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EyeGaddaKu'upMiBosch
EyeGaddaKu'upMiBosch?

KuppingMyBoschMaegMyF­eldSafF...

The nur-see tain't weetchin'

Shh, don't look around
they don't see if you don't look around...

SCRATCH EARS!

That one,
is okay, he's mowin' the lawN with his hands,
and smiling...

NO PILLS! NO PILLS!

wait a, no, wait, no, wait, no, wait...

EyeGaddaKu'upMiBosch
EyeGaddaKu'upMiBosch?

KuppingMyBo­schMaegMyFeldSafF...

I've got to cup my *****, cupping my ***** makes me feel safe.

wait, no, wait, no, wait, no wait...

iF i bITe MY FINGeRNaILS THEe TaStE LIKE WAx




wax
Christian Ek Jul 2014
The band starts playing at a ***** and crowded backyard.
Rebellious youth gather to cast their vote with the stomping of their doc martin boots.
Beer cans everywhere, everyone's trying to let loose the raw stranglehold their society has produced.
The guitars go off and the ritual begins.
First they assemble in the heart of the pit.
In the center individual tragedies bring fourth the wrath of a God's army.
Anarchy you call it, Ha! I call it reassurance, reassurance that this anger is surely communal.

I never saw it more clearer, the youth's power to resist: If the government wont hear us, we will create our own sound even under the batons of fascism, we spit on your rule, your control of our art.

We wont bow down to a law with our names written all over it, while another politician walks free from corruption.
While another officer guns down an un armed child and calls it self-defense.
While suspicious mass shootings continue to occur and mass cameras grow in recording.
While you send more people off to war for another countries resources.
These thoughts explode out of me into shoves, screams, ****** cuts, reckless behavior, and then finally release. Pure psychiatric release.
Moments Before Jul 2018
Pit
_ Lit fire down where we all gave up caring
It flickers at the bugs and snaps with our words _
<music>
<en-nan nin nin en-nan et dan>
It's the Bra-Hi STOMP,
             COME ON, COME ON, COME ON!
<music>
It's the Bra-Hi STOMP,
<music>
...a pen, a floor, A CAGE,
             It's the Bra-Hi STOMP,
<music>
ON THE FLOOR, down you go-oo,
            It's the Bra-Hi STOMP,

It's the Bra-Hi STOMP,

Caught in, caught in, caught-up again,
            It's the Bra-Hi STOMP,

It's the Bra-Hi STOMP!

COME ON, COME, COME ON!
           It's the Bra-Hi STOMP,

ON THE FLOOR, down you go-oo,
            It's the Bra-Hi STOMP,
<musical break>
.
.
It's the Bra-Hi STOMP,
             COME ON, COME ON, COME ON!

It's the Bra-Hi STOMP!

<fade out>
A slow lead-in to a longer heavy metal jam. 'Bra' southern slang for brother so, "Brother I Stomp."
Gods1son Jul 17
Pit
The heart of (wo)man is as a pit,
Usually of varying depths
Evil-minded people possess a shallow heart,
with monsters trapped within
Kind-hearted people have a deep heart,
full of treasures.
In a room full of people

I’ve never felt more alone

All the lousy chatter

Never seemed so quiet

My insides full of sorrow

Yet a deep empty pit dominates my soul
Ivan Brooks Sr Jan 2018
Why is little Musa working in these diamond dirt pits,
Digging from sunset to sundown
Where are the laws that protect children 's rights,
Why is he left unsupervised working on his own?
Musa
Struggled from early childhood with all his strengths
Now he can hardly stand because of damaged vertebrates
To know the number of free hours he worked, do the maths
Yet some lucky girl somewhere celebrates.
So
How can he labor as a slave when he's just a boy?
How can Musa smile when he has no joy?
How can he run when he has no legs,
Who will speak for him knowing he has no voice?
so
How can the opportunity box be opened without the keys
How can the world do nothing about his demise,
Especially when to stay alive he has to work for food?
How can he locate hope if he can't see,
How can celebrities adorn diamonds with bad blood,
How can this possibly be?
So
If I can lend my pen to help every child slave working,
Then my life on earth is worth living.




✍️#IvanBrookspoetry©️✍️
We all have a moral obligation to stop child slavery.
Ed C May 8
It's a strange thing to look inside yourself
and see darkness, black oil bubbling
with animal feathers floating,
drowning  in the thick.
I feel like a well, with nothing but depth
with no one to pull me out, no rope
to even hang myself with.
When you sit in the darkness
with wings too sticky to fly out
you see faces and reflections
that take your mind and stretch it
into unrecognizable shapes.
I am stuck in the oil
of my compressed stress.
I have been having incredibly dark thoughts
Eva Aloezos Sep 2018
I know christians are wrong,
simply by the fact they believe “jesus gives you what you can handle”

15 year olds hanging themselves
pregnant ****** users
child ****
torture
holocaust
the complete desecration of vietnam
the corruption
monarchy
slavery
war
sacrifice
the list is endless

as George Carlin once said

“These are the type of results you’d expect from an office temp with a bad attitude....I’m not impressed”
Jacob Resendez Aug 2018
Many times, sometimes only once every so often,
I’m burned alive.
The crackles of the fire soothe me.
So that I can carry this glob of pink matter around,
I leap from the tallest tower,
grab onto the slippery side, and descend
like a ball of paper across the room.
When I feel this way,
I want to punish the way my mind hurts me.
While everyone carries themselves with pride,
I walk alone. The pain of being an outsider,
the pain of losing the one focus
you once had, is silently deadly.
In those moments,
the room feels empty. The pain glides along
and I’m carried off by my toes
and thrown in the pit of despair.
Ciel Noir Sep 2018
this is a pit                                                              ­          and into it
we throw our garbage                                           and our ****
       our grease                                                           ­      and grit    
   our slime                                                            ­and swill
  and all the people                                     that we ****
flotsam and jetsam                           film and oil
compacted into                              fertile soil
beneath the steep         and jagged *****
     there grows         a single flower








hope
Alyssa Underwood Jul 2016
Can it love you like God loves you, with a love that is better than life?
Can it connect you to eternal beauty? Can it save you? Can it redeem you? 
Can it lift you out of the miry pit? Can it make you clean enough to finally feel acceptable?

Can it delight your soul to the core? Can it take your breath away with its faithfulness to you? Can it paint both sunrise and sunset across the sky to beckon your attention? Can it cause the breeze to blow and gently caress your cheeks? Can it send hummingbirds and wildflowers across your path to romance your heart? Can it parade before you the starry host and call them each by name?

Can it probe you to the depths and fill you with itself?
Can it rush to your aid riding on the wings of the wind?
Can it satisfy your hunger and thirst with bountiful things?
Can it give to you feet like a deer that you might dance upon the heights?
Can it arrange every detail of your life to draw you and drive you to itself?
Can it pursue you with all the resources of the universe?
Can it know you through and through and still desire you?

Can it raise you up and seat you in the heavenly realms and bless you with every spiritual blessing? Can it supply your every need out of its glorious riches? Can its grace be sufficient for you and its mercy help you in your greatest temptation? Can it pour overflowing comfort into you through all of your troubles? Can it reach down to draw you out of deep waters? Can it set you on an unshakable foundation? Can it bound across the mountains to come to your rescue? Can it make you lie down in green pastures and lead you beside still waters?
Can it walk with you through the darkest wilderness and never leave you or forsake you? Can it carry you when you are weak or have fallen? Can it let you rest between its shoulders when you are weary or burdened?

Can it escort you to heaven’s banqueting table
and spread its banner of love over you?
Can it hide you in the shelter of its wing?
Can it be your daily portion and immerse you in the boundlessness of itself?
Can it clothe you in robes of righteousness and garments of salvation? 
Can it give to you praise in exchange for mourning?
Can it bestow on you a crown of beauty for ashes?
Can it turn your wailing into dancing?
Can it flood you with peace like a river?
Can it fill your heart with joy in the worst of afflictions?
Can it know the way to lead you home?
Can it refine you in its fire and bring you forth as gold? 
Can it capture you fully even as it sets you fully free?

Can it ever truly be your Everything?
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VeKgfUGtcI0
Strung Jun 14
I’m thinking all my charcoal thoughts—
Scorching on my mind—
I’m thinking all my crumbly words
Are worth the dark’s dull time
I sit here in the dark
And watch the embers burn
The feelings of the faces here
Mean nothing in the urn.
I sit against cold tiles,
Hiding in the dark
The fire burns me inside out
I’m alone, I’m hurt.
I sit deep in the fire
I have no more bones to give
All my blood is boiling
And my eyes have all but caved
I sit here in the fire
And think my charcoal thoughts
I want nothing else to do
With anything but dust.
Burn the legs and up the arms
I’m done with walking free
Burn the brain, the heart, the soul
I retire to the dream.
croob Dec 2018
she is breathing next to me but she is
fleeting; leaving, in an hour's time. i watch
her face for movement, i watch the clock for chimes,
the sun rises like my ****, i try to stop the both of them
but nothing stops the fateful forces of nature.
when she's left i say, in silence: whatever man, i hated her
all along, anyway, and that's how i go on
with my day, without enacting violence.

my brother forces me to eat his vegan snacks
i look beyond this mortal plane and through its
hidden cracks; i close my eyes and am a king
in some far off land, sycophants sing a symphony
for me, for me, for ME! "-and it's gluten-free,"
says my brother, and i am snapped out of my reverie.

i made a hole inside my head, a ceaseless pit for enemies
a place for me to put them mentally, because i can't
afford to dig a whole hole in my backyard, 500 meters deep;
i am a ******* poet, man, and ****, big pits ain't cheap.

(in some recess of my mind it occurs to me
that if i'm truly unhappy
maybe i should just put myself
in the ******* pit -
or instead, put a real hole
in my real head -
but i choose not to
acknowledge it.)
athena Oct 2016
you were shrieking about your problems
your teeth were all about this material world
everything was all about you
because that's how you wanted it
you loved yourself
and only yourself

you were spitting money of all currencies and kind
you adore them like how i adore humankind
you boast loudly about the material things you own
you loved your things so much, you turned into one
and you think people would actually love you

boisterous laughs were hidden behind the old brick wall
the you i used to know were a pigment of the past
you are now pitch-black, self centered and selfish

the pit can simply be covered with mud or a beautiful plant
but you dig deeper and fall and ask for succor
because that's what you crave for after all
-because money, that's all you have.
Laura G Dec 2018
Not all houses are homes
I am a house that is not a home
I am a place of transition
A place you are constantly passing
I am not a destination
I am a place people pass to get to somewhere else
I'm a pit stop
I'm not meant to be filled
I'm meant to fill others
But she can't admit it to herself
She doesn't want me to be just another sad story
But she can't come to terms with real life not having fairy tail endings
But I know who I am
I am the end to a story that is continuous for others
I am the fraction of someone else's story
I am a pit stop
I am a resting place who is never at rest
Every night keeps within it's protective cupped palms
At least this much; few bright moments of calm.
But she was a night so perfectly wedded to the dense dark,
Even in love, doing diabolic best, as if nothing else'd work
Never occured no other,in her thoughts or deeds ever.
But he seemed to be not  aware of his eye sight's fatal error,
Always read all her printer's devil just as if all of it's  right,
Her many decisive acts finely co ordinated,  finished him quite,
Love the first casuality, gave an impetus, then followed the rest.
He who fell head over the heals for her, slumped face down in the pit
Bella Jul 2018
Sometimes I get stuck in this state of Darkness
where my eyes can see
but it's like my head is just pitch black
and I almost wish I couldn't see anything,
like I wish I could just curl myself into a ball so tightly that I disappear from space for a while

sometimes I get stuck in this space
and I feel like my tears and my thoughts
are climbing up my esophagus and clogging my throat
blocking my airway
suffocating me from the inside

maybe I never told you I was depressed because who wants to relive that moment
that choking hazard moment of cotton ***** in my throat

maybe I never told you I was depressed because there are no words I can use to describe it that don't transform themselves into their meanings
that don't take over my mind
crawl through my head like little worms
eating away at my brain
my thoughts
my skin

have you ever thought of a traumatic experience and then felt those events happening again
felt the dark hole of life-threatening-trauma attack your mind
Shiver through your body
like it was a demon you let in through a memory-
through a word

maybe I didn't tell you I was depressed
because I wasn't strong enough
my depression fills me to the brim
fills my head and my chest
my arms and my fingers
I can feel it moving through my body
I can feel it expanding and engulfing everything inside of me
every last vein, nerve, *****, and tissue
how can you expect me to have the energy to fight
how can you expect me to have the energy to pick up the phone
to open my mouth
how can you expect me to have energy-to have the courage to utter the words of how I feel
I feel so worthless
in those moments I feel like there's this black whole inside me and it's consuming everything
it's taking everything but my skin
and it disgusts me

can you imagine the feeling,
having something so utterly repulsive on your skin you had to scrape it off immediately
It felt like you needed to be cleansed
like you needed a shower
take that feeling
now imagine it being under your skin
imagine, every muscle ***** vein nerve every cell in your body underneath your epidermis disgusts you
imagine all you wanted to do was to
GET
IT
OFF
and you can't
no matter how hard you try
you can't scrape it off
you can't claw It off

imagine you're scared of spiders
now imagine you're covered in spiders
and someone's holding down your arms
so you can't get them off
imagine them walking on your skin
in your mouth
crawling on your open eyes
in your ears
you're cringing at your own skin
You can feel them going down your throat
Their disgusting tickle in the pit of your stomach
in every crevice of your body
their tunneling under your skin
and you can't get them off
what are you supposed to do
but cry
My best friend's mom who doesn't believe in depression asked why I never told her I was depressed...
King Panda Feb 2016
you went sledding
with the kids
while I filed the paperwork
and cried

I used to be your lady boy
shining in green pit-bar light
as you kissed me like
the kids were with my mother
stuck at the bottom of the
treehouse slide in a pile
in mud
laughing
when

in reality they were
just budding inside of you
fertilized with apple liquor
and the perfume smoking
from my chest as you
unbuttoned the first few
revealing the scar left by
my brother's first pocket knife

the skin of my young years
the skin I am wearing now
cut by these ******* papers as
you freeze
tearlessly
in a pom pom hat
teaching our babies how to make
the perfect snowball
MicMag Jul 2018
Sometimes


I fall
Into a bottomless pit

Of despair



Other times



It's a bottomless chasm
The intense realization of utter insignificance is profoundly distressing and in occasional brief moments infinitely insurmountable.
Shane Leigh Nov 2018
A fine feat under darker skies when he left again in the mourning hours, and I woke again in the morning hours. Had I have held longer, tighter, I would have no poetics in steady stride. I find it is comfort that I fear in the deepest hours, alone and to myself, I dream – not often thinking. Dreams made real by gentlest touch of my thigh, my breast, my neck, my chin, then my cheek. He will not rest for I will not rest in the tint of a blood-orange sky following a dark deeper than the depths in the pit of one’s eye.

CRY!

Cry and I will bid away in silence at which you will no longer need to worry: not of the mourning hours, nor the morning hours. We will not be bothered any by the dark where I will no longer want a gentle touch for it will be cold - cold like a chilled night in the palm of my hand; but this chill is not cold for I will have seduced you and I will be warmed again in the morning hours.
© Shane Leigh
Hello!
ENJOY (:
Alyssa Underwood Nov 2015
Can it love you like God loves you, with a love that is better than life?
Can it connect you to eternal beauty? Can it save you? Can it redeem you?
Can it lift you out of the miry pit? Can it make you clean enough to finally feel acceptable?

Can it delight your soul to the core? Can it take your breath away with its faithfulness to you? Can it paint both sunrise and sunset across the sky to beckon your attention? Can it cause the breeze to blow and gently caress your cheeks? Can it send hummingbirds and wildflowers across your path to romance your heart? Can it parade before you the starry host and call them each by name?

Can it probe you to the depths and fill you with itself?
Can it rush to your aid riding on the wings of the wind?
Can it satisfy your hunger and thirst with bountiful things?
Can it give to you feet like a deer that you might dance upon the heights?
Can it arrange every detail of your life to draw you and drive you to itself?
Can it pursue you with all the resources of the universe?
Can it know you through and through and still desire you?

Can it raise you up and seat you in the heavenly realms and bless you with every spiritual blessing? Can it supply your every need out of its glorious riches? Can its grace be sufficient for you and its mercy help you in your greatest temptation? Can it pour overflowing comfort into you through all of your troubles? Can it reach down to draw you out of deep waters? Can it set you on an unshakable foundation? Can it bound across the mountains to come to your rescue? Can it make you lie down in green pastures and lead you beside still waters? Can it walk with you through the darkest wilderness and never leave you or forsake you? Can it carry you when you are weak or have fallen? Can it let you rest between its shoulders when you are weary or burdened?

Can it escort you to heaven’s banqueting table
and spread its banner of love over you?
Can it hide you in the shelter of its wing?
Can it be your daily portion and immerse you in the boundlessness of itself?
Can it clothe you in robes of righteousness and garments of salvation?
Can it give to you praise in exchange for mourning?
Can it bestow on you a crown of beauty for ashes?
Can it turn your wailing into dancing?
Can it flood you with peace like a river?
Can it fill your heart with joy in the worst of afflictions?
Can it know the way to lead you home?
Can it refine you in its fire and bring you forth as gold?
Can it capture you fully even as it sets you fully free?

Can it ever truly be your Everything?
~~~
Aj Jan 2018
you are words.

you are crashing syllables that drip off of wilting rose petals and each letter is a star. you make up constellations while foreign galaxies drip from your lips. nebulae dance across your angel-shedded skin and particles of the sun hide under the freckles resting on your shoulders.

you are life.

the wonders of the cosmos that swirl in the pit of your lean and golden tummy, finding solace in the way you breathe in and exhale the energy of the universe that you created in the beating passage of my worn-out soul.

you are the universe's child.

and the stars that accumulate under your skin will explode. i'll inhale the stardust and debris, letting the particles of life that you emit pollute my bloodstream.
constellations dedicated to a lover who lost his way.
Larry Potter Aug 2013
Overborne barrels
Rolled out in weights
That God knows how much.

Down the bottomless pit
Of unredeemable darkness
Where desire laid unrest.

The hounds of greed
Stripped off the barks
But hid the naked truth.

Where pigs are kept
For the coming slaughter
By the hungry crocodiles.

Only brittle bones
Shall be thrown and fed
To the ignorant river.

But the water saw blood
And soon the tide will rage
To drown the narcissists.
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