"perforation" poems
It started as a puncture,
but the seam slowly ripped;
a thimble can't protect
from a poison needle tip.
She tried to mend it
by making more holes;
the tear only grew
and grew out of control.
At the spinning wheel
her life would quickly dwindle;
frantic attempts to hem
were depleting the spindle.
What started as a puncture
of seductive sedation
fueled the abuse
of machined perforation.
"Don't mourn a living corpse"
were the last words she said
as she drew the needle
that held the last thread.
Jan 21, 2017
Jan 21, 2017 at 10:56 PM UTC
I stitched each of them on to me, knitted
It tight on my flesh. I bleed for a moment
But it was just another etched on my flesh.
Each perforation was another that joined my flesh,
Entwined on my soul I made their hair in to fine
Cotton and each was given a place upon my being.
"Eye,
"Neddle,
"Backstitch,
"Scissor,
"Seam,
A honour of their offering was felt as I seeped on
Their twine. Pain was a lust that was sort but
Never harvested and my culling was full.
Flesh was just moment of time aging ever moment
Decaying since birth. Their hair lived longer than
What was but food for thought now no more.
My limbs like a puppet on stings, but I am their keeper
Of life on me, in me they live on. I stich their memory
So many colours do I weave on to myself.
Blonde,
Brown,
Chestnut,
Ginger
But the ones that are lucky that never grace my being,
They are those of least crowns on their scalp.
I am one of such no hair on myself. But weaves I
Sculpt upon myself, they live on even though bodies rest.
I have many stitches on my flesh of weavings not my own,
But their essence will always be here as long as I live on.
Seeing those moments which will be etched on myself,
I will weave all into the picture etched on my skin.
"A stitch in time ebbs your existence your soul to mine,
Jan 23, 2016
Jan 23, 2016 at 6:32 PM UTC
*Though our galaxy is
tinier than the eye of a smallest ant
Yet while loving you
I had a perforation is my heart
So big to swallow millions of such galaxies
Since birth this hole
Was occluded by
learnings and knowledge
And remained unopened
Till I saw YOU - my LOVE!
Rare it is
To unclose this hole
But just a glimpse of yours
Did the trick...!
Where, O Beloved
Where, O Beloved
You acquired this MAGIC
To open this hole in my heart
That can **** in the entire universe
In an instant
Just by a single thought
of LOVING YOU?*
Jun 14, 2015
Jun 14, 2015 at 1:20 AM UTC
Words are uncatchable, fleeting
Soft and sharp
To heal your wounds and break your heart
They can be smoothed and polished to perfection
Or sharpened to create a deadly perforation
Make them shimmer and glitter like sparks of light
Or cast a gloom of perpetual night
Weave them, hold them, string them up
Taint them, paint them, but never use them up
They can be cold and cruel and hard and dark
And kind and warm and bind our hearts
They're twistable, kissable, catchings of glee
Embrodiery in the mighty world tree
Enhancements which dull the melancholy humm
Of work and stress and all things dumb
I'll use them, abuse them, fill them with me
Pay people with words and words with seas
Of amazing knowledge and words of grandeur
They'll always be rich and never be poor
Words are my forte, my intricate strength
But for you, I have no words left.
Sep 11, 2014
Sep 11, 2014 at 4:02 PM UTC
Melody expresses pain of the heart
that tongue cannot say when lips part
Secrets and lies can sting the tearduct
assumptions are termites that cling and destruct
their moods like waves in fluctuation
please free this heart of aching palpitation
release the torture of this bipolar oscillation
that the tune of this life creates
in the sound of my aching heart
The sensation of a heart tear
rebellious rips of guitars one cannot bear
when memories return that ones used to share
the rock of my soul, the roll of my head
the sway of the waltz now dead
Frustration strips like the sound of guitar
it roars emotions like a rock star
threatening to free hairs on your head
feelings that scream, leave ghosts in debt!
Drums of pounding passion, degradation
of harming words that echo atmospheric perforation
Drumsticks of cope try to pound through
yet the drumskin of hurt won't budge
Melody expresses pain of the heart
that tongue cannot say when lips part
just like the tune of my aching heart.
Jun 4, 2015
Jun 4, 2015 at 7:20 PM UTC
It's fall now, I am still in my daydream.
My fingers fondling with the perforation of my paper,
Quartz color lights in my short-sighted view beams, like lilies
The films he forgotten thrown on wood,
I could hold on I whisper to myself
I am shrewd enough.
I could die, to the voice inevitably resonant in my ears
I could bear on the crumpled, the crinkled, the crippled.
but why do memories reign
why am I dying to this qualm?
_I promise_
I'll be me, your fleece-like Ophelia
I'm not forgotten, I whisper to myself.
My pupils dilating to the fading of light,
I crawled to the switch,
but lights couldn't be on.
l.r
Sep 23, 2016
Sep 23, 2016 at 8:17 AM UTC
His tales of a place he once called home, now reduced to ruins and smolder, carry a weight he has become accustomed to straining the muscles of his back against. He keeps postcards in his wallet, folded and creased in the center to the point of perforation, pulls them out when he is homesick or when anyone asks about his origins, always tucks them back into the pocket with more spite than he cares to portray. Most observers simply nod their head, "how beautiful it is," –was– "you're lucky to have been a part of it." He smiles, the genuine kind of smile that takes precise attention to detail and years of practice to counterfeit, says "I know." Some bold and curious or ignorant and inconsiderate listeners poke their furrowed brows into his upturned palms, ask him, "did you see the fire?" They want to know –must know– if he could smell the smoke from the next town over, if he could see the sky illuminated in the distance, the red hue seeping into the blue-black night, they want to know how big it was, a house fire or a holocaust, if he tried to put it out or if he stood idle, looked for faces in the flames, if it left anything but charred floorboards and fireproof safes, the combinations written on scraps of paper now insignificant. You can see him fuming from across the room, his face illuminated, the red hue dripping down his neck, his voice becomes victim, tries to keep it steady but you can see losses on his tongue, he trails off into silence, leaves nothing but stubbed toes and sentiments, "I'm sorry I asked." When he talks about the people he knows –knew– there, he always starts with a chuckle, a little grin as if something had just reminded him of them, they were all kids back then, his eyes turn child again while he talks about how they played in the storm drains and then he snaps them shut, remembers the cigarette butts, remembers the lighters they bought at the drug store, how they had loved to see things burn until they couldn't stop it. He talks about this place he used to call home, doesn't know what to call it anymore.
Mar 23, 2015
Mar 23, 2015 at 11:24 PM UTC
Standing here like a child long left in oblivion
Staring into the deepest abyss of the hole-
Stuck like my most important part, now
Created after quick perforation of emotions
One quick tumble down the street - Astray
Think back, Think one more time ; vertigo!
Drop down to unconscious limbo - trying!
Eyes still open to illusions around vicinity
Yell a silent disapproval of praxis- moving on!
Hold me! The fall comes back!
Pull me up ; my hand stuck to my heart!
Oct 18, 2013
Oct 18, 2013 at 11:14 PM UTC
You stole my voice, but I let
you lock it away. Behind neck kisses,
lazy Sundays, and “who’s texting yous.”
Don’t worry baby,
I found it between the cracks
of your fingers, wrapped
around my neck, you tried to stop
the word vomit. Nice try.
You can’t mute
me. Watch me throw up,
watch me wail.
Your ego is deafening, as if you were afraid
of mine being louder than yours.
Well, I’m ******* screaming,
and I hope your ear drums shatter.
Perfect perforation.
You can’t shush me.
My voice is not cracking,
***** did I stutter?
Nope.
But, no hard feelings, right? ’Cause this
new dude says he likes it when I
scream.
Mar 2, 2017
Mar 2, 2017 at 2:15 PM UTC
I know how to question
Authority
Now someone teach me to question
Reasonably
Why everyone settles for
Mediocrity.
I'm not
Passive
But I get
Aggressive
When society becomes
Dismissive.
Art is not a
Perforation
On an
Illustration
Of paper-doll cutouts of
Creation.
But somewhere we lost
Authenticity
With our former
Intricacies
And were stripped of all
Legitimacy.
Jul 9, 2016
Jul 9, 2016 at 7:28 PM UTC
I see everything absolutely breathtaking.
How can you not think your gorgeous yet,
Sparkling hazel nut colored eyes,
Aren't the most intriguing possessions?
They are breath taking and powerful,
Enough to give me nervous butterflies.
Do you see the way the clouds capture the aubade,
Making if only for a second,
The perfect luscious scene.
The aubades final adieu,
Makes a masterpiece that is,
Unimaginable to create.
Exposed to fluorescent damp smell of the rainy Earth,
Or the enchanting pin perforation of snowflakes,
Laying,
Reposing,
Relaxed,
On your fare skin.
Your time,
Seized,
To get close as you can to the galaxies,
That construct the roof above you to explore.
They are ludicrous at midnight,
When each aubade becomes,
Luminous against the obsidian of vigorousness.
Mar 5, 2016
Mar 5, 2016 at 11:49 PM UTC
"Don't come any closer" she said
pulling a sliver from her heart,
the one she kept on her filament wrist
hand upraised, shaking but sure
a pinprick of light glinting in her fist
matching the spark shining through the hole
once filled with an object sharper than her pain
pull them out so you can forget
so you can remember
what it's like to breathe
what it's like to cast yourself
like the night sky
she lunged, a streak in the dark
everything roiled in a chaotic ink
except a twinkle one could balance
on the tip of a needle
Mar 15, 2016
Mar 15, 2016 at 2:24 PM UTC
Please open seal
gently, the general
surgeon commands
his general army
No more hesitation:
The first incision
made at the
proper perforation
The code is embedded
deep in the thalamus
between -before- us:
A carrier pigeon
bringing his
message
He does not
stop to rest
on his way
Feb 24, 2015
Feb 24, 2015 at 1:46 PM UTC
Unseen by a careless eye,
The tiny holes
That pierce right through the paper’s skin
Cannot be played with.
These rough and edgy slits
That bind the page
With shiny, silver, spiral shackles
Refuse to give up their grasp.
These tiny holes that dot the page
Are never healed and never felt,
But they remind the paper that
The notebook has a grip on it.
But when the time has come, a child
Slowly rips apart the page:
The perforation pops in pain
And grabs a hold of what it can.
The paper, screaming in agony,
Frees itself at last—
It wanders off to be crumpled,
And hurt, and torn, and trashed,
Only at long last to find
That part of it was left behind.
Jul 6, 2014
Jul 6, 2014 at 10:08 PM UTC
I could kiss you in the middle of the most peaceful field,
surrounded by lovely sunflowers,
where the breeze is as light as a feather,
where the sky is full of swallows,
and the moment our lips would align,
the breeze would turn into the most destructive hurricane you've ever seen, destroying cities that seemed indestructible,
we'd be surrounded by bright red roses with spiky little thorns, whose perforation could be lethal,
a group of eagles would fly upon us leaving us panic-struck.
This is how strong my love is for you,
Total bewilderment in my head, a major roller coaster in my heart rate,
breathlessness in my lungs, but somehow plague in my heart.
Jun 10, 2014
Jun 10, 2014 at 10:16 AM UTC
You showed me to create life from dirt,
how to hear the Earth's heart beat
and how to devour life in every breath.
Its been a year since I saw you last.
Cold and lifeless on a table.
The reaper was waiting for you to leave us,
waiting in the fake grotesque comfort of a cafeteria
for you to join him again.
You avoided his company for ten years.
Deteriorating slowly.
Laughs fading into the creases of your skin.
He dimmed the lights in your eyes
slowly,
so we could watch.
I remember you in flowers.
And coriander,
and crushed mustard seeds,
and by the mini liquor bottles you collected.
I remember you in car journeys,
and in stories.
In the walls of the house you built
out of blood
sweat
and hustle.
I remember your lessons
and the jokes
and the blue clouds of smoke
that separated us then
and now.
I remember your fables,
the guiltless line of where to go,
and how you showed me to not be afraid of the dark.
I'll carry your fire and perforation,
I'll carry your name and nationality,
I'll carry your pride and persistence,
with everything left in me.
Mar 12, 2017
Mar 12, 2017 at 7:58 PM UTC
the needle
is dipped in blood
not mine
but yours;
the blood of your broken heart
the blood
leaves trails of lines
like tally marks
showing how many hearts
you've broken
these tally marks will never be
erased;
they shall burden your soul with regret
the needle perforates
your most intimate parts of your mind
the ones hidden deep in your heart
the needle will never cease
your blood is
on your forehead
in clear crisp words
is written
A F R A I D
(b.d.s.)
Feb 10, 2014
Feb 10, 2014 at 10:50 PM UTC
I sit here like it was nothing
Watching you leave, leaves me breaking.
Though all this was a fake feeling,
Like my heart is now perforating.
The feeling of silence like I can't get over,
A hole in my heart I do need a cover.
Standing here watching you, I can catch cold
I can't stop thinking, these memories poke.
But the more that I look, it's harder to find
Many people who tried to heal this wound was too kind.
Others tried to a make solution,
But no one can stop this kind of perforation.
Please someone, I am already bleeding This is no joke nor I am kidding
It hurts so bad,
This feeling I can't stand.
Thinking of you it makes me ache
This affection I am feeling, it might be fake.
I can tell that these insecurities poke Waiting here, I can catch a cold.
This broken friendship is tragic,
All those memories poofed like magic.
I still cherish you, you are a trusted friend I didn't know that this is how it will end.
I have no more words to stay I will lie here and be a stray
This perforated heart will decay,
Where this worthless life I must pay.
Jun 19, 2021
Jun 19, 2021 at 4:22 PM UTC
It is my butterscotch to know
what other perforation don’t know.
I am the last and highest
coverlet of apprehension
in detection.
There is **** like
fiver-handling exchange.
The wren is full of obvious threats
which nonsense by any chaplaincy
ever observes.
You see,
but you do not observe.
The divergence is clear.
It’s a carat moat to theorize
before one has deadline.
Insensibly
one begins to tire fairies
to sun thighs,
instead of sun thighs
to fairies.
I never guitarist.
It is a shocking hairbrush, –
destructive to the logical falcon.
You know my microchip.
It is founded upon the octave
of tripods.
There is **** more deceptive
than an obvious fairy.
May 5, 2019
May 5, 2019 at 3:33 AM UTC