"pathological" poems
It's dark.
Sounds like a rainstorm and smells like fragrant fire. But the earth underground is thirstier than what sulfur and dead things and various excrements can quench.
And the scent may be a brain tumor,
or even better some drug-induced hallucination;
either way it feels amazing.
I'd just love to slap these stupid feelings
in their pretty faces, I bet that'd also feel
pretty amazing.
a million oscillating fans and still so much heat.
divine metallic miasma .
Is there something pathological about how
I like to see the hurt & desperation & the shock that I cause? Cuz I've been told this type of behavior is 'odd.'
...I don't see it.
I mean,
I do feel remorse out of narcissism
& for my own wants & gains.
It's just a ***** ***** game.
Everyone plays one or the other.
Apr 16, 2015
Apr 16, 2015 at 10:46 PM UTC
Now you realize what you did,
you took it too far,
this time it was to deep,
to raw,
now its going to be hard for us both.
I asked for your help
' Its never ending, I again want to die.
Please tell me why?
Be my Soul Mate now just talk to me
help me find my life again.
Not with you, just my life. '
I couldn't get your abuse out of my system
you repeated
"You need to do the leaving"
"Let's die rather then not be together"
I said
"Only with You".
The ongoing flashbacks
of pressurizing
demanding
me to do what you wanted
heightened in Athens.
Questioning all that happened
what did it mean
just
******* my soul and body
So abused
I couldn't disentangle from it
So violated
And you continued it
with your talk and talk.
Your lies of reflection and regret
Your abuse of my love and belief
Then my desperate wish was granted
You made contact via a third party
On reflection
to address the end, to answer my questions,
to give us some meaning, to help us move on with our lives
you cared about my life, to be honest.
the day, the place, the time, the third party all set
then you renegade last minute, no explanation, once again shut me out
without a thought for my life, you willful behavior, ongoing abuse.
So finally now I know you are a pathological liar.
I don't give a **** about you anymore.
Its like I have woken from a nightmare
I have no more energy for you
I am not afraid of the fall out of exposing you
I will no longer protect the secret.
The legal proceedings will tell the truth
And you will have to face your demons.
I will move on with my life
which is so much bigger than yours.
I will fight on to free myself from
your abuse.
My life no longer tenuous.
This is the end of my series of poems - love and deception.
The courts will be my voice.
May 6, 2013
May 6, 2013 at 11:03 AM UTC
He's found himself in the closet
After he lost to himself in a game of tic-tac-toe
And tied his lobster bib tightly
Then hid his cheat sheet, for the pop quiz he knew was soon to come
It's curtains for her
She let the cat out of the bag
And now she's up **** creek with ****** for paddles to go **** herself with
Right in the birth canal
Then we'll auction off the ******
We'll pass them off as European defibrillators
Maybe some extremist will want them
If we spew out enough mindless dribble
The All Time Shit-Show is about to begin
We have
The Chronic Masturbater
The Hypochondriac
And The Pathological Liar
It was either sometime yesterday
Or sometime tomorrow
Or was it sometime today?
That you were all going to make fun of the boy with the cleft lip down at the laundromat?
Out of the three of you The Pathological Lair sticks out like a sore thumb
I can tell he was the runt of the litter
Who always bites off more than he can chew
I see the Hypochondriac has convinced himself he has eczema
He rattles off all his symptoms
Inordinate filibustering
Now there's the Chronic Masturbater
He looks like he's over the hill
He's only twenty one
But the blue circles under his eyes and the deep defined lines on his forehead denote his inelegant aging
I sign all your lives away in my horrible cursive
And now you belong to the ragtag trigger-happy posse of gun-jumpers
My billfold his happily filled
So I must go do some reconnaissance
Spy on those who have quit their day jobs
The fish out of water
You must find that thing that really rolls off the tongue with a nice ring to it
******
*******
*******
*******
No...
Go hang youself with dental flossed you home-schooled fool
Indentured servants we're just an after thought
Sep 7, 2014
Sep 7, 2014 at 4:27 PM UTC
I empath...
In paths
Cross paths with your path..
Can't hold the weight...
Of your freight..
And the pain that I take..
For I care like you care..
Yet what I bare you can't wear..
How unfair..
I can't leave my weight upon your shoulders..
To fester in your dreams at night..
So who cares..
When your awaken in the middle of the night
By someone else's nightmares
Empaths...in paths
Of pathological Struggle...
Become pathological..
The internal bleeding..
Of a empath..
Turns them psychopath..
The opposition.. For balance...
The mental.. Is like a dental ****
Flexible protection..
Until it meets a sharp end..
And Then......
Depression seeps in...
And it'll take more than kumbaya
To regen..
Its the like sin.. I can't escape..
When its wrapped around your neck like a cape..
But what saves you from yourself..
When you need help..
From every one else..
You see I empath
In path with you...
Do you empath
Or bring me down too..
Nov 27, 2017
Nov 27, 2017 at 8:50 PM UTC
[PART 1]
**** everyone that’s ever been a friend of mine
Everyone that I ever loved until the end of time
So sick of sunshine, nothing but black clouds in my mind
I Sit seeing signs knowing that sometime soon it’s time
Seems we find a man stained with blood, spinning insane ****
Disaster’s in my lane but like Tech I pin and frame it
Don’t blame it on me when you embrace the inner furry
Spitting hurried words in a flurry, speaking absurdly
Has it occurred to thee, none of you could ever hurt me?
Absurdity, I feast on emcees, no obstacles for me
Illogical, living life like a beast, it’s mythological
Must be biological, the way I ****** methodical
Psychological warfare from one who never fought fair
Pathological nightmare, drops bodies without a care
Dare any soul to try and comprehend, this is the end
Once I begin, they all cry and slowly die from within
[PART 2]
**** everybody who ever passed anywhere near me
Everybody from my past who cared and yet still feared me
Nobody shed tears for me, or ever lent an ear to me
So now it’s clear to me, none of you are sincere to me
I disappear into madness filling my words with a blackness
No amount of cannabis can ever undo this sadness
Don’t ask me about my past; don’t think you’ll get past the mask
This just might be the last time you’ll EVER hear from my ***
Demons in mass and alas, I’m tangled within their grasp
Surpassed my peers and alas, I got no angels to ask
I’m mangled in my mind and it’s worse now that I’m all grown
Evilness in my bones plus I gets no rest in my dome
But I’m home at last with this pent up anger being shown
I’m alone; not a gang banger but I still hold the chrome
Come off my throne and try and comprehend, this is the end
Once I begin, they all cry and slowly die from within
Feb 17, 2014
Feb 17, 2014 at 9:02 PM UTC
Pathological neurotic co-dependency,
Rhymes with toilet brush gastroendoscopy,
I visualise that toilet brush,
Shoved down his throat thrush,
Or up his male ****
Not even an excuse for a man,
Bullies don't get, says my nan,
Way too early to be awake,
Way too early to cook him steak,
What does he think he's going to eat?
That toilet brush he'll meet and greet,
Pathological neurotic co-dependency,
Rhymes with toilet brush gastroendoscopy,
All budget friendly and medicine free,
(Guess who swallowed the dictionary!!!!)
Oct 5, 2015
Oct 5, 2015 at 11:38 PM UTC
Four months
Too long
Too cold
Too dark
Too busy
Held ransom
By reasons
No excuses
Idiopathic idiocy
Pathological apathy
Four months
Of pain
Eradicated by
four seconds
Of cycling
Cognitive breakthrough
A synaptic symphony
Endorphin re-indoctrination
Free flight
From myself
Four months
**** you
Jan 28, 2017
Jan 28, 2017 at 2:04 PM UTC
this year:
the one person i thought was my soulmate left my life without so much as one word
i fell out of love with the first girl i fell in love with
i was reunited with someone i hoped would be my new mother
i was repeatedly disappointed
i met the most amazing friend i only ever imagined having
i quit my job
i got a new job
i fell in love with a pathological liar
i went to my grandfather's funeral
i was lied to by the pathological liar (surprise!)
i was there for her when she went to detox
i was there for her when she relapsed
i had a rather epiphanic moment where i was brought to inexplicable sobs and repeated screams on my knees saying "help me" in desperate hopes of being heard by some unknowable God
i quit the new job and got hired back at the old one
i lost trust in all humans, including myself
i moved in with my dad
i got to know the depths of fragility
i was manipulated and in turn, i manipulated
i had random panic attacks
i met Regina Spektor
i wrote poems
i wrote songs
i painted
i read books
i drank a lot of coffee
i smoked many cigarettes
i laughed less
i cried less
i felt less
i denied anti-depressants
i worked on letting go of unhealthy persons, including my mother
which lead to learning the repetitive lesson that overnight success does not exist
i booked a flight to Mississippi
i learned how to be alone without being lonely
i became even more infatuated with the moon
i wanted to die,
i'm still alive.
i made mistakes,
i learned from them.
this year has been a whirlwind, a teenage drama gone half right topped with a questionable ending
2013, here i come.
Dec 30, 2012
Dec 30, 2012 at 3:13 AM UTC
Pathological.
Unrealistically:
Chemotherapy?
Oct 29, 2012
Oct 29, 2012 at 12:19 AM UTC
This is an apology
to all the friends I made
under false pretenses
in the third grade.
I beg forgiveness for the lies that I told
because I was an ignorant nine year old
who had no friends
and wanted to be important
more than anything.
I spun lies
and fed them
to unsuspecting children
on the playground.
I told myself that they were stories.
I forgave myself
every **** time.
With every word that slid off my tongue
I imagined the countless hours I spent
alone
and deemed my stories
an acceptable alternative
to loneliness.
This is an apology
for all the lies I told
to try and convince myself
more than anyone else
that I was interesting.
And for the friends who stayed with me
who waded through an ocean
of dishonest answers
to innocent questions.
Thank you.
You found the real me under a cocoon
I wove for my fragile ego.
This is a promise
for a future devoid of lies.
May 10, 2014
May 10, 2014 at 3:51 PM UTC
He is safe. He is happiness. He is everything.
He takes away the anxiety. He takes away the hurt. He takes away the pain.
He makes you love yourself. He makes you feel like you aren’t alone.
He keeps away the nightmares.
He holds you. He tells you all the things you need to hear. He pushes you to be a better person.
*Without him you are afraid. Without him you are unbearably sad. Without him you are nothing.
Without him you are anxious and bed ridden. Without him you are ridden with depression. Without him you are in constant psychological pain.
Without him you hate yourself. Without him you are alone and always will be.
Without him you have nightmares and sleep paralysis that never seem to end.
Without him you are cold. Without him you are no longer pretty- you are no longer anyone’s favourite person; you are no longer loved. Without him you’re an awful person and no one wants to be around you.*
He is security. He is life. He is air.
He makes you do things you never thought you could.
You aren’t afraid to be with him. He makes the voices go away. He makes the paranoid feelings less intense.
You can touch him without feeling like you’re having a heart attack. You can kiss him without feeling like you’re going to faint. You can lay with him and not feel like something bad is going to happen.
*Without him you are lost. Without him you want to die- there’s nothing keeping you here but him. Without him you can’t breathe; you feel like you’re drowning- suffocating, always.
You’ve always been afraid of anyone with romantic feelings towards you. You’re always afraid of people touching you or kissing you or anything that relates to intimacy- but you’ve never felt that with him. There have never been heart palpitations. There have never been anxiety ridden shakes and hot flashes. You’ve never felt faint around him. You crave his kisses- you want him to hold you.
Without him you’re afraid of everyone and everything. You never leave the house. You never go see friends. You’re too scared to live your life- you’re too afraid to die. You barely exist.*
***But worst of all- without him, you’re left alone to have to deal with me.
Without him, us voices come back to taunt you and we’ll never go away.***
Oct 19, 2016
Oct 19, 2016 at 10:54 AM UTC
Abandon's clay roiled, doubled what pulse
of life...in tune and out of.
Pathological music derived from music...
ecstasy--whose recompense is a sound
loss of selves.
Multiform unto archetypal gods--Dionysus
first among, Apollo last among...eviscerated,
trophied, slathered upon these rotund
Grecian ladies and gentleman.
Hallowed names depart the incontinent
circle, forgone the synoptical scarlet lettering
of name...transcendence.
Torrent upon torrent of ambrosia down the
throat...skyward runoff of chins...scribbled
down the primordial bloom of ******
O sylvan gathering, crowns of laurel graduate
thee from materiality...a shuddering
beauteousness--broke shafts of light clash
lovingly from luminous head to head.
Here...the extenuating circumstance of
consciousness appropriated quoad sacra.
Feb 2, 2015
Feb 2, 2015 at 1:12 PM UTC
recently
after every massacre
by some fanaticized pathological idiots
politicians call upon their citizens
to come together
and pray for the murdered and their families
this is absolutely appropriate
but it seems
that ever since 9/11
the nation only comes together
AFTER more of its members have been killed
I wish very much
that the nation
AND politicians
would come together
BEFORE the next massacre
and take appropriate action
to prevents such disasters
in the first place
Jul 3, 2016
Jul 3, 2016 at 6:21 PM UTC
Wake up with a jump and a start.
This isn't just prose,
this is an art.
To weave your stories, through and
through, with
broken pen and missing shoe.
With mixed conviction,
perfect diction,
convicts swoon at your traditions.
As long as you believe
the lines make sense, they'll breathe
your soul and lack pretense.
Self-defense from knives to words and songs to birds,
soaring
o'er the roar and o'er the dives,
through the skyscraper's windows, break a floor and seek to strive.
Words are not just words,
I've heard many a stern voice
attacking a sturdy herd of
wavering wordsmiths who have
forgetten that they have a choice.
Alliteration counts as craftful creation
and the tale of poets shows it: these
sentences are paintings of a nation.
Decorating time and space
and all its stations of making a
stand.
You're a poet,
perfectly pathological,
hurting through rose- colored
opticals and bleeding for something
beautifuly better, just getting lost calls
but keep searching for the right letters; don't let the sands of time make you hate your written desert.
It's worth your weary hands.
Oct 10, 2018
Oct 10, 2018 at 8:49 PM UTC
Y our a pathological liar
A pretending villen in disguse
Your muse is attention
Your a puppet master with your snake eyes
Weak when you stand alone so you grasp at another
There you are, standing on thier shoulders
Can't you be man and learn from your mistakes
No, you only look to find whats there for you to take
Its not that you left me
Loved me, but was pretending
Its that you can't even admit
The worthlessness that you yourself has commited
Honesty you say
You stood by and were a man
But you lied your *** off until the very end
The whole entire time
It was a plan of torture
Every smile and every nod
Every insult and every blunder
You chose to decieve
And continue going on
Even if our togetherness was truely wrong
If it was over for you
Why didn't you leave me
I'm not a piece of glass
Your not going to break me
Your a coward
Plain and simple
The truth hurts maybe
But your a fool and you lost in this game baby
Sep 24, 2013
Sep 24, 2013 at 6:00 AM UTC
you used to tell me how much you
liked my eyes and sight, just to end
up making them sore and lose their brightness.
you said you had no intentions of hurting me
but here am i, crying till im out of breath.
you said you loved me and that i made you
happy, but you still left me for her.
So tell me, how am i suppose to trust
and love another human being when none of
it was real...
Jan 5, 2023
Jan 5, 2023 at 1:26 PM UTC
You tell me repeatedly that I am wasting away,
that my arms are too slim,
my waist too cinched,
and my chest too boney,
but the only thing I hear
is your insecurity making me its mirror,
and in actuality
I have never been more proud of my progress.
Instead of concern for my well-being,
all I feel when that sentence slips from your lips
into the stale air that creeps into my ears
is a knife in my gut.
I am not wasting away,
I have already wasted.
I wasted away my breathlessness when he told me he cheated on me.
I wasted away the utopian idea of who I ached to be
and what I strived to look like.
I wasted away the pressures I gave into
when he wanted to force himself on me.
I wasted away the insecurities and trust issues I harbored for five years.
I wasted away his manipulations,
his deceit,
his pathological lies,
his slander for my name,
and the guilt I felt for cutting him out
and clawing my way back in.
I wasted away the anger and depression that almost consumed me.
I wasted away my lack of knowledge toward myself.
I wasted away my blank path,
and I wasted away my restlessness for the next chapter,
because I am the next chapter.
So, the next time you feel the need to tell me that I am wasting away,
The next time you think it's okay to say something like that to me,
I want you to not look at me,
but see me.
I want you to feel the curve on my hips and the stretch marks on my thighs
that I am okay with having.
I want you to look into my eyes
and see the fire I reignited in my soul
to warm the blood that pumps through these deep vessels
which carry each piece of the shattered self that I put back together
like the mouth of the river that flows straight into the heart of the ocean.
No, I am not wasting away.
I’m not wasting another day.
Jul 20, 2016
Jul 20, 2016 at 10:31 PM UTC
My biggest fear is that everyone will eventually discover how positively unremarkable the soul beneath this husk of a person always was,
To shy away from the cringing passersby as they gawp mercilessly at the offending blemish of my existence.
I'm trying to learn how to like myself, but it's a pathological, preexisting condition to be able to identify all of the things wrong with me simultaneously as an individual and as (un)contributing member to society.
I don't mean to be so cruel, for I know in my heart that self-love is paramount to intelligent, peaceful, pleasant enlightenment,
It's merely that I sense some ubiquitously negative energy whenever I make the attempt to muster up some sort of internal kindness.
No, it gets wasted on all the strangers and non-strangers in my socially habituating dwelling.
I'll share with them the stars from the sky and the very constellations from their hearts and make them feel positively dynamic and optimistic and they'll walk away from me with a cushy spot for hope in their pockets.
And I'll retreat to the shelter on my back, drained as if the flow of my mind were poured out in a colander, leaving the pulpy, distastefully rude thoughts that remained to wreak havoc on my crippled self-esteem.
I'm so sorry that my kindliness is some lewd pantomime of genuine altruism.
I'm sorry if I destroyed the ethereal, impossible image of who you fashioned me into.
I was always afraid that this would happen.
Oct 23, 2013
Oct 23, 2013 at 3:11 AM UTC
By: Cedric McClester
Call me a chump
But I’m with Trump
When it comes to Carson
He can’t be accused of parsing
When he says pathological
He’s being pedagogical
Using the man’s own words
Which completely under girds
What the man said
About the thoughts in his head
And it’s no more than logical
He said he’s pathological
We must wonder hard
If he’d still go that extra yard
To practice his absurdity
I know the thought’s occurred to me
Cuz if you take a look
Inside his true confession book
You’re gonna be amazed
As he recounts the different ways
He showed off his temper
With his mother front and center
Then a friend or relative
Who he tried his best to shive
It may sound like a joke
But thank God the blade broke
Then there’s the guy that he rocked
With a solid steel padlock
But no one can recall
Because the tales he tells are tall
Though he insists they’re true
But those who know him asked, "Who knew?"
Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2015. All rights reserved.
Nov 13, 2015
Nov 13, 2015 at 8:55 AM UTC
Cold and unforgiving, no longer caring,
no longer happy, but also not grieving
My body just sits here, numb, motionless,
for what feels like a thousand years
Forgetting what it means to remember,
like using logic to sort through the feelings
Like a statue made up of *****
like a machine choking on its own tears
Like trying to escape from a room with no door
Surrounded by people, and still so alone
Each day comes darker than the one before
Heart turned cold, then turned to stone
Petrification of compassion and empathy
Metastasis of pathological apathy
Irony and cynicism replace joy and hope
Divinity and love exchanged for empty *** and dope
Unrelenting curses and half Muffled screams
Mask the sudden death of unrealized dreams
Such is the nature of love which has been lost
Before it ever even had a chance to live.
Such is the nature of mercy and grace
Before it ever even learned to forgive.
Sep 18, 2013
Sep 18, 2013 at 2:55 AM UTC
recently
after every massacre
by some fanaticized pathological idiots
politicians call upon their citizens
to come together
and pray for the murdered and their families
this is absolutely appropriate
but it seems
that ever since 9/11
the nation only comes together
AFTER more of its members have been killed
I wish very much
that the nation
AND politicians
would come together
BEFORE the next massacre
and take appropriate action
to prevent such disasters
in the first place
Oct 4, 2017
Oct 4, 2017 at 8:30 PM UTC
sometimes I wonder why I bother
to force myself to tell an other
what are my feelings and opinions
why do I struggle to attempt to phrase
words that inhabitants of faraway dominions
might also understand and not erase
an alien text for lack of recognition
of what it tries to say
is it just egomaniacal vanity
born of conviction that my words
are so important that only nerds
would not appreciate the wisdom
inherent in my thoughts
or is it logorrhea the pathological obsession
to spew forth words without control
and flood the world and every living soul
with streams of incoherent syntax without meaning
I guess I write in order to communicate and share
exchange ideas across all boundaries
learning the thoughts of many different people
and in the process become even more aware
how much we share and have in common
carrying away once more the recognition
that division has always been
and still remains until this day
the favorite tool of greedy politicians
against which poets firmly should hold sway
Mar 4, 2016
Mar 4, 2016 at 5:44 PM UTC
That is as honest as it gets.
And I'm not talking about all the political BS and how the world becomes more and more broken each day.
I've already put that in a spot in my mind where I don't venture often.
I try not to venture at all really.
Most days, I am awake but not conscious.
I am eating and not filling.
I am composing and not thinking.
Very much has changed about my life and I do know that most of it was my own **** fault. I have been there.
I have one person I wish I could talk to always.
She is close to me and not close in range.
I am sometimes the embodiment of a donut.
Sweet on the outside with no center.
No soul.
Nothing there deep down.
I am sometimes a corpse who hasn't yet realized its full potential.
A bed is no resting place for a lazy student turned zombie.
I know these things.
So why did 2017 make me this way?
Well... it didn't.
A year by itself cannot make you do anything, it only marks the time that I marked day by day in hopes that the next day would be harder to hate the last.
It is a constant reminder that time is the only thing you know when you don't know God.
It is an epitaph to your future saying "I'm sorry I knew the way out and just didn't take it".
It is to shove in your face that sometimes no resolution is the only kind of resolution you really like to hold.
If only for 365 or 366 days you didn't hate yourself for it.
That you are not only lazy, but self loathing and lazy.
I didn't come home from a war or natural disaster, but I came back a changed person.
And as the clock proceeded to march forward to midnight.
I felt nothing.
This was the second year in a row where my family didn't celebrate with another to bring in the new year. No, they went to bed.
Or at least, most of them did.
2017 was 2 parts trauma, and 1 part self concocted pathological fear of everything.
Eleven... out of twelve months... were disastrous.
And I did not even try to make it better.
Lying is not my strong suit.
So I will once again pass with the resolutions nobody tries to keep.
Somethings are supposed to get better.
This may be the first year when my birthday is once again a forgotten 24 hours nobody knew was important until I said so.
So yeah, 2017 was the worst year of my life.
I just hope it wasn't the worst year of my life so far.
Jan 2, 2018
Jan 2, 2018 at 2:19 AM UTC
i know a secret,
as small as a lump of cancer and pale
as oessin cartilage, insignificant
as the number thirty one
until the end of december.
i know a secret,
locked beneath the tongue of the demon
inside the piano,
-
spitting out keys, oxidised,
corroded, foul, cut for bone marrows
and cheap hotels and umbrage and
odium and pathological experimentations.
i know a secret,
decolourised in the shade of red and
no matter how raw you scratch me,
it will never bleed out, not even
for you.
--
they are coming, the surgeons, you say.
they are here to anatomise, to dissect, to ****
to clean, to find, to **** to dichotomise, to
divide, to sever, to **** to **** to stitch,
to seperate, to hide, to fix, to ****
to make me sick.
---
i may as well be sick.
----
i think i may as well gut out your stomach
and tie your pretty ileum into a pretty
ribbon, to a pretty street lamp,
and make you walk in a straight line
until you die, to show me
how much you love her.
silly boy, getting to her heart
was an easy as a six point
four centimeter incision.
-----
i was the faire semblant and
you were the toothless protagonist
of some drunk playwright's
filthy dream, they gave you
gloucester eyes.
euthanise me, i want
your ugly face
------
to be the last ugly face i see.
Nov 8, 2010
Nov 8, 2010 at 5:56 AM UTC