"screaching" poems
I hear a voice
Screaching noise
Is it in or outside my head?
Is it mad?
Is it sad?
Is it my brain
Or my heart that's dead?
Well ill cut it out
Slice it up
Take it out to the back
To the streets
To the thugs
Pass it off as ****
Can you feel me?
Can you hear me now?
Ill shine my shoes
and get my coat
They'll never know
Ill be on top
Be a rock
Be the star of the show.
Am I experiencing reality yet?
Well this is what
Staying up til 5 am does
Ive got an itch that I cant scratch
Im covered in membrane and dust.
Sharpin my knife
Dont think twice
Ill disect the top layer
Take out the bad
Leave the good
But then there is
Nothing there
At all.
Try to put
It back in
But it doesn't fit
So ill serve it on a hot plate
Let you take it all in.
How's it taste?
Whats it like?
Don't ask the price.
Is it hot?
Does it burn?
Does it stick to your tounge?
You can't afford it anyway.
You cant afford it anyway.
Dec 19, 2014
Dec 19, 2014 at 11:59 PM UTC
The Knackers-Yard nursing home, rotted and bleak
Where the occupants dribble and seldomly speak
And the medicine is strong while the coffee too weak
Where there's never a care a fuss
There's a trip to the bingo on regular days
And they visit the beaches, the rivers and bays
For the brick-a-brack stalls and the knitting displays
In a rusty mobility bus
Prunella, the wagon of elderly types
With a blanket for every lap
She's a trusty machine of a hideous green
And she's Queen of the Watford Gap
One morning in May when the weather was grim
Miss Margaret Maywither went on a whim
To converse with the orderly, Terrible Tim
And they sat there and shot at the breeze
They nattered and gabbed a selection paces
And tried to put names to familiar faces
But Maggie with plans to discover new places
Relieved the young man of his keys
Prunella, the stolen mobility bus
Where the wings of bingo flap
With a window down and a dressing gown
She's Queen of the Watford Gap
She took to the road with a skeleton crew
Some heart-attack red or a worrying blue
And frequently stopping when tablets were due
They made for a hasty escape
With a foot to the floor and a screaching of tyres
A stopping of traffic and starting of fires
Such fun can be had when a lady retires
In a bus held together with tape
Prunella, the choice of the senior crowd
Each wrinkled lass or chap
There's a lift for the crips and titanium hips
And she's Queen of the Watford Gap
The police gave a chase at a sensible speed
As the Prunella and Margaret rapidly flee'd
When escape is impossible, each one agreed
They would rather be dead than be caught
With a tug of the wheel and a rattle of teeth
With a serpent of tyre smoke writhing beneath
It was probably too late to order a wreath
And the chance of survival was nought
Prunella, on fire and twisted apart
A smouldering pile of scrap
With the wreckage and grease of a dozen police
She's Queen of the Watford Gap
May 6, 2014
May 6, 2014 at 5:48 AM UTC
gears turning
grinding
screaching
creating
a mechanical me
ingredients fold into a mixing bowl
a pinch
a dash
concocting a potion
poisonous to exposure
this liquidates in the basin of my mind
mixing with machinary
creating a technical malfunction
I will forget what I forgot to remember
I will try to explain
how I can't explain
why the static in my brain
has a constant refrain
but
all of this is hidden
under layers of flesh
disguising the deformity
under my skin.
Nov 25, 2011
Nov 25, 2011 at 5:34 PM UTC
Screaching
This is not a love song
This is not a love song
This is not a love song
Aimless rants
Don't you know
Wiseless Johnny
******* man
Just how you inspire me
This is not a love song
This is not a love-songong
Mar 18, 2012
Mar 18, 2012 at 11:08 PM UTC
I hear a voice
Screaching noise
Is it in or outside my head?
Is it mad?
Is it sad?
Is it my brain
Or my heart that's dead?
Well ill cut it out
Slice it up
Take it out to the back
To the streets
To the thugs
Pass it off as ****
Can you feel me?
Can you hear me now?
Ill shine my shoes
and get my coat
They'll never know
Ill be on top
Be a rock
Be the star of the show.
Am I experiencing reality yet?
Well this is what
Staying up til 5 am does
Ive got an itch that I cant scratch
Im covered in membrane and dust.
Sharpin my knife
Dont think twice
Ill disect the top layer
Take out the bad
Leave the good
But then there is
Nothing there
At all.
Try to put
It back in
But it doesn't fit
So ill serve it on a hot plate
Let you take it all in.
How's it taste?
Whats it like?
Don't ask the price.
Is it hot?
Does it burn?
Does it stick to your tounge?
You can't afford it anyway.
You cant afford it anyway.
May 18, 2021
May 18, 2021 at 1:46 PM UTC
How the wild flickering shadows are dancing a cold orange dance on my wall.
Lights are off, that way I can see better with my eyes closed.
I can smell the cold. I inhale it and welcome it into my body.
A hollow heart filled with love, it is flowing over and it eats my soul.
Whispering..NO screaming with my mouth shut tight.
Desire of burning it away, resisting harmful fire.
Do not stick your hand into the flame. Do not stick your hand into my burning heart.
For it will tear it apart, until there is nothing left.
All paint scratched away, screaching sounds of metal and ringing bells.
Can you hear the wind? It blows fierce upon these plains.
Those old stones, forgotten loves and missed chances.
A graveyard of dreams filled with wooden crosses for those unanswered cries.
Sep 14, 2010
Sep 14, 2010 at 1:44 PM UTC
Pulling away, leaving behind
the memories, the love, the warmth, my mind
Picking up speed, escaping the past
the worries, the pain, the anguish, outcast
Accelerating, visions are beginning to blur
inside, screaming, twisting, longing for her
Speeding, the machine, vibrating it shakes
it might just be me, do I have what it takes
Fighting to hold on, I am hitting the bend
excitement, release, approaching the end
Sliding, screaching, tyres trying to hold
an instant of noise, pain, it's getting so cold
No longer the senses, no sight, smell or touch
although floating away, I remember so much
will I find her again, will she recognise me
did I do the right thing, will I finally be free
Jul 5, 2025
Jul 5, 2025 at 6:23 AM UTC
BodyAlone
I am a little restless with the sound of a child screaming
It's hard to keep breathing
I try to shut my ears to it
That tiny thing screaching
Walk away real fast
To stop the intensified feelings
Of that baby wailing
It's easier to stay away
All alone in my home
When it's her first birthday
I'd rather stay at home
I could never hold your daughter
With those tiny little hands
Watch her pursed rose bud lips
These things I couldn't stand
The smell of warm milky breath
The suckling noise they make
This tiny person all brand new
These things I couldn't take
I could never change a *****
Or pat her back to burp
With her little eyes all glazed
It just wouldn't work
Please don't think me selfish
As you can never see
Or feel the hurt of the childless
Your never feel as me
My insides are empty
From hope throughout the years
That never amounted to nothing
I spend some days in tears
That inside I'm broken
My heart it cracked in two
For the wanting of a baby maybe even two
When she grows up and gets married
Has a baby of her own
Then your be a granny
But I'll still be alone
Feb 23, 2014
Feb 23, 2014 at 9:27 AM UTC
there's nothing left on the table
there's nothing left in the garden
there's nothing left for me to tell you
and there's nothing left for me to lose
but there's nothing right
and there's nothing wrong
you've given me lots of words yeah
you've told me quite a story
you've given me quite a few
and yeah I'm really really sorry
but I can't seem to stay angry
no I can't seem to stay mad
you know you're downright sideways
and I'm neither happy nor am I sad.
words really like to run their mouths
find the leather bound book
by my sorry little bed and
you'll find it's filled to the brim
with thoughts from my head and
they're not the best thoughts
and they're not the very worst but
I'll never have them last and
I can't say I've had them first
but I guess I guess
they're thoughts nonetheless
whether or not they're
tidy or a mess
oh little sun little sun
won't cha give me some light
I'm looking for happiness
or at least a good fight
show me something old and
then show me something new
and I'll tell you that it's all the same
for me and for you because well
everyone is everyone and
we've all got our own paths and
they make a little ant colony
they make a nice hammock
you can sit within its net of strings
and swing away in the summer winds
but you can also take a sharp little knife
and cut a knot in its complicated web and
you'll see where that gets you
whether you like it or not
broken down train of thoughts
screaching to an end and
in the end I can't find anything
better than a friend
for there's nothing at all like being alone
but it's pretty nice when you can do that with someone else
Sep 29, 2015
Sep 29, 2015 at 9:32 AM UTC
Shhhhhh Listen closely as you can hear the sound of silence screaming through the air.
Why must it sound haunted and be filled with pain , and not the muse of laughter singing silently in the rain .
The sound of silence rings like a bell , one of screaching one of yell.
It doesn't twinkle oh so bright , tis the sound of silence we fear at night.
Not the sounds we may hear nor the sights we can see,
Not even the brushing limbs up in the tree
Just the sound of silence screaming loud and clear this sound brings lonely silence oh so near.
Feb 17, 2019
Feb 17, 2019 at 1:47 AM UTC
Unlike you I can't sit still
Unlike you I cant focus
Unlike you every sound pounds my brain
like a hammering fist till my vision is blurry
like a dog whistle screaching at pitches you could never hear
rattling my brain
Unlike you I can't understand jokes
Unlike you I can't do things that are of no intrest
Unlike you I cant stand the feeling of the shirt on my back
like snadpaper scrating my skin wraw
like a snake squeezing the air out of my lungs untill I can no longer breath
Breaking my ribs
Apr 14, 2022
Apr 14, 2022 at 2:31 PM UTC
My body is MY body
But I don't feel it is.
Because they have thought my body was theirs to criticize.
Because she had thought my body was safe in the fire, while my body burned
for
eighteen
years.
Because he told my body that my body is his to abuse.
I believed them.
And her.
And him.
Dabbing cover up on my face to cover up the pain from him.
Hearing her words,
you are fine.
Smear it in.
They can't see me cry.
I release the pain when nighttime comes.
When darkness and my body turn into one.
"Someone needs to teach your body a lesson"
are the words that keep screaching,
like the sound of innocent prey being feasted upon.
My body is convinced that he was right.
So I seek out ways to end my life.
Victimized,
but my body survived.
When will my body know that it is mine?
Mine to honor, protect, and love.
I've been in the fire,
I've burned for too long.
I keep touching the fire.
I can't stop.
Because,
the fresh burns will always be less painful than the lasting scars.
Feb 20, 2017
Feb 20, 2017 at 11:19 AM UTC
.
By a guy who is
Simultaneously getting
**** - ******
does she get credit for *******
2 guys at once ?
••
This is one of the questions
SCREAMING IN THE SILENCE !!!
We fail ( alas ) to address
;:;
According to our EXPERTS
poetry is the INK of pain
Or perhaps they mean
The OINK of pain
//
The expert is your pal
He won't tell you how to stop suffering
But his smarmy words will tell you to go on and on !
and suffer in vain !
OH THANK YOU MR EXPERT !
oh ,,, and you are
Watching out for us
THANK YOU DADDY POET !
SCREACHING FROM THE MAD HOUSE
WHERE YOUR FANS TRY TO SURVIVE
THE ******** OF YOUR LIES
)(
She rclaimed her dignity
She threw away her PAPER
and spilled her INK in the gutter
)(
You can tell she is a poet
Because in her arms
She is carrying a child
X
Jul 30, 2016
Jul 30, 2016 at 5:52 PM UTC