanisms
no longer work
i get lost in this endless cycle
of troughs and crests
this constant pursuit for a home
is like a sickness that never gets better
these pathogens that have found
refuge in my heart have grown
ultra-resistant to the medicine
they no longer want to leave
why do i still wake up?
i've been asking for deliverance
for years but
i guess heaven is not a
wish-granting factory
and God is not a genie
do you miss our catching-up
sessions?
the ones where you ask me
if i can still get up
in the morning and
i ask you if you still
cry yourself to sleep at night
oh, right, those never happened,
because you never had
the strength to care
and i never had
the guts to ask
for time
and maybe that's why
whenever i try to write
it always ends up as
an apology letter
(that you won't ever get to read)
Oct 10, 2018
Oct 10, 2018 at 2:30 PM UTC
There isn’t a day where I stop and think why I smoke and damage my body with the impurity of chemicals that wind down my life.
I have read the warning label informing you
it’s hazardous and potentially fatal,
but what I have come to realize Is that I don’t smoke because I fear death but because I am full of damaging psychological pathogens that lurk in the hollow bits of my bones that poison me with
anxiety,
fear,
love,
and the inability to handle myself around you.
What they don’t warn you about in those labels is the fact that one day you’ll meet a girl with the same afflictions as the nicotine inside tobacco based products,
where you have to get your fair dosage or your hands shake violently like hurricanes and tsunamis. You crave her touch every day the way the grass craves the sunlight. She becomes the addiction that wakes you at 5 a.m. With the urge to touch her body the way your fingers hold ciggerette in between two fingers in perfect harmony.
But how I wish I could have you now than these pathetic sticks of cancerous effects, where your effects ****** my mind with touch and words, your breath in my lungs.
I dislike how I’m still here smoking,
wondering why it isn’t you that I still inhale,
whom I crave every morning before dusk.
And then I realize,
I broke the habit,
and I’m no longer addicted to the serene smell
your skin,
or the touch,
wetness of your lips,
or perhaps the way you said my name.
Until today, I feel like I have to have you inside my bloodstream,
but relapsing would take me back to those times where I wished I had you, and you weren’t around.
I want you around.
Please be my addiction again.
Apr 9, 2014
Apr 9, 2014 at 12:44 PM UTC
The most sinister sounds exist in your head
or they are in the walls too, scratching and
clawing and gnashing gnarled teeth to
intimidate, initiate conversation. I, like the
elephant man, can't get people to look at me.
Crawling in the walls, crawling in the walls.
Body noises, bodies making noise all on their
own, no contact necessary, no touches, none
small swift sweet brush of fingertips on freshly
shaved legs, these noises follow marbles down
tubes of recent cell growth and death and the
burnt cilia from one or two nights up too late.
Who wouldn't want the danger? Who wouldn't
be seduced by the threat of extinction, the on
and on challenges of basic survival? I don't know
that I want to know the people who would lie
down during the apocalypse to be taken up to
heaven or who hang on to thoughts of angels
in clouds out of fear. Stop apologizing. Just stop.
Move slow through tall grass on hands and knees.
With one light slow breath I can pass pathogens
to unsuspecting commuters on the 7:05 train
who will pass by hundreds of people in their day,
breathing heavy from flights of stairs and some
pollution in the air and some emotional turmoil
that will likely resolve itself right before collapse.
Understanding imminent destruction has a
strange power reminiscent of floodlights
coating a thousand heavy construction sites
covered in some damp **** ***** snow.
Oct 30, 2013
Oct 30, 2013 at 4:15 PM UTC
marked: hazardous materials.
special handling required;
contaminants. corrosives.
radiation. explosives.
pathogens. psychosis.
before even touching this
you need to know this:
it was a cure for war,
a solution to pain.
it was something that should
never be attempted again.
it was chaos, it was peace
it was the last second of time
before either of us chose to speak.
now the moment has passed, the HAZMAT crews amass
i mention casually as they put on their gloves
"is there usually so much destruction"
replied "what do you expect from love?"
Feb 13, 2012
Feb 13, 2012 at 10:56 AM UTC
The release was unintentional, the Public was assured.
No vaccines were available, not that they’d have cured.
For every ten infected, they knew that eight would die.
more lethal than Ebola, and the people wondered why?
It was born in a researcher’s lab, a variant of the flu;
the strain from 1918 that murdered millions too.
Why he was let to do this work, I cannot understand.
Sadly we can’t ask him as he died by his own hand.
It preyed on old and young alike, it slaughtered rich and poor.
The dead were left unburied, and the pestilence slaughtered more.
It was clear the Horsemen rode that night, we heard their banshee scream.
We decided if we were to die, that first we’d have Poteen.
Poteen is a potent brew, distilled three times by hand.
Its an old family recipe handed down by my old man.
As golden drops poured in each glass we raised a toast on high:
“We salute thee, Mighty Lord, we who are about to die.”
A Warmth of stupefaction went coursing through our veins.
When we finally sobered up, no pathogens remained.
Who knew my father’s recipe could put the plague to flight?
We saved as many as we could; no man went dry that night.
The Sun shone on a brave new world, the air was fresh and clean..
The rivers still flowed to the Seas and Eagles still took flight
The Politicians all had died; both the Left and Right.
We left the Cities far behind and lived upon the land,
And never was a jug of “dew” far from my right hand.
Jul 5, 2014
Jul 5, 2014 at 9:42 AM UTC
We walk the web tonight to
trap some putz hugging light like
stars falling without expectations
and longing driveways and rivers
cement and pathogens
to someday be Home for your
occasional lost soul.
Your absense is your absinthe.
The grass chases the moon.
Begging for release, don't just
hide in the shadows - smiling
for freedom.
Go get it.
Aug 15, 2015
Aug 15, 2015 at 11:15 PM UTC
In that algal bloom marshland
Lived a frog with his wife once
Feeding his wife every day
The frog was now tired and tedious
"Oh! My beloved, I can't feed you much
For I'm already old and broken"
His beloved was no longer in delight
As she was in a frenzy of fright
"We can't leave our birthplace
We're not in a great haste
Let us gobble up anything
A twig, a bug or a little fish
Let's settle up our lives
For we have to thrive"
Slowly and steadily
The marsh was empty
All it own was dump like a bin
No pathogens, no bug, no fish
Except two souls counting days till death
As they worked hard with their breath
The marshland was now the property
Of a government official at duty
He called for drainage cleaners
To build there shopping centres
To disappear the marshland
In the crystals of water vapour
As workers dug deep inner
All they unearthed was algae
Nothing more than that
Nothing less than this..
Feb 16, 2018
Feb 16, 2018 at 12:13 PM UTC
I walk alone
on the path of pathogens
I am far from home
I am never coming back again
Mar 21, 2015
Mar 21, 2015 at 3:43 PM UTC
Love
conquers all
and
conquerors
destroy everything
in their path
Apr 30, 2016
Apr 30, 2016 at 12:43 AM UTC
Boy that I mean
Who I interested
He cool and cold
Yes.
Complete.
Somehow he makes me fill in his situation, in his world
Somehow I lost it
Somehow I don't understand what to do with him
How grateful, we get 'time' that
Unexpected we did together
So, I promise will do anythings with heart never want to fail and keep confident..
That 'cool boy' ; drug of life.
Why? Can you describe what thing or person can make you more wide and friendly to be?
I choose him ( one of many things)
He isn't my ambision, just like my qoute hanged in wall.
Every day I read it, see it, and fill me.
Oh yah, he just like pathogens inject my receptor antibody.
Oke that's already flat.
Bye for prepare anygoodbyes.
Apr 14, 2018
Apr 14, 2018 at 10:44 AM UTC
my mind is revolting garbage
and it seems i have gotten under your fingernails;
and i know how this goes, you've been spending all night trying to get me out
and youve been pulling your hair
over the things i said to you...
i know that i make you sick
and no matter how many times you try to hide it
ive seen you on the bathroom floor.
when you kiss me i find my way into your blood stream
and I start attacking your pathogens..
eventually I'll shut down your nervous system
and end up eating away at your heart.
i know what i do to you.
it just who i am, it's just what i do.
don't take it personally.
so this will be the one and only time that i urge you to leave darling,
take what you need from me and go
i know i have already stolen too much time and too many years of your life from you..
don't you worry
and
don't you dare look back
ill be able to make due with my own company from now on and until the day i die
tell me you love me
give me a kiss goodbye
and save yourself
i understand
please
just
show me a bit of kindness before you go
and before my bones pick themselves up and leave.
before i shed my shell.
before i die.
i just want to feel weightless one last time
before i destroy myself.
Sep 20, 2015
Sep 20, 2015 at 2:46 PM UTC
Maternal instinct dominates roaming memories
Malice penetrates innocent unborn child's womb
Sizzling hatred incinerating remnant peaceful life
Decaying emotion transcends uncontrolled rage
Catalyst cataclysm mercilessly pours tasteless vapors
Noxious clouds consume, infecting burdened victims
Flickering midnight candles cast menacing, smouldering shadows
Gelatinous possessed wax trickles, hauntingly dispersing sickness
Hollow portraits weep symphonies, illuminating desolate witness
Silhouette's elegant performance swallows morbid instruments
Frigid emptiness resonates sorrow, crawling vigilance listens
Arctic auroras shatter, corrupting thin atmospheric balance
Quivering cowardice trembles, furious tsunami stimulates unease
Drowning courage dissipates, scorching tempest fragments disease
Demonic presence pulsates misfortune, grasping stoic fleshless hands
Iridescent particles swirl, consuming corpses throughout ashen sand
Transparent embers ignite pathogens, twirling madness erupts
Translucent epidemic crumbles pillars, corrupted ashes flux
Apocalypse ages centuries, uninhabitable earth transforms
Radiation disperses ozone, looming thunderclouds form
Absolute fury explodes, collapsing fissures quake!
Corpse turns cold, freezing the soul. Awake!
Plague rains grief, channeling cracked essence
Reanimated Armageddon infuses barren existence
Jan 5, 2018
Jan 5, 2018 at 3:44 AM UTC
Dog Days of U.S. Politics
Our dog days of pols and pundits are here
Like pathogens thriving without antidote
Or insects immune to every repellent
They adapt and survive; their goal is your vote.
Twenty-four/seven they're on the attack
Inventing solutions with simple sound bites
Then eager reporters with blow-dried ambition
Primp, and turn fiction to fact overnight.
"Democracy" poisoned by anonymous donors
Congress panders to a privileged few
Their money controls and dictates the fate
Of pols who have pledged to represent you.
The U.S. readily chastises others
Advising and preaching democracy
While our congress is bought and sold on a scale
That is laughable for its hypocrisy.
So political ads infested your home
You call EPA who deal with pollution:
"Please dispose of these, sir, I am sick of the lies."
"An infection of Broadcast Toxins," he sighs,
"For which we have no solution."
Sep 21, 2016
Sep 21, 2016 at 7:45 PM UTC
They say that in the Manot Cave
In the area now known as Galilee
Part of a human skull was found,
Which is important for you and me.
The fifty-five-thousand-year-old remains
Put **** sapiens in Neanderthal land.
We know that despite some interbreeding,
**** sapiens got the upper hand.
The Neanderthals became extinct.
Why they disappeared is a mystery.
Violence, pathogens, competitive replacement?
Whatever it was, it is ancient history.
The findings help us to know our past,
To see our connectedness and to probe
Into the early migration of mankind
To view how we populated the globe.
Life wasn't easy for humans back then.
We can tell when we dig up bones.
How did they ever manage to survive
Without computers and mobile phones?
- by Bob B
Nov 7, 2016
Nov 7, 2016 at 7:28 AM UTC