"queasiness" poems
Arctic raindrops hit the back porch glass,
Singing the sad tale of blue angels.
Queasiness fills her stomach,
As she breathes more smoke into her black lungs.
Her emerald jeweled lighter sparkled,
Reflected off of the single light bulb.
The savoriness of fruit satisfied her tongue,
More than a sip of whipped ***** could ever do.
The bathroom mirror still haunted her,
Only to proclaim the scars and bruises.
From inside and out,
She still debris as another victim to herself.
Mar 8, 2013
Mar 8, 2013 at 11:28 PM UTC
In this never ending bitterness,
pour your heart out with a mouthful of sweet words.
In this never ending darkness,
stand up to the world, with a smile full of glimmer
In this never ending loneliness,
reach out to an old friend and share.
In this never ending queasiness,
take a breath
In this never ending selfishness to prove ourselves right,
give room to perspective.
In this never ending cycle of different phases, to which we stand witness,
learn from it...
that within lies greatness.
Dec 24, 2018
Dec 24, 2018 at 7:48 AM UTC
You cannot un-see what you have seen
you may ignore, ha, so you wish!
but you are a slave to your queasiness
you know your so called heart
will ram inside your grossly chest
and gnaw at every bit of its flesh
until
you could look at me just one more time, to feel cocksure
stare, may be, a glance is too constringed to see
I am not ugly
It's your eyes that aren't contrived to grok beauty.
Aug 2, 2012
Aug 2, 2012 at 2:37 PM UTC
they say dont self medicate
but i cant keep living this way
cant take all the anger and hate
drifting around getting lost in the gray.
would a cigarette be a real devastation?
Then theres all forms of self mutilation
i could always drown my uneasiness
with bottle after bottle of 60proof queasiness
theres all sorts of remedies
in prescription form
theyll make you feel happy and ecstatic and warm
or theyll make everything fuzzy and drag you down low
give your head an awful sort of chemical blow
theres so many options
theyll make me feel great
take away the bad feelings
coerce my mood to elevate
Jun 16, 2016
Jun 16, 2016 at 1:06 PM UTC
I just puked another poem today
There was a queasiness so my brain felt the need
To up chuck all of its contents
All over you fine peoples feet
It was a colorful array of symbolism
That I hurled across the room
It must have been something I'd seen or read
That made me ***** this poem out for you
Don't worry I'll personally clean up the mess
Before anymore of this I let loose
But this close to a sick poet you should have guessed
That eventually my works would splatter on you
Mar 13, 2013
Mar 13, 2013 at 1:49 PM UTC
a willow
however
stands
shallow waters
pebble stones
scattered
all the words
a cadency
of rusty hinges
hanged doors
sour, the dam
Feb 24, 2017
Feb 24, 2017 at 3:25 AM UTC
Is it too late?
please dont make me bear - the bland walls whitened by the guise of death.
Is it too late?
the queasiness laughs lavishly - when will I die? If I continue to feed
Is it too late?
to Live or to die? I lie motionless in between
It it too late?
to choose magnificence glimpsed in hints behind my eyelids
to be the ancient winds gusting out of nothingness like Celtic fiddles, changing raging seas into misty green beckonings
Is it too late?
here I lie. the deadening grasped me again. I knew it would come. I did my best to prepare. Was it enough? Did I finish bridges to escape on the night? Only time will tell, and what a devil it has become.
Nov 25, 2015
Nov 25, 2015 at 11:24 AM UTC
In a sweeping moment
Her train of thought
Comes to an end.
She checks the time
And pulls herself together.
She could feel her pulse
Hammering.
A sense of purpose
Overtaking.
She walks to the front door
In strides of self pity
A turn of the door ****
A step out to the unknown.
She was nailed to the spot
Her fears, palpable.
Her heart beat
Like a metronome.
And sweat
Like salty rain.
There's no courage
Her head spins with pain.
She hesitates,
As always before.
The fireplace, the warmth
A book and a cup of tea
Or the queasiness
Of being outside
Her comfort zone.
She turns back,
And finds her way to her hole
Why do I bother?
She can't help but think.
Maybe tomorrow
Maybe never.
Her heart beats
Like a metronome.
Apr 13, 2014
Apr 13, 2014 at 11:17 PM UTC
Fever drives burning rubber and sweating coolant. I never thought this would be me; Living like a willow weeping stalagmite that drips in a cave, gutted of its most precious treasures. Volcanic emissions eat their way up my esophagus, acid refluxing, reflecting the queasiness vigorously sloshing in my abdomen. A motel's vacancy sign glows behind the round masses that sit within the bony sockets of my skull. Void of thought and reason, the cavernous hole that appears to swallow, swallowing my words, swallowing my tongue, swallowing my teeth one by one; Chiclets, sliding down into molten rock. Crumbling pieces of hope plunge, deteriorating, integrating with the earth, six feet down, bodies buried in boxes, confining cells of solitary. Laid out like a game of memory, time passes, and no one remembers who lays where.
Sep 11, 2017
Sep 11, 2017 at 9:05 PM UTC
spilling out of bed
like molasses
to congeal on the floor
flowing slowly
wrenched by determination
towards the stairs
oozing gently down
step by step
drip by drip
finally reaching the bottom
where the sloppy puddles merge
gathering strength
like a phoenix rising
but then again, not
i stand unsteadily
holding onto the wall
to brace myself
overcome by a rush of queasiness
i rush to the lavatory
to alleviate my distress...
I WILL NEVER DRINK AGAIN!
Oct 24, 2014
Oct 24, 2014 at 7:12 PM UTC
part i. what does death taste like? (“death is a part of life.” it doesn’t have to be)
i haven't visited that side of me in a while. i forgot how death felt -- how voyeurism felt.
the queasiness used to give me a rush, the asphyxiation made me blush.
the decaying yellow was complementary, and the edge made me feel, dare i say, alive.
while i’ve been a toddler again, i’ve forgotten the taste of wine and the texture of bread.
i no longer noticed how soft, ripe my flesh was. i no longer noticed the grime that piled
beneath life’s fingernails. i washed my hands so often, i assumed everyone else did, too.
my eyes became filled with tears, and my cheeks went ashen. yet, his brows were knit,
his eyes were cold, his mouth in a comfortable frown. he questioned me (as if i was
irrational for crying over a death), his tone heightened (while his conscience declined).
his eyes decline when he feels his conscience die. but he says it only happens when
he doesn’t look me in the eye. when he looks me in the eye while he cuts off my air,
he’s aware. he’s careful not to take it away permanently (he has a limit). when he looks
at me, he sees me, his angel. and trees do fall; leaves break away; soil does dry out;
flowers wilt; and we come back.
part ii. tea
more and more i search for quality. for quality.
peace. i want life’s beauty. i want life’s deliverance; i want what gaia has left to give.
the more i think, the more i feel.
i want the grit, pain; to be used and abused.
masochistic: please me by using my body to vent. remind me of what that iron taste is.
take away and then give.
my throat (a lifesource) -- take away and give back.
part iii. samsara/nirvana
freedom from samsara.
this cycle of death.
no, i won’t live forever; i’ll ascend far past immortality. beyond life, beyond death.
no. life and death. those two words have no value. no longer hold weight. are not real.
i exist solely as an entity, a matter, a collection of stardust and dirt. dense white matter
protecting throbbing pink matter. deconstructed. abstract. conceptual, theoretical
matter. we aren’t sparse. “we” are not. we are fleeting, made up complexities; making
life difficult. “we”. me. “i am he as you are he as you are me and we are all together.”
samsara. nirvana. liberation. no more “cycle”, no more rotation. existing in a pile. no alive,
no dead. these words don’t exist. no ring around you. no ties to you. no chains on you.
drifting, floating, sliding through (no beginning or end) tranquility.
Jun 23, 2018
Jun 23, 2018 at 11:32 PM UTC
******* in the air and filling up your lungs
Then letting it stay there as your tongue becomes numb
A slight dizziness arises in your head
And the feeling of your heartbeat as you lay in bed
A slight queasiness in your stomach
A tickle of your throat
And soon you have the sensation that you're about to float
A slight rise of panic
A simple yet complex thought
Then you exhale and the feeling is still caught
In the pit of your stomach until you catch your breathe
And the feeling is gone until your dying death
Dec 26, 2016
Dec 26, 2016 at 11:26 PM UTC
Finally a day devoid of sharp edges.
The world in focus. For a moment. Enjoy.
Insomnia burns like Saint Augustine's fire.
Nights much longer than swooning pig *******
Days that shimmer, stab, shake and ****
Aching eyes and aching I. Queasiness.
Every eternal question demanding answer.
Random blasts from unwelcome pasts.
Useless drugs. Alcohol too much pain.
Eventually, to sleep, to dream. Oblivion
attained. But then, it all begins again.
~mce
Feb 24, 2016
Feb 24, 2016 at 10:44 AM UTC
I just puked another poem today
There was a queasiness so my brain felt the need
To up chuck all of its contents
All over you fine peoples feet
It was a colorful array of symbolism
That I hurled across the room
It must have been something I'd seen or read
That made me ***** this poem out for you
Don't worry I'll personally clean up the mess
Before anymore of this I let loose
But this close to a sick poet you should have guessed
That eventually my works would splatter on you
Mar 12, 2015
Mar 12, 2015 at 5:32 PM UTC
it's not up to you what
you're going to see,
sight swears by you...
and means it.
there's the well, there's you--
now draw because you're
thirsty.
you can see all the way down--
a cylindrical depth opens
a dark eye.
which opens a darker one--
the water begins to appear.
washing its wobbling face
to present to yours, circlets
of light peaking dualistically.
body languages, words
placed in conversations, and
silences adhere.
a Rembrandtian lighting descends,
leaves an organic trail of
freeze frame shiftiness.
there you are, there he is,
there she is...hit with the queasiness
of being Seen.
Jun 6, 2018
Jun 6, 2018 at 2:06 PM UTC
I knock on the door, he says go away
I plead and I beg, let me in, I say
Please let me in
He pushes me astray, telling me to find another home to invade
Stepping aside I reveal one large flowerpot filled to the brim with soil and three blooming flowers
May I at least enrich your garden with my three budding fruits
Reaching out, the homeowner grabs hold of the cylindrical vessel
One by one he looks each flower up and down, examining their brightly captivating colors
Their yellow-like nature shines like gold in the sun
The depth of their cocoa centers contrasting beautifully with those same honey dyed petals.
Looking over into his garden, I see only white flowers.
Though equally beautiful, the unanimous collection lacked the distinction that my prodigies could provide
Awaiting his response, my head falls limply in reverence
Yet I remain confident
A smile gracing my lips.
I was excited to see
Excited to witness the opportunity my blossoms would be given to thrive in a nurturing environment
Yet as my head rose and my eyes lifted,
All reassurance left my face,
My happiness transformed into terror
Before me stood a man seeming ten feet taller and baring the face of a fiend
A wicked smile replaced his pondering expression,
A snicker belt out from his nostrils.
Looking into my eyes, the homeowner spit his words into my face
The saliva causing a sickening chill to run throughout my body
In my heart, his words will forever stay
My God-given soul permanently hardened to stone
No. They are the wrong color.
A shiver sparking a queasiness in my belly
As are you.
Aug 6, 2020
Aug 6, 2020 at 3:42 PM UTC
when curt is the plan
that Dallas nev'r succumb
to total the law of their queasiness
that really inhibit the ritual only in love
with the direness 'n' bellow in philosophy
that squawk of fire so tear up street
only must that fine standing hire
that tract of striped industry Titan
Sep 17, 2019
Sep 17, 2019 at 8:14 AM UTC