"sadists" poems
it is my birthday.
but the world has long disowned me.
honestly--I ask--why do I bother?
as there must be something there for me--out in the viscera.
for I, am still here.
it is my birthday.
but the public has long shunned me.
faces thick as bedrock and eyes as dull as mint wrappers.
and they use sound to blind them.
it is my birthday.
and no one seems to help.
for it is not always happy to know,
you're one day closer into the arms of the cease-r.
it is my birthday.
and words rule no meaning.
for no one listens to me.
and no one hears what I'm hearing.
it is my birthday.
and my marrow weakens as I breath.
but bones sleep with welded lips 'neath the coat of earth.
and--with shame--I shall, too, be nothing but empty research.
it is my birthday.
and I force myself to nature.
O sand, is it true they pick you up and throw you in the wind?
O sea, is it true you get stuck in the mouths and stomachs of the young?
O hair, is it true you scream when the air beats you?
but I don't hear--and I know many.
it is my birthday.
and I breath false air.
is it true the ones that speak ill are on their death bed?
is it wrong I wish for them to speed up time?
is it wrong I point the reaper in their direction?
so I needn't worry of their illness spreading to mine.
it is my birthday.
and we are all gathered for tea.
the masochists sit by the sadists; that's the rule,
so the sadist may draw that ball-point pen deep along their slate skin--and whisper the names of forgotten authors,
so they may both moan with delicious harmony together--for two presents in one.
it is my birthday.
and the masochists ask me to join.
they write each other's eulogies
and revise--revise--'til there are none.
it is my birthday.
for now you know not,
of what I wish, but what I need,
a master.
for I am not one.
it is my birthday.
and not all wishes deem true,
for it seems no one cares of my words--my work--my blood--my tears--
a hymn to whomever it may concern--have you no mercy?
it is my birthday.
and I have not found them.
I have not found the right.
for only airless voices with no mouths, eyes that wish for many more, and souls that have lost time have found me.
and I am one of them.
and 'neath my heart,
I always will be.
for it is my birthday,
and wishes don't come true.
Jun 19, 2016
Jun 19, 2016 at 6:57 PM UTC
How can my eyes hunger for tormentors bodies
where in my soul can I find desires for sadists
Eves threw on fitted coats of Marquis de Sade
borrowed his manuals and added even more pages
pierced the heart of a Dove defending his nest with lethal pins
And in joyous indignities with devilment aplomp
they reclined and crackled in wanton doltishness
He thinks of and desires us and wants to make amor with us
How can a heart marinated in love truely sincere
a soul ready to die rather than any harm to Eves
Be mother or sister or perchance even a stranger
alas in utter ********** and grotesque situation dire
Come undone with healthy pristine heart ripped to pieces
hung drawn and quartered and sliced in tiny morsels
Like fish baits for mice and minnows or hens clucking
All at the hands of Sirens who worshipped in Satan's cravens
How can a soul with only the spark of Salvation aglow
where it once housed his heart and enduring humanity
With brimful joy and devotions in fitting measures true
as all Eves where to him nowt but sisters and earth angels
Now his burning blood runs cold like rivelets in the Arctic
their words ring hollow and smiles shows rapiers of snakes
Nothing stirs desires for all Eves now seem and look like wicked corpses
Delilahs' wrecking vengeance on Samsons in wickedness supreme
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Aug 23, 2018
Aug 23, 2018 at 4:31 AM UTC
It sears red
It sears
Across my chest, bursting through
Charging out into shaky hands
Sharp voice and dark eyes
Deadly, I hope they are, deadly
That people are so cruel
Inhumane
It's beyond my comprehension
That sick pleasure
Sadists.
What's it to you
********
Were you abused in kitten-hood?
Did it teach you to pounce?
You sharpened your claws
But your teeth are broken
And I am just about ready to snap that little neck
Apr 8, 2015
Apr 8, 2015 at 1:50 AM UTC
In my garden is a clean little pond
Fructified by tadpoles besides tiny fish
Where water lilies bloom by day
White and violet, a lovely sight
Over it hover pairs of dragonflies
They come in plenty on summer days
When the day is bright, soon after morn
To lay their eggs on lily pads
Like helicopters, they skim up and down
With their tiny propellers coming down
Sometimes like surfers over the aqua blue,
Perform rare feats, with brisk movements
Their filmy gossamer wings glistening in sunlight
And their bulging eyes reflecting iridescent shades
If ever we try to catch one…., sensing danger
They would rocket up, as fleeting flashes of light,
Into the air…. gliding and spiraling
Even in my sixties, whenever I spot a dragonfly
My mind catches up with those memories
When as children we chased them- ‘hush hush’
Trying to trap them while they perched on a fence or pole
How delighted we were holding them between our fingers
As they helplessly shivered thrumming their filmy wings!
Making them lift small stones double their weight
In their quivering thread like hands, a huge task for them,
Had been our greatest thrill then…!
Were we sadists……??
I still wonder!
May 16, 2016
May 16, 2016 at 11:27 PM UTC
Come to me surreptitiously like fog comes in December night
I will hide you by the news of discontent and discomfort-
Engulf and surround you with fear of loom,
The country is going to dust now,
Master has become maniac puffing the ***** of 'Power'
deeming good into bad and bad into good,
The books affirming violence his students seek,
The guardians and protectors stand and watch
the clashes like sadists forbidden to inflict pain;
I lament the plight and plunder of my sacred home,
Hoping a dawn of summer amid chilly winter.
Jan 31, 2021
Jan 31, 2021 at 3:27 PM UTC
Ignorant are the people,
who brush off the most sincerest of hellos
or the genuine gratitude of someone else.
Apathetic are the people,
who has seen yet have not done.
Witnessing so much
yet reluctant to take action.
Cowardly are the people,
who inundate their catharsis
on the well being of someone else.
A life so useless they find joy
only in the torturing of others;
spending futile days
living as sad, pathetic sadists.
And myopic are the kind,
for they are clearly aware of what’s bad for them
yet they are too blind to listen to their heads
only to follow their hearts.
stupid hearts.
Mar 7, 2015
Mar 7, 2015 at 3:25 AM UTC
I've heard people say love doesn't exist,
And by some definitions, maybe it doesn't exist.
But seriously, if you look at it this way,
People take pleasure in making other people happy.
Not all people sure. Some people are wired wrong,
Sadists and homicidal obsessives, actively serve
What I would call hate. Yet they do so with seeming indifference.
But, on average, the joy of giving joy exists, on some form.
Even ego-centric actors and politicians,
Who seem to be driven by selfish goals,
But even they take a measure of pleasure,
When a fan says "Hey I saw you guys in the Meadowlands,
And you rocked, best concert of my life!"
Or,
"Senator Williams, I just wanted to thank you personally
For the kind words you said about my son,
It brought some closure to our loss."
When you have a particular person who you enjoy pleasing,
And who you know enjoys pleasing you,
Well , what do you call that?
Take it a step further, and add the fact, that when that person is hurting
You hurt. Their pain
Becomes yours.
Now, occasional petty jealousy aside,
Isn't it fair to call that feeling something?
Call it love, call it Love, call it Tigger Yum Yum,
Whatever.
But don't deny it exists.
Because I've seen it with my own eyes.
And I believe them before I believe silly lies.
If a monster like me could find that feeling,
And live inside of it...
Anyfuckingbody can.
Aug 29, 2012
Aug 29, 2012 at 5:23 AM UTC
i mean, who the hell needs an individualised
orchestra? Mozart doesn't, Beethoven doesn't,
Chopin and Liszt is all piano
so never mind the punk renegade violinist...
how the Indians or the Chinese orchestrated
a population of a billion is staggering,
western powers ********** blanks by comparison,
it's like a body and a virus, translated
with optometry the way we say things,
Sanskrit or the Beijing Ouija - looking at it
is like ingesting the Swiss champagne miracle - nausea
or alternatively lysergia -
it's ******* me up acquiring this tongue
given the history of celebrated colonialism -
proof of the Hackney populace being solely
Caribbean - what a desecrate groundwork to begin with,
maybe Irish maybe Scout maybe Scot,
on the word of honour dynamic pledging
conveniences with the Vatican - look
no further, we're naturalised sadists, football matches
and the sickbed eventualists rather than
evangelists, former nonsense reductionistists...
so they preached their Darwinism exactly against
the theologically roundabout of the pyramids
and the celestial intervention - but expected
nil barbarism... kingly kindness was at least
the expected norm, but if you preach Darwinism
you'll hardly convene on kindness as
the standard norm of expression -
track 12 of the beach boys' pet sounds is elevator music,
i'll be honest... pop music drama of
the band... you never hear of it with orchestras;
the point of genius: you're not really there,
absentee, you do the sacrifice, and make others
make the dough for the bread that's a house and
a family of four, e.g; and just by petting
cats i learned that all animals, petted or wild,
are naturally / intrinsically autistic.
Jun 17, 2016
Jun 17, 2016 at 1:21 PM UTC
on the other side
are the people who really exist
the cruel ones
the cold ones
the sadists
the *********
the whiners
the liars
the manipulators
but we live on this side
the side of faces
and that’s all we see
a face,
that can be
whatever a person
wants it to
be
the hero,
the god,
the winner,
the leader,
the helpful one,
the thoughtful one,
the generous,
the forgiving
are all just an illusion of
the ignorant,
the hateful,
and
the weak.
this side of reality,
is a terrible one,
where nothing is real
and yet
it is the only thing
tangible
Oct 8, 2010
Oct 8, 2010 at 11:16 AM UTC
At a party, a gym,
anywhere the lighting is dim.
Along the shore, down in the subway,
during an overnight stay.
On Christmas morning,
by the fire where she's warming...
She is the hunted.
Amidst war, conflict, and revolution,
in the confessional during absolution.
For retribution or initiation,
after a movie premiere's celebration.
In the pool, the jacuzzi,
when drugged and woozy...
She is the hunted.
When did the female species
become a personal plaything?
An implicit right of lords, masters, and kings?
A gratification tool to sadists & seducers,
ego-fed athletes, even film producers?
She is the hunted...
in this cathedral of misogyny,
an unholy ground where hands
can never come clean.
At what age, Malusha, did your little boy
become a ******
Dec 5, 2019
Dec 5, 2019 at 5:32 PM UTC
I feel trapped in this world, with no way to escape
I tap upon the glass of my subconscious mind
But they echo no more from my room of confinement
And instead they vanish. **** and leave me behind
I've thought this over thoroughly but never had the gall
To step down to that crooked slab of asphalt underneath
Instead, these thoughts, they bounce around and cause a chain reaction
That exposes daily reasoning as a sword without its sheath
The sheath; a sense of normalcy, not elsewhere to be found
Overcome by spikes in temper, putting ties in danger
Of whom I love and whom I ultimately care about
Suddenly and unbeknownst to me, becoming strangers
Depression dulls the blade's sharp edge
Where confidence had once been rested
Anxiety loosens the hilt with doubt
Rendering potential nigh ineffective
Hatred of person in all past events
Where regret is an outlying feature of memory
Hesitance an outlying feature of future
And behind is left a feeling of agony
To top it all off, there's the constant harassment
Where progress in peace achieved is a minimal
Where the freedom of speech is abused as a right
By these sadists of mankind, true message subliminal
*Sticks and stones may break my bones
But words will never hurt me*
Was the biggest lie ever told to children
As they cut deep psychologically
But no matter how down in the dumps I become
I never give up and I strive for the best
So when I finally get to stare Death in the face
I can welcome him warmly with a gentle caress
Aug 23, 2015
Aug 23, 2015 at 3:36 AM UTC
We Us are the most cruel
the most destructive
hateful.
We Us are doomed
the outlook is
bleak.
We Us are murderers
rapists
sadists.
We Us are the most loving
the most defiant
divine.
We Us can survive
our defiance is
strong.
We Us are mothers
fathers
children.
We Us are flawed
the most vision
powerful.
We Us have a choice
the answers
uncertain.
We Us are one
divided
lost.
Jan 25, 2011
Jan 25, 2011 at 10:01 PM UTC
I'm a prisoner,
a convict of the worst kind,
a slave kept in restraints,
confined to the four walls of my mind.
I'm tortured,
I'm punished,
abused in the worst way,
I'm held hostage by my demons,
who always want to come out to play.
I'm a *********
trying to win at a sadists game,
there's no hope in screaming,
all escape plans are vain.
I'm a liar,
truth tastes bitter in my mouth,
my only friends await me,
to drag me farther into hell.
I'm a thief,
all aspects of me are stolen,
like hundred year old glass,
begging to be broken.
I'm a puzzle,
that's missing the final piece,
I just want to silence the voices,
and embrace eternal sleep.
Jul 10, 2013
Jul 10, 2013 at 12:00 PM UTC
You wonder why I never say anything
Just raise dust as if it were dreams
And burn miles in moments
Speed incarnate
Lapped Flash in a race round the equator
I am lightning
I am fire
I am the petal through the floor
Till your feet kick up sparks
And I wish he would stop trying to swallow me
Cause I know Coyotes and Roadrunners
Don’t make the best lovers
But for some reason I dream
Of running my beak through his fur
And sometimes when he sleeps
I stand over him like a mother
I don’t care what you think
We are both madmen
Both immortal both sadists
And sometimes I let him get so close
I can smell the lust in his breath
But I am bird and I am speed
And I won’t ever let him catch me
And I don’t dare say a word
Just beep as if it could translate into beauty
And burn the dust of a thousand roads
Jun 14, 2013
Jun 14, 2013 at 9:18 AM UTC
The pain they enjoy is different,
To that they inflict upon others,
This type of pain isn't physical,
But still rather horrible,
It comes from the self-loathing and hate they put themselves through,
For enjoying what it is they do,
It's their own type of masochism,
An internal form of torture,
They can't show their victims this second side,
Otherwise they won't cower in fear and hide,
Because why would anyone be scared,
Of someone who willingly shared,
The fact that they feel guilt and sadness too,
Maybe even more than you do.
Jul 26, 2013
Jul 26, 2013 at 11:00 AM UTC
Don't touch my gold,you know I dont like it
penning about life the way i like it
I sympathize with hoes,and drug addicts
Forced by the lords to circulate it
Even though, they don't matter, they still dislike it
Victims of circumstances where's humanity
We cry blood as tears but nobody gets it
You strive for gold,but can never have it
You beg for storms with low spirits
Why cling to the unknown and be a *********
I know, it's impossible to escape sadists
I feel for you that's why I wrote this
When love was blessed and that's it
Aug 3, 2014
Aug 3, 2014 at 12:16 PM UTC
How long will you stay uninterested?
In this relationship like me, even you have invested.
My idea of intimacy is based on my lifelong emptiness.
Have you too felt the pangs of loneliness?
How long have I been lonely in this world?
Well, essentially since my lonely & difficult childhood.
And now you might ask me another counter question.
If I had my parents along, why this notion?
Now, tell me, is having parents sufficient?
Surely, we need siblings, friends, and a joint family.
Grandparents help you endure the pangs of loneliness.
Dear, have you ever been directionless?
I grew up without their guidance,
All I had were my busy parents.
How can you judge me based on your experiences?
Come to my world, but take your time to assess.
You say that you chose me as you hope maturity,
But now you know that I'm impulsive like you.
I rhyme a lot,
I whine a little.
I write a lot,
I speak a little.
Allegorical reiteration of my story,
It keeps happening, I keep repeating.
Either you like me,
Or maybe my life.
Or maybe you don't,
Either way you're mine.
Time will bring us close,
Like you say, like you say.
Time will teach you how to love,
Like I express myself, so will you.
Yes, so will you,
Dead sure, so will you.
No, you won't be scared,
For my soul is more scarred.
Than my imperfect body,
My mind is more beautiful.
From my jobs,
I earn money and reputation.
I audit the Railways,
Working for the Government.
Comptroller & Auditor General of India,
My employer.
Indian Railways, the North Eastern Railway HQ,
My paymaster.
While we audit their expenditures,
They even make our paychecks.
I invest in the money market,
And even in the Providence.
But I have reached where nobody speculated,
No, not even I could speculate this.
While I knew that I must succeed,
Even my mother was unsure.
Nobody else knew this for sure,
Well, nobody, nobody except for my father.
Whilst I prepared for the exam,
My mother provided food so nutritious.
Only my father had faith in my potential,
He laughed away all the speculations.
They suggested weird, insulting alternatives,
Sadists the people are oftentimes.
I thank my parents for bringing me here,
And it was my father who gave me the power.
He remained calm throughout,
And his oceanic calm is contagious.
My mother did convey the speculations,
But my father invested his hopes.
Although there is no need to reiterate,
Hope is the most powerful of all the words.
I'm on a train right now,
You might meet me soon.
Aug 14, 2024
Aug 14, 2024 at 4:09 PM UTC
"No more tears now; I will think about revenge."
-- Mary, Queen of Scots
------------------------------------------------
Someone once told me that
I have the eyes of a Queen,
that they have known sorrow
in this life and in the last.
I think I must have shared
a heart with
Mary, Queen of Scots,
for I too have experienced
profound betrayal,
one that has shackled itself
to my being so violently,
that my soul has turned
purple with contusion.
Tell me--have you no shame?
Will you betray your Queen?
Will you exclude her
from your most sacred gatherings
of friendship and empathy?
Will you speak of her
most intimate secrets?
Will you befriend her foes?
Will you defile her name
in your own frivolous writings?
Will you accuse her of treason
so as to distract from
your own mutinous crimes?
My beloved companions,
my brothers and sisters--
will you attempt to commit
this heinous sin of sororicide
against the woman
who loved you so generously
(so poetically)?
I entreat--
will you?
(yet, I know you already have).
But though my Queendom
may be small,
it is not insignificant,
for it is vast in ways
incomprehensible to your
selfish minds--
its kindness and poetry
are infinite,
both of which you
have taken gross advantage of.
And though my Queendom
may crumble at your hands,
it shall never fall;
with stanzas
mighty and passionate
I will rebuild without you.
You have overstayed
your welcome here.
(perhaps you never belonged
in the first place).
There was once a time
when you vowed to protect
your Queen
and, now, all I've got
to show for it
is a broken pinkie
and the scuff of footprints
across my spine.
What shall it be next?
My head upon a silver platter?
No.
I was not reborn
only so my reign should
be sullied by these
treacherous sadists
I once called "friends".
It is my head
you want,
but this time,
it is yours I shall have.
Jan 12, 2019
Jan 12, 2019 at 11:10 PM UTC
The clearest mirrors
Are the ones we cannot see
That lie within sadness, the loneliness,
And feed off of the pain
That we feel betwixt the scenes
That life plays out
For an audience which must be
Vindictive, cruel and mean
In order to clap
When the curtains drops at finale.
But we must all share something
With that ethereal audience of sadists
For it is in those moments of self-hatred
That we can most see the part
We play in this nightmarish ensemble.
It was the hunter Narcissus
That stared into the pool
And surely aroused a tumult
Of laughter,
But how sweet to be so enamored
With ourselves that we might see true
Without the mirrors of pain.
Perhaps that pool revealed to the hunter
The cosmic comedy's concealed quadrains
And in that moment he too applauded
The director's dark aims.
I too have looked into pools
Into clean metal and clear glass
And never have I had the epiphany
Of wonder that the hunter had.
But in those moments of deep despair,
Perhaps I have glimpsed
Some of myself in there.
For those without eyes keen enough to see,
The truth must be found most painfully.
And oft comes through with some of
The tomb it was buried in,
So that, knowing what is
Often makes us less comfortable
Within our own skin.
And the audience snickers
To know that in our clarity, we are still fools
And have only a tainted view of truth,
Destined to suffer on to the next miserable cue.
Oct 27, 2016
Oct 27, 2016 at 5:16 PM UTC
My heart was mine in day til night
She came and stole my life
In cold, beneath streetlight
In her leather and jeans
Like she knew just what
She wanted, and she did
I'm glad the innocence
At first kept back the fiery truth
That you were so much like me
That I was much like you
Or else I'd not have stolen yours, too
Sep 18, 2017
Sep 18, 2017 at 1:13 AM UTC
Sadists, aren’t we all… abusing that for which we fall…
The way that I’m obsessed… with the fabric of your dress
Although it doesn’t feel as good… as tender skin beneath it would
So it deserves the claws… and lacerated ribbons’ flow…
Of all the fingers, it’s the thumb… that sees the broadest, like the sun
Runs in circles on those knees… the sweet of you I love to read
Yet passion thrives on sacrifice… with aftermaths of melting ice
To treat the paintings on your skin… which lust, in trance, would blindly leave
Like every coin, there are two sides… and truth is tasting both in life…
The things that we adore… our hunger paints in gore
And now you’re in the palms… their lips brush off the calm…
The sinking of the teeth… the flavor underneath...
Apr 17, 2018
Apr 17, 2018 at 12:28 PM UTC
Lips split
To lick and swallow sallow tears.
Heartbeat in ears, I
Choke down my words
To sit through my fears.
My brain is electrified with the acridity of lemons –
Dashing through cemeteries
Fumbling with etched wisdom
On stones older than enlightenment
And smearing it with fingers trembling on my forehead,
Clammy and numb
While mouths split and shriek into the paralysis of dreams shattered.
I am
hooked on sadists and social delinquents
Lost swirled in the lotus of stinking nightfall,
Gliding through clouds of memory lost and memory found,
With
Jugular arched bare smooth desperate for sunray.
Impassioned strings of rhapsodies intertwine my fingers for
A raptured fractured moment, but
Still I am zygotic, weeping in the embryonic stuff of life.
But reticulate my mistakes -
Entwine me in the filaments
Of one billion years of algal growth
And allow me to explode into
revered ******** nostalgic bloom
So I may feel once more
The fossilized whispers of love
On my petrified wooden ears
Smooth down my hair so that
I may lie beside you like a guilty dog
Incapable of culpable tears
Just the fear of
Our sound raves refracting
Like shattered light
Into the pedantic lexicon of lives
Leaving this world
Thousands per minute
But still your sweet
Sweet moss on my grave.
Apr 6, 2015
Apr 6, 2015 at 6:40 PM UTC