"recoiled" poems
I awoke into a morbid dream
A shadow realm of neither form nor scheme
A subdued mirage without shimmer or gleam
A foul abomination
In this nightmarish realm of dread
Weary souls are tapped and bled
Demons feed, Spoil and spread
Like dengue in the hearts of men
This was surely a prison for the mind
Perhaps even beyond even gods reach
A place where dark kings rule and black priests preach
And life itself has been impeached
I writhed and recoiled in primordial plasma
Managing a precise thought in my horror
“Is there not some chaperone
To guide me through this hell unknown
Some charitable entity
To which I could bond eternally”
Dec 6, 2014
Dec 6, 2014 at 5:56 PM UTC
I've been wandering this world.
Wandering around, in my thoughts,
going anywhere I wanted.
Then I met you, my friend,
and you taught my anything,
anything that came into your mind:
Like teaching how to love life
and how to appreciate it.
How to go on when life seems bad.
Then you told me about love,
about being in love, loving someone
and the difference between.
I asked how you knew this difference
and you answered that anyone could know.
That one only has to get to know people
to find out what it is.
Yet I still don't know what you meant.
Not exactly, anyway.
I understand a tiny bit, but not all.
Just because I'm too afraid
to try and get to know people...
After love, friendship was the subject.
According to your words,
a true friend will always stay by your side.
That made me start to wonder
if that could be the reason that you never,
never recoiled from my frozen heart.
The reason you started teaching me.
But as I get to know you, more and more,
I am starting to believe
that I found the difference,
this difference between loving
and being in love.
I found out that my heart...
That it's not as frozen as it once was.
I think that's because of you;
you and you teaching me about life.
I've loved you, like I would love a sibling.
And you kept going on with teaching,
with being my teacher,
and that opened my eyes and heart.
Now I definitely know the difference,
this difference you told me about.
I know I loved you as family, a close friend,
and now I know
that I'm in love with you.
Sep 4, 2012
Sep 4, 2012 at 12:47 PM UTC
It was after we passed Moby’s Dock
that Ebony met her first thresher shark
He was five feet long or so
two feet shark, three feet tail,
and had just been pulled from the surf
to be proudly displayed
by the fisherman who had caught him
Ebony stood transfixed
her every muscle poised
her feathered tail twitched
as she leaned closer to inspect
and then recoiled from this cold-blooded beauty
still dressed in fleetingly iridescent
blues and greens and purples -
As the sun’s fading beams highlighted
the magnificence of this dying shark
I mourned his loss that night.
The noise and tourists
in the Pier’s arcades and bumper cars
did not detract from the peacefulness
of the Pacific in her chaos
for this was August
and they would soon go home
I watched a distant storm at sea
flashing fire against the deepening twilight
I stood, and Ebony,
gazing at the flashes of lightning
My hand felt her softness and warmth
as I stroked the waves of her black fur
relishing the cool wind on my face
listening to the rigging
of the boats resting at anchor off the Pier
Thinking about thresher sharks
Willing them away
from this place with its fishermen
and cold, baited hooks
Cori MacNaughton
13 Sept 2000
Jun 11, 2015
Jun 11, 2015 at 1:11 PM UTC
Recoiled in one’s own world
The pusillanimous heart beats faintly
Holding onto the last thread of hope
Among the threadbare fabric of neglect
Sep 12, 2014
Sep 12, 2014 at 11:50 PM UTC
Planes fly into the towers
Planes fly from out the craters in the towers
Black plumes of smoke choke the sky
Windowless planes flying into the towers
And now another, now another
The towers rattle
Planes take-off from in the fire
And go off into the city, into the stars
into our minds.
Planes like laser-lights, jetting off,
imprinting themselves
into our minds.
Over and over and over and over
and over and over and over
There were as many as 1,000 planes
or more.
Desks, glass-shards, people
High-heels, telephones, people
Falling, smashing down from the towers
A Warholian dream
Dying icons on every TV set, 24 hour access
On every channel
For months on end
On end
Headlines recoiled by an antichrist
Rumors he was in Pakistan
In Switzerland, at the mall
In your mind.
The towers burn forever
The towers burn forever
Frozen in pixels online
In our minds.
Sep 11, 2012
Sep 11, 2012 at 8:51 AM UTC
By day he wore a face of stone,
a man at work, a man at home.
Mid-tier, mid-forties, fading fast,
a shadow built to never last.
Unseen, unseen, the hours crawled,
his name half-heard, his voice forestalled.
Reliable. Invisible.
Forgettable. Admissible.
But night —
night gave him another skin,
a grinning mask, a skeleton grin.
Blurry selfies, pumpkin puns,
cheap delights for midnight ones.
And they laughed.
They saw.
He mattered more
than the man he’d left behind the door.
She answered louder than the rest,
late-twenties, lonely, dispossessed.
Her laughter quick, replies too fast,
his irony returned as gospel, cast.
“I know this isn’t you,” she said.
“I want the man who hides instead.”
He recoiled.
Deleted.
Ghosted.
Fled.
But silence is a mask that turns,
and absence is a fire that burns.
3:33, the phone alight,
a skeleton meme each waiting night.
3:33, a plastic hand,
a note enclosed: You’ll understand.
3:33, the offering grows —
a pumpkin smashed, its seeds exposed.
Her love became a ritual rhyme,
his jokes became a curse in time.
“You don’t get to leave,” she swore,
“You owe me you, forevermore.”
And he —
the man who sought the crowd,
who wanted laughter, not too loud,
who craved the gaze but feared the weight,
found every mask could seal his fate.
No one is innocent here, no one.
Not the trickster, not the one undone.
He wore deception like a shield,
she made obsession her battlefield.
Now only one mask still remains —
cheap plastic grin through windowpanes.
Spoopy, childish, still, absurd,
yet sharper than his final word.
The curtains gap, the silence bends,
a tilted grin that never ends.
And he knows, beneath the grin so slight:
her mask will never leave the night.
Sep 22, 2025
Sep 22, 2025 at 4:41 AM UTC
The rabbit haunts from a distance, patrolling fields for one to bear witness.
Gracefully the tenderfoot stalks, keeping a watchful eye out for Mr.Fox.
The creature walks with a slight limp, other animals often call him a gimp.
This way, that way, it all seems wrong, keeping time with a lost robin's song.
His home constructed as a single story wonder, located within a large tree laying asunder.
Family life wasn't right, as fleeting an image as a wayward kite.
A field mouse, left without spouse,
Stumbled upon the home in a tree, accompanied by a group of songbirds filled with glee.
The field mouse was asked to go, the creature in response, simply said no.
A man stumbled up, as mad as a hatter, his portly girth made it hard to imagine being any fatter.
He spoke of intrinsic right, boundless visions beyond sight.
Told the rabbit he had a duty to the mouse, saying it immoral to deprive him of a house.
The rabbit, reluctant to accept , found out from the man of the true evils in neglect.
He was told that he didn't own the home, it had simply been gifted as a goodwill loan.
That meant it was as his as much as the rabbits, regardless of any perspective habits.
With that the moused moved in, and brought with him his prized snakeskin.
Over a meal the mouse spoke of danger, coming in the form of a wandering stranger.
He told the rabbit, this creature travelled light, but usually shrouded in the cover of night.
Said the creature was not large in size, though his methods of thievery seemed quite wise.
The rabbit recoiled in his chair, as the field mouse offered up a demonic glare.
The field mouse grinned from ear to ear, sensing this rabbit's new grasp on fear.
Pulling the snakeskin from his sack, the dried shell was quick to crack.
The mouse spoke of a brave duel, between him and this monster, which had downed a mule.
He used every ounce of his cunning, and sent the legless beat running.
It wasn't good enough for the mouse, who was certainly no louse.
He tracked the snake for six long hours, through a field of partially bloomed flowers.
In the end he killed the snake, then took its skin so listeners knew the tale wasn't fake.
He held the skin, I mean the mouse, and said he'd hang the shell within the house.
Mr. Rabbit was found dead two days after, his body lay desecrated next to the snakes, hanging from a rafter.
Sep 3, 2014
Sep 3, 2014 at 1:02 PM UTC
**O, My Creator, Deliver Me From These Inquisitions,
Emancipate Me From These Wretched Oppositions,
Free Me From The Chains Of My Weary Disposition,
Envelop Me Within The Folds Of Your Holy Apparition**
*The Sun's Light Dwindled Along The Horizon,
Darkness Bruised The Ledges Of The Sky,
Summer's Vegetation Recoiled And Fossilized,
Within The Dark Soil's Crumbling Underlie*
**O, Glorious Divine Being, Act On My Requisition,
Extricate My Soul From It's Appalling Malnutrition,
This Tattered Mind Is A Degenerating Composition,
Let My Spine Sprout Wings To Carry Me To Redefinition**
*Stars Emerged From The Depths Of The Heavens,
Holes Filtrating The Stale Air Circulating In Slime,
Oozing From A Fatal Virus They Referred To As Time*
Feb 18, 2015
Feb 18, 2015 at 7:08 PM UTC
His mother's dumb face
His father's cold drinks
It's all fun and games
'Till the happiness sinks
He'll walk straight inside
Not announcing his presence
Stare fear in the eye
And inhale killer's essence
Walk up to his room
And open his door
Foreshadowing doom
That box on the floor
Within it? The metal
He stole it for fun
The steel 'shakes his settle'
In the form of a gun
He tugs on the hammer
And pulls back the slide
Waits 'till the clamor
Of anxiety subsides
Remembers the beatings
His father would lay
Remembers the feeding
Of lies in the hay
He waltzes down stairs
With the gun in both hands
At the very last step
He nervously stands
He won't just say 'blam'
And pull back the trigger
His thoughts make a plan
A process much bigger
Confronting them both
At the small kitchen table
He didn't once choke
When he said "I am able"
He pointed the gun
But his resolve soon shattered
And in shame, shot himself
Saying first "It won't matter!"
His plan had recoiled
But his mission still stood
As the bullet hit oil
And caught fire to the wood
And the flames licked and climbed
And the roof burned and caved
And the family died
In the fiery blaze
And the town down the road
Never did realize
The church choir sings odes
And a young lady cries
But never word flew
Of the evil within
'Till the killers mind slew
Just a boy and his kin
Apr 22, 2014
Apr 22, 2014 at 2:05 AM UTC
Took 287 South
to a Borders
Goin Outta
Biz Sale.
Books may be
anachronisms,
relics from
yesterdays
analog age,
but literacy's
bankruptcy
does have
advantages.
Take an
additional
30% off on
any orphans
pleading
release from
the discount
racks.
Snooping down
the literature isle
Samuel Beckett's
somber face
arrested my
roving
eyeballs.
A stern stare
printed across
5 spines of
his shrink
wrapped
oeuvre
commanded
my arm to rise
to liberate the
face from the
dismal shelf.
In mid flight
my reach
was hijacked
by a Kris
Kringley red
snow flaked
trim tome
standing
open face
next to
earnest
Beckett.
It was "The
Christmas
Sweater"
by NYT
Best Selling
Author, Glenn
Beck.
Clasping at Beck's
book, it inflicted
a nasty paper cut
to my ring finger.
My mind recoiled,
thinking, "serves
you right. Like
Martha, I shoulda
chosen the better
thing."
I'll never
make that mistake
again.
Borders Books
Riverdale
2/20/11
jbm
Nov 6, 2011
Nov 6, 2011 at 3:50 PM UTC
there's this book, a manual, a guide for shrinks
ostensibly it aids them in assessing how one thinks
to my mind it contains something for everyone
to be human is to invariably become undone
degrees of normality, degrees of insane
eventually too much knowledge
makes the struggle an exercise in vain
some gentle ones give up and relinquish trying
coping is groping, thrashing, lying
to thine own self be true
unto this missive troubles you'll rue
total honesty impossible to know
minuscule fleeting fractile glimpses of the show
'do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth
and nothing but the truth'?
I can only promise to try
social strictures require we lie
I will not swear to something I cannot believe
I'm rarely really certain of any given thing; my doubts know no reprieve
When Krishna revealed to Arjuna his entire magnificence
Arjuna recoiled in fear to behold such terrible opulence
likewise my eyes have been opened to some totality
so I view the truth as a comfortable logical fallacy
therein is the problem the dilemma defined
to tell the 'whole truth' I would most certainly lose my mind
Jun 5, 2013
Jun 5, 2013 at 9:14 PM UTC
Of course I want to see you again,
That's the one thing I want the most.
Even though you recoiled from me, and left me lost.
Them butterflies in my stomach will torture me while I'm thinking on you appearing,
And won't go away even after you're gone.
They'll end up filling me whole.
Then overflow.
I think I can handle them butterflies,
But what I still can't do, is dealing with the thought of you.
Oct 17, 2014
Oct 17, 2014 at 2:12 AM UTC
The woods have become denser
Where roots have gone deeper
Lost between the intricate mesh
Of the branches and that hold
Embracing each other in a synergy
Here the lost soul is looking for a way
To navigate between the labyrinth
Ideas and thoughts are not porous
Ground realities have become grim
Recoiled are the roots deep within
Looking to move away from the lacunae
As the woods come closer and grasp
This soul has no answer to the questions
Pertinent doubts are raised
No looking away from the harsh world
Feeling crushed between two realities
A hallucinatory phase feels so real
Nothing but prisoners we are
Caught between the woods of reality
Souls filtered us through travails
Here are the sediments seeping
Deep into the ground, where roots reclaim
Apr 1, 2015
Apr 1, 2015 at 1:31 AM UTC
She was the epitome of a good girl
Funny, cool and the best friend ever
She was smart too , never falling victim to their lies
Always precluding hurt and pain
but she had always craved something real
that thing called love
she no longer wanted to elude all the pain and pleasures that came along with it
so she waited patiently for her knight to come
to rescue her from the state of 'forever alone'
and he did come, he was literally what every girl wanted
when they were together , gravity no longer existed
his very presence made her high
when they kissed , megawatts of electricity and passion flowed through their veins
But soon he started to withdraw from her
He recoiled as if she was dangerous to his wellbeing
everything went downhill for them
she implored him to talk to her, to work things out
after all when you love someone , you just dont give up on them
but he refused and they grew apart
she borne this for a while but the pain became too much
and it all went up in flames
he said he needed time to himself , to figure things out
all the pressures in his life were too much and he needed time and space
he said maybe they would get back together....
she put on a brave face and said goodbye
it exhausted her inside , she tried so hard not to cry
and so she said sorry to every cracked branch and leaf she passed
because she now knew how it felt to be stepped on even after you were broken
the pain still lingers , minutes to hours , hours to days
It is really true when they say nothing gold can stay.
Jan 9, 2014
Jan 9, 2014 at 4:56 PM UTC
A man three times her size
almost twice as old
touched her
she did not like it
recoiled
pushed to the bathroom
bent over a toilet
pain
ready to *****
sickening
violated
never spoken of aloud
never will be
disgusting she is now
wipe away the memory
ask her now why she hates herself
Nov 6, 2012
Nov 6, 2012 at 2:11 AM UTC
Del sat on the steps in front of a brick building, smoking a cigarette. She looked more like a thick, young teenage boy that a woman in her mid-twenties. With her track jacket collar pulled up tight around her, she recoiled into herself, slinking back into the steps. She siphoned a long deep inhale of smoke.
Andie blew the cigarette smoke through her tightened lips and whistled the smoke at the mirror in front of her. She reviewed her reflection critically with squinting eyes. It was cold and dark in the room except for the hot glow of cigarette and the glare of a bare light bulb without a lampshade. Her skin stood up with goosebumps and her ******* were small and hard.
Jan 22, 2013
Jan 22, 2013 at 11:54 PM UTC
I was a new-born when you promised
You would carry me anywhere I wanted
And at any time I wanted,
You promised me safety
You promised me freedom.
Dedicated and deceptive
You had teased me growing up
But I never would have predicted
How malicious you could be
You fooled everyone, even me.
Parts of you were destroyed
But you always found other ways
To stick out, ugly and obscene
You screamed at me, you harassed me
And everyone else recoiled.
You were ruthless, relentless,
I needed your permission to leave
On the worst days I could do nothing
But lie there and seethe.
You were always there waiting,
Until I was distracted, to capture me
Trapping me in a time loop dimension
Loop after loop after loop;
Like an elaborate knot.
My tongue no longer tasted
My humanity began to rust
Like a corpse and its restless ghost
I was dormant but deprived of sleep
How could I rest under your glare?
Like a deranged anaesthetist
You forced me to the very edge
I hung over that abyss, wondering
If you would let my hand go, or pull me up
Until boredom struck again
Amidst the beeping and droning machines
Serpentine, you still twisted around me
Pungent disinfectant; the white-room scent
And the pointed metal tips
Their shrieking tongues turned to monotone.
Well, organs and cells,
I had long outgrown you and
Your demented, slothful ways
What did we have in common
Anymore aside from me?
But we are bound like conjoined twins
As fused together as can be
I’d die without you, you’d die without me
I aim to live in harmony with you
And help you gain a much sunnier hue.
Apr 2, 2018
Apr 2, 2018 at 4:06 AM UTC
The first time
I saw a ******
I saw it in the open legs
of a smouldering woman
pockmarked by bullets,
and her curly black
hair
was pink
with brains like worms.
Her knees shook
spasmodically
like spider's
when you smush
them under your thumb.
The first time
I saw and
held a gun,
I yanked it from my father's
eternal fingers.
His head was open too,
and it buzzed
in a black rain of flies.
They were shooting,
and little plumes
of dust
exploded all around my feet.
Whizzing, Banging, a roar
of warfare, and I burned myself;
the shells kept falling against my skin
as I held that AK
squeezing
and falling
as the gun
pow'd
and recoiled.
Little bubbling lakes of skin
hurt my arms for days.
Feb 9, 2012
Feb 9, 2012 at 7:36 PM UTC
I had been keeping a safe emotional distance from her
Since she found out about the cutting, the eating disorders
and all the rest of the lies
I never really could talk to my mother
Especially since she doesn't deal
With shattered souls
Very gently
She yells when she doesn't know how to cope
And it just makes it worse
Because feelings are not logical
And she is more of a logic person
But she was in my room
Talking to me about our plans for tomorrow
Who was picking who up where and when etc.
And I had a song playing in the background
I listened too hard to the lyrics
Memories flashed back
And I burst into tears
At first she did the whole typical of her:
Grow up, get over it, stop being overdramatic and attention seeking thing
but when she saw my eyes
filled with tears
her baby daughter's eyes
in so much pain
she started crying too
and I recoiled at her embrace
I didn't want her comfort
She was never there for me
When I really needed her to be
And I am fairly unforgiving
About things like that
But I had been so alone
For so long
That year, I had spent full days
In black clothes
And total silence
Not speaking to anyone ever at all
because everyone hated me
No one wanted to be friends
With the girl who keeps getting called
To the councillor's office
And as this song brought me to tears
I couldn't take being alone anymore
So I let my mother hold me
She whisper through choked sobs: are you really still that sad about everything that happened?
And I answered in a hollow voice:
Mom. You have no idea...how broken I have been.
And she never did.
Loneliness
Is a scarring
type of agony
Dec 6, 2014
Dec 6, 2014 at 12:49 PM UTC
Shadows surrounding, pray they not see,
pray they not listen, dare i not breathe.
Whispers that deafen, and words that reveal,
this lucid veil that will not conceal.
Hollow and vacant, empty and cold,
their blackened eyes upon me now.
The night has deadened with a deathly chill,
the air so silent, the heart so still.
As darkness hastens and light recedes,
i turn from myself to a place within.
A sanctum of solace where no-one can see,
walls without doors, a prison of dreams.
Behind the curtain and beyond the walls,
a barren waste in a desolate land.
Under the stars and endless skies,
my solitary shell, a kingdom all mine.
Roaming the earth and drifting through time,
i wander yet further, so far from this life.
But into the distance, reflections like shimmer,
refracting rays, the hall of mirrors.
Drawn to this place like flies to the light,
a spectacle of colour beneath the night.
Images flicker and pictures so real,
projecting desires and all of my fears.
This looking glass that echoes my soul,
a baleful glimpse of a life unknown.
Of broken thoughts and truths undone,
devotions lost, unrequited love.
Recoiled in horror, i fall to my knees,
with head in my hands, desperation screams.
A storm so loud it breaks the heavens,
a wind so fierce it shakes the trees.
The mirrors shatter and light shines through,
returning to myself, a place i once knew.
The fallen curtain and the crashing walls,
all that was becomes nothing at all.
Darkness recedes and whispers fade,
the blistering sun upon my face.
Distorted visions they disappear,
the world around me becoming clear.
As everything becomes illuminated,
what i've become is emanated.
No more the voices and all is clearer,
this lucid veil, this two-sided mirror.
Reflections surrounding, pray I not see,
Pray I not listen, yet I still breathe.
Never to change and never to heal,
always behind my two-sided veil.
Oct 7, 2012
Oct 7, 2012 at 7:59 PM UTC
He was just a year older,
but I, at least three wiser.
The Gatekeeper, silently watching ***** Dancing,
assuming us at ease, slowly dozed off.
Plastic floors, feigning multi-colored concrete,
built a vivid castle around us.
And there, I found my primary-colored sanctuary,
a dungeon to others, with rubber walls.
The Giant, just a year older
and at least seven inches taller,
tore down the castle doors,
and away my Damsel flew.
No time to react,
I watched as the sly-deviled Giant ripped her from limb to limb.
My mouth wide in horror,
her tiny shoes fell to the ground,
her blonde locks not far behind them.
And I, the lonely maiden, just one year younger,
but wild beyond my years,
Let rage turn me to a vicious knight,
determined to slay the Giant-turned-Dragon.
With scales dragging between my teeth, I found his flesh
and tasted sweet victory, a tinge of iron.
The Dragon recoiled, agony escaping from his jagged teeth,
The Damsel falling from his clutch, to the cold plastic cement.
Tears reclaimed the Giant from his vicious reptilian form,
and those seven inches meant less as his wailing continued.
And I, the valiant maiden-knight, had slain the mighty Giant;
who was just one year older, seven inches taller,
and knew never to touch my Barbie dolls again.
Oct 26, 2012
Oct 26, 2012 at 1:54 AM UTC
He turned around to look at her--face to face.
"Excuse me?" he asked. He has heard what she said, but the question was only to confirm that his brain had processed that which his ears had just heard.
"You know what I said." she shot back quickly.
"Nono--tell me again what you..just..said," his voice got lower and his steps quickened with each word. Now they were nose to nose, eye to eye, face to face. She swallowed deeply and confidently said,
"Go. **** Yourself."
His right hand quickly recoiled back to back-hand-slap her across her beautiful face, but he was quickly foiled by a knee to his groin.
"Aaawwwooohhfuck!" he howled.
He fell to his knees in agony. The kind of agony where it feels like your stomach is doing somersaults and pirouettes. This gave her the perfect opportunity to finish what she had started. She raised her right hand to strike him. As her hand got higher, her brow became more furrowed. Her hand became a balled-up fist, then quickly struck down on his left temple. His eyes rolled back in his head as his body became limp and collapsed fully to the dirt. She seized the opportunity to kick him violently in his face and upper body with no resistance from him. By the time she had finished her onslaught of kicks, his face looked mangled and bruised. He was bleeding from every orifice on his face.
She knew what she had done, and she knew the authorities would be there soon. She surveyed the fields. The wheat was swaying calmly in the wind, and the smell of juniper was being carried from the evergreen forest just south of Old Man Morrison's property.
She looked down at him, almost exactly the same way that she had seen him look at her so many times before.
With a scowl, she hocked up a disgustingly large *** of spit and shot it directly on to his bloodied face.
As the sounds of sirens came audible in the distance, she turned to walk the opposite way from where he laid.
"I said...Burger King is way tastier than ******* McDonalds."
Jan 17, 2014
Jan 17, 2014 at 2:10 PM UTC
They call me Jack! A Jack the Lad
a man who likes to go out late.
I must confess that I'm a cad
and often seen in Aldegate.
Whitechapel and Spittlefield
are other locations I frequent.
Tis where I often draw my yield
and nay for that I'll not lament.
Inspired by my ill repute,
repugnant chanting of my name,
I'll seek and find a **********
commencing to secure my fame.
Reference books cannot advise
what two skilled hands can show.
Exacting cuts when I excise,
instructing where my blade doth flow.
My first, Miss Nichols, I recall,
whom blinded by the lure of coin,
into my clutches she did fall
and she, I did indeed refine.
Chapman then I did impress
with incision so demanding.
Nothing taken to excess
an ***** now made outstanding.
Stride and Eddowes in one night
but fortune demanded I should race.
Though well presented to the light,
embarrassment is my disgrace.
My final lady played the game,
Miss Kelly whom at my insistence.
She alone recoiled my fame,
my very own Piece de Resistance.
May 4, 2015
May 4, 2015 at 12:57 PM UTC
As I began to climb the campus stairs,
All alone with a numb ache-
A depression blocked those minute vessels,
That carries my vital fluid that frequently thins.
A kind of a genetic disorder that robs me off-
All of my terrible hormones that loses competition,
A competition so heroic called youth,
That settles the score of my ****** life.
A physical length that reduces me to a dwarf,
Almost an intelligent ape that snubs too-
And cannot have biology with another species,
That adores a disqualified creature of its size.
What can make me happy?
What do I want then?
Shall I need those beautiful preachers of opposite genes?
Shall I claim their eminence in my life?
Or leave them for those eligible bachelors?
As I landed my nose in the campus pillars,
And nobody cared but me-
A stimulus recoiled and resurrected those minute vessels,
That carries my vital fluid that became viscous again.
Oct 29, 2010
Oct 29, 2010 at 2:28 AM UTC
the rubber burned and made the nerves in her nasal cavity burn and singe.
she recoiled from the horrific fumes exhausting from the tires.
the day was blackened with smoke that rose past the peaks of the surrounding mountains and up to the stars above.
Jul 15, 2012
Jul 15, 2012 at 7:49 PM UTC