"respirator" poems
Technology:
how I love you and loathe you
in the same breath
your phonic ears
listening out for
a babble of distress
from a childs vest
sleeping soundly
in the next room
your ten tentacle arms
purge my words
and shelter emotions
across vast distances
for long lost friends
to find comfort
in 140 characters
your innovations
are the respirator
the breathing lungs
the beating heart
the bionic limbs
that help without want
to walk again
if only you could
just once
guess my words
correctly
just once
is all I ask
I invited that girl
for a pint
not a riot
and the black berry
ripens in the east
is now an improvised
IED
Technology:
will you ever be perfect?
or will you always
be evolving
how will you know
that you have not
stepped back
to be overshadowed
by an ape
punching numbers
searching for Shots
and finding Pints
in the middle of
a dusty Riot
Feb 21, 2013
Feb 21, 2013 at 11:31 AM UTC
Some moments I feel like death
Others I feel reborn.
The days where I feel unbreakable
And the nights when I feel torn.
**** me now or spare my life,
Respirator, butchers knife.
How do I feel when I dont even know
How feeling is supposed to go.
Slowly losing shape of mind
Cant understand my own kind.
Since when does body
Conquer soul
Never, because I believe
In Rock n Roll.
*** drugs, music notes,
Sail together
Like wind and boats.
Oct 14, 2012
Oct 14, 2012 at 3:53 PM UTC
This feels so wrong.
Living on a respirator,
healing from love's infection.
I use to have a pulse,
right before the insanity struck.
Thump, thump, my heart sung.
Finding comfort in my own breathing.
Then I saw you...
heard you.
felt you...
and I breathed you in.
My heart skipped in it's beat.
And my breath was gone.
Wrong- is it wrong?
It feels wrong.
Beyond all reason,
I have fallen in love with you.
And I know that
your taste is such a thing-
Such a thing I'd die for...
You're all I've ever wanted.
Now you're all gone.
Thieving my breath
and stealing off into the night.
Even though I love you,
you couldn't wait to leave me.
So, I'll whisper with my last breath,
about how much I miss you.
I can't help but close my eyes
and lay my body back down.
Letting the machines keep me alive.
Till the day you'll be back
to breathe life into me.
Apr 3, 2017
Apr 3, 2017 at 2:36 AM UTC
A broken lock equals an open mind. An open mind equals a temporary peace of heart. I constantly write in riddles and lines that will never rhyme, that most will probably never read. In my subconscious I relentlessly attempt a Resurrection of civil engagements with an uncivil mind. My internal demeanor never abandons a detail, a key worth remembering and a lock that will always sway to and fro in a shanty boat that is inconsistently worthless and valuable. It will never dock, it will never be entirely worth the stress or the time it would take to tie and secure a ship of that size and quality, or lack thereof. There exists ulterior motives that Miss blonde esteem is seemingly not even aware of, or like her prior, accepts ignorance as a temporary escape until the uncivil mind returns civil. The fact is this. The uncivil mind was never civil, and may as well never be. Locks can be repaired, even when the thief begs for no replacement. What makes the thief the uncivil enemy? Has it ever occurred to any soul, that a thief is only stealing away precious moments that are rightfully his, that circumstances and uncivilized minds have locked away in a pitch black that they cannot call their own night? There surely has been an uncanny instance when the locksmith swiftly turned about to find his prior gazing at him in the golden grooves of the trap. The thieving of one’s own mind, to break a lock enchanted by the uncivil mind, should be easily empathized and understood. But alas, curly blonde esteem will forever submit under the spell of the uncivil mind, who will only cast a shadow upon itself and its priors. It will be remembered in the scent of cigarettes, where it will also be displaced. It will be avoided in the unrighteousness of a friend’s bed in another family’s house, where a respirator and the oxygen tubes intertwining the threshold no longer exist; neither do the white sheets. There will never again be an absence of music behind the actions committed between the uncivil mind and the civil heart.
Jun 13, 2013
Jun 13, 2013 at 1:27 AM UTC
Patiently waiting for a track to explode on
Patiently waiting to make it through all the hating
(respirator in the background)
I love this song
Patiently Waiting
Eminem and 50 Cent
I didn't grow up in the hood
I grew up in the suburbs
Why do I like this song
I don't know
I love music
It helps me somehow
It helps me
I don't have ANY FRIENDS
To talk to now
The music
The music is my friend
I got pennies for my thoughts
Now I'm rich
Jan 16, 2015
Jan 16, 2015 at 9:43 PM UTC
My mouth is filled with cotton *****
And my body has turned to aged stone.
You ******* put me on a respirator
And then pulled the ******* plug.
I saw you in my dreams
Kissing girls that were not me
But I received a phone call
Saying the exact same thing
I couldn't fall asleep
Not when you're in the bed with her.
and you just said you loved me
Last ******* Sunday
My insides are filling themselves with cement
But I'm still shaking as if in negative degree weather
But I can't change your drug soaked mind
Because your brain is in the **** jar and you really don’t give a ****
I'm not one to let things go
But this **** will never make your skin crawl
You and her are ******* under my skin
Literally
Feb 3, 2015
Feb 3, 2015 at 9:36 AM UTC
Wind the clock
Set it back
Way, way, back
Way back to times before.
Before the battle and after the war
Make it bright to see the light
Feel the pleasure
Feel the pain
Sun fades, moon wanes.
Everything stays the same
But keeps movin forward
Draggin feet on the carousel
Tryin to slow the movement.
Blind to the revolution.
The inevitable return
Closer to the end,
Closer to the beginning
Big bang, big crush
Babe in an incubator,
Old man in a respirator
Travel back to move forward
Return and arrive in the same instant
Fast or slow
As long as it moves
and doesn’t go anywhere
just don’t stop.
Crash! Break!
Break out of the circle
Fight against the tumultuous monotony
Of its suffocating embrace
Concentric circles
Drawing in closer and closer
To a cage in the middle
Walls are closing in
What is outside the circle?
Why can’t we get out?
Who are the gate keepers?
Where are they hiding?
How will we break through?
When will we be free?
Dark days and white knights
Lapping life from the doggy dish
Wearing the wind in our eyes
Think it’s a disguise
But truth is transparent
And the façade is opaque beneath
Get out of the circle
Break the line
Stand still and be delivered outside
Be free
But be wary
For outside lie perils unknown
Sanctity, Sacrifice, Solice
Found in the binding of
Saintly moments.
For it shall be
The summations of good intentions
Which will break us out
Aug 17, 2011
Aug 17, 2011 at 8:21 AM UTC
They say no love is perfect.
How could anything be imperfect
When love is pulling even the frailest of
Strings attached?
Whether that be a lifeline, a noose, or the
Electrical cord to its own
Respirator, its final word would be
A smiled whisper of either
Hope or rememberance.
Gratitude is grace.
Even diamonds decompose.
Breath gives meaning to air.
Jun 27, 2015
Jun 27, 2015 at 6:27 PM UTC
lacerations grip her neck signaling her halo once fell
bruises come and go like nomads in the night
little silent assassins lick her from head to toe
little poker players bet their wages on her body
oh, but that dress hanging off her shoulders
and that smile
behind her respirator says everything is okay
everything is okay
Apr 9, 2015
Apr 9, 2015 at 11:53 AM UTC
I want to write a poem
But I don't know what to write.
I'm such a broken doll
I wish I could make this rhyme
But nothing works in my mind
Well except those two lines
Well now it's three
Oops
My Brian isnt really working right now
Oops spelling error I mean brain
That probably proves just how little my brain wants to work
I think I might be in denial.
I've probably been in denial all day.
But once I finally got there
The denial went away
Now I'm crying
I was crying in the ICU
And I'm crying now.
In the waiting room.
I want to put my words down onto this page.
I want to make this page my stage
I want to pour my emotions into this piece
But I can't seem to get it right
Seeing as this poem barely rhymes
Not that a poem ever has to rhyme.
I read her one of my poems while I talked at her.
Well I should say talked to her
But she couldn't respond.
She was trying.
I know she was trying.
But it didn't really work.
She had, I think it's called a respirator, down her throat.
So she couldnt speak a single note.
I think I'm going to go back in soon.
My dad is talking to her alone.
They say there's only a 50% chance she'll make it through the night
And everyone says they're praying
But I'm not quite sure who to pray to.
So I don't pray.
I just hope
And I believe in her
I trust that if she wants to fight and make her way back that we will.
And I hope that that's what she wants.
I feel like I never really spent any time with her now.
I feel like I barely know her.
I feel like when it comes down to it.
We don't really know each other.
When I first found out she was in the hospital,
I was getting ready for school.
I had to get to band at 7
And it was already 6:40
I needed to hurry.
So when I heard them talk about it
I wasn't sure what to say
There's been some scares before but it always turned out okay.
But now they say it's worse
Now my family is coming into town.
My family doesn't talk.
We aren't close.
We only speak if necessary
We do the least, not the most.
The fact that they are coming
Leaves me in shock
Is this the last time I'll see her?
I don't know
I have hope that she'll make it.
She keeps trying to talk
I'm sure it will all be alright I guess
But I can't help but worry.
Sep 2, 2017
Sep 2, 2017 at 12:48 PM UTC
It's all conspiracy
Idle hands are the Devil's playthings
I told you so
Remove the feeding tube
But not during the gestation period
By after the gastric bypass
And right before the insemination
Put the fault on the horse voiced gentry
And the perpendicular denominations
What's it to you?
You estranged neo-native
Counterfeit piety and disobedient estranged friends unnerve you
You act so factious
Deliberately making everything a joke
Ponder the trajectory of my fist to your glass jaw
And the brass knuckles to your abdomen
You'll want to get an iron lung when we're through
Maybe a respirator and a catheter
Now, go count your toenail clippings as the idle minds cast their votes for this referendum
-Tommy Johnson
Jun 28, 2014
Jun 28, 2014 at 8:01 PM UTC
I was shocked when I heard the key lock.
My heart dropped,
I was left to rot.
Forgot, mocked, and blocked from outside.
No where to run, no one to turn to.
The key had turned, my fate was sealed.
Robbed of life yet still alive,
pleading silently, "please let me out"
Would they treat my plea with dignity?
I couldn't shout, would they hear me?
Not above the hiss of the respirator, of that I have no doubt.
Jul 7, 2014
Jul 7, 2014 at 5:40 PM UTC
My fingertips sweep across these subtle indentations
Tracing her serial number
A traumatic and numbing truth
copy written and branded on a tiny scar
just below her microscopic transistor
voice box
The shallow intake of oxygen into
recycled plastic lungs recycling air
either for realism or function
felt just as alluring
when they whispered into my ear
Her hardwired ducts always produced
tears that hurt just as much
even if it was programmable and on command
Losing the warm caress of her polymer skin
was just as painful
even though underneath was only cellular service
and not cellular growth
I swore to my friends that she wasn't like
any other I've ever loved
but as I push the lifeless shell of this
all too perfect woman into the muck caked
dumpster
I think to myself
Maybe I would have had better luck with
a name brand
Feb 11, 2014
Feb 11, 2014 at 9:49 AM UTC
When a person dies so young, I have to ask why.
I still miss you as each day passes by.
When my brother told me how sick you were, he told me face to face.
He didn't want to tell me over the telephone so he came to my place.
Until he told me the bad news, I didn't know just how ill that you were.
It was painful and heart breaking and your death was hard to endure.
You didn't die on the operating table even though the surgeon thought you would.
I was unhappy eight years ago today because I had to say goodbye to you for good.
Because of an aneurysm, my brother and I had to take you off of the respirator.
We did this to end your suffering and you died twenty-something hours later.
You said if you were ever on a respirator, you wanted to be taken off if you couldn't make it.
We did as you requested but your death was devastating and it was hard for me to take it.
You were living proof that a person doesn't need a big education to be smart.
Rest In Peace, Mom, you were a wonderful lady and you had a very big heart.
Mar 6, 2021
Mar 6, 2021 at 11:38 AM UTC
Time without
huuhh
The respirator
huuhh
Is good practice
huuhh
For the lungs
huuhh
But every breath
huuhh
Is still
huuhh
A ludicrous pain
Aug 1, 2016
Aug 1, 2016 at 3:33 AM UTC
"We're trying so ******* hard
not to be a couple.
Not to act
like we want each other more than anything.
But holy ****
it's like trying to forget how to breathe.
How can you just stop doing something
so natural that you never even learned to do it,
something just happened on its own?
How can you stop something
that feels so ******* right
and calming
and healthy
and try to find alternatives?
Ways to complete life
without doing the action
you're trying so hard not to do?
Pretending not to love him feels like
being on a respirator.
I just want to breathe again,
I just want to breathe naturally;
I just want to be his again,
I just want to be us again."
Jul 2, 2015
Jul 2, 2015 at 3:02 AM UTC
Tis,
On this Friday night,
This lonesomeness has smothered me soo,
Now I need a respirator!!!
May 22, 2015
May 22, 2015 at 9:35 PM UTC
most would call it an asthma attack , i call it letting people share in the moments that take my breath away
but instead of a moment ... it was a woman who made breathing as hard as trying to catch a cab in the middle of rush hour in new york city
i saw myself by her side of every waking moment... but sadly i was the only one with that vision
she was standing above that pit they call the friend zone encouraging me to climb out but as soon as my fingers clenched the edge she would kick me back down but start begging me to climb up again.. and i couldnt stop
It was like being stuck underneath the ocean
im swimming to the surface.. but as soon as i emerge another wave topples me down
but hope floats and these feelings refuse to sink
so keep pushing me down because your air is what i love breathing , i want to keep trying i have to keep trying
its like being burried alive , left only trying to scratch your way through the top of the coffin but once you do , your only burried underneath the dirt again
but im not ready to die
i wanna live by your side
its like being stuck in a vacuum literally having the life ****** out of you
but you can take everything but this heart because you cant take what already belongs to you
but when you have an attack you have an inhaler
and when you cant breath there is always a respirator
but there is no cure for this intoxicating irrational disease called love
but im ready to dive in with no oxygen tank
im ready to knot this noose
im ready to jump without a chute
because the simple thought of you is enough to give me courage
and its strange because im addicted to suffocating
attached to drowning
and in love with pain
hoping for one i love you
Jul 26, 2014
Jul 26, 2014 at 10:31 PM UTC
There’s this person that watches me at night.
Spray painting the walls in the moonlight.
I don’t know his name, but he just sits.
And he watches.
I hide my face with a respirator and hood.
Hoping I don’t get caught.
I love the smell of the paint, I wonder if that’s why he watches me.
He enjoys what I enjoy.
Hopefully, one day.
We’ll cross paths again,
Fully intact.
And enjoy these nights.
Where we felt so Abstract.
Aug 2, 2018
Aug 2, 2018 at 4:16 PM UTC
Greedily your eyes absorb me
into another epic siege
of heart over thoughts matter
where emotions bleed in mindless splatter
to disrupt the lines of love life's pattern
& drown me in an endless dream.
Master strings connect, like a respirator
to drag me across death's equator
and leave me in another time of when
blinded by the ink flowed pen
& entranced entirely by your final hymn
as if you were born from our creator.
Ashes illuminated by tired moonlight
dancing as shadows of morning spite
cursed to live a life of cons
& display my hopes for when I'm gone
to that pasture with a greener lawn
and be freed of a life for love that lied.
Greedily your eyes absorb me
into their depthless sea
of emotions bled for mindless matter
to subdue the heartbeats endless spatter
disconnecting a neurons final scatter
and drown me in an endless dream.
Jul 14, 2010
Jul 14, 2010 at 8:32 PM UTC
I was devastated when I learned that you wouldn't make it.
When it came to my heart, your demise sure did break it.
You died 1096 days ago in 2013.
It was the worst year that I've seen.
When I saw you on life support, it was rough but facing your death was rougher.
My brother and I had you taken off the respirator so you wouldn't continue to suffer.
When you were dying, I felt helpless because there was nothing I could do.
When I found you dead on March the 6th, I had to say goodbye to you.
It took me about two years to get to feeling better about your death.
For two years I suffered tremendously after you became ill and left.
You were such a great mother that you made my brother and I better men.
Your death isn't permanent, when Jesus returns, we will see each other again.
I felt overbearing pain which made my life a mess.
Rest In Peace Mom, you were truly the greatest.
Mar 6, 2016
Mar 6, 2016 at 2:45 PM UTC
drift pleasantly into the wafting glimmer
the enunciated murmur of a purring simmer
the tickling breath chilly spite of the victor's vigor
the momentum upon present infatuations
sought for the hands of the lost bridal remnant
feet brushing the moistened soil
milky coral china topple the path
the splash of hotly brewed tea
lavender and jasmine and lemon ginger
seeping into the cool, hard ground
feel the air swirl in your lungs
the colors of the trees a respirator
glinting their fiery embers
they embark far into the silly autumn night
cool blue shadows creep uphill
stretching and lengthening for night's full bloom
the hours have waned, the sun a lovely hue
as the woes of nature have come down to hunt
Aug 18, 2015
Aug 18, 2015 at 7:41 AM UTC
I'm on a bed with needles tucked on my skin
With a respirator that makes me breathe from within
In a coma not aware if I'm asleep or awake
This must be a joke! or a nightmare I cannot shake
Ringing and beeping, the chorus of silence
A melody of my heart's beating without the essence
Life is not a waiting room and here I am dying
So this is how it sounds.. when the life-clock's ticking
Mar 17, 2015
Mar 17, 2015 at 3:24 PM UTC