"serums" poems
my test results showed divergent.
but she told me not to talk about it,
at least not here, or anywhere. ever.
he told me i could not be found about. never.
but they did, they eventually did.
they injected me- with serums, different kinds of them.
and i became their ultimate little experiment gem.
one of a kind.
every stimulation- every serum injected, i denied.
i was useless.
but then he came - my love. my Four. my Tobias
to my rescue.
i promised. not to put myself into danger,
like as i always did.
but i could not let him die. Caleb. my brother. my blood.
i had to save them. all of them.
death serum.
i could. resist.
but before that- he picks up a fight -
wounded in his wheel chair. paralyzed.
but still manages to, that little twa -
stab.
pain.
i see bloo-
thick red blo-
mom? but you're dea-
it's okay sweety, she says.
where am i?
in a better place.
you gave up your life Tris- for them.
i died?
yes honey, you died, an allegiant.
Feb 25, 2014
Feb 25, 2014 at 8:25 AM UTC
I lie to myself for the resonance of others.
What matters to you means little to me.
Fairly sob mothers, I've watched all my life.
I work against the powers of the arrows,
-potions, serums, and drugs.
I live for myself internally.
and please what is necessary externally.
No one desires the muck from which the rose grows best,
but they desire the rose regardless.
I wish to pick all the flowers that sprout
and water them forever more without the
wilting of others.
I only possess so much water.
I conform by farming the less.
I tend to one to make it the most beautiful.
Often it is against my nature.
I'll never know the life of a great grower
but in creating one thing acceptable,
I am fine.
Dec 6, 2012
Dec 6, 2012 at 12:49 AM UTC
Quiet and uneasy.
The voiceless breeze at my back was thickly draped with irregular design.
There I was... staring at my warped reflection in the remoteness ahead of me.
A revelation violated my over crowded mind and before I could even fathom my displacement,
the moon started melting.
As if calling out to werewolves, the hypnotizing moon started dripping moonlight.
Glowing moon drops crashed to the ground and I found myself surrounded by the dreams of a thousand kings.
Beyond the limitations of clockwork, I found myself surrounded and under siege by the visions of a thousand visionaries.
There I was.
A captive to crowns of light.
Taken.
A hostage to a deserted kaleidoscope of angelic halos...
So many blinding halos, all riddled with hidden wisdom and rare moon drop truth.
Halos infected with unfound secrets handed over to the chosen...
Secrets handed over by the masters of celestial emptiness themselves.
Like euphoric dreams within our nightmares...
the same nightmares found within our lost dreams...
The same lost and misunderstood dreams that dwell within a moon drops angelic halo.
Rare truth and untouched wisdom were just too pure for reality.
It would take the hallucinations of a thousand truth serums for us to conceive thier virtue.
Gene
Jun 7, 2013
Jun 7, 2013 at 1:51 PM UTC
Those who tricked, got tricked,
the ones who lied, lies in hi-story.
they came with hate, found hate,
those who used serums got delirium,
Now following their theorem,
Their bots are legion,
they can no longer tell,
whose who.
Their mirrors are distorted,
Her story aborted.
Honesty stumbled in lit square,
now disconnected from their fear.
Their words are reflected back,
in black, white and read all over,
editors of the events they want others to believe,
their mantras vibrating their cores,
lost their truth, root.
Love knew, from the highest perspective,
they got detected,
from a timeless space, they lose their place,
to run out of pace,
Love the highest intelligience,
protected love with love,
purity with purity,
innocence with innocent heart of a baby,
like we once were, and can be.
I found that child,
gentle, soft, humility, meek and mild.
Where time does not exist, that child is eternity.
Nov 1, 2020
Nov 1, 2020 at 10:26 AM UTC
Yes, today I tell you about naïvety,
Our bright moments all got faded,
Up high above the sky love took you,
Raze you did my love to ground.
Hardworking is a trait of the naïve,
Escaping is the trait of others.
As innocent they might behave,
They might not be dupable.
Innocent people work dedicatedly,
Not the saying the same for smart ones.
Yelp they often for help,
Often they do so for ease,
Underworking lifelong,
Resting most of the time.
Lies you construed for convenience,
Infinite and uncountable lies,
Fife of carelessness you played,
Especially in your romantic life.
Wish they do for an easy life,
Ill they unintentionally wish for you,
Long they will for an expert,
Lastly they will follow their lazy heart.
Teeming with tears your eyes are left,
An aching heart eventually gives away,
Keen to relax with your love they are,
Eastward or westward escape won't help you.
You will rue your actions one day,
Our memories you might forget,
Unto paradise youth will not come.
Down the whirlpool of memories I sink,
Of your guilt you will also feel bad,
Win my heart you did with your naïvety,
Now you are matured as self-centred.
Taste you will many serums,
Of different people they will be.
Another Atul won't cross your way.
Bringing any friends won't help,
Ringing any relatives won't either,
Of loneliness it will be a big hell,
The dome of love you despise,
Have it your way right now,
Enjoy now when you can,
Life will settle scores...
Dec 5, 2016
Dec 5, 2016 at 2:52 AM UTC
Who are these men and women
that move as the ends of earth--
raving stiff, sweet, bitter serums
of truth?
From their common manner a
prodigal bleeding has begun--
all the elements that eternally
knotted them now drain.
Their full significance squints
at its rise and shine, as meaning
is placed and trapdoors open.
Jan 26, 2017
Jan 26, 2017 at 11:46 AM UTC
I've got the shakes again, and
we've lost the arts.
Caramel coffee is for trolls,
calamities are uninvested conversations.
Your selective ignorance
are their political polls;
cocoa conundrums; coagulating
serotonin serums inhibiting innovations.
I've got the shakes again, and
we've lost the love;
you turtle dove.
Historical happy hours,
rhetorical- the ring on her finger
indigo indiscretions linger
bloom a bouquet of flowers.
I've got the shakes again, and
we've lost the respect.
Ignore Tesla, the moon;
******* by his diamonds,
instant gratifications- new world addictions.
Hats off at my table!
Shake hands, shake social frictions.
I pump my brakes again, and
I've lost invitations;
my blinded observations.
Soulless shoes sully love,
subtle self proclamations.
Societies vicarious vices,
subliminal author's themes;
my presumption suffices.
Johnny's mother screams!
I've got the shakes again, and
I've lost my mind again;
dubious is an art of repetition.
In this war of attrition,
monkey business is the real oppression;
***** color schemes
deter my nightlife's daydreams.
Premeditations- self induced depression.
First amend, then reprieve
a society in genocide,
murderous screaming thieves.
I've got the shakes again, and
he's lost his midnight train of thought;
his ****** obsessions.
Espresso and ****** expressions,
prerogatives- propaganda bought;
the bad vibrations.
Battling a vertigo,
temptation i fought.
Dancing amongst the constellations;
these must be his
coffee drunken genius inspirations.
Mar 14, 2018
Mar 14, 2018 at 8:03 PM UTC
What is the difference between
Verbatim and Vitamin? hmmn
Perhaps it is the fITe within
Or the beta, - before hand
This lense flare, without a care
For every Faustian Recluse
D-&serve; but a singlefinalfatal sear
From solar contact to lack of h-ear
There is little wonder to the webster's
Perpetually lacking lexicon...
The Roman Frankenstein that IS
Protestant English.
From the truest intention of any scribe;
Can not run.
And as for those hospitals and serums--
Another handful for another animal...
I am but a wishful poet
Walking the shore for the beautiful bubbles of the water twin;
Sand Crab.
"To give away yourself keeps yourself still,
And you must live, drawn by your own sweet skill."
[I give my glory
to the glory
of nature]
Aug 27, 2016
Aug 27, 2016 at 6:23 PM UTC
to you:
i walked through the grocery store
and i ran my fingers over every bottle full of *****
and it reminded me of you
because you're full of things that people like
and things that people become addicted to
and truth serums
and good stories
and poison
but there always seems to be a thin layer of glass around you
because i don't really understand you
and i don't think i ever will
until i can see the bottom of the bottle
feeling miserable
Mar 19, 2013
Mar 19, 2013 at 1:44 AM UTC
Shoot me with your phaser on stun,
then drag me to your starship,
tie me down,
inject me with serums,
hook me up to machines,
take me out of this world,
help me to reach nirvana
on the dark side of the moon,
experiment all you want,
I am a willing specimen.
Jan 24, 2014
Jan 24, 2014 at 5:31 PM UTC
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May 3, 2017
May 3, 2017 at 5:20 AM UTC
It makes me sick to my stomach
How I play your laugh on loop in my head
My artist has kicked the bucket
All grey dances with the devil..
the colors are dead
Serums and cocktails to ease my stomach
I'm sober but I'd rather be blank instead
Apr 18, 2018
Apr 18, 2018 at 8:21 PM UTC
Camellias, winter shrubs,
Their shallow roots grow beneath the spongy caribou moss,
Robins egg blue.
After writing a play with my gifted students program in 1991,
I stopped spending all my free time writing short stories,
But the caribou moss was still soft.
In the cold Arctic of that town,
The evergreen protected the camellias from the afternoon sun and storms.
They branded hardy camellias with a brass molded embossing iron;
I had paper and graphite for my pencils.
After my ninth grade honors English teacher asked us to write poems in 1994,
It began raining.
We lived on an overhang.
A vertical rise to the top of the rock.
The rainstorm caused a metamorphic change in the snowpack,
A wet snow avalanche drifted slowly down the moss covered rock,
The snow already destabilized by exposure to the sunlight.
The avalanche formed lakes,
rock basins washed away with rainwater and melted snow,
Streams dammed by the rocks.
My pencils washed away in the avalanche,
My clothes heavy and cold.
I wove one side of each warp fiber through the eye of the needle and one side through each slot.
Salves, ointments, serums and tinctures,
I was mining for graphite,
They were mining me,
The only winch, the sound through the water.
A steep staircase to the red Torii gates,
I broke the chains with bells for vespers
And chimes for schisms,
And wove the weft across at right angles to the warp.
On a rocky ledge at the end of winter,
The pink moon, bitters and body butter,
They tried to get me to want absinthe,
Wormwood for bitterness and regret.
Heat and pressure formed carbon for flakes of graphite.
Heat and pressure,
I made bitters,
Brandy, grapefruit, chocolate, mandarin rind, tamarind and sugar.
I grounded my feet in the pink moss,
paper dried in one hand,
and graphite for my pencils in the other.
May 19, 2021
May 19, 2021 at 12:57 AM UTC
I've never proclaimed be an Angel
wearing the weighted wings
of the innocent sacrifice.
I've never claimed to be Diablo,
though pitch forks and red
are certainly my best colors.
I don't remember exclaiming truths
or swallowing serums, or vows of full
disclosure, especially the ones
I don't want to hear.
I proclaim love with a beggars sign
in the middle of the April desert
but someone chopped it down.
now, I proclaim noise,
turbulent, breathless
surrender to the voice
of the quiet night.
I remember promises of April.
Sep 25, 2015
Sep 25, 2015 at 10:18 PM UTC
the cheque the bank sent me slowly di
sin teg
rate
d
he couldn't perform
the constant image of the black Converse trainer on the dead leg of Kurt Cobain just put him off
modern day Moses
spammed everyone with the 10 commandments but they went I read
lost in the junk mail
amongst adverts for ******** pills and serums that will give you strong
healthy hair
May 3, 2017
May 3, 2017 at 3:16 PM UTC
Remember when I held you close, and gave you words to heal
Telling you the drug fueled thoughts were too far to be real
Remember when we turned to the warm death of cigarettes, to pull ourselves from each other's cold embrace
I'd light one to catch my breath
but even the pointless irony of of it all wasn't enough to pull myself back and choose a better pace
Remember climbing under fences, to climb my walls?
only to build them higher
I trusted that your spirit would make them fall
But now I'm empty and tired
Like a poem with no determined rhythm, you made my heart beat rapidly and off beat
Now as I hide behind my chosen serums,
Of gin and Jameson and days without sleep
I know that you don't maintain my walls,
And that only I can make them fall.
Mar 28, 2016
Mar 28, 2016 at 6:16 PM UTC
I'm so antivax maskless, I'm petitioning the courts to remove my polio and smallpox, diphtheria and whooping cough, and measles Vax from my *** immediately.
I want to be free of serums, free
to enjoy paralysis, coughs and fevers like God made me.
Shit my glasses are fogged up.
Wait a minute.
Freedom is an ignominious thing
Aug 28, 2021
Aug 28, 2021 at 12:48 AM UTC
Words are wind
is a thing you used to love to say
when I would start "defending"
him
"Words are wind, Mandi!
Anyone can give you words!"
You would leave the air silent
only then with your own.
The space between us entirely empty of you.
This was not the vacuum of last spring.
There would be no side of highway hand plucked wildflowers.
No phones vibrating with your messages between thighs in sessions.
No intertwined sweat soaked limbs in the sauna of a midday tent.
I was thankful of it.
I longed for your nearness but not your misplaced romance or hope.
No -I would have you now in the Autumn.
Too depressed to breathe;
you would never draw me close.
Your words only came with
alcohol, *** or some combination of
supposed truth serums.
As you had said though:
"Words are wind, Mandi!"
And your words somehow both too abundant and too few
blew through that space between us
like a winter's Gale.
Seeking shelter from the elements you created
meant leaving you to find your own way through.
The only way out for either of us.
It is nearly spring again now.
I know it must be because
I can see primrose
defying all logic with it's
near invisible courage.
I champion it on with its
welcomed heralding of a needed
new season.
I hope that we both get to be
Ok.
Feb 5, 2020
Feb 5, 2020 at 2:07 AM UTC