"scummy" poems
I feel like such an idiot because,
My thoughts are masochistic.
I don't know if I should feel-
Embarrassed or desolate.
Maybe scummy is a better word.
Dec 21, 2014
Dec 21, 2014 at 1:24 AM UTC
My tummy needs a yummy,
Like a plummy tasty gummy.
I'm in a slummy feeling crummy,
Give me something in my tummy.
Please don't treat me like a scummy,
And don't look at me like a dummy.
I don't want to drink a rummy,
But a yummy in my tummy.
Mommy can I get a yummy,
I don't want to starve my tommy.
Please offer me some plummy tasty gummy.
Jun 9, 2014
Jun 9, 2014 at 12:58 AM UTC
"Don't leave out the graphic details."
Oh, trust me. I won't.
The gruesome, disturbing, intimacies.
The bone-chilling, hair-raising fragments.
It's almost too much to bear.
But not quite.
This vulgarity is just enough to keep them on the edge of their seats.
Every tiny, twisted moral of the story.
In between the cracks, find shining slivers of redemption.
Only to immediately cover them up with rotten deception.
Good, ***** flair. Scummy additions. Sick annotations.
Keep the masses rollin' in.
Complexity, concentration, then chaos when they want more fear.
The blood-curdling, stomach-churning truths.
The disgraceful, distasteful deductions.
We've come to the conclusion they crave this coagulation of ****
Dark disdain eating away at the corpse of wellness.
Vermin, pests, gnawing, slobbering.
Choking on the bones of prosperity.
The decomposition of this life is what they love.
Flies, gnats, swarm. Maggots clump.
Crack, rip, slurp, gag, choke, ******* die.
Sep 8, 2010
Sep 8, 2010 at 6:57 PM UTC
In every bad-day-dream,
you have ever had.
There was always
a giant
Silver Serpent.
Staring at you.
&
Just a slithery second
away from your snatch.
That little ghost-tail.
Apparition-creature-thing.
That everyone seems to talk about?
While he is.
Slithering in through
the cracks of your mind.
&
Out of your hollowed out
graveyard heart.
I say, Astro.
Don't chu know?
Ya can't trick him.
Cause he is many years dead,
before you.
You can visit, him.
You just need a
different air-plane
to travel in.
Think about it.....
You little astral-star,
you.
Need to listen, closely.
Serpent talk
is
simply shady-speech
for
slutty-scummy-snakes.
Jun 3, 2012
Jun 3, 2012 at 5:26 PM UTC
Scribbles on a yellow notepad, this ink won't last
Letting sweat dry from a long walk, half way there
I didn't notice it on my first passing, or my second
Third time is the charm they say, don't they?
Now I sit in this scummy drainage ditch, writing
A tree, growing from a pile of waste concrete
Dumped carelessly by rough, tired, hands
Green leaves adorn it, this oddity, only a sapling
Like a flower on the peak of Mount Everest
Or an ice cube in the middle of the Gobi
This is not so grand, this urban contradiction
Some day it will be as tall as me, maybe taller
Stretching its limbs, eroding its base
Praising sun rays through photosynthesis
Pushing down roots through man made constructions
Reclaiming the soil from which all life springs & returns
Oct 4, 2010
Oct 4, 2010 at 5:12 AM UTC
Oh my love,
You are the three day old milkshake to my fuzzy green polyp,
You are the scummy rotten pizza to my mold,
The intestine to my tape worminess,
Undoubtedly the toes to my carnivorous fungi,
The grungy wet towels to my mildew,
The unbrushed gums to my pus filled canker,
The ancient decaying wood to my deadly black sludge,
The inflamed skin to my oozing pustule,
The cone shape to my keratoacanthoma...
Without you; I would cease to exist.
Apr 27, 2010
Apr 27, 2010 at 4:34 PM UTC
I wonder if you look in the mirror and like what you see.
I wonder if you miss what you used to be.
I wonder if you realize what you are,
You're going to be that girl who works at the stripper bar.
You're defensive, scummy, and rude,
Although we made up, we're still in this feud.
I don't know what you did undergo,
But you've changed, and that's all I know.
Nov 24, 2011
Nov 24, 2011 at 1:31 PM UTC
Hey, honey
who did you **** to get into this party?
The whole wide world
is watching the same skin flick,
******
tickled
and slick
with scummy scrangjjjjjj
scrangggjjjjjjjj
that's code for *****
in some ancient Indoasian
dialect
you only ever heard from Indiana Jones.
I slip and slide into
her *****
in my backyard
in the middle of my tenth birthday party
and it's warm,
it's warm and safe
and I like it here.
I like it everywhere.
Humidity is the closest thing
I have to a God
there's a forest of ***** hair
growing on the bathroom rug.
I'm sorry that you had to walk on it.
My little brother's
got eyes in the back of his head,
they blink and look around
and you have got to watch your back around him
because he's fast
as a ************
too.
Today I am concerned about
the price of oil
not because I drive
but because my fictional wife
stops putting out
the minute it hits four dollars.
You've got an awfully perdy mouth
for someone who just got hacked to pieces.
I'd like to frame your lips
if you'd let me,
that would be nice,
right above my fireplace,
on the mantle,
next to the ******* cutouts
I've been saving since I was seven.
Is it glue that's holding them together,
God I hope so
because everyone keeps touching it
whenever they come to visit.
Come.
To visit.
haha
I like to laugh,
laughter is medicine for the soul,
Chicken Soup
for the Pre-Teen's Soul
is really just full of
**** anecdotes
but the kids don't tell their parents that,
why do you think they sell so well?
I'm a *******
something
****
I've run out of ideas
at this point in time
it's getting awful hard
to continue my schoolwork
because
let's face it
one can only learn about
bonds
so many times
before the skin
from ones' face
starts to peel
off ones' skull
and slide into ones' hands
and fall onto ones'
***** carpet.
It stares up at you
accusingly,
no eyes,
and it speaks.
"What's the deal with airline food?"
you
me
we
say.
May 6, 2013
May 6, 2013 at 2:05 PM UTC
Alkaline eyes
As if pierced by some awl,
As if hallowed by some blunt axe,
As if to juxtapose
Bee stung lips.
Cabaret music,
Dead souls,
Dancing corpses.
Ella Enchanted:
Swinging, Swirling, Swaying, Swabbing
Sick, Suffering, yet
Sauntering;
Sweaty Socage with
Scummy Suede-heads,
Stocking
Satan’s Sweet Sibling.
Swollen Skeleton,
Skin Shunned and Shivering,
Shadowed, her face;
Shock-less eye Sockets
Tired grow her limbs,
Unction bottled in her heart.
Unaware, her clientele,
Zeal in their eyes.
Nov 2, 2011
Nov 2, 2011 at 10:14 PM UTC
For My Sister
Doll face, what does it matter
if you're ugly as hell?
If you’re short or you’re fat
Or your face is full of pimples?
Why the hell should it matter?
Sweetness, who gives a ****
If you tie your laces upside down?
And your left hand smudges the words on the page?
If you break down crying at the sight of rotting road ****
Who is anyone to laugh at you?
Who is anyone to tell you who you are?
I am sick and tired of seeing your red-rimmed eyes
I am sick and tired of seeing what they do to you
I hate to see you hurt and I crave the very best for you
I want you to be happy in all the ways you can
Let go of it all and crawl on the ceiling, weightless
Darling, people are messed right up
And we've all got cuts and stitches and oozing wounds
But don't let the bruised and beaten up punks
the privileged warriors, the wait-listed mental patients,
the scummy lost wanderers, the vengeful aching souls,
Tell you it matters if you're ugly as hell
Please please please
Understand you are so much more than a shell
than an exoskeleton of a soul
You are a glorious, bruised and beaten up,
Ugly, pimpled masterpiece,
And it's a shame that they don't see it
Jun 18, 2013
Jun 18, 2013 at 11:15 PM UTC
An air drying Anhinga, wings open, upon an askew cart for groceries, sat thinking of fishes of the scummy retention pool
Feb 10, 2010
Feb 10, 2010 at 7:04 PM UTC
The great guru come an all the little boys an girls become angels or saints or whatever
But some jes ignored the creep and went to college an got drunk and now owe millions a dollars to the government and got married
And are miserable little scummy people who vote for ******** and thieves and complain about it
And the angels jes float around talkin a peace an that **** but do look happy I don't know it's all strange here makin no sense at all
But I jes watch wait an do nothin much about anything
•
Then I seen all the dumb high school ******* dickin wit their razor blades and ****** fire hydrants or something so weird
Whatever!
It got me mad with myself sittin an laughing I
Don't know
I decided to be a saint an float around but I don't speak a peace but a yer friggin insanity an plead wit ya ta knock it da **** off it ain't necessary but ya say it is so keep on doin it if ya feel like it I gotta go it alone if yer so **** complacent about it ya know what I mean?
It a great life if ya live
But if ya don't
It's jes a joke
Wit no one laugh at it
Ya know what I mean?
Sep 26, 2013
Sep 26, 2013 at 9:20 PM UTC
He gazed at a picture of a child he forgot was ever a part of him, but now that he was no longer alive a memory was an easy task. He stood in front of his former self lacking an answer of whether he was even alive then. His conclusion was a phantom that never showed itself in the light of day, he was absolute ****
Feb 22, 2015
Feb 22, 2015 at 8:11 AM UTC
Pretty girl,
Started out a fellow
All alone there
Hiding in her cellar
Went to the church
The priest said to confess
The scummy man
Then asked her if she dressed.
He said to her
It it was her holy duty
Then he called her ****
And grabbed her by the *****
Pretty girl
****** now and confused.
It never occurred
That she had been abused.
But she had
A friend living next door.
That was me
And I knew she was not a *****
Just a kid
Who in those times
Was reviled
Her gifts from God called a crime.
I took her out
Rollerskating and to dances,
As a girl.
I believed in second chances.
She left school
And started life as a fashion model.
No longer did she
Hide her soul inside a bottle.
A lovely tale
One that could have been so sad;
She stood up
From then on life was not so bad.
Pretty girl
Started her life out as a guy
But much of her
Was too wonderful to deny.
Mar 14, 2017
Mar 14, 2017 at 10:50 PM UTC
Funny how
I dreamt of you
Once
What your skin
might feel like
under my palms
Forbidden
Funny how
I grew out of it
Funny how
I told you
I wasn't interested
That I was
a loyal woman
Weeks later
we drink with friends
the soft trickle
of *** as it
cleanses my lips
and runs down my throat
the soft trickle
of inebriation
starts to roll in
joyful laughter
in a scummy bar
i spoke of him
quite a bit
you smile
agree
and i say
"you're a good friend"
funny how
friendliness is misinterpreted
even through
declaration of devotion
to my lover
who awaits me at home
even through
the words "i trust you"
muttered
as you lift me off the ground
promising to get me somewhere warm
and safe
as i'm vomiting
shaking
in the cold
barely aware of where i am
or how many little glass cups
i've emptied
to empty myself
how many
tiny white straws
i've used up
how many pumps
my stomach
probably needs
Funny how
in what felt like a haze
an odd dream
I didn't scream "NO"
just
drunkenly
laid
there
naked
as you
enter me
let you
turn me over
and make me feel
small
Funny how
I "learned"
growing up
about consent
all the times
my mom told me
to stand my ground
and then
all the times
fear created silence
but ****
was never perpetrated
so i stay
quiet
shamed
violated
I guess you could say it's complicated.
By the way, that's not what I meant by "I trust you."
Apr 11, 2013
Apr 11, 2013 at 3:34 AM UTC
The prettiest place you’ll ever be
I’ll look down and see an old cigarette box
Scattered amongst an insurmountable sea of trash
It’s cock-eyed
Diagonally sticking out of the decrepit weeds
It screams, “I don’t give a ****
Neither do I
I think its beauty surpasses that of Mount Everest
Because I get to feel it, taste it, be in it
I don’t have to gaze at a postcard
Tell myself---over and over---it’s real!
All I have to do is tear it in half
Just a dream sought out by people who are starving for nature to be real
Like one thing didn’t get taken away:
I’ll show you! Here’s a postcard!
I tear
I scream
I don’t give a ****
It’s beautiful because it never imposes that it is
I’ll look at him sitting with a docile glaze
Open your mouth
Decay
Black, old, tattered, toxic to me
Because I can’t look at you
Ugly, tangible and ugly
Crazy son-of-a-bitch
Just don’t rob me, okay, okay?!
I’ll keep walking and cross the streets that are slowly caving in towards that place
They tell us we don’t want to be
Fire? Fire would be best
Probably the best thing to happen
To these forgotten about streets
They’ll nod their heads and crisp into a charcoaled deep-fry
But I cross, because I don’t care about you, you or you
**** YOU CAR
I’ll walk with a purpose because in this whirlpool I can’t have a purpose
So I’ll pretend and walk, walk upward, look forward
I see you, sir, I see you, your eyes feast upon my flesh
You’ll never get me but you sure as hell will get to me
Beady-eyed
I hope the sun will melt your scummy body into these streets, and you’ll burn with them!
This place is beautiful I’m telling you
The Great Wall of China couldn’t compare to its concrete magnificence
I’m dying with it; I’ll take five deep breaths and revel in the fumes of progress
I’ll be on your postcards
We aren’t just Any Town, USA
We are the future *************
And I’m smiling but I’m melting and the flesh, the smell of flesh, unbearable
I’ll take ***** air any day
But before it’s too late, tell those ignorant foreigners
Tell them they can have it too!
We are coming fast
Dying from starvation, dying from hurricanes, dying from AIDS
That’s old news
Tell them they can be beautiful too
And die clutching the remote,
The remote of freedom
CNN
playing
quietly
in
the
background
Nov 3, 2011
Nov 3, 2011 at 11:02 AM UTC
I’ve never learned the way to be content
with scummy hard wood floors in studio apartments
and falling asleep to police sirens and the rush of cars over city bridges
and drug dealers outside my window whose business is only recognizable by night.
Boxes stay kept in the closet where I can’t be bothered by their stares
that beg me to loosen the layers of packing tape wrapped in every direction;
I can’t remember if I’m going to like what’s inside of them and I really,
really don’t want to not like it.
What makes a hundred stranger’s old homes become a home of yours?
Imagination is turning white walls that hold thousands of secrets
between each new layer of paint
into something that whispers familiar things to you before the lights go out.
There’s not enough bleach underneath the sink to wash away the stains of everyone who’s been here first,
no matter how much I scrub,
no matter how many bruises I’ll be willing to find on my knees tomorrow.
Ledges gathered dust of skin particles I hadn't been here to shed
And the bathtub is left with soap remnants rinsed from someone else's body.
My bed fits perfectly over the faded circle of wood in the corner,
and I’m sure theirs did too.
Tonight I’ll sleep to all things made here
and all things lost.
I’ll set my life up on the floor beneath two more
I'll memorize the routine of footstep patterns above me.
I never expected that a fresh start would feel so much more
like a lot of tangled endings.
May 13, 2014
May 13, 2014 at 3:18 AM UTC
Almost all of the photographers I've met
Think love is born from beauty, and
To that end that press
Some model's laughing face
Onto another model's handsome shoulder
Money falls against money
In those pictures.
Most photographers I know
Think peace is the only thing
Worth showing anyone -
A snapshot of hills
With maybe a leaning tree
Or a brook running down the valley -
Green against green in a sick world.
But there is one picture-taker
Who goes the world over in search of love
And finds it in huts and jails and scummy apartments,
Who sees that true peace is a falsehood
And a dream to be achieved
Only long after he is gone;
Only when his pictures become scenes
For wealthy and untroubled eyes
And his whisper is taken up as song.
Apr 18, 2011
Apr 18, 2011 at 8:53 AM UTC
I live on borrowed time
I waste it
I wait around for the end
I don't seek it
Why me?
Why am I alive?
I'm a scummy slimy stupid scuzzy ******
waster
Sep 23, 2013
Sep 23, 2013 at 7:33 PM UTC
Everybody is running
it is a race to the top
be careful with the cunning
and be ready for a flop
Because it is a race to the top
You'll be needing a strategy
either a friend or an enemy
that soon you will drop
because of jealousy
Some will pass you by
then stub you in the eye
Some will push you down
then will take your crown
Some will lend a hand
only to drop you and it's planned
The way to the summit
will never be facile
sure there are scummy
do not be fragile
That is the way to the top
Just play the game
clean and *****
it will never be fair
Apr 19, 2016
Apr 19, 2016 at 5:13 AM UTC
Shedding the peel of last night’s encounter
Memories reel back and turn up louder
I stuff my fingers in my ears to stifle the sound
I shut my eyes closed to escape the images abound
The subtle rays expose my **** body
There laid clothes rumpled and left shoddy
How.
Can.
I
Run.
When Run Can’t be Done.
A film played in my filthy, scummy mind.
Of the deed I did that was much out of line.
A man, a stranger: An eerie ol’ bloke
I let him in, I let him in and out with a stroke
It was inebriation!
A combination of trepidation & degradation.
I didn’t feel love or even a sense of company
But I felt hated, hatefucked when he was in me.
Sep 21, 2013
Sep 21, 2013 at 10:30 PM UTC
Make it about the
desperation and ego
of the modern man.
Disappear into
something thinner than thin air.
From the sides, inward.
"Contemporary"
is too nostalgic for the
days of typewriters.
Serve me my meals cold;
I could have expected this,
but didn't from you.
I'm a modern man,
as lonely and scummy as
the last modern man.
Sep 8, 2016
Sep 8, 2016 at 7:03 PM UTC