"regressed" poems
This little man that I know with money in his sockets and routine in his pockets has self proclaimed that he is a tight *** When I envision a *** such as this, I imagine a bundle -- of securely aggregated, perfectly sharpened number two pencils. The businessman just shy of adulthood and too tired to remember –even the beginning of his of disclosure, denied his struggle to acclimate a multifarious lifestyle, appropriately suggested in the form of a triangle, and a circle, both of which embody polar opposing adaptations of humanistic routine.
The two shapes: The circle, denies the break in motion by imposing a constant cycle of diligent compression, there is no room for pause only steady flow and relentless drive. This influence of life impression slows down the heart, body, and soul while speeding up time. This particular commitment accommodates the dry colorless beings that embrace and accept boxed imprisonment.
Traditionally, the triangle denotes rhythmic patterns that elevate and drop to a point in which imposes a healthy reflective pause: progression, reflection, balance. As stated, as a provincial approach, a regular triangle flat on its base, peaking at the top represents a healthy, solid life routine. In contrast, the triangle can be flipped upside-down introducing an entirely new dynamic, composed of flat-lined monotony, tapered off to a regressed realm of destruction, regret and disorder. Despite the uniqueness of the standard triangle model to the man in question, it is important to compare the negative reflection, for it applies to the entirety of this investigation.
We used to be lovers, he and I. We shared my giant pillow-top that I bought on the black market for a meager two-hundred fifty. -- A mere steal at that rate.
We occasionally exchanged ideas, mainly about ethical concerns related to globalization and the environment.
I attempted to give him a cooking lesson once, but that failed, indefinitely. The bust was not my doing, but simply, a great disinterest on his part; or better yet an inability of not being better than me at something.
Everything has gotten so crowded.
Jan 18, 2010
Jan 18, 2010 at 1:17 AM UTC
One thread came loose with alcoholism at a very young age.
She recovered. She forgot and proceeded.
One thread was yanked loose by a growing tendency to self sabotage.
She clawed her way out of the spiral.
One thread pulled at others when she learnt she didn’t need alcohol to have a good time.
She felt deprived by self-restraint. So she slightly caved.
One thread burned along with her personality when she became a stoner again.
She was suffocated yet high.
One thread was singed by ****
She fell back into her ***** habits. She found herself here, but not quite present.
She became dependant. As she flooded her body parts with superficial happiness, just a quick release, her mouth grew dry. Then the peeling skin on her stained lips began to stick together and she regressed into a still and faded silence. In the end, she was in shreds and blissfully unaware, alone with nothing but one solitary thread left to grasp at.
Jan 7, 2019
Jan 7, 2019 at 7:30 PM UTC
Complicated
It’s complicated…
Well I’ve said that before…
It’s complicated…
But I come back for more…
It’s complicated…
Don’t tell me any lies…
Yes it’s complicated, let’s just say our goodbyes.
…By the way, have you ever considered at length
How much simpler things might be, if you just had the strength?
Every night, every morning, and sometimes at noon
Opportunity’s pass like the phase of the moon
At the end of it all, or perhaps the beginning
We are not far from Charlie (he thinks that he’s “Winning”)
But I must now admit, I’ve regressed to the past.
Let us welcome each other, together at last.
Oh wait, never mind, as the moment is gone
But don’t fret "mes amie" I will see you at dawn.
Dec 13, 2011
Dec 13, 2011 at 4:01 PM UTC
When the dark night came with her rain.
my body and mind had started to pain.
As I weighed the cost of my task against its gain,
I felt I was fighting in vain!
Little by little the night progressed,
the things in my to-do-list regressed,
with my work, my heart felt impressed,
which in turn, left my mind digressed
my blood drained
my heart pained
my spirit waned
my mind craned
I started worrying
my stomach started churning
my eyes started crying
my mind started burning
I looked into my past to find some solution
I had nothing left to accompany my determination
I was stuck in this camp with a prefix of concentration
And I was left with a ton of assimilation
Oh, how I wish I had a Nanny McPhee
especially now, when my heart sighed, Oh, Gee!
with no more fresh n fighting blood left in me,
At last, I took refuge in my old friend, Coffee!
Oct 19, 2012
Oct 19, 2012 at 2:55 AM UTC
Rooms and rooms open and closed
For the regressed and depressed souls
Writers and blighters
All scotch and lighters
That search in earnest for truth
Doors and doors ajar and afar
To be entered and left by creatures
Walkers and stalkers
All botched and talkers
Misleading their way through life
Corridors and corridors long and narrow
Paced and rested by jokers
All jubilant and chokers
Laughing into space for eternity
Floors and floors large and small
Stood and wandered by lovers
All romantics and dull
Longing for love in an instant
Hotels and hotels sprawling and nestled
Visited and departed by society
All happy and sad
Wanting to sleep and wanting to mix
Jul 29, 2018
Jul 29, 2018 at 8:37 PM UTC
As I sit on this assigned desk
ears drooling with institution gel
I swirl on the seat, the wind pause
Musing in evangelised dilemmas
Lobotomised to jerking veracities
Sagacity amateurs boost egos
Stooping and stooging in asylums
Barricading others progression
Regressed losing solid grounds
Jurisdictional custodial supervisions
An infused scent of propagandism
Scenes of robotic observational modelling
Unprincipled to insist on another destiny
Calculating targeted risked predictions
Regulated to invigilate and unroll a matrix grid
Who am I? To forge his,her or their trench
Mar 9, 2016
Mar 9, 2016 at 7:56 AM UTC
my body is boiled down to liquid
creamy with memories and sharp with tears
you take in the bitter drink to forget your woes
by digesting all of mine
i am the alcohol
all the pictures that you've thrown
every piece of clothing with seams and strands exposed
all the nights when you've gone home feeling so alone
its at this hour all those drinks have lost their trick
and you're curled up into your bed listening to the clock as it ticks
becoming fixed on its pattern and rhythm until thats all that you know
you count every second as you begin to show
your true form once outer skin sheds in a horrifying transformation
and your eyes lose their grip on liquid sanity
you've regressed to weeping child
your underdeveloped mind has made a poor decision
and your small liver cannot process this many pills
your death will come as shocking and traumatizing to many
they'll drink to forget their woes
going home yet another night alone
listening to their clock as it ticks
wishing they could hold onto you now
rather than a bottle of a temporary fix
as they count the seconds since they've heard you laugh
they look up at their ceiling fan
and feel so empty
Mar 8, 2015
Mar 8, 2015 at 1:20 PM UTC
My innocence was not for you to take
******* life out like a poisonous bite
Apples rotting like my soul
Never beautiful will I feel again-
Fantasized
Driving off bridges
Popping pills
Sick thoughts clouding
Little girls’ mind
Death I wished upon myself
You turned me into a broken mirror
****** from the shards or glass
No pain shall I feel only a sick sense of the sweet relief
Sickly sweet cooper tones
Sliding down porcelain skin
No love in my hearts home
No love in my brains decomposing shack
****
Is not amusing
A glimmer of future life ****** out like a dementor
Bye bye childhood
You stole from
Innocent little girl should not defend
For their lives shouldn’t be placed into their hands
Rusty anchors lodge deep inside
A pain never shall be at ease
Hell shall be your only witness
Demons crawl from my soul locking their talons Into what’s left of you
How do you call yourself a man
Bars shall hold you in
If only I could grow some in my mind
Nightmares from those years
Only regressed into teenage tears
Sep 22, 2013
Sep 22, 2013 at 11:00 PM UTC
Dead-eyed through drenched days
spent seeping through blank space
to spill another swollen week out
on a crumpled page
I'm young, but not that young
grown up and dumbed down
so I'll drag one more punchline day out
'til a year's ground down
Face the wall...
Aimed at the door...
But we're still here and so
I suggest that we share this bar...
Stumble out
regain my feet
and pluck my keys from the gutter. I've
been dancing with defeat and, now, I'm
driving on the borderline
between familiar haunts
and same old foes that I conjure--
Now I start to realize that, like you,
they've got my number.
They've got my number.
Rhombuses of light
separate us--not by much
but these
square miles of concrete
will divide us just enough
Deadpan Friday nights
space out workday lifelines
until another starving paycheck
grounds another flight
Your time spent so costly
the bill's due, your words freeze
a season's regrets regressed. Empty
bottles taken out.
Besieged by walls
Afraid of doors
the nights leak in, you turn
the lights out, choking down one more
Waking up,
you find your breath
you find your feet and your reasons. You
have found your boots and keys and lost your
fear of the season's size.
Between the years and months
you've been a ***** and a miser
when the skyline creaks and sighs, remember
you've got my number
And I've got your number
The world's got our number--
--it's okay to come over
We can laugh at the night
at sunrise, we'll run for cover
'til the season is over
now, just run for cover...
Oct 6, 2013
Oct 6, 2013 at 6:34 PM UTC
So many doors
tightly closed
the need for more clothing and food
can't be kept out
it's a small hamlet
by the river
when a man stamps his foot
the whole village wobbles
a slap from a woman
and the whole village is flooded with tears
a cough in the dark
reveals bricks of secrets
two old stone mills
like an old couple who
have worn out their lives
wind leaks through four walls
a candle light dim and faint
not a synonym for romance and cozy
but luxury
when they can't afford kerosene
they eat, wash, get in the blankets
before the candlelight goes out
remainder of the light is only
for the maternal needlework
a curve creek
clear and lucid
when catching fish and mud-skippers
they become as happy as the water
joyful shrieks waft
in the smoke from the cooking stove
these scenes which can only be
returned to if time regressed are
very much alive in memory
they just didn't grow with me
many years later the warren
became a rustic retreat
days of the dirt and soil
became a wandering cloud
the stubborn local sounds
suddenly emerge from baseless thoughts
the mushed corn
the yam gruel
carrots and cabbage
feeding the dream
the mountains, the water, the people
the kindly kampung
the birthmark
of that era.
Nov 24, 2022
Nov 24, 2022 at 5:15 AM UTC
*Lets take a walk down memory lane.
Let's go back to when this all began.*
I remember your sweet lil face once so radiant and full of life. Your eyes wide open waiting to see what the word had to offer. Playing with rocks and chasing lizards. You closed your eyes and swung as far as you could. You climbed the highest stairs and made it to the top of the largest slide. Oh darling…you felt brave at that moment. Those were the best days off your life. They were quickly shadowed by the darkness you never foresaw.
*Lets take a walk down memory lane.
Let's go back to when this all began.*
You see you built this wall around you. Not to keep people out…but to keep yourself locked in. you feared the imperfections would show. Don’t blame yourself lost girl. How can your innocent soul know? You were tricked. They said it was a game and why wouldn’t you trust your family. You were a child, less than ten years old. You did what any child would do: You played. One by one they would take their turn while you were positioned on your knees as an animal. That was their game…It was a game that all animals play. Oh sweet girl. Your innocence was ripped from you. It was torn apart and destroyed. You had no hope at this point. You realized the cruelty of the world was that someone would always come along and hurt you. If it wasn’t them someone else would try.
*Lets take a walk down memory lane.
Let's go back to when this all began.*
You were taken from the harm and brought to a whole new world. Those eyes wide open looking to see if there was hope in this world after all. For a while you believed there was but you couldn’t be sure. Something told you not to let you guard down. You taught yourself that there was one person you could trust everyone else could potentially hurt you. Your cute face disguised the ugly truth. You were worried that people would suspect. Often described as a handful wreck less and impulsive. You owned up to all of them. They kept you safe for a while. You see what you didn’t know at the time was that the wall you had once built was now starting to crumble. As you got older you regressed. You became a frightened toddler who needed protection. You began to throw tantrums and more than anything you wanted to cling on and once more feel protected. Your insecurities would always be there creeping in the dark. Hold my hand dear girl. Let me help you.
*Lets take a walk down memory lane.
Let's go back to when this all began.*
Remember the girl with hope in her sight.
Remember the world still has a lot to be seen.
Remember the lizards and remember the rocks.
Beauty is an imperfection. Peek from the crumbling wall. Look out and see that this is your life.
It’s scary but it’s also filled with beauty.
Jan 16, 2014
Jan 16, 2014 at 3:39 AM UTC
I’ve been underground for much too long
Repressed, but I’ve not regressed.
I do my best to grow, I bud.
Though the sunlight fails to meet my skin
I’ll make it through the day again.
I work and grow, though i’m alone.
I improve and improve at improving my self
I am unearthed.
(r.e.)
Dec 12, 2014
Dec 12, 2014 at 3:44 PM UTC
Sadness grew
a flower in my heart,
With big blooming petals and
A long winding
Stem,
And as your fingers
reached down my throat
to tug at
It's roots,
it regressed into a n g e r,
and
shriveled (all) away
Sep 7, 2016
Sep 7, 2016 at 11:16 PM UTC
Last night, I had my earlobes pierced.
Prior, I had two piercings on my ears.
One on either side from my childhood,
I can only faintly recall the momentary ache,
not what came after
mom took me,
as she had before,
the outcome will be worth it, she’d explained
Bear the pain,
it only lasts a short while.
It won’t be long 'till the stinging subsides,
and all that will be left,
is a place you can adorn
with glittering gold and shimmering silver
and not-so-witty anecdotes and pretty metaphors,
So,
I let myself be swept in her pace again,
Two new wounds to be embellished.
One,
two,
Perhaps, I’ve regressed
but it hurts more than it did before.
Jul 20, 2021
Jul 20, 2021 at 7:33 AM UTC
Old Lincoln's creek comes to mind
when a dog's on my lap, a certain
song's a'whisper, a whimper, with
willows, and so much so, that the
once and promised immortality
evades, ever more than certainly,
more than certainty, when he'd said,
“hurry,” and I’d arrived too late.
And so I’d enter an empty home and
all that waits.
A ship hued red comes to heart
when the memories seem to spill of
only him. My legs were quite
weaker then, one plight, forgotten
and another one, my flailing hand,
with an only respite, offered rail,
and more frail, “hurry ****** –
He'd said, “HURRY!” and I’d
encounter again, an empty home
and all that waits.
And so, the house regressed, if only
earlier, so too, the boy, with his,
“once-again,” first steps home;
weakened toe after bloodied toenail,
foot after foot, inch after inch, but a
reminder to the hunters that in time,
they too, can become the prey when
switches sundered touch and
tomorrow's maw’d gape, “forget;”
That was when, “hurry,” could be
assumed, would be assumed and at
ends, we’d never meet.
And so I entered the empty home
and all that waits.
Jun 26, 2015
Jun 26, 2015 at 8:25 AM UTC
The handsome man entered the Pub hand-in-hand with his father, then sat in the far corner ******* his thumb and humming, whilst the chocolate ice cream he had demanded from Daddy was ordered.
Us regulars hid our sadness by quaffing our brown pints of Rev.James and keeping up the joking banter.
Then, came his mumbled song.....
“Balll uut eass swept -
Chimrrrrr, Chiirriica,
war is never won”
Church quiet, the village pub listened lips clamped tears swelling
***** cut swapped with eyes -
Chimerica, Chimerica,
war is never won”
As Steve, a veteran and hero of two tours in Afghanistan,
regressed further into childhood...
.
Apr 29, 2010
Apr 29, 2010 at 10:30 AM UTC
Wow! It's you!
Call me obsessed, regressed, or even stressed.
But you're the one!
I rinsed and winced, convinced.
My one and only!
Why the pause, what's the cause?
Don't be lonely!
I've been waiting, baiting while stating.
You're for me and I'm for you!
Love is for us, thus we must bus.
To our Forever!
Turning our tending and mending to a sweet ending.
Nov 2, 2021
Nov 2, 2021 at 1:23 PM UTC
It's amazing how the brain functions and works, a traumatic experience in your life especially as a child can be regressed for such a long period of time then later revealed in adulthood and then the overwhelming feelings of shame, confusion, the "why me?", the guilt, the personal neglect, the shield, but then understanding yourself more... When you've struggled to find yourself and always felt so lost, so distant, so disconnected and so different and it starts to come clear to you and god starts to show you the past memories and what you've experienced. The visions you see, the first step of the healing process, being a victim of ****** physical, emotional, mental abuse
Mar 12, 2013
Mar 12, 2013 at 9:54 PM UTC
By: Cedric McClester, Copyright (c) 2017
Am I dating myself
With these words out my mouth?
See, I remember a time
When we flashed the peace sign
And called one another
Sister and brother
Seems we’ve gone sour
On acquiring black power
And black on black crime
Is the new paradigm
When we look in the mirror
It becomes much more clearer
That we hate what we see
Although that shouldn’t be
Remember freedom marches
Before the golden arches
Then ****** entered in
And we start popin’ our skin
Before we shot it straight into our veins
Which probably explains
Why we regressed
Long before the present opioid mess
It was ****** first,
But then it got worst
So let me take you back
To the era of crack
When a nickel or dime
Could trigger a crime
And what really hurt you
Is the women who lost their virtue
But I’m not absolving the men
Who’d engage in all kinds of sin
I remember gangster rap
And how that set the trap
Which brought the stress and strife
From tryna live that gangster life
Then the East Coast West Coast war
That didn’t exist before
Remember when Biggie and Tupac were friends?
Instead of how their story ends
They’ire a classic group today
But I remember when NWA
Used to pull out all stops
When they sang **** the cops
And chronicled their lives
Called their girlfriends and their wives
All kinds of ******* and ******
Then would dance down on all fours
Now let me bring you up to date
Would it be wrong for me to state?
When it was our problem alone
It was the prisons we were shown
There was little sympathy don’t cha see
When it was just you and me
Who said they had a problem
There were few out there to solve ‘em
But opioids are everywhere
And it’s a disease now, so I hear
That crosses all socio-economic lines
Now there are many telltale signs
It’s now called an opioid disorder
Past the inner city border
And the word is harm reduction
Instead of out and out destruction
Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2017. All rights reserved.
Nov 22, 2017
Nov 22, 2017 at 12:02 PM UTC
We meet
in Spring,
but began in
the Fall.
Looking out
the window
of your car
I imagined running
my fingers over
cornfields like pages
of a book.
Watching the sunset
in the rearview mirror
as we moved forward
together, needing
two of my hands to
touch just one of yours.
Followed by 120 days
of realizing we both love
saltine crackers and both drool
when we sleep really well.
You loved listening
to my heartbeat and telling
me how it sounded and
when I couldn’t sleep
you’d pull my head to
your chest and tell me
to listen to yours.
120 days of you guessing
my favorite flower,
complementing my favorite cardigan,
picking my favorite book off the shelf
and reading to me, and attempting to tie
my hair in a ponytail or a bun.
And you touched like
my skin was ice and
your hands skates,
but that turned into you
grasping at me like
the room is flames
and my body oxygen
On the 120th night
you crawled into my bed,
I could taste the alcohol
on your mouth when you
told me you loved me
and I became addicted
to the taste.
After a week
I was Rory and you Dean
and with that began
our 39-day happy hour.
Until the 159th night
when you took back
that you loved me and
I knew I never could again.
My skin regressed
back to ice and the next
45 days was our last call,
numb to it all.
On the 204th day
you were Summer and
I was Tom eating pancakes
in a diner.
All I did was stare
at the buttons on
your shirt and think
about the time we
saw the moon and you
asked for me to write a
poem but little did you
know I have been this
whole time:
Iris Moon
Marble Moon
Missed Moon
Monday Blues
Button Moon
Spring Cleaning.
And never moonstruck.
We lasted 12 more days
and when we ended my first
thought was that I can now:
cut my hair
count again
and write again.
Jun 22, 2015
Jun 22, 2015 at 2:02 PM UTC
Society has crumbled,
The world has regressed,
Everyone is depressed,
Mentally jumbled.
We think we are above,
All of those dystopian stories,
That we don't fall in those categories,
But they fit like a glove.
Fahrenheit 451?
Who reads books anyway?
There is no keeping the media at bay,
Our screens are on all day!
Orwell's 1984?
Thanks to phones we have no privacy,
Everyone inflicts their own policy,
And agenda evermore.
The Giver?
Our joy and suffering,
Are ****** away by our constant screening,
And pleasures made to deliver.
Ready Player One?
We turn to escapism,
So we can run,
From activism, racism, and fascism.
We think we are above,
All of those dystopian stories,
That we don't fall in those categories,
But they fit like a glove.
Nov 4, 2019
Nov 4, 2019 at 2:07 PM UTC
How long will it take her to understand that your blood is laced with loneliness?
That the smoke staining her tongue cannot subdue the angry taste of your mouth?
That the hands that hold her neck want to strangle the air encased under skin
and no song
or word
or feeling
can dilute you.
why did I wish you cared enough to **** the life out of me?
Why I wasn't enough to ****
You play with my insecurities like kittens,
laughing at how they can't jump high enough
teasing with what's just out of reach,
I was a mouse weaving through the holes
I thought
I had gnawed in you
but your hands stopped me in my place:
put me in my place.
I am nothing but a comfort when the weight of the world
lands on your chest,
I'm your oxygen mask
as the plane starts to crash
and you swore up and down you loved me
but years have made it clear you don't know what that means.
Your words are an empty void
I would gravitate towards them,
let myself get ****** in
you told me I'm different
that you didn't want to hurt me
though years of pain beg to differ.
I should have called you puppet master
instead I called you dear
and I have realized I deserve better,
that I don't have any more years to give you,
but I still craved your attention
and your jealousy
as though I could teach you love and how to feel it right.
But at 16 I had you figured out;
you've only regressed since then.
and I should be used to people letting me down;
etching their names in my heart as a reminder
but you were supposed to be the cure.
The end to my self imposed suffering.
You bring no good to me,
trap me in the light of the child I used to be,
and your name haunted my lips like the last time you
kissed
me
but none of this would ease how I wanted you to hurt me.
Prove you cared with your actions.
Your words are white noise.
I need to focus on the swollen melody my heart is performing.
But how do I find closure,
To what will always feel
Jan 26, 2017
Jan 26, 2017 at 12:48 AM UTC
Through their eyes,
They only see what we show,
They don't see below,
They don't realize
That our hearts beat
But they are breaking
From all the hits they've taken
From all the defeat
They don't hear the strum of our guitar strings
They don't here the lyrics we cry
I wonder why
They never hear us sing
They don't see that we're becoming so helpless
As everything turns so wrong
By the chorus of the song
That this melody is regressed
They don't feel the sorrow that falls from our lips
Or see the tears we brush away
When the sun goes down at the end of the day
And we start to slip
They don't see that we are the broken ones
That hide behind words that can only mean so much.
Aug 7, 2013
Aug 7, 2013 at 10:49 PM UTC
how do you justify a head spun so spun from a virtual verbiage virtually vindicating a long lost ideal supposedly lost in the war, practically lives ago. closed eyes like picture frames for a face so quickly etched into their very own new and nervous neurons. novel indeed but hardly new, reminders and reminiscence of made mistakes recovering from the back burner blindside. yesterdays regrets dont matter much in this dream and a refusal to awaken is the only option. it's only what you've been waiting for if you recognize it when it passes you by on the boulevard. Numerous enough are my days for me to understand the importance of open eyes for blinking is risky with this vision. ice ages have taken hold and regressed since the last time that friendly chemicals werent responsible for such an onslaught of smirks. the concept of "we", of "us" something subsurface unseen yet present with a strong presence presenting preconceptions upturned and made moot. you frighten me in the best way. the best kiss my lips never received, from the pacific with love. from the sea itself.
Jul 10, 2011
Jul 10, 2011 at 12:37 PM UTC