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Cherub Nitman Feb 2013
I think I'm getting a
Sinus infection.
It feels all too familiar,
And ******.
Maybe it's because I've been ******,
To others.
Or maybe because I threw my
Cigarette on the ground.
Maybe because I looked at,
A stranger,
And judged him.
Or because I lied to my boss,
Regarding my tardiness.
No.
None of these.
I'm ashamed,
For thinking that someone,
Something,
Cares enough to punish me,
For my lack of consistent morality.
I accept instead,
That life is indifferent,
And sometimes,
People,
Good and bad,
Fall ill.
Kyra Rae May 2011
The wick upends

wax, string,
                                            flame

coatin­g my arm and my sinuses are                     corrupted

                         am I in pain? Or am I just on fire?

ridiculous how everything (and I mean EVERYTHING) is on fire

                       flaming fake man,  scarecrow
out of house, out of mind

                                        Colder than moon rays or hatred or soft
                                                         refrigerator hands

colder than the liquid I pour on my face to wake me up for the world
colder than hungry
                           colder than resting on my porch alone
                                                singing: "ooooooooooo"
pin Mar 2015
I'm planning an Everest hike
You told me you like types, like your sister's barbie before she burnt the plastic, ******* melted lighter fluid candle light
You told me through your sinuses, you wanted to mutilate the plastic
Bisphenol A gets bored on scent
Now you want to smell raw meat letters
Thoracic vertebrae
Sacrum
Femur
Pieces of you, yourself and her
Pieces you can **** the harrow out, intake samples of soul
You were made to look like a human being
RW Dennen Sep 2014
A day
that cries at burials,
plays havoc on sinuses
and sales
vendors...

...rainy days
remind me
of tears
rolling down
the eye-windows
of my abode...

...and cling onto
flowery buds
and leaves
looking like
tiny delicate
crystal *****
soon fortelling
their own quick
evaporating end
of ephemeral
microscopic
life form
worlds
held inside
each droplet...

...how well
DeVaSTaTiNg
each innocent
each drop becomes
Once POOLED TOGETHER, CAN EVEN MOVE MOUNTAINS, FLOOD WHOLE TOWNS, AND CLAIM VICTIMS BY THE SCORE...

...I see crowds
being gently pelted
by these heavenly
tears;
reminding me
of a GIANT baptism
that nurtures
bodies and minds
as well as
flowers and trees...

... I became interested
with the truth,
that the FORCE
of droplets
being OVERWHELMING
and AWESOME...
Life's a Beach Jun 2014
Tell me a story, or I won't even blink,
I want you to take me to worlds that I
think I could find beauty in, places
to hide deep within like an inside
joke, or a laugh, or a path
to take into Neverland,
a bridge to Wonderland,
any land
as long as I can have you in it.

Tell me a story, fill my sinuses with stink,
I want to feel the ship I want to smell
the brink of desperation, to feel
a strange, secure, separation to
myself, filled with a wealth of
nonsense knowledge, take me
through foliage and laugh as I
bask in a seething sun,
come on, let's go, I crave fun.

Tell me a story, help me taste a
waste of time, I want to laugh a
rhyme and commit the crime
of uselessness and happiness and
bonkerness and silliness and fun
watch me run into a field of fantasies
tongue sampled teas and
smile at simplicities'
sanctuary.

Tell me a story, and allow me to touch
a part of your mind you let
locked away, darling, parent, sibling,
quibbling cognitive miser
tell me a story and you'll end up
wiser for knowing it, for imparting
it, let's party it and part with the
sweetest words of goodness,
I could hear from you

To be **continued
Antony Padilla Sep 2012
i saw her and she cleared my sinuses
and my mouth went dry
when she walked up to me
and slipped her killer thighs next to mine
and whispered softly in my ear
heavy
fresh
breath
i smell her winterfresh
Bold.
i feel it tickle my neck
and linger under my lobe
her message wasn't that long
but she stretched it out
like she's stretchin all over me
deep in my
personal space
but i find that i really,
really,
(really)
don't mind
she fits me
like a puzzle piece
makes me feel relaxed
almost sleepy
but with senses more acute
im in a dreamlike state
like she's drugging me
and i suppose she is
high off thoughts of her unclothed promises
her lips stick together
and words drip slowly from them
and waver in the air
hesitant to leave
those two juicy
(those too juicy)
lipglossed lemon drops
of heaven
this girl is trouble-full
rather then troublesome
and oooooo
how i like it
she's the bad chick
who doesn't mind it
when you tell her so
and sort of likes it
when you choke her throat
if just a little
she's a force of nature
and my favorite kind
of riddle
Vernarth passed his house, opening his skylight, he soon felt that his parents were fighting, being able to realize that those aggressive words came from generational hindrances that anticipated the luminous tubular Omega, in the global level split from its lower part, (ω) above and it happens at the beginning of a beginning based on the end of a beginning a thousand times more than a threshold based on hundreds, appropriate from the metric unit of the numeral Myriaz = ten thousand, three times more than the Falangists, one thousand less than the Peltasts and three thousand less than the horsemen, total thirty-seven thousand less than the fighting forces in Gaugamela out of a total of forty-seven thousand, under the myriad Myriaz of Falangists undermined by their Xifos in the area of the right instep of each man faithful under his command, before facing the Achaemenides. Being Omega and Micrón in the warlike primer of their cause, within the prophetic in all necropolis of tiny omega (ω), towards an Omega that reaffirmed the upright hand in Saint John the Apostle to rewrite the Apocalypse twice, being the same one but with the voice of Vernarth commanding the ten thousand Falangists, who made up the inter-generational gaps, but of camouflaged alien ancestors. For this purpose, he opened the windows with their pillars sheathed with tetrachloride chloride, at solid angles of Ω, in what was Virgo institutionum / Oarion-entity that was intruded by the projections and leaks that converged on the strut of the omphalos of his celestial father dealing in frequency and bleeding of immortality, becoming from a helper to the planes of subconscious reprogramming and perspective. With his arms raised, and in each hand a sword raised to pierce the vanishing point, between the spaces that were assigned, under the solid projection, from an observer that inhibits ad limit the biomass in all the masses of aqueous filter and lumens, towards the throne of the angelic guardian of avant-guard by the stereotype and the sclerosis of Zeus in dissociated physicality, even though it is an amorphous entity and with pulverized magnitudes, between Pi and Golden numbers, fading away without area or volume. Vernarth in his humanoid apocalypse transfigured from a solid point in Hyperdisis as a direct escape settlement to Oarion, towards a conical vestige surface in three-dimensionality towards Andromeda, the Milky Way, and the shoulder of Betelgeuse.

Vernarth distracted the emeritus stars in the corner of his room and in the convexality of the points of his celestial parents in conical spheres of perenniality, leaving only solid angles in each of the two parts of space-delimited by two semi-planes that start from his common edge, under the ideal geometric concept and that it is only possible to partially represent it as duplication in parallelograms with a common side, symbolizing two half-planes, making from all distances seclusion of visions as a culmination of imagination and apparent angles, viewed from any point the Celestial Vault in invisible counterpoint.

The decalcified cells of Vernarth sang with Sophocles in choruses after the victory of Salamis. Already being a tragedy in the next act of the prologue and their friendship bordering on his tragedy, he continues to exist in energetic arms to write, and Vernarth to dispute the characters from a regular prologue writing the hemo-verses with his own blood, which traveled meters and that shrunk from the anti-verses, scarring their declaimed intra-breath, in choruses that only the wind clarifies of what precedes and happens towards suffering, in the metrics of the Areimos chorus that lectured anti-verses, which they tried to ****** from his hands to Sophocles, in the immortality that refined him by abandoning him in sub-units. With masks and mythical cycles he mixed the metaphorical facsimile of the momentum of separation of friendship with him, seeing it in an episode of his works, and instead of Vernarth's transcript, sheltering origins of volatilization in his choirs, converted into physical waves of a dramatic order -oracular. Gods re-transformed into divination and futuristic germination, who hid asleep and forgotten in a time of subconsciousness of the Selenite heritage, felt in Colossi of signs of parliamentary, where the oracle leans on the lines of the vibrational words and how they cough their " páthis ”in the place that speaks the language dissociated from the heart nucleus. In misguided divination, the oracular mantic brought the cold of solitude and the heat of fire that divines the forests on laurels of oracular daphnomancy, towards the ironies that banish the degrading systematized of frantic nervous suffering, burning in defaults of neurasthenia, before an omega elixir and neuro-analysis, given the ontogenetic passions, before cutting the nasal protrusion that crosses the fallopian tube, for the healing by fragmenting with the smell the existence of other genetic amphibologies of myth-genia, and that bifurcate the challenge of anger and disappointment of taking him with him in this suffering, taken from smell to disenchantment after thousands of unfortunate lunations against the tósigo that fills with appetite and perfidious reptile, on who walks on our destiny without knowing who it is that creeps.
Vernarth omega sets himself up as a versatile column that temporalizes the threads of his organic brain, creating synaptic logos in Pashkein on the alert of abandoning the arm that rewrites his heroic Sophoclean and tragediographic biography of ancients traveling in disintegrated emotionality and ****** Hellenic neurotransmission, “Two men omega in omega speedometers, carrying neurons from ankylosed and frustrated herd of pleasure for tripartite meso-form and roughing of routine Alzheimer's losses, lost in routines of the sympathetic and para-sympathetic, with the probability of loss of Hellenic gray matter; that is to say, of all memory that does not sin of ignorance in the ancient world, in more than nineteen hours and hours of vehemence, with brightened dangers of reliving umpteenth times in the twilight of omega, transcript and biological bend towards the man heavy with anguish, and more distant in all the lacerated ones that have mutilated or almost mutilated the conversion of the sternocleidomastoid, crushing the shoulders and the magical healing on the nasal sinuses, which strangle the pains in the face of selective suffering, indicative of rational martyrdom and temporary unhappiness in " extreme combat of dissatisfaction ”, allowing to channel resilient neurons that transit towards the neck for reasons that not even the neck understands, lobbing as it is not foreshadowed, neither in oracle, nor in its frustrating focal matter.
Vernarth, was already narrowing on the tracóntero Eurídice, to save his pains, deposed in terms that would renew anti economies of supplying unsustainable liquefactions and synaptic melts, extra energized of molds of purely natural law of the eyebrows and lunation that rests in the inter millennium, beating with ecstasy in the Buddhist Suttas, and in the adaptation of the flesh in the hypersonic fissures of the Metelmi and in the attachments that still beat on the dermis of pain. Vernarth draws his sword Xifos of phenomenal structure and cuts it over the Sutta or sermon that imitated the lunation to the compass, making this a sabotage of redemption and anti-verse from the court of Sophocles, as a myth-saboteur and anti-value, overestimating the tricks of the same utilitarian tragedy, defeating itself in the curtain of mourning and sadness, unguarded and overcome by the stoic duel of joy.
From here Vernarth opens the gates of hell, eight hundred times going mad with omega value, which by reiterating omeganymy, creates the numbering of the anti-verse and the suffering that does not even sleep further from the departure of a soul and in a body-only Asleep of omega concavity, superimposed on golden transfinite chests, which rearrange the natural numerals with those of transfinite ordinal omega, but on frictionless wheels of other omegas that break the recirculation rules on Alpha, on supra Omega levels like Parados -Estásimos- Episode and paradigmatic Exodus Vernarth-Omega.

Prologue Omega I:

Once upon a time, amidst the rain of clouds full of drama, in a time that was of the oriented regime of the Subacal of Betelgeuse and Aorion, 334 BC, it was the penultimate breeze of Tsambika, in the spiritual devotion that hovered over the unison voice in the magnanimous Zeusian chorus, as an alternating event of imprisoning past and future in an episode of the present act. The expectant was curious about the retouched makeup and superlative consonant of the drama, in a disembodied place, but with a good narrative source to bring it to fruition. Here the myth is plausible, among everything mythical, more than all the super sums of expectations of the Isimous.

Párodo I: "For the submissive words in the proscenium of the trident fire, where I have to warm my hands with ashes of eternal fire"
(Directing the scenes through the coripheum, there is the master lord who, in flames by unequal numbers, peoned in the Aulos and piccolos, whose bare feet bordered the risk of the bellies of the Maenad damsels united in processions, between princes, powers
and Dionysian dances holding on to the Pufios; in Baquiana and ceremonial liturgy near Vernarth, taking every seven minutes a glass of animadversion, in the tasting of his little finger, which screamed of organic pimping, together with the dancers raising one arm and directing the palm towards the sky, while the other remained down with the palm facing the ground; in this position that was already like Vernarth buried by the tides of Patmos wandering him in times that marked the entrance from Mars to Jupiter and from autumn to winter in fifteen times agreed with Sophocles, hanging from the third to last towards the entrance with his trembling voice desalted..., swallowing in his own tragedy)

Esthasimo II: "Through the right half body, Vernarth intoned what his laterality exposed him in harsh gloom, as Hera brandished oats and sweets clouds over his existentialism, which in the homily liturgy personified the stasis, in between coral bearing his hands enraged with tragic passion in his frenzy, unleashing oratory of self-blame, unraveling drama-tragic, and in each pause the emotion that was accompanied in new episodes of stirring up "

(Vernarth says: “submitted to parts that are not its parts because my pain has blinded me, where it has embittered the conflict of ethical interest if the stars as an applauded public are invested, who sentence the opposition of other lesser stars than They cheer what does not shine. The principle of the voice violates the normal parenthesis, which is governed by the omega voice, mocked in a modal by four magistrates, in the martyrdom of an idea of the procession, each one wearing his toga of super deprivation, before me that I will not be the one who recognizes if I will be who I am, on the seventh judgment of my surviving ethics)

Episode I: "Vernarth extrapolates the values of the judgment, of him that they annul the first, the coryphaeus directs his promenade from the countryside on his Alikanto Horse"

(Vernarth says: “I have instantiated the steps that in the future my chestnut crossed with you if I am to sing with a sorrowful voice, no choir will be able to follow me when you are no longer there. However, I have to guide what personifies who more than a thousand miles carries with him the chandelier that opens the light of your gazapa gaze... "

Alikanto wailing says: "From the luster of your heartbeats, I dazzled the jailer from your ribs, for the preference of those who take you even further in stormy prose pro-agonist"

Exodus I: “Sometimes the endings smell like lavender fields, where the call of the almighty is heard, to take him over his loaded plantations, which are emerging from the afternoon dialogues with their twilight, as well as stanzas that smell of anointing of lavenders, separated into syllables and tonic that arch my charm, not to say that I was anointed with Lavender as a child "
(In fifteen times, and syllables and rakes, they are sterilized in the sentences of their paragraphs, leaving the audience speechless, without a gesture or word that emanates from a sacred paradise, rather from the stasis that never purged the omission of the syllable that is not proscenium or trident, but it is umlauts on Omega, between syllables of fire that burn from its proscenium)
Vernarth Omega (Ω) - Preface / Part 19
Vivian Nov 2014
every breath tastes
rancid on my tongue;
fun fact, if all you eat is
raspberry yogurt and
hypersaturated strawberries,
your ***** looks like
Jackson ******* plus
Picasso's Rose Period.
has anyone ever told you
that drunk texting you is like
standing in front of a Caravaggio;
it's dusky and dark and sensuous and I
******* adore getting lost in
translation. Cezanne draws solely in
molecular geometry, tetrahedral,
trigonal pyramidal, octahedrons
scrawled across the canvas and doused
in living color. Thursday night already
seems so intangible,
a bad dream that didn't dice up my liver
like a ******* sous chef. Thursdays
have come and gone, the weekends
ever-beckoning, and the scent of Smirnoff
stays in my sinuses.
mj Feb 2016
I held onto your t-shirt for a month after I left your house before deciding to write this poem.

They say that if you hold on to something that was never yours in the first place, you'll start to feel guilty within a few weeks after you've taken it.
I took your shirt because I wanted to have a piece of you once I had stepped foot out of your door;
The guilt followed about two minutes after I even thought of taking it.

But I kept it anyway.

Sleepless is all I am nowadays;
Your arms don't encompass me anymore,
Your breath isn't hot on my skin,
Your scent doesn't travel throughout my sinuses,
and I don't have anyone to hold me when the nightmares do.
I guess you can say that I grew to need the comfort of the plaid shirt you gave to me-
The shirt I didn't decide to steal from you-
Because it's the closest I'll get to something of your own  choice that you gave me to keep besides memories.

This poem is a mess but so am I,
And I have never been messier than I am when buried in thoughts of you.
Some say that is about as healthy as a whole bowl of mint chocolate chip ice cream,
But I beg to differ because at least one brings some sort of real comfort.

I can't tell you how many nameless metaphors I have written about you,
How many countless letters I have written to you.
I can't tell you how many sleepless nights I have gone through,
How many dryless tears have rolled down my face because I am engulfed with thoughts of what we were,
What we could have been.
I can't tell you how many timeless pieces of paper have made their way into the trash because I could never finish my trail of emotions to you.

My veins are not sober.
My heart is not weightless.
My eyes are not shiny.
There is no guide to help me out here.
There is no book of rules to follow to help me get the **** over you.
You have been my strong sense of calm that has put me at ease for so many months.
And all I wanted was for you to love me wholeheartedly,
To love and want me as much as I did you.

This poem is a mess, and so am I,
So I'm not even going to try to finish it with some magical, metaphorical, realization of mine.
Because the only realization I have come across, painfully, is that I'm not going to get another chance to show you how hauntingly, extraordinarily, completely, utterly, and truly breathtaking I am.

- { m.j. }
m.o.e.
bear
Damaré M Oct 2016
Jasmine although your embedded scent is faint, I'm still stuck here with a headache when all I want is rest. My sinuses is a mess. I don't know if I'm crying or lying. I tried cinnamon, turns out subconsciously I was looking for a synonym. I didn't get the same adrenaline. So now I'm lonely again. Wondering why did you leave, missing your semievergreen leaves, bless me with your presence as I sneeze. I want you to bloom, replant yourself back into my room.
j carroll Jan 2013
one night or midafternoon you fell asleep
and snored lightly in my ear.
i stroked your hair (it was longer then)
and thought of my love-lorn words
hijacked by this impermanent sleeper.

i started to laugh and you got lost in my chest
but you said it'd be "a good way to go."
and i heard the sincerity, cheap as silence,
like the first time you drunkenly called me darling
and it was steel wool exfoliating my atriums.

i would rather write about the frivolity
of a cigarette in a hot tub with strangers
and the absurdity of dripping sinuses
or a manifesto for the exasperatingly mediocre
but my words are full of you.
Jonny Angel Apr 2014
I want to stay in bed today,
just lie all alone
under my crumbled sheets,
toss and turn
to drain my sinuses.

I'm positive
the world will not miss me
& honestly,
what's one less sick person
off the street
going to do
to change things
or even stop the sun?
SøułSurvivør Jul 2016
A choking and desperate voice reached my ear this morning. It was a friend. One of my best friends who lives in Michigan.
What she said was barely intelligible...

"Cath... Cathy... I'M D...YING!
C..C..CAN'T B... (cough) B...BR... BREATHE!
(cough. .. cough. .. cough. ..)"

Immediately I knew I had to be calm. I had to get her anxiety level down. In a very soothing voice I stated...

"Baby, you have to calm down. Sit down in front of a fan... slow your breathing. THEN I WANT YOU TO JUST LISTEN & AGREE...

I said a five-minute prayer with her. I first praised God for the miracle that He was going to bring about. For His miraculous nature. For his Power and Glory! I said I wanted to glorify Him with the miraculous healing that was about to take place!

Within 2 minutes she was breathing easier. She was not coughing as badly. And she could talk. Then I instructed her to go lie down with the fan on her and her back propped with pillows...

I called two friends to pray with me on a conference call. We all prayed together. We prayed like our own lives were depending on it! We prayed the Word of God...

"Confess your faults one to another, and pray one for another, that ye may be healed. The effectual fervent prayer of a righteous man (woman) availeth much."
James 5:16 KJB

I called my friend 30 minutes later. She had been healed! She still had the congestion, but was calmly coughing that up too! She was beginning to blow the congestion from her infected sinuses!

So don't tell me God is no longer in the healing business. He most definitely is...!!!


♡ Catherine
Please pray for my friend. Her name is Mary. She lives alone and has no medical insurance or money. Her credit card is maxed out. She doesn't even have money to pay her property taxes this year. But she's trusting in God. And we have found over the years that HE CAN BE TRUSTED!

Also pray that the Day of Rage doesn't ignite full on racial riots. Please pray against the forces of Darkness that are undoubtedly going to use this demonstration to stir up chaos.
My hometown Tucson Arizona is going to have one of these demonstrations. Please pray for us!

THANKS!

I'm going to start reading now. Please forgive that I have not read your work yet! This crisis came about this morning and now I have a lot of catching up to do...

L♡VE YOU ALL!
Quinn Nov 2013
i miss the feeling
of cigarettes making
me want to throw up

i guess that's the
trade off i get
for whiskey making
my eyes water,
******* burning my
sinuses so bad, i swear,
i'll never snort again,
two glasses of wine making
the next morning feel
like elephants have
invaded the walls of
my skull

i guess i'll take this vice,
for now
J Lohr Dec 2013
one quick breath
diving headfirst into a pool of imagined chlorine
sinuses ache and burn
one more hit, one more time
stop the thinking and start the drinking
drown the pain in whatever way you can
fist fights and broken bones make you more of a man
***** your morals, thoughts, and inhibitions
forget what matters and focus on sprinting
throw up those blinders and pick your point
for tonight your free and finally your own person
Joe Bradley Nov 2014
Winter has coaxed
its radiator enduced
ether
and the time has come
for colds, snot
and sinuses.
Blackness
gathers us
to our tangerine
oasis - and
living room
televisions.

I left,
to walk through the
winter city.
I saw
empty car parks and
Christmas lights,
and thought London
was dying.

A fox grappled
with a tesco's
plastic bag.

I walked through
a winter forest.
I saw creepers
on gravestones
and
Victorian gore
settled into the earth.

I put my ear to the ground
to hear the worms
eating dead bodies
and all the while
the stars turned
overhead
like a millers wheel.
Cat Roussouw Sep 2015
I remember the first time I saw your striking blue eyes.
You were walking past me and for some reason our eyes met.
My awkward hazel met your beautiful ocean blue.
Usually I am afraid of meeting eyes, but for the life of me I couldn't look away.

I remember looking at your eyes while you laughed with your friends, mocking me for something I had done.
For some reason, I was still in love with your beautiful ocean blues.

I remember dancing.
I remember looking over and there you were with your beautiful blue eyes.
Even though nothing could get your attention off the bass, the dancing and the powder running down your sinuses and the pills dissolving in your stomach,for some reason, you couldn't keep your beautiful ocean blues off of me.

This time, the tables had turned.
It was you longing for my awkward hazels, and me acting oblivious to your beautiful ocean blues.
As if they didn't make my heart race and my knees tremble everytime I got a glimpse of them.

But soon you will forget my awkward hazels, and I will be left longing for your beautiful ocean blues.
- 4 / 08 / 15 Catherine Roussouw
Calista Holden Feb 2016
It's a lamp.
standing directly to the right of the t.v.
the wrapping is still on the shade
I don't think it's ever been plugged in.
it just always stays there.
never leaves me.

Still a lamp when
the wreck is in the present.
when
rubber
hits
      frozen
            water
       over
granite
Still a red lamp

Still standing directly to the right of the t.v.
tubes
plastic, flimsy, smooth
pumping, pumping, pumping
toxins; fluids; oxygen

The wrapping still on the shade
coaxed down your throat
through your sinuses
nutrition through your nose

i don't think it's ever been plugged in
you're plugged in
you're plugged in
you're plugged into the wall now,
you're plugged into the circuit board

it always stays there
electricity feeding you
and your limbs are cold
lifeless
lifeless
you can't move

never leaves me
I see you everyday tubes; plastic, flimsy, smooth. pumping. pumping pumping; toxins, fluids, oxygen. Coaxed down your throat, through your sinuses, through your nose. Feeding you through your nose.

Standing directly to the right of the t.v.
                       still a red lamp

please don't leave me....
My boyfriend of three years was in a car crash, he hydroplaned over ice. he was in a coma for two weeks. He just died today 2/12/16
i`ll always love you jarod
Dexter Terzungwe Nov 2016
the foreshadowing of the christened.
the tears of a beginner;
shoulders sagged,
Dark purple tinted bags under my eyes,
Swollen sinuses,
White parched lips,
The results of incessant weeping,
My only expression of profound hurt -
The fate of the pained;
The pain of an amateur;
Tomorrow is certain,
If only we will make it there.
Or maybe we will!
Yesterday is but today;
A continuation afforded us.
A continuity without guarantee,
With continuity, our only ally…
Today I cry,
I soak and bath my flesh with heavy, warm tears.
Tears of events past, of years long thought forgotten.
But I come to a close end.
I have seen the dark but now I must step forward.
For come the ‘morrow,
My tears shall be my greatest rival!
Inspired by the Poet @iamlightiamdark
Francis Sep 2016
A primary source of pain is the truth,
though the truth shall set you free.
An addiction beyond recognition,
there is something dark deep inside me.

Inanimate white evil,
has stolen he who is I.
My soul needs cleansing,
Am I close to where I die?

With knowledge comes wisdom,
and wisdom is beneficial.
But knowledge of this darkness,
The last thing I am is superficial.

Reality is no longer near,
As my sinuses fail to clear.
The darkness was formed by choice,
And to die is what I fear.

As the lights rapidly flicker,
While my mind starts to shut down.
Like a married couple who bickers,
There is no peace,
In my own blood I will drown.

The light calmly dims,
The rhythm of the monitor straightens,
And a continuous beeping noise trims,
The sound of silence in the room.

In the name of the father, the son and the holy ghost,
Whoever snorted the fastest got the most.
But was it an escape from reality?
Or reality escaping from me,
I am now forever gone,
But the darkness will linger over my family.
Not my favorite but...
Daniel Magner Nov 2012
I walked through Bath and Bodyworks
inhaling every possible scent
                straight up my
                                          nose.
                ­                                          Burning my sinuses with
                                                            Ging­erbread and Spice
                                                           ­       Cinnamon Clove
                                                           ­          Fresh Cupcake
                                                                       Winter Berry
                                                                             Calm
so that even the smallest remnants
                                       of your smell
I could not intake and kept myself
from once again
           falling asleep wearing that
                  sweater that I took
                             to pretend was
you.
© Daniel Magner 2012
Hana Gabrielle Mar 2012
This is a letter
To you

My thoughts are hectic
They bleed through my sinuses
Asking me to give up
Never! My heart screams
But my gut agrees
It aches to slip back into emptiness
I yearn to shrink away
Like I have in my dreams

I feel eyes on my spine
Making me doubt my sadness
An angel drops with the beat of my drum

Children are screaming
They don't know what to do with their hands

There's an esoteric understanding of the stars
And their shimmer

Did you witness the jump?
Do you consume your lust?
I live, in a cryptic sense.
Tear out the pages that remind you of home
We're dusty and unused
Blurring at the edges
Like monochrome photographs

Clasp your hands and cover your eyes
Covering you from the pouring lies

Overdose on oxygen
Keeping you alive until it decides you should die
It's reminiscent of your pessimistic outlook

I have nothing else to say.
Johnny Noiπ Nov 2018
The end of African homosexuality, homosexuality is a fraudulent job. Drug abuse: your mother of visitors and demons of the beloved ****** of the Moabite religion and the earth. Equipment for the protection of equipment. ******* homosexuality and self-confidence in the doctor. In Be It Al-Hambra, the symptoms of the disease are detected and the disability begins. There is a change in the city. Fat of women and other living organisms. The security is safe. Homosexuality's protection tool. Emergency procedures, algebra permits selected publication of ****** and shelter files. Monitor the area to protect these devices. The ****** danger is important. Disputes of war prevent: after the war. Video open to other countries. State, state ****** and government. Career, profitable personal police, employees, prostitutes, vendors, stress, night, Satan says that wine is the city. Deception, violence and civil war. Improved additional security. The police who control this phone protect him from homosexuality and weak faith. Hospitals · Postpartum problems in the destruction of Algeria by Satan. Good change for visitors and guests in the cities. The wife of a new mafia. The ****** candidates and the state police stopped asking questions about the police. Homeopathy depends on the disease. Common drugs, bigger problems, ****** and climatic problems. Algebra, offering violence, ******* friends and rewards. Mafia of the country, scam zone and *******. Additional police services for *** workers, *** needs adult protection. Effects of drugs on the side. Devil after the accident. The city is dynamic and refreshing. Plan to **** Fornica and marriage • The police **** the police, more security. These drugs, mental disorders, fraudulent. The biggest problem of Alzheimer's disease is the devil. The great gypsy depression is the future of the future. Mafia ******* and other police and security. Applications, doctor, homosexuality, faith. The Al-Hamra hospital requested his death. From the brothers to the ****** ethics and violence that changed the life of the wife, health and the mafia. The Brazilian mother believes that the children's pants are intended for children; Children and adolescents today are affected by sensory sinuses, cats, insults, large bars, blondes, handcuffs, women's pants, babies and children that represent the face of the nurse. Mother is the night the true roots of the mother. The mother is the mother of Brazilian children. Look at the ******* of small children. Today the spasmodic girl for offensive napkins. White blouse of white men are big differences. Detective women. The same person who represents the voices of the mother, her children and her children. In fact, in front of my eyes, I know that the mountain car manufactured by ***** conspired against a certain weapon. The cat inside the house is a blow to the infected smokers, whose hats are white, avoid stretching the tongue and prevent it from spreading to the soul. Use tools that use the domain. Does this mean that my knee is always ***** to avoid me? Shadowy Evan is the most recent Georgian cat, metal, only police documents, large fire extinguishers, brochures that show beautiful women, ****** and mothers believe in helping children in Brazil; ****** after restoring all mirrors to numbers. When the work is used at the end of the task. For example, an excellent revolutionary team like a kaleidoscope is a *******. There are many toys with warm water. They are very good, they do not say they are in the dark. This product is well cooked. Thanks for your death Ericsson becomes a monster. The users of the black page are shown. The next day, 5, 1 we spent three years. We do not have the right thing. Many stupid doctors. Changes or changes here. Some women want the moon, this is a common problem. It works without security problems and problems in a few seconds environment. 100, it does not exist. Super quillo with credit card When it comes to two horses, it looks very bad. Fearing the expected problems in Germany will not be resolved. Then, as described above. Satan and his models are the other victims. What is the table at the end of the accompaniment? Patients do not have realistic serotonin symptoms. In this area, **** society and society are mainly on the road. This letter to Wal-Mart goes right to Walt, it has nothing to do with the King of Asia, or the tailor of the General Council. Thank you for your death when the optical matrix reflects the angle of reflection. Recommendations for shepherds, ****** and weapons. The number of people also applies to these women. This site can create gloves. However, what is in your mother is a problem, a big problem. In the end, I asked him a day ago, three days ago. The University of Boston has Satan and his models.
Harry J Baxter Nov 2013
Salt on the back of my hand I know so well
shot of tequila to remember you scent
**** the lime down to bring the balance
How are you tonight
better than me,
surely.
My chestnut girl
my top teeth too long
upper lip too short
best friend
making me feel saintly for taking your nerves and melting them in my palm
pleading to Gods I never met
for this last bet
to end up winning
I'm losing my sanity with every breath expelled
but who want's to be sane
when in the land of the blind
the seven eyed man is king?
Sane insane saints and sins cast across the wall like suicide grey matter
the children wouldn't understand
It's probably for the best
but when tequila clouds the back of my throat
my sinuses remind me of the sound of you
playing guitar
and singing the songs
which held you close in childhood
From the depression of the distances with respect to the horizontal and the planes that separated them from the surface, below the references that came against, single sediment had been destined towards the high eminence, before the fossal of megatons of aldehyde below the bilges of the final base, where the seventh rings of the goat ibex were perforated, all in the antipode of the Constellation of Capricornus; where the goats were enraptured in the binary of Wonthelimar, behind the floods of absorption that took the Diadocos far from where they should never have left, in order to extrasolar wishes and never to come. From the node of the supreme and poked aldehyde of the horn of Amalthea, with the bizarre analogy of Zeus and Wonthelimar, both mammals with milk from goat's udders, one from goat from Mount Ida and the other from Aldaine in the Alps, with milk from ibex and In the face of Amalthea that appeared in the fossal, all the Seleucid generals had already vanished, starting from the Viper Typhon, who in the retracting sub-mythology of Capricornus was transmigrated to Wonthelimar, swollen with the aldehyde transmuted into this alcohol and into the udder milk of the Ibix that He lactored, while they were all carried away as in the chambers of Auschwitz, in distant lanterns and lamps of the Calypso that he dismissed them, leaving them with the escorts of the ibex or goatfish in laudable stratagems, which vanished them away from their desires from a new polis or Nostos Patrída, sprinkling them with goatskin and flourishing essences of the kashmar of Zeus' nurse; Amaltheum or Amalthea.

The Iberian rings from the medrones in advance reached the two final ring nodes, here Wonthelimar intimidated them with an accurate adjacent bleat of the kashmar that rubbed their back, before the newest and last lux of Amalthea that vanished into herbaceous fruits that always He carried the barefoot medron with him, to start with the antlers dumbbells and re-transport them defeated to the species of snake that frightened the pastoral god Pan who shepherded, and then he submerged in the water after becoming Capricornus Ibex Fish. Being aware of this and of those who refused to continue listening, Ibics rings were unleashed until the seventh medron, feeding back with Wonthelimar who ad libitum created Venus in triads of Zeus. Wonthelimar and Amalthea were remote in the eighth and ninth medron of the antlers, they appropriated to each the portion of the Parasha or Parashot of the Torah, and of the thirteenth Shemot so that their dualities and fumes from the unbreathable fossa would remain under the possessed surface of the pendular property balance and positive-negative gender correspondence. Right here Amalthea transmuted her mercy to save the world with her lactation of syrup and honey that was not in short supply, and that was extrapolated into a future abundance of food and nectar, making up for crusts that were uneven in average terms. From this bezel, both beings of the goat genome contributed to the pole of goodness for each one at the end of the benevolent cuirassiers of prospering, and not from the opposite that would lead them, even though they were dissimilar causes, towards a retrograde event that was not a consequence of the becoming of the plagues, and of the malignancy that does not flourish with the Shemot of the Parasha, to agree and lavish themselves on blessed virtues or deliberate wicked ones.

The meaning of a relative synchronic and factotum coexisting does not redeem the disintegration of an existential relativism in Skalá, the Hexagonal Primogeniture from one of its angular visions, metaphysically transfers from its temporary contingencies after its arrival on Patmos, while the temporary Seleucid temporality vanishes, It was affirmed from a contradiction since its truth was distended in the arena of Skalá not implying being welcomed, rather it was victimized by the absurd political dimorphism in a meta spiritual state, abdicating its dispersed retrospective, and now contemplating a compromise of the Hellenic genre, to gradually rebuke the virtues of their banners, twice as good for the purpose of reinforcing the will to accede, and not perish in the attempt to lead Alexander the Great. The criticism of founding the memories are of a revived past where it was not, marking the anthropological fact and false truth judgment, in meaning and contradiction in the polarity of both axiomatic genres, but that is saved when quantifying in who has to defend himself, if seeks to abrogate itself, in the entity that is characterized by induction and attraction of egonies and not of exo-egonies, thus describing it in the theme of "Do not support egos that recriminate other characters of frustration and empowerment of a Vernarthian logic split into Vern-narth. Vern has etymology of Bern or Bern olive tree of Gethsemane and narth of the ordinal scale that speculates its nickname in millions of northern sections of its origin, which subsumes the truth and the criterion of apocalyptic parapsychology, re-life of quantum historicity of the metaphysical and sub-block. -Mythological of Vernarth in his identical.

Everything seemed a strange self-annulment from a clear and understandable limit, but Wonthelimar rose to the surface of the Állos kósmos, finding himself in atmospheres of truth and reality of a Cantabile, who decided about the horse Kanti coming with him towing him from the Erebo de Chauvet Bilocated. As a musical and festive ending, he received them on the upper plate of the happened gestures, where a cabaletta rendered parts of a Cantabrian aria, in sulfurous and remorseful cavatina married with the cross emotions of a finale who sponsored expressions and festive Templar tales, with the descendants of Zeus or minor children, or grandchildren after this had to give him milk and honey but with báchkoi. Among the couplets that received him, some came about the smoke of terror that was confused with the dustbin of a Cavallo or horse acclaimed Kanti, with gasping bustling from a cardex, containing all the repertoires of a cantabile if this scene were to be repeated in The same epic allusion, and in random consequences, that go after a cavalcade that is not abstracted in real characters, but more in conformity with the well-deserved place of epic imaginative beings or in the operatic psychotropic of a duet, which would go flagellating in individuality and in each which is not content from another section of the Cantabrian.

The Universality of emotion and feeling is a tragic Parodo emulating voices of all those who sing from a cantabile galloping in their voices to the beat of the heart in some, and at the same time chanting stanzas and antistrophe in reverse epic and tragic lines, for the purposes of the coliseum that diametrically obstructs the Hellenic choir, which is attached to the intervention of the Hexagonal Primogeniture that was already beginning to rise in height, and in the prayers of Saint John, the Apostle and Prochorus from the captaincy and the ode that would begin to stanza, from the west to this and the antistrophe would follow with Vernarth, Wonthelimar and Alexander the Great from east to west. Ad libitum of their enjoyments, they were eating Greek snacks or Katogorias on the way in bases of Almonds, cinnamon, olive oil, sugar, and sweet wine that they carried on their backs in Rhytas shaped like the horns of Zeus and the Ibix of Wonthelimar, which the same Procorus carried on his golden back. The meaning is affirmed as a meaningless infringement of laws of temporality, and truthfulness at the expense of short evidence, and of facts that vanish in the light haze of causalism and not of effectism, when the adjective or noun is made of a strong verb in the Metabasis and in the imprecations that Vernarth gave.

Vernarth's metabasis: “the verse and the adjective will be subsidized by the noun in the construction of Állos Kosmo Megarón, from where mathematics will immaterially explain sap suckers under the noun in liquid milk of the color white and of the high nutritional value in female lactated, and of mammals to feed their goats or ibex. The soul of this prerogative implies that the verb will be to promote species rather than a nutritious milky elixir for Zeus, and the candor of his **** will tend to the bipedal or quadruped subject self-procreating from a Milky Specie. (Milky species).  Being ****** into milk by self-procreating snitches. Vernarth says (give me some milk, and I will be the son of Zeus, perhaps as a means in everything and not a whole of which I never thought...!)

Amalthea in rituals and relics from prospects of demigods was purposely cordoning them off in Mycenaean deities, from a contemporary Westerner comforting them near a hippocampus; with signs of ibex Capricornus, rapt at the nymph that spoke from Mount Ida in Crete and that she made congruent with the constellation of Capricornus, more precisely in the Cornucopia making this heraldry of Wonthelimar with Fortune, Abundance, Occasion, Liberality, Prudence and Joy. In a woman sitting on a throne, a young nymph with a flower crown, a naked woman with one foot on a wheel and the other unstable, a woman with sunken eyes and an aquiline nose dressed in white, two faces from the past and future, a woman happy with the exuberance of the Cornucopia with children and a palm leaf. Being the abundance that in serial Amalthea bordered all the ladies in different esoteric and Mycenaean prosperity, constantly shining with radiations on the present in the Unicorn Ibix, which Zeus left after breaking its antlers, unleashing kindness and plethora in fruit buds, and vegetables that were appropriated in the Fortune of Wonthelimar reissuing what in their domains they can do, and now in Patmos with its Cornupia being transferred from that liquefied shaft honey and milk cultivated with attributes of herbs contributing to the leisure, peace, and relaxation of the cosmic world that ascended in Wonthelimar as Ibix in advance of Capricornus, from where the Auriga always broke into his expeditions with a trajectory towards the eighth cemetery of Messolonghi, where he brought it from the Capella Star for the femurs of the Diplodocuses who seconded Drestnia to watch over the hydraulic pits of the Koumeterium from Messolonghi, before traveling to Tangier.

The entire herd went back to an ancient promontory that was halfway up the mound towards the black styes or abscesses, in the central intuition of the fossa that began to dissipate towards their backs. Amalthea extends into the Állos Kósmos, which came in zoomorphic receptacles collecting the announced blood of the animals that flowed in black planks from the vortex of the fossal, towards the liminal or transitory sleeper of the fossal that oozed acetosities of the Aldehyde to be transmigrated after the bilocation of the Chauvet cavern. All wore willow halos on the crowns or diadems of their caps, including the proliferation of phantasmagoric Allies that went in rows from 780 to 680 BC. C., with fortunes of the Cornucopia that arched in magical arches due to the dissociative changes of the universe, as well as the circumstantial creed of some omnipotence that will cause emotional transgenerational transgression, in the rain vessels that they made fall from the Ombrio de Zeus, in a daily latticework closing the spaces, and only leaving for some intruders and onlookers to see his flashing Astrepé. Right here the diádoc fossal vanished, when it rose above the horizontal that poured into the Chronic Vernagrams of parapsychological personalities of ingenuity classicism and in Astro-concomitance, which would rethink everything that is past and future from a Vernagram, which is more than a compression of a mere future of the quantum spaces and the sacred medrones of the Ibixes with their direct relationship with Capricornus. Diverse capital moments were treasured in the breeze of the Vas Auric that was traced from the opposing moraine that fell in lapse-time, through the labyrinth in storms and thunderings that became planetary with the Lynothorax cuirass that Alexander the Great accommodated in the festoon border of his Aspis Koilé, kicking copiously as a sign of shaking the head of the gods who deceived him to be alive, and who was now reborn in the faith of Saint John the Apostle, favorite of the Mashiach and where he will have to wipe his face with the shroud of Veronica Before entering the Állos Kósmos Megaron that everyone built, in favor of a Panagia or Temple, unlocking the majolica that seeped out from the rest of the transmigration, and his own in the configuration of a corpse with a tricolor gesture.

The presumptive eradicated the side of the forearm rots that was being restored in Wonthelimar's laps, which helped him get up and catch his breath while the Katogorias snack filled his mouth with nectar and almonds with Macedonian Psiloi combat tactics with serum and flames of Alcohol dripped from her nostrils and sinuses in the sweet wine, which in pompous dilemma defied the judges of her life in the choir of the Bilocated Epidary Theater on Patmos, and in the ***** dry Kashmar of the orchard with the pale faces of the grotesque, that rested in the memory or Mnmosyne and in the fauna of the Thracian and Thessalian helmets.

Alexander the Great says: “here I agonized and now in the fresh waters of the springs of the Lerna, I will also marry the glorious mystay and bákchoi, in the memories of Vernarth seeing him besieged by Achaemenides in the stooped position of Dario III, to come purifying and sustaining of my limbs, learning to walk and speak in Neolithic techniques, which extruded me from the Lerna by barriers of the moon that shone from the bronze of my Leonatus helmet. Thus I could see that Vernarth, fought alone against thousands throwing fire through his mouth and his eyes, separating the waters of the Falangists, who plowed like ships deforesting the Persians, and leaving them in their mud, imposing glorious Hypaspists who unbolted from their back some arrows with heads of snakes and Hydras.

Vernarth watched as everyone climbed the Profitis Ilias mound, two hundred and sixty-nine meters above sea level, where the monastery of San Juan is located; here he was suspended in his solitude after everything that happened at the end of the moat that definitely I would return without the Diádocos, with a hint and its functionalities. From here Helios became genealogical, who snatched him from the kingdom of dead flowers, which were to be assumed from the Olympian where he will join him to the essential of Aïdoneus; immaterializing in the darkness of dizzies and the flowers that died in the genealogy of a new species. The scenic swept its cognitive and ferns with more than three hundred frank species that frowned like the enemy of an evil friend, with seedlings that expectorated from the resonance of the bushes that invited to thrive in the salty ripples that made a dreamer fall asleep on top of the kerchiefs or brambles that memorialized Gethsemane, burning his face and hands with psalms, telling him about his Baba. For when it is a luminary by night and by day, they will compare it with the white grayish drupes and mops, like those of the Bern orchard of Olives, in aqueous and resinous colloidal, which was crowned in harmony and syntropia in Vernarth activating intellectual conscious plantations, which will restructure its balance of ultra Hoplite, in metabolism of the Lentiscus flowers, with great brotherhood in the Olives that each time exercised the gift of bending their oleaginous self-species, towards planes of the Cornicabra olives, with large branches and high tree altitude that fruit within of the Cornucopia that he now carried on his back, supported by an oiko spin, juxtaposed with the fibula on the right shoulder of his lymphoma, which with large branches and high tree altitude fruit within the Cornucopia that he now carried on his back, supported by an oiko line juxtaposed with the fibula on the right shoulder of his lymphoma, and with polyphenols in scale geothermal energy that still leveled the Ponto Sea towards the tectonic plate to give it the flavor that was owed from remote prehistoric times.

Patmos was aborted from an immanent consent and new force of the impending enemy in Pythagorean perorations and an offending thought. From this prerogative is born the generalized punishment of sub-mythological ethics in favor of legacies of allusions to reorder or defragment the enslaving and demolished bio culture, which would begin from the establishment of the Vas Auric found in Limassol, which took possession from Rhodes with clean scenes from Tsambika monastery. The epic ran like icy cold down the shoulders of all those who sweated for the generation of cops, and in domestic evasions in superior lordships to Hades or Wonthelimar itself, both sons of flocks and goats that nourished them by providing them with a mountain perspective, as a magnetic pole towards gothic energy that ruled more in the Magnetic North Pole, and the geographic oversize that reviled latitudes in riches that would dismiss Borker and Zefian, as masters distributors of the ethics of the Áullos Kósmos of Patmos, redeploying thousands of dead from pre-Hellenic times, so that they recirculate through the roots of the Kashmar, re-sulfurizing cinnabar saps as the germ of the subterranean Acheron, which consecrates the living and the dead in the eternity of the infinite Duoverse Universe. The order will lie in semi-shadows that even in the dark provide the pleasant warmth of camphor, with advanced Horcondising formulas, which will appeal to hungry souls by suppressing gifted energies, and by inseminating them with ovules without originally conceived organisms.

From Hylates, Cyprus; Zefian came by order of Vernarth, assisted with the extension of the earthly laborers of the Attic Calendar on the twenty-first of September, from the device of Apollo at the site of Boeotia, and especially of the Boedromion. The arrows that Zefian brought had an instant Boedromion crossing the lines from spring to winter, with seven arrows that Zefian threw into the sky and never fell, but if portentously received in the virginity of animals. The flora with seven golden arrows of the Chauvet de Wonthelmar cavern, condoned the exhaustive end of the fossal where they still remained, in a gesture of tenderness and relative Mycenaean genealogy, from Crete the contravention of Apollo and Artemis towards an olive tree was approaching, originating in the Zefian's arrows, to mark the new cardinal points, begin with the first two arrows that they put on the string of the bow, each one flying north and south trajectories and the other two that were once again attacked with the east bow, to shoot the arrows of east-west with southern magnetism limits. Zefian's imagination was of proportions that were not limited without wandering from their phalanxes when they pulled the string, like joys of a ghostly existence that pushed him in each bolt, presuming that where they fell would be the beginning of the storms that would originate the Állos Kósmos Megarón, for belated courts imposed from a cosmos, which he led by insisting on his will and from a doubtful Vestal god advocating the association of the hospitable Canephores, such as Vestal Virgins of Roman bilocation, and quantum parapsychological of the feared inter-tale alive that rebels in the arrows that they had not yet fallen and did not know their whereabouts. As plates or serial hosts, they were evoked from where the origin of the Universe was broken, to open towards the organic, vigorous, and anti-burn contravened Duoverse to the divine celestial origin as a parameter of *****-ovule, rather in aeonic instances in the fireplace of Hestia, running in eternities towards vast volumes of light-years, where eternity has no measure, let alone the existence that begins and ends born from a homozygous arising without a Universe, to hatch from the branch of the Heterozygous Duoverse, bringing different unions of eternal cells by universal divine decree, and not the union of disparate cells. The science of the Mashiach came in these divine arrows that marked the points of the cardinal in the numinous and exclamatory expansions of the exiled universe of Vernarth, towards the perenniality in itself, but being heterozygous for a world that would begin to live in non-organic cells, but yes of divine composition, over saturating the limits of the origin, and destiny of syntropy of the conscious actions of the metabolism of the Alma Mater and of the great doors when losing the bodyweight of the physical-ether, but yes from the platform of the Mashiach that will take them hands without leaving them abandoned, showing them that they were no longer children born of ovule-*****, but rather in the luminous matter, envisioning expansions of prayers beyond from the universe, where it will accompany them in a multidimensional plane..., and will have no end from a human scientific conception.

Wonthelimar says: “Since the omphalos was swallowed by Cronos, Hera's elegy was unleashed, for not raising her son Zeus in free clumps of goats and Ida's honey. I in the Alps went to the herd of the Ibix like a Zeus saved from the darkness of Chauvet in the mountains of Gaul. There are chisels that cut stones in beautiful whirlwinds, but I know that a lot of cosmology would not speak of the Mediterranean Cornicabra and its olive drupe, nor less of the Cornucopia that sinks with sumptuous and ephebian flavors in the fruit, and the greenish heraldry of the binominal that is disturbed in its phalanges eating and sipping honey, in antler pots with pride of the Ida and the Vercors massif”
Wonthelimar Amaltheum, Állos Kosmos Megaron
Trevor Blevins Mar 2016
Back to when I was so sad, and still am,
Reflecting on Mexico City Blues,
Making time for love and feeling sinful,
Seeing the world turn, and spring coming into view,
Feeling left out when it was the women of my fantasies who were consequential,
Diving into the Ohio River to clear my sinuses and finding only pollution.

Well, the solitude is getting deeper and heavier.

Can't get a **** cheap, meaningless rendezvous, but I know how true dishonest devotion can feel,

And I'm sending in a request for no one's solace or sympathy tonight.

I feel your sermon of restless ambition, I can smell your beer soaked soul, in its elemental glory, on my collar.

Jack Kerouac, in his 94th year, is still bustling and full of life in the retinas of poets and dreamers,

And I won't sell you short,
You're keeping me afloat.
13 Jul 2014
There is nothing at the end of the rope.
Only darkness below the smell of rising disgust.
Impassively lingering in the cheap caricature of the comical impasse.
Big words yield big emotions.

The wine launders tilted sinuses with spurious empathy
While distractions become anxious attractions.
Dull is the blade that slits the wrong end of the vein.

Trying to try is commendable by failure and loathing.
Living in denial will bear sweeter fruits…. Still,

A broken man’s death is something to forget.
Posted on May 3, 2014
Zyborg Jan 2010
can hear the rush of water
the change in tempo of sound
as I go down and pop up
they say sound travels faster in water
it sounds very different though
I am drowning I know for sure

I drink some water
my sinuses hurt
have a stinging pain in my head
and am getting choked
the rush to stay afloat
kicking my legs furiously
I am drowning for sure

the water is above my head now
I can see the blue of the sky
I don't hear the screams any more
I seem to be fading away
I don't mind it at all
I have drowned for sure I know
g clair Oct 2013
Early this morning
downstairs in the kitchen
new sunlight is beaming
on fresh painted isle
it spills to the floor
like water, light streaming
on warm 'Sandy Beaches'
mom's favorite tile.
  
and out through her windows
it pours in the front yard
kissing green lawn
which is littered with leaves
wet brown and orange
red, golden yellow
while shadows are present still under the eaves

coffee steam rising
it wafts up the staircase
and into the room where I'm barely asleep
awaken my senses
and draw me to sitting
when off of the mattress I suddenly leap

Today is a brisk one
my window cracked open
cause breathing cool air to me always feels best
I play with the thermostat
keep myself cozy
I'm layered on thickly, topped off with a vest

So I sit here writing, while tile guy cutting
the ones he will place near the door to our home
upon which will stand all our autumnal guests who are shopping for houses
not reading this poem.

I've turned up the music, Bon Iver,  
with coffee to  comfort the artisan working his trade
along with his help who'd complained of a headache
his sinuses cleared with medicinal aid.
  
And letting the morning lapse into the noonday
while dew's burning off, we'll be singing a song
blue sky or cloudy, misty or raining
it's daytime, we're doing and rolling along.

And as I tap lightly, I am seriously sinking
in work I must finish to ready this place
today I am painting a bedroom and thinking
how lovely it is to create, to erase

all of the bumps and the holes from our living
I'll spackle and sand to a smooth starting clean
so nice that old wallboard can be so forgiving
and I prefer flat paint without any sheen.
  
the sun's setting quickly
but night-time comes slowly
as it is common to dusk on the land
revealing the stars I can see further out
and enjoying the evening, with nothing else planned.

I trudge to the place where
my day always ends
and isn't that something, just as it begins
I pull back the covers and
punch up the pillow
and ask Love's forgiveness for all of my sins.

Nobody tells us to keep our lives simple
a choice that we make to be glad less the gold
for the things that are free less the stuff that we carry
a pleasure to have which will never grow old.
Raw words Aug 2015
When you drew in the snow AR
When you told me I was beautiful everyday
When I looked at you like the light of my life
When everything you did made me smile
When I cried from the thought of losing you 2 weeks in
When I knew you loved me
When I knew the kisses were real
When I believed you
When I wanted to feed you
When you cried on my bday from
Nerves to make me happy
When we danced the limbo
When we ate cake in bed
When we took pictures of our food for an album that will never be
When we made love all day
When we slept naked
When we woke up and made love again
When we smoked and laughed
When we listened to Dave Matthews Band and you were relaxed
When I didn't cry everyday
When I tried to wipe your scars away
When you rubbed my face to clear my sinuses
When you kissed my back as we spooned to sleep
When I didn't think you would ever leave
When you wanted to see me more
When I missed you every second you walked out the door
When I didn't blame our falling out on falling in
When I told the truth about what we were going through
When I needed you
When you needed me
I miss you so so so so so so much
I miss us and what we had
It was so unreal
Maybe because it wasn't real
Whatever it was I want it back
I want those rose scrub baths
I want happy dances that you gave me
I want your smile that was my favorite
Your voice that I loved so much
Your eyes that were filled with so much emotion I could see through
I was angry you let us go
For someone else.
spooky doopy Jan 2015
leaning on a rusty figure eight
my nails chip away at it
head on the tabletop lifting breaths from the center
minute single snares snap capturing the space
time reddens and swells like a bruise around me

sop up my wilted remains from the garden plots
polyglots in my sinuses whisper rhymes in sanskrit
laughin in rhythm within my toe tappin on icy paths
a buncha doughey toesies poking in the carpet
b e mccomb Jan 2018
you could knock
me over with a
puff of smoke

you know why
i've had a headache
in my sinuses
for three days?

it's from forcing
tears to
stay
up there

you could knock
me over with a
puff of smoke
but please don't

i hate
feeling
this way

weak

weak

weak

i feel
weak ******


like you could
knock me over
with a puff of smoke
and i wouldn't
be able to
get back up

and i hate
feeling
this way

worn down
like an old
washcloth
more holes
than fabric
begging
to be
ripped in half

weak
if i open my
mouth to
speak
i will be
drowned
out in my
own sobs

wanted to believe
i was strong
as strong as
any man out there
but if i can't even
speak how can
i possibly be
that strong?

weak
my body is tired
my mind is tired
my emotions are tired
and worst of all
i'm weak

and you could
knock me over
with a puff of smoke
and i will break

*i hate feeling
weak ******
copyright 1/14/17 by b. e. mccomb
Jonny Angel Apr 2015
This time of the year
my sinuses keep me awake.
I drain one side
then flip.
Drain the other side,
then flip again.
It's a ritual that seems
like it has no end.
Jesus,
I need to find a local honey
to stop this madness.

— The End —