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Charlotte Huston Nov 2015
False shades I hide behind,
To embrace the other side of my mind –
The woman inside who’s always possessing my eyes
Boiling my soul’s insides until it can no longer hide
Rapping, tapping, stabbing, dabbing –
All my emotions galore, to find the other they implore;
Female only, this and nothing more.

Oh, Lords above! Truly your forgiveness I may adore –
Along with your permission I implore, to have this emotion at my door
To build up and grow, to fuel the thirst for a gender’s allure,
To flow outwards in glorious lore, in a tempest’s downpour.
Vexing, nixing, trapping, sapping –
My life force away – Until I am female forevermore.

Forgiveness I ensure, for all taunts I endure –
From my own mind’s tapping, nodding, napping at my mind’s core
Free me from my suffering! – Break me from this chore!
Terrors shall rattle my brain, draining my veins galore, in fear of my fatal self-gore
Hanging, napping, seething, bleeding –
Convertest to female – Or my life shall be no more.
Gender-identity burdens my heart and soul.
Third Eye Candy Oct 2012
sapping the faith from dust, i was ever wise.
a chipped tooth in a broad smile of a worm
on a rainy day.
you had your petri dish of phantoms and a small stake
in talking ravens... i had your god in my basement.
sapping the viscous chill of your willows
amongst proof that no rabbit has a hole enough
to **** Alice.
just a frame of reference more dangerous
than a rainy day
for a puddle
of sun

and strange mints.
Dawnstar Jan 2019
the sapping dusk denies my dreams frenetic,
it ebbs in icy cattail streams uncouth;
in rural woodland glades, I’d wax poetic,
but shoddy snowbank streets are all my youth.
Third Eye Candy Jun 2013
sapping the faith from dust, i was ever wise.
a chipped tooth in a broad smile of a worm
on a rainy day.
you had your petri dish of phantoms and a small stake
in talking ravens... i had your god in my basement.
sapping the viscous chill of your willows
amongst proof that no rabbit has a hole enough
to **** Alice.
just a frame of reference more dangerous
than a rainy day
for a puddle
of sun

and strange mints.
Devin Ortiz Jun 2015
Devilish blue eyes, frozen gaze.
Influencing me against my will,
Submitting into dropping defenses.
Overcome with an inability to escape,
I become bound by those piercing eyes.

Sapping once kinder thoughts,
Replaced by detached isolation.
Shuttering at the crack of the whip,
Blindly I walk to death.
Carved flesh ammunition against
You, weakness exposed.

Lacerations to the heart exchanged,
Milky fog clouds my oppressor.
Pieces held together by hatred,
One blow away from cracking.
Further into broken self.
All freedoms come at a cost.
CK Baker Oct 2017
A slow walk up Centennial
and I still can’t find the place
it's menacing cold, and muted
and the street sweeper and winter breeze
move the Turkish blend and dust pack

A novice mixed duet plays
Brahms on broken strings
the erhu and overcoat
veiling a blue heeler and sphinx

Maggianos is settled in the center block’s
luminance and seasonal drape
it's festive warmth bringing home Bedford Falls;
the flavour and character and social circles

Annie’s playing and the keeper's singing
(his word pool and slander
raising everyone in arms!)
the crowd chants and mayhem breaks
as crawlers and contemporaries
smash their steins

Dark alleys and dripping holes
hold a grim reminder of the pierced underside
paddies flutter and forge their words
with a broad manifesto

Night gardens come alive
(slowly sapping the respite)
hunched figures and ladies in lace
shuffle inside the big orange door
JC Lucas Sep 2014
Crushed to death
under falling leaves
Drowned
by torrential rain
scorched by sun,
and fades away,
and never speaks again

the sober simply sickening
sapping all my electricity
the waking under midday light’s
reflecting off the mirror tiles
I placed this all beneath me but
it always ******* backfires

Crushed
under a thousand falling leaves
Drowned
by a million drops of acid rain
scorched by the sun
and fades away,
and never ever speaks again

Shining black, incandescent
watermarks that line the present
and presently I can perceive
a personage, just above me
It speaks nonstop and slowly
and never ever ******* leaves

Crushed
under a thousand falling leaves
Drowned
by a million drops of acid rain
scorched by the sun
and fades away,
and never ever speaks again

crushed to death
and fades away
autumn leaves became a grave
drowned by rain
never speaks again
the undertow of passing waves

the autumn leaves became a grave
the undertow of passing waves.
Song, not a poem.
Ovi-Odiete Oct 2016
A SOCIETY WRITTEN IN FLAMES; SHROUDED IN DARKNESS

The tears flows in an endless way
Bemoaning the days of yore
Watching with eyes that sparks red,
Sunken and beaten from the tragedies of yore
Helpless and wishing for a relentless call
As tragedy hits her most sensitive part,
Bemoaning the tides,
All her days of glory,
Now a shadowy story


She had been ***** by her very own,
The children she yearned and bled for,
The men she fed and trained,
Where her rain fell full and vast, to soothe their hearts
Where she gave it all, and smiled, hoping that someday, they will realize her sacrifices and sleepless nights,
Her nights of terror and horrors
Where she stood in the midst of the stormy eerie night, shrouded in darkness


It was her ******* they ****** and clunged to,
It was her arms that shielded them from the shadows of the dark,
But when they grew and flew,
She waited still
Praying and wishing they would remember the days of yore


Then the dark hour rolled away,
And when morning came, it was harrowing.
It was harrowing how she waited abandoned and dejected,
As her sons and daughters peaked at the sky,
Trampling her down,
Relegating and belittling her
Painful it were, as she cried from the agonies of the days of yore,
Where she laid all her virtues down,
Giving it all to see her children smile,


It is this dejection that has brought her to tears,
It is this wickedness of a child to a mother, that has made her weep endlessly
It is this tragedy that have swallowed her glory,
As her children keeps flying above huddles, in peace and harmony,
Forgetting her,
It is this callousness, that pushed them to sapping her virtues and enriching themselves with it thereon


What is worse than a child abandoning his mother?
It is this penchant, that drives them
It is the love of greed,
It is the seed of corruption,
It is not an inherited trait,
It is a despicable decision
Like a monstrous shadow,
Twirling the back of the night.
It is the fire that burns within their heart,
The fire to ****, steal and destroy
To take what she can never give again
To live,
To live big at the expenses of others sorrow and agony
It is this evil that has perused Nigeria and has rendered her a roaming wretch
And now tragedy looms,
It booms and blooms,

A society written in flames
Who will save MOTHER NIGERIA?


Ovi Odiete©* 2016, Oct. 31
All rights reserved

Note
Children here signifies the evil politicians and men that has sapped our country dry with their evil penchant
A society written in flames
RJP Aug 2018
Nina Simone, occupying ears singing about bed and dressers.
Sparsely populated
young couple
Interrupted by saying amusements.
Only two stops
I know where to get off

I knew to mind the gap
I'm a responsible citizen
Voter with a valid railcard
Only two stops
Purchased a ticket
Only two stops
I can not throw up in that time

I can not clear my system of over-priced beer
A niche in the market
Exploited in the name of money Making let's just raise them
let's charge extortionate rates for an autoimmune disease

Paying to support a normal drinking culture embedded into the narrative
Growing by in the western world Listening to Nina Simone
Only one stop now you'd never know what life would be like

Without loud pop charts entertaining a few leaving the others yearning the return of ABBA when times were simpler and people cared about Eurovision and illegal music was your own

“Tickets please”
He seems awfully jolly for a late night ****-shift on Arriva Trains Wales
Who's making him work and why's he So ******* happy about it
Real extra effort! Soul sapping in my opinion
Last stop gotta get off.
This is one's for any of the Welsh here.
The uniVerse Aug 2016
I dream of innocence
of days long spent
beneath summers sun
a Carpenters son
and royal daughter
a Queen and a martyr
one girl one boy
eyes fuse like alloy
caught in a sudden trance
a courtship dance
loves hypnotic rituals
of star filled visuals
white lights against black night
white Knight versus black Knight
this is now a game of chess
strategizing what to do next.

Three is a crowd
how I wish he wasn't around
your first mistake
so I sit and wait
for the nightmare to be over
for my Knights mare to save her
I already know the pain she's due
it's as old as the sun, this rain isn't new
nothing washes away infidelities sinning
nothing can make them white sheets of linen
once innocence is lost like paradise
if only you took another roll at the dice
maybe fate is predetermined numbers
and maybe innocence only exists in slumber
maybe it was lost at birth
maybe it's just an ancient curse
inherited from days long ago
maybe we were never white as snow.

But still I have this martyrs cause
yet still I never really give pause
the Knight that sacrifices for his Queen
for he has already witnessed all to be seen
history repeating itself
Déjà vu sapping our health
reincarnated pain
can the black Knight ever be slain?
or is it just another side of the coin
everyone is still curtain drawing
hiding from the dark
the day that's lost its spark
black night only masks the sun
black Knight versus the Carpenters son
but white lights appear in the sky
the white night is there when we die
when our numbers finally up
when our slumber finally stops
the ending of the night
maybe we aren't really Knights
maybe we are all just pawns
so innocence can be reborn.
https://www.instagram.com/p/ByEKcNQHA_z/
allan harold rex May 2012
scuttling across the valley,
the trench was deep and steep

scorching heat of the dry sun,
dried blemishes on the weathered skin.

Settling along the rocky facades,
hackneyed by the haunting past.

Sleepless nights of the perching predators,
Hibernating in aloof worlds .

Stymied by the wind in the barren land ,
Harnessed by the futile fears.

Simone Melchoir of the sinking ship ,
would not you go down with the fault.

Shunning away from natures affection ,
for every rose does share its thorn .

Sunny ends are reached ,
when the raging ravines fade away.

Slithering away the swirling serpent ,
The sun lurks in the brewing storm .

Sanctity of the witheld winds ,
sapping away the deathly darkness.

Serene air of the seraphic angel,
brought the plighting dreams to the refugees repose

Smelting ores and melting poles,
brimming with brightness the cradled cirque .

Summons of the exalted virtue ,
To burn the lizard and fly away like the phoenix

Succumbing to the wilderness,
to soaring heights and rising spirits .

Swanking in the soothing winds,
the phoenix looked down on the plundering valley.

Scorning at the downtrodden spirits,
The fraternity of the Desert lizard
g clair Oct 2013
Patterns are beautiful, made for the mind
repeating like seeding is safe to be sure
seeking to simplify, symmetry's kind
for rhythm needs weeding and rhyming's manure

what shoots from the seed is what God has put in it
but as for the crop, well it is all in our hands
the gift and the sower are so tied together
for everything planted has natural demands

and naturally we are the gift from The Giver
yet everything in us requiring care
practice and patience brings fruit from our talents
the giftings were planted to have and to share.  

Rhythm will gallop, a horse is a carrier
bringing the message to those who can hear
but some like to think that a rhyme is a barrier
blocking the flow of a message you fear.

I prefer waking to dreaming and napping
I tend to my garden and think as I ****
I work for a living, but energy sapping
I'll nap for a while and tend to my need.

Keeping the rhythm brings sleep to the soul
a sense of reality, comforting true
but once you are in it the pattern seems duller
and sleeping, mentality changes the hue

And isn't it good to be off of the grid
Hey poet! Come on then and let it pour out
where we can be freed from the usual bid
just open the tap and then capture the stout!

Fill up your mug with the amber to brown
out for amusment this cold autumn night
foam at the mouth, an oktoberfest clown
your writer desires a great ghastly fright

Hop on the ' Fear is',  it's not real scary
but simply a ride to a fabulous place
a mystery tour for the ones who are wary
unbuckle your belt and the heart starts to race.

Slowly the Fear Is beginning to lift you
go clockwise and wave to the folks on the ground
you wonder why Fear Is the name which was given
since riding this feels like a merry go round.

Peer through the branches
now bare in the darkness
searching for words
that are hanging like bats
the car starts a rocking
with door swinging open   
you're rambling bout nothin' but jeepers egats!

the floor opens up
now your seat is a kneeler
upon which you pray' for the down to come sooner
but onward and upward the wheel
unforgiving
keeps turning and climbing
with no time for rhyming
and you're just a windbag
along for the ride

closer to Heaven
beneath are the treetops
you're looking down farther
and out into blackness
the howling surrounds you
as wind blows in fiercely
in waves without pattern
just random and fragmented
moments unwritten
unplanned, unrehearsed
you're smitten and silly
both frightened and chilly
and groping for closure
your mind is immersed

below all this drama
you turn up your headset
and manage to drown out the
sound you might hear yet
it's still all around you
so far from the pavement
with nowhere to go and nowhere to hide!

While everyone down there
is bathed in the lamp light
the music is distant,
and riders are laughing
but you sit there babbling
for heights are your weakness
look up and then down and then closing your eyes!

you're nearing the top and the car starts to shudder
as if there's a quake and the pavement is cracking
you grab for the bar and it slips from your hand
you're  can't help but do it, you simply must stand!

the air seems to tempt you
to slide in your seating
toward the edge of your falling
and surely approaching
the top of the world and you laugh to yourself
in this floating dimension
you're drunk and alone and in knots
but it's good
'cause you're way up in Dreamland
rocking the cables
which hold you to safety
when suddenly everything suddenly stops!

Wait for a while
alone in the darkness
wondering what could be hap'ning below
a glitch in the workings, a crack in the coggery
what is the matter, your words aren't flowing

Dark days upon us, and wind chills can hover
you take down the canopy, blow off the cover
leaves scatter running and chased by the wind
but I, off my rocker am talked down again
carefully setting my feet on the ground
never quite getting away from the sound

it's that old beat for beat, that measure for measure
grapes of pure gall and fermenting displeasure
tasted enough to know this can't be real
while mashing my poems in the poetry wheel.
a dream is a ride that we write for ourselves
of our problems and faces we can't just erase

the dream tries to make sense of nothing quite sensibly
riding this dream I'm set free from the pace.
Kate Dempsey Jun 2011
I kneeled on the polished wood floor, panting and sweating. My body was writhing in pain, having been mercilessly beaten two masked men; I knew not who they were or why they had come for me. Nor did I know where I was now. I didn’t know anything anymore; everything was drowned in a rising sea of confusion. There was nothing but my battered body, slowly letting forth blood and the wooden floor, gluttonously sapping the heat from my hands and legs and hoarding it within its cold, polished surface.
My ears perked as I heard a noise outside of my elegant prison. As I strained my ears to their fullest extent, I almost grasped what the sound was. Soon, there were several noises and they were louder than the original one. After an unknown period of time, I recognized the sounds as speech even though I could not understand it. Fear swelled within my heart. I feared that the goons who had battered me and sealed me in this room were among those who conversed in the hallway and what horrific things they would do to me if they returned. I prayed for the voices to stop, for them to leave. I waited for the worst, but prayed for the best. I silently and fervently prayed to a God that I only halfway believed in.
Silence. My prayers had been answered. I let out a sigh of relief. It was the first unrestricted breath I had taken since my troubles began. I savored this breath; I inhaled solace and exhaled fear. I rose to my knees and straightened my weary back, feeling the bones crack several times. How wonderful it felt to be upright again!
The doorknob clicked. My eyes darted toward the door. Almost immediately, five men entered, all of them splendidly dressed. They walked with elegance, like kings. Two of them stood at the back of the small room, their eyes watching me like those of a bird of prey pondering ******* a rat. A large man approached me, slowly but menacingly with his great girth shifting with every step. I felt my body tense as I waited for him to strike me. Even with this, I noticed the other two men standing in the corner, continuing their conversation. I tried desperately to listen in. Perhaps they would mention why I was here? But no understanding was to be gained as I could not understand a single word. I recognized the language, however, was Mandarin. Without a moment’s notice, I felt a shove and my chest and face came into an abrupt and painful contact with the floor. It took me a moment to realize that the fat man had kicked me. He shouted at me, in an unintelligible anger. I rose back to my knees and hands and looked into the face of my assaulter.
He was massive. His body was that of a great pig in an elegant, well-tailored suit. His skin was a very tanned yellow and his hair was combed back. He had an upturned nose and small, accusatory eyes glistening with ire as he looked down upon me. He stood before me with a sinister smile as my eyes wandered to his hands. I watched as he ran a fat, jeweled hand over a gorgeous cane. As he continued to stroke the cane, I wondered how he would abuse me next. He circled me once and stopped at my side, his patent leather shoes shining brightly. I could see nothing else of him but his shoes. At that moment, he shouted something at me, and beat me with the cane.
I could not understand his question. Had he asked me about drugs, embezzling, money? I knew nothing of such matters, for I was a simple person. The second I replied “I don’t know”, he struck me again and again, over and over. He soon began to kick me simultaneously, until I collapsed back onto the floor. My stomach and legs had had about all they could take. I was already bruised and I could feel my bones aching. I began to cry. I thought of my husband and my daughter and wondered if I would ever be able to return home. Surely they would wonder why I had not returned home by now and would worry. I somehow believed that I would not ever see them again. It was a terrifying thought.
The pig man began to giggle hideously, his voice gurgling and unpleasant, sounding simple-minded and unrefined. He then began to **** my shoulder with his magnificent cane as he began to tease me, like a demented child. I thought him to be a savage, uncivilized and impolite. For some reason though, I could not completely fear him; I could only hate him. One of the two men in the corner addressed me, and scuffled to my front. His plain face addressed me with a cool and aloof manner, showing neither disgust nor compassion. His spoke to me with a tone that was calculating and observatory and it made me long to know what he was saying even more. But somehow, I welcomed his presence. He was so much less offensive, not striking me or adding to my confusion. He turned away and addressed his companion, who was now seated at the beautiful mahogany desk at the front of the room. His gestured to me rigidly and spoke smoothly to the man.
I could not see the other man particularly well, as the room was dim and most of his form was hidden from me by shadows. How I wished they could have hidden the pig man as effectively. The cold man then knelt to my level and my eyes rose to meet his. I was afraid of what someone so stoic would do to me. I knew not what he was thinking. His slender lips parted.
“Do not fake ignorance. We know it was you.” he said slowly, the words slipping from his lips like water. I was relieved to discover that one of them spoke English. Perhaps he could help me understand why I was brought here.
“What was me? I have not done anything! I promise you!” I had no earthly idea what he believed I had done. I was completely ignorant. I wracked my mind, hoping to think of any obscure reason as to why they had apprehended me and what I might have done to anger them so. His eyes never left mine. He slowly blinked and reopened his eyes. They were cold and unforgiving, shining brightly like black, polished beads. I felt shivers travel down my spine and into my legs. His blank stare somehow felt like a death sentence. He rose and continued to speak to the man at the desk, who was shuffling through papers, and rummaging through what I believed to be a cash box.
With a quiet emission of speech from the man behind the desk, the room grew silent. He rose from the desk and floated over to my limp body. His feet glided gracefully, always stepping perfectly. With only a short phrase, the cold-eyed man walked away. I panicked. He was the only one who could understand what I was saying. I scrambled after him, grabbing onto his leg, begging him to allow me to accompany him to anywhere but this frightening room. Without so much as a glance at me, he shook his ankle free and departed. I felt my only chance at freedom leave with him. A chill passed through my body as I submitted to silent desperation. I lowered my head and cried.
The man gestured me back to him, calling to me in his exotic language as he switched on the desk lamp, allowing me to see him. I was nervous from having seen the two goons at the back of the room. His appearance alone was a relief. As I crawled toward him, I felt that I was meeting a god.
He wore a red silk jacket, embroidered intricately and elegantly with gold flowers and calligraphy that I wished I could read. His hand bore a simple ring, silver with a round stone in the middle, obviously jade. His face was no less impressive. He had smooth pale yellow skin and pleasing brown eyes, large and misty. His hair was pulled back into a ponytail. His smooth lips were wrapped around a long and slender pipe. I watched him inhale and exhale a dancing little cloud of smoke, admiring how gorgeously his chest rose and fell. He looked somehow lukewarm, neither kind nor cruel, not gracious or threatening. He spoke briefly to the two men standing steadfastly at the back. I immediately knew that the graceful one was the leader of this group.
One of the two men grabbed me by my arms, shocking me while the other proceeded to unbutton my ripped and sullied shirt. Why were they removing my clothing? Were they planning to **** me and dispose of me afterward? I feared the worst as they removed my shirt and bra, revealing my upper torso and proceeded to roughly remove my pants as I struggled to free myself. Once I was completely naked, they released me and I crouched upon the ground and cried. Soon, they would have their way with me. One of the lesser men picked up my clothing and inspected the pockets as if he was searching for something. Whatever he was expecting to find was beyond me. I looked back up at the beautiful man, wondering what horrors he had in store for me. His eyes met mine and we both stared for a long time; our gazes were only interrupted once we heard the crumpling of paper.
The both lesser men were inspecting a sheet of paper that they had found in my pocket. One of them waved it about triumphantly and handed it over to the boss. He too examined the paper as an expression of mild confusion overcame his round face, like a moon as it waxes and wanes. Once he grew frustrated with the paper, he handed it to me speaking in his foreign tongue. I did not need a translation, he wished for me to decipher the paper somehow. I inspected the paper with weary eyes and gasped. It was a shopping list! I tried to explain to the boss that the contents of the paper were merely what I planned to purchase for tonight’s dinner. I could tell that he did not completely believe me. His eyes grew suspicious and uncertain. I felt that somehow, this man’s displeasure would be enough for him to end my earthly life.
He took the paper from me and twirled his pipe in the fingers of his opposite hand. He picked up a piece of paper from his desk, comparing the two papers as he delicately balanced his pipe between his teeth. The look of confusion vanished from his face, looking as if he deciphered my language. Perhaps he would set me free? Surely, he could not draw a valid conclusion from a shopping list. He spoke to his subordinates with resolve and confidence, seeming somehow certain of something. He spoke like he uncovered a key detail that unlocked a great mystery. I knew not what he was speaking of, but I knew that he had decided what to do with me. I was somehow more afraid than ever, thinking that he would somehow ****** me, despite my innocence. He kneeled to my level and took my face into his hand and plunged his hand into one of his pockets. I feared that he would pull out a gun or a knife. I snapped my eyes shut, and was afraid to open them again. He spoke a benign and gentle-sounding word and immediately, I felt something graze my face.
Against my better judgment, I opened my tearful eyes, and saw that he was wiping my face with a handkerchief. He wiped my tears away from face. After my face was clean and dry, he swept my hair from my face. I tried to decipher his eyes, looking for a twinkle of kindness of a glint of malicious intent. He gave no such signal. Instead, he placed the handkerchief into my hand. He rose, looking mighty and fearsome and rose his pipe to his lips, but not taking a puff. Even though he looked non-threatening, his lack of emotion baffled me and I was somehow more afraid than ever, despite his fleeting moment of kindness. He rose an elegant and slender hand and waved dismissively toward me. He gestured to the two men and pointed toward the door. He was completely silent. I was about to be taken away.
The two subordinates grabbed me by the underarms, one on each side of me and stood me up clumsily. I watched as the gorgeous boss began to inhale slowly, savoring the flavor of his tobacco. I somehow felt that his breath was connected with my life, that I was doomed to die the moment that little puff had been expelled. The men began to drag me away with my bare heels dragging along the ground. I watched the boss desperately, praying that he would say something that could save me as the goons dragged me over the threshold of the door. One of them placed a bag over my head just as I saw the boss emit a thick smoke which masked his face, the way that clouds hide the elusive moon. I was blinded, but knowing that I was about to be killed. I did not need any clues to be sure of it. The boss had exhaled and I knew that by the time the smoke had cleared, I had vanished from his view.
I am aware that this is technically prose, but I still wanted to submit it. I wrote it a couple of months ago, believing that it might one day be something of merit. Perhaps I am mistaken, but I hope everyone enjoys it.
I'm back, babies.
Claire Elizabeth Apr 2013
The pale lips are smashed together in a fake smile, the teeth not wanting to show in the little pod of the mouth, hiding like scared peas. It’s frightening.
The eyes crinkled just right so that it looks so plastered on that you can tell it is fake, the folds overlapping again and again in an unnatural way. I blink.
The cheeks covered in makeup, splashed on in spots, smoothed over in others, splatter painted to look realistic. It doesn't work.
The fingers resting oh so stiff on the stomach raised a bit so that they are hovering above the skin, like he doesn't want to touch the dead fabric. I wouldn't.
The suit, so neatly pressed that not a wrinkle shows, except for on the collar where nobody notices. But I do.
The silk lining of the box he is resting in is shiny and overly polished, like a cherry wood dining room table with an overload of Pledge. It hurts my eyes.
The bouquet of flowers is a bundle of Death’s heavy perfume disguised as a bunch of roses and daisies. The smell is disgusting.
The picture frames surrounding the box are shined like pairs of leather shoes, embedded with gems and memories that are long past. It makes me sad.
The stuffed animals in the corner gaze deadly at the group, mold and dust sapping the life out of their beady eyes. They make me shiver.
The chair I sit on is hard and stiff, the cushion starched to the breaking point, the crackly material hardly comfortable. I squirm.
The vent above me blows a gale of cold air and underlying currents, which whips up my hair in a flurry of brown. I pat my head.
The people around me clutch tissues in bony hands, the wadded up paper soaked through with tears and makeup. It looks gross.
So as I observe every detail of this morbid place, I close my eyes and breath deep. Mistake. The air is ripe with anger and sadness, misery and frustration. Musky lady perfume, sharp man perfume. My hands clench, unclench, furl, unfurl. My throat closes up then swallows that lump of matter lodged in my my esophagus. What is death? What is Heaven? What is God and Jesus and church? What is all of that if it ends up like this? Like a cancerous tumor, like a lump of mutated cells, like a painful death? It is forgiveness and freedom and newness.
With that I open my eyes again and cry.
Paul R Mott Apr 2013
I see new growth emerging from an old tree's heart.
A new sapling sapping strength from what would enrich generic soil,
contributes something unknown to an unassigned

Future

Instead this exacting branch emerges to claim the universe for itself.
No longer can this unnoticed, rotting stump contribute to the greater good
but feed instead, a unique life so it may one day
die and have the chance to fill the old soul’s soles.

The unlabeled, non enumerated vagaries of our world
cowardly whinge in the background
while the assertive actions of the flowers
and falcons shout out loud for their own preservation.

Food chains serve as feeding trays for those cells
who have bound together with that joie de vivre
necessary to drive the generic engine of nature
in their direction. This predilection
to protect the potent and powerful
among us is not simple chance

but a predetermined proclamation
from our divine protectorate pushing
the proper paupers forward until they find
themselves ensconced in the holy foliage of nature's glory.
Paul Butters Sep 2017
No life or death
Pain or pleasure
Galaxy
Or Universe
No more beautiful dawns or dusks
No world of wonders
Or anything
Once we are gone.

So it’s Now Boys!
Attention!
As Huxley said
On “Island”.
Live for Now.
For this very moment.

Stop.
Let your mind go blank.
Listen to your body
And all that surrounds you.

Breathe in the oxygen
That gives us life.
Admire the sky
And all beneath it.

Join with nature:
Sapping grass and foliage
The song of birds
As Mummy Sparrow feeds her fluffy chick
Its beak open wide
Clamouring for food.

Enjoy it all
While it lasts.

Paul Butters
This one has been simmering for a while....
Tatiana Sep 2018
I like to think I'll find peace for me
resting beneath a sycamore tree.
I can't feel its roots burrow into my body,
sapping me of my strength.
No
    No
No
    No
No
Can't you see?
There is peace beneath this sycamore tree.
Look at how it shelters me
in the shade, so I can't see the sun.
No
    No
No
    No
No
What on earth are you telling me now?
This is just a simple sycamore tree
it is not acting sycophantically.
I'm not held down, it's protecting me.
No
    No
No
    No
No
It wants your death to fertilize its growth.
You're rooted to the sycophantic tree.

Just go, there is nothing here for you.
I'm corrupted, leave without me.
© Tatiana
The Tree stands
  tall
    noble
Just as he has for a hundred years
Just as he will for a hundred more.
But time passes differently for a tree

He looks upward
  his boughs
    his branches
They touch the sky
Brush the clouds
Forming their own cloud

His leaves are the purest verde
  a halo
    a crown
He is lord of the oaks
King of the trees
Pride of the forest


He looks down at the common folk
   the maples
     the birches
Their stature only a fraction of his own
He looks down kindly at his subjects
All is well

He sees something else
   small
     deformed
Stubbier than even the shortest willow
It has probably come to pay homage to him
Bow before the King of Trees

But it just stands there
   hands on hips
     chin raised
The very picture of defiance
He just stands there
Looking at him

The King bristles
   the impudence
     the impertinence
How dare this little sprout
The King thunders at this puny creature
His commands go unheard

The creature takes something from its back
   is that...
     wood?
It looks like a branch
Has this beast dared to form an object
From the flesh of a tree?

There is something attached to the branch
   sharp
     shiny
He's never seen anything like it
What blasphemy is this?
What could such a thing be for?

The creature pulls back the branch
   aims
     swings
It connects
Against the Tree
There is a dull chuntk


All of a sudden
   pain
     pain
Unimaginable pain
What just happened?
He screams


(chuntk)


The King of Trees is screaming
   crying
     begging
His subjects watch in silence
Stunned to see their lord behaving like this
This creature must be a demon


(chuntk)


The Demon swings again
   again
     again
He does not hear the King's cries
He continues with his work
Whistling a merry tune

(chuntk)

The Mighty Oak feels only pain
   Inescapable
     Inexorable
His branches shake in agony
Some of his jadey leaves fall to the ground
The Demon tramples them

(chuntk)

The King feels his sap rush out
   burbling
     gushing
Staining the earth blow
Pumping wildly from his death wound
He is sapping to death

(chuntk)

Time crawls past
   weeks
     years
Or maybe just minutes
Time passes differently for a tree
Especially when he's being tortured

(chuntk)

The Tree shudders
   leans
     falls
What's happening?
The impact is the worst part
He lands with a bouush

What just happened?
   he fell
     he landed
He looks down his trunk
He sees a stump
HIS stump

The King of the Forest screams
   a curse
     a blight
A plague upon this thrice acursed demon
May a thousand locusts eat his leaves
May his roots rot into dust for what he has done

The other trees join him
   mourning
     weeping
Lamenting their fallen leader
But the demon ignores them
Pretending not to hear

The lord of the oaks yells at his subjects
   commanding
     pleading
Telling them to shut their eyes
They should not witness this
Should not see their King in such a state

They obey
  eyes shut
    backs turned
They will not embarrass their king
Will not cause him any more humiliation
Will not watch him die

He knows he is dying
  water
    nutrients
They came through the earth
Through his dismembered roots
Without them, it's only a matter of time

Under the pain, he feels something else
   thirst
     hunger
Without his roots, he cannot pull in water
Cannot initiate photosynthesis
Cannot live

The Tree lies there
   low
     humiliated
For how long, he doesn't know
But then, Time passes differently for a tree
Especially when he's dying
Zak Krug May 2013
The sky has darkened,
filled with clouds
a violent, jagged
black. Night has
shifted.
Thundering,
shattering across
the vast horizon.

St. Michael,
the Archangel.
Defend us in
battle.

The dream has given
way to nightmares.
Day retreats
to night.

This battle is
just another
variation of my own
jaded
reality.

I’m having a
conflict of interest.
Who will make it
out alive?

Be our protection
against the wickedness
and
snares of the Devil.

I need it now.

No shield to protect.

Dreams burned
white hot into
the back of accepting
consciousness.
Scarred from memories.

Unforgiving supernatural
spirits working
behind
the veil of what is
and what is to be.

May God rebuke him,
We humble pray.
And do thou,
O Prince of the Heavenly host,
by the power of
God.

These premonitions are growing
in the shadows of self-doubt.
Breeding self-destruction.
I must remember
better times.

If it is to be than
what can be done.
Predetermined outcomes
wait at the tipping
point between
this world
and
the gates of Hell.

Fire whipping through air
sapping life from all forms.
Red glow blinding.
Suffering ,
with a fleeting hope.

I must not forget
what past has presented.
What future holds…

Only when it is accepted that
the calloused hands of
Fate
hold the fragile strings.

Can I truly be free…

From?

****** into Hell Satan and
all the evil spirits.

Oh,
the ending is coming.

If I could only
wake up from this
haunting.
Eyes closed,
listening
to the music of life.
Watching bright light
overcome the
coal black distress.

Who prowl about
the World
seeking the ruin
of souls.

I can make it.
The time to be idle
has passed!
This battle will
turn into
all out
war.
When all one must do
is be the best person
they can be.

I can
And will.

I must.

Amen.
Robyn Kekacs Feb 2013
Destroy me
You phantom of a frostbit branch
The window thin as ice but
Thick enough to shut you out, I'd say
To throw a cold shoulder
But you hold the thermostat in your palm
To bade our blades much colder

It falls so softly, induces
Coughing, ravaged throats
Coated in mucus and eucalyptus
And dry as toast
Your accumulation stings.
Builds around my every-thing
Traps me, while you sag on limbs
Sapping at the sight of heat, you
Squelch beneath studded rubber
Soles, and unsuspecting stockings

We react to you in opposites
Sway a daydream tropical
In stiff and childish ways of yours, you drop your toys
Ground to numbing dust
So it falls among the rest of us just waiting
For your twin's return

It's not your choice, to have remains
That soak the grains of greater plains
That lavish in the wreck of your rule.
But to keep the warmth, from coming on
Long after silver bells are gone
Are cold and jealous actions of a fool.
Seema Nov 2017
The sky split open
I'm ****** in a whirlpool
My body light as a feather
I am used as a tool
In another world or dimension
I not know the place
But it's too familiar
And I recognize that evil face
A demon of this world
A satanic being with filthy evil powers
Sapping my energy, draining
And this forces me to be awake for hours
Lying on my bed, praying hard
To prevail, evil forces from destroying my spirituality
Alas, I get pinned down most days
Like that of a nasty shaman practising ***** sexuality
Hitting on my chakras, stealing my energry
For somehow, I feel this person is attached to me
Please believe me, I am not insane
I feel his presence around me
And then I am left dealing with my pain
I am a spiritual person and used to feel my positive auras
Now that I am draining from my so called sickness
And feel my energy used by another for astral travel
A thief, in shadows, I can't even sketch coz of weakness
I wish to get well, I wish to live fully again
But seems, all my tries are going in vain
Hell, seems to be cracked open to let its beings out
To crawl and survive on the energies of high spirituals
Sometimes I wake up sweating with a shout
May be that's the time, this person performs the rituals
From another place unknown to me
Stealing from my meditation vault, my energies
And I am too blinded to believe and see
Coz I feel I'm in mercurial abyss, with some alienetic synergies...
Kim Johanna Baker, this poems is dedicated to you my dear poetess friend. May you get well soon :)
Rob Sandman Apr 2016
This Poem is dedicated to the lives lost while climbing the most unforgiving Peaks in the world.
" "Why did you want to climb Mount Everest? * "
" *Because it's there.
"
George Leigh Mallory* 1923

Eyes stinging,I'm facing up to the test,
realising that this could could be the death of me yet,
take a peek at the peak from under my hood,
life sapping winds leech heat from blood.
Of a lesser one maybe,but me no never,
take the pace easy,got to box clever

As the hurricane howls I know I can't sweat,
if you do you lose heat,that's the kiss of death,
push endurance to the max through the **** zone,
keep your mind right cause you're on your own,
stay positive,already faced K2,
Savage Mountain behind me,time for take two*
taking on the monster,most unforgiving,
Goddess of the sky,sacrifices the living,
of the ones who tried 9% have died,
Sagarmatha- I say a silent prayer for their lives.

Don't want my name on the roll of the lost,
souls wandering the peak like a host of ghost's,

save a thought for the Sherpa's,unflinching guides,
without whom the attempt is sheer suicide


Is it Vanity?, Ego? that pushes us to climb,
the 8 thousand plus defy man and time
I can't answer-even though I know the ledge
all I know is life's sweeter when you're on the edge,
of the precipice the gap between life and death
preserve your oxygen-steal each breath,

Born risk taker- adrenaline drug of choice,
free-dived blue hole,flew Carl's walls heights,
but this is the big one,can't take fright-
or I'll be frozen like a statue,by the dawn's cold light,
point of no return strength got to summon it,
whole life leads to the push for the summit."
as it says at the top this is a Poem dedicated to the lives lost in the pursuit of the ultimate.
Here in the immensity of cosmos,
I thought I knew
The oceans of stars
As the oceans of earth.
Why I believed I’d found
The expanse soul of all
To contain the enormity of wisdom
I gathered over and beneath.

But then I learned,
I was some lost poet
To a long-perished supernova,
Mislead by a glutton black hole
Feeding on everything he believed
To be pure admiration from below.
Sapping both my faith and fate
And then spewed out my love
Too foreign for his taste.

Two light years gone
And so was everything I believed in,
Now I am wandering explorer
Misunderstood by what he mastered.
But like every falling star
Accompanied by a wish;
Every quivering light
Attuned to the beat
Of every man’s heart;
I heard your call,
Out of billions of beatings
Looming above and under.

So this be my eternal vow-
I’ll be the wordsmith
Loyal to the music of your soul
To letter out your symphonies;
To muster your melody;
To memorize your tone.
And with all these,
No longer be I alone
On my journey to the cosmos.
Because you and I be
The song which shall go on
Filling the immeasurable space.
That despite its galactic
Difference to what everyone knew,
Never will we be lost.
It may not be earthbound,
But we know it’s real
Like a rare flower
Seeking affinity to the universe.
It shall bloom and be remembered
As one of a kind love
In the Milky Way.
For the Prince of Charms, Julius Nequia.
Written year 2004
Ryan Clark Jan 2013
The wind sweeps the leaves from their home;
Chilling the air and silencing heat.
This is the season of passing
Solstice of winter sleep.

Though the cold wards many,
I do not own such luxury.
My mind sits restless,
focusing on carrying my weary feet...

This weather invades my heart,
as it is shrouded over me,
by stingy fridged lips
sapping the strength from every beat.

So as my joints stiffen,
As my lungs freeze,
My resolve dissipates
fading into the darkness that kisses my heels.

I must keep moving...
"till I hear the death bell's ring
or I reach my randevu.
Spring
Ryan Z Ricciardi Jan 2013
Derived from the remnants of sacrificed thought
fragmented reminders of lessons taught
**** the device used to rose tint our sins
and shatter mirrors that sustain fake grins.
With self painted visions, we are pacified
Convinced...
Horrors inflicted have been indemnified.

Tied to past convictions we cannot shed
commitments that exist solely in our head.
Painstaking attempts to make justified
the pain that we've caused that cannot be denied.
Who are the victims of decisions we've made?
If given the chance...
Our suffering for theirs, could we bear to trade?

Whispered snickers hint at retribution
offer redemption but no solution.
Mistakes which drizzled in unspectacular drops
collected in pools and drowned cultivated crops.
Prisms of pain inflicted by selfish choices
Cut deeper...
When we ignored the pleas in our victim's voices.

Pointed fingers say all that needs to be said
our peers may believe us better off dead.
But the harder we try to fix our mistakes
the more ground we lose, that we cannot retake.
With guns to our heads, and a knife in our back
No weapons...
Us against the world, and we're under attack.

Weight of responsibility burdens our souls
sapping our strength and confusing our goals.
Stripped of our artillery, naked and exposed
inside we're screaming but appear composed.
The enemy looms larger with each of our errors
Weakened by defeat...
Realization strikes, We are the true terrors
J Patrick H Mar 2013
It's late at night when you realize she's not the one you loved,
or anyone for that matter.
It's late at night when your mind,
a towering serpent of indecision and malnourishment,
a rushing stream of water from the broken end of a fire hydrant,
tearing through steel and ice cubes that litter a middle age class of numeral reunion,
discover the over-keyed lock where metal bends and screams.

Covered in flies and rice,
it retains its bondages, exchanging freedom for self-loathing,
*****-dying in single file,
a honey-gilded tune not thrice too soon.

I seek the corridor where my true love will wait for me,
breathing me in, yet the cane of a blindman.
A clopping corridor, sleek and cobblestone,
artificial and vast, astral.
My true embrace will be that cold one of death, knocking at my door,
pleading my friendship,
sapping from me ***** and calloused hands.

A wet kiss on the nose, a reddened tongue.

I don't know the latitude of my existence.
I can't feel the reality of my throat,
of the gushing and the breathing of winds,
blocking the eternal stream of air.
The currents broke, and from within blew a heavenly melody,
that pierced cold ears boundlessly.

Again, that same street.
Lit faintly from above and from the participants in its ritual.
They burn the wax together.
And they sink,
O paradox!
Together, with their victories of mental triumph,
they recede further into torment and inefficiency,
quantified and numerical,
arrange themselves by merit and consequence.

Again, they sink and plummet and fall,
deeper into wonder and beauty.
Until it abandons them and spills over the edges,
splattering the circumscription,
dabbing alligator skin and sunglasses.

Inspecting the damage done,
he lifts from within its belly a tattered and worn skull,
that of a Man, no less.
Rusting in the desert, alone and among his gods,
bone-dry plains and dunes of dust,
rumbling agelessly the shaken scared earth.
IrieSide Jan 2023
sacred magic
of starlike
electricity
courses through
neurons
into infinite
awakening

magic, this sacred magic
gives life meaning
a combustion
and the ignition
of some holy
engine

find this truth
if you're far,
remember this calling
my dear friend
Andreas Simic Jun 2022
I used to think this a term for athletes
Late in their careers
Past their prime

Yet I sit here now
Looking at the pill dispenser
Filled to the brim each day

Not long ago I didn’t even own one
Until the litany of trials and tribulations began
A never ending trail to doctors

Blood and ***** tests,
CT scan, then MRI, followed by
an endoscopy and an Ultrasound

Now four separate ailments identified
The fifth without a diagnosis
Stealth, planning an untimed attack

No grandparents, parents, uncles left
A dear high school friend gone at an early age
My buddy for many years departed

Now this
My youngest brother passing
Far before his time

A two week cold or flu sapping my energy
Then some bug decides to invade
So I curtail eating, on mostly fluids now

I feel weak
And exhausted
And washed up

Andreas Simic©
The god from the past came stalking,
Came clambering over the hill,
He’d woken first thing in the morning
With a hangover, fit to chill,
Those Roman debauches with grapes and wine,
The reds and the whites of the Tuscan kind,
The fruit of an overburdened vine,
Were sapping his energy still.

He’d rubbed at his eyes in the dawning,
And wondered where everyone went,
For nothing remained of the Roman baths
Not even a soldier’s tent,
And where was the maiden he’d last embraced
The sweet  Lucina, so fair of face,
Whose long held virtue was laid to waste
When the force of his love was spent.

Invidia’s green and brooding eyes
Had watched as he laid her down,
Had mixed her potions to match his lies
As they struggled, there on the ground.
She thought, ‘No god should be so remiss
As to offer a rival a tainted kiss,
From now, I’ll act as his Nemesis,
He’ll sleep while the world turns round.

She poured him a draught of her potion then
The last of his thirst to slake,
Though Empires rose and fell again
She vowed that he’d never wake.
The buildings crumbled and turned to dust
As the god dreamt long of his love, and lust,
While Nemesis thought her scheme was just
And the field turned into a lake.

The ages tired and the gods retired
To their mansions, high on the mount,
But he continued to sleep and dream
More years than he could count,
The god slept through in a dream sublime
While generations were buried in lime,
Two thousand years was a blink in time
For the gods in their banishment.

He woke on a chilly Autumn day
And found himself in a lake,
Shivered once, and then strode away
For his heart had begun to ache,
He walked down into a valley plain
Green and fresh in the Autumn rain,
When out of a tunnel streamed a train
With a scream, and the squeal of brakes.

‘By Juvenal!’ cried the god in shock
As the carriages streamed on by,
Then up above, like a giant gnat
A vehicle flew in the sky.
‘The world has changed since I fell asleep
The gods have fled to the mountain keep,
And men have conjured a giant leap,
The world has passed us by!’

He ran headlong through the tunnel
Hoping to find Lucina again,
And that was the great explosion that
Nobody could explain.
The diesel engine was rendered flat
With carriages piled on top of that,
While Nemesis on the mountain sat
Her tears flowing like rain!

David Lewis Paget
tread Feb 2013
Like a viser I advise that you finally find your eyes
Peaked and bordered by a toque the  sun cant stop to shine
Yet light obliviates eyeballs well adjusted to the rain
Can make the same eyeballs rise to re-perceive again
In this corporate quest investment is on par with love
Always carrying cash like a box of rubber gloves
Defend against the right to starve and strangle on the street
Gain the right to put a diamond right above my seat

Altercations alter authors read atop the altar
The Council of Nicaea building progress not to falter
Piling future thought like a towered Jenga game
Is funny *** it's true to say the atheists are the same.

Preachy ******* carrying Richard Dawkins in one hand
Sapping all that's holy from a gold block into sand
Crying because life is now a fight or flight response
A nihilist is just another  ****** fanatic ****

A nihilist is the strangest
A suicide bomber using words
Making sure you understand it's worthless and it burns
Bombing every holy site stacked deep inside your brain
Proving that within this life you've got nothing to gain
He pretends you come from blank and end up there again
Forgetting that's impossible,
Hypothetically insane.

If we came from nothing, return to nothing
Where's all this from, then?
Nothing can't exist by implication, but we can?
When I say that everything is nothing
What I mean:
Is nothing is the everything that we all can clearly see.
SamBee Feb 2013
Perched up on stumps,
Weightless lumps:
Foul odored ogres,
Craving crazing vultures,
Picking eyes for pies,
Picking claws at jaws,
Ears for their fear
To hear their screeching;
Their cold blood sapping;
Soaking leaves;
Falling trees to steal their rings,
To **** their singing,
To end their scratching branched voices scrape the streaking air:
A current of palpable energy.

These ogres drain and gain one more breath.

One more- to be saved from death.
How tragic a sight to see
Is when the ogre becomes the tree heaving and wallowing,
Begging, crawling the earth in hope of breath or birth;
In hope of resurrection.

But how tragic it is an ogre must
Break so many backs to gain it back;
To strive to live when their lives are
Less than nothing.

And the eager ogres cry crimes;
Lay in lies;
Drip through time:
Vultures circling,
Craving,
Crazing,
To feed their need,
To give to a life not worth a strand.
Jessica Woodward Mar 2011
The wind, it calls, through foggy day
T o dazzle dust and drive dirt away.
But some of these darkened vertex
Hide the stories and forever perplex
The strengths of tested 'feel-good' fables,
Denouncing sciences' empirical labels:
Too thin, too fat, too short, too tall,
Too hairy, too bald, too square, too like a ball,
Too strong, too weak, too open to lies,
To encompassing of stories of the skies.
Too angry, too meek, too full of passion,
So give us pills!  It's the latest fashion!
Dose us up on your chemical compounds,
Stop us from disclosing rebellious sounds
Which remind us that not all we know,
Are these soul-******* television shows:
Nip-Tuck, What NOT to Wear, Big ******* Brother,
This is the modern day 'Watch With Mother',
Feeding false standards, 'Bieber-fied' norms,
Sapping energy, becoming a nation of vacant gorms.
So Yes! Hide your kids, hide your wife,
Open your own doors, live your own life,
Because this **** ain't going nowhere,
And even without a deity, a higher force is watching, somewhere.
Jack Mar 2015
.

Crooked pathways
twisting and turning
through sarcastic shadows
and broken branch detours
draining every desire

Climbing mountains, daily inclines
sapping strength
in challenges formed
of uphill battles
in a losing war

Following stagnant streams
flooded with teardrops
raining on every parade
of drenched floats with
soggy paper flowers

Blinded by the sun
wishing for white clouds
that only hover much darker
than those lonely nights
with no moon to hold you

Or lonely highways
of dotted line decisions
changing lanes
hoping for an exit
but finding a dead end...

Know that there will be a light
glowing of a caring heart
beaming brightly, illuminating the way
in every fog riddled alleyway
you may wander, for…

Wherever life leads you
no matter what you may face
obstacles that might present themselves
I will travel this journey with you…
you will never be alone
A poetic promise
Life is cold,
Oh maybe life isn't cold.
We people are,
Making life miserable for each other.
Hating and not accepting that we were meant to love not hate.
Hate just hurts,its no good feeling.
It brings us misery and lures us into thinking its strength.
Getting rid of human life so fast!like it didn't take a process to be born. Life is sadder these days,
The news is so energy sapping.
Its hopeless,the only hope is love.
Love,accept,respect,judge less.
Kenny H Jun 2013
If at once we were something, we were a song
A glowing tarantella bouncing around,
Blazing tambourines grasped with gypsy fingers
Without dismay,
Free to see the world
The way God created it
With all its great beauty
And all the great cracks in the Earth,
We dance we dance to crack the Earth
Our song did touch the core.

If now we are something, we are lingering,
We drowned in our tears trapped in an hourglass,
The sand sapping away any life and now
Hardened black mud,
The hopelessness stuck
Along with the grains and tears
Trapped much like a gypsy
And like the gypsy we may dance
But its sloppy and stiff, no life,
Our song did touch before.

Now our song and dance vanished
Settling in a nice grave,
We lay in our hourglass
Still in our bridal garments
Staring at each other from the other side
Wondering who will drown first.
Y nuestras lágrimas nos ahogaron means "And our tears drowned us" in Spanish
Things are much simpler now
and simplicity is bliss
I can shout to the world now
because I know you're not listening
and your ears were the only one's that mattered
they were the only one's I censored
I can even scream your name
so loud
that my larynx catches fire
and I start choking and hacking
but you would hear neither
your name
nor the choking and hacking
or the hoping and sapping
or the slapping of my heart on the pavement

That slap was so simple
and simplicity is bliss
but it's the confusion
and complexity that I miss
I wish my heart wouldn't just slap on the pavement
lifeless
I wish it would put up a fight
and die with some pride
but it just got smacked out of my chest
by your hand
for cars to run over
like road ****.

— The End —