"slaughtered" poems
The road behind bares us a backdrop, too many nights find us fractured in our thoughts and the dreamers we once were are far from the two people who stand today.
We're broken, mere splinters of our shipwreck past, driftwood on a shore that drowns every time the ocean breathes.
The path is littered with slaughtered dreams that didn't bleed.
As time and tide wait for no man shall we find it a tragic scene?
simply erased with the sunsets demise?
No one gets away without a scar and mine speak a road map to chaos
and a found hello to you.
Mine own scars are fingertips
gouged into the sand and faded
but salted by tears of the ocean, inerasable by the tide.
A soul washed up upon the shore, a road map etched delicately into fine bones.
You can trace where I'd been before. All roads lead to your hello.
In broken lines and have uttered phrases and one too many empty night.
Backdrop of chaos does paint in the darkest colors you could ever imagine .
How does it gets so flawed by our own creations and vices my dear?
Does it still ring ever so true?
The bell rings true whispering distant voices
Empty nights are just bottles lined up as dead soldiers
We contemplated our own truths and fell victim to our own vices
The backdrop is black, no colour beneath skin.
Honestly? Where does our downfall begin?
Two ships underneath the nightscape past the spark once understood the flame and nothing more .
In empty alleys, like cats to prowl, we find our moments, and then bury our thoughts to lay for no others to see.
half written papers and half heard conversation the keys of the piano haunt the silence as myself shadows that still remain.
Nothing is but a thought and those are like dead flowers laid to waste a reflection of far better times
The night crawls to meet the day as it has so many times before.
The thought of the minds bottle lay empty upon the table.
A fond farewell is but a sugar coated goodbye.
And I seldom have minced my words to mask their sting.
The page forever bleeds.
Pages that lay scattered on a ***** floor
Bleeding ink into cracks
that will forever more
hide the spirit of our souls.
Jan 29, 2015
Jan 29, 2015 at 7:23 AM UTC
I look into this never-ending sun
Left, right, right, left, the score climbing higher.
Then, suddenly the sun ends its cold fun,
and we look at our life it seems so dire.
Days and weeks slaughtered by the LED.
No love life, no friends, no freedom.
Just a window, what the screen lets me see.
I live in a poorly crafted kingdom.
Look before you, at this husk of a man.
He had such potential, he had a plan.
Jan 18, 2014
Jan 18, 2014 at 1:12 PM UTC
awakened by the
offsprings cry,
baby powdered
morning dew
showers the room,
coffee stained smiles
shine about
cheerio blanketed
kitchens,
so worrisome
for office tardiness,
the carseat won't lock
into place,
tire marks on
fresh paved driveways,
to daycare tears dry not
she's on time,
fatigued she plants
her seed to the office seat
to grow even less
awaiting to see the smile
of her child and say
her prayers before
falling asleep
-
awaked by the
offsprings cry,
gun powered
morning dew
showeres the village,
rotted teeth smile
amongst the
body-blanketed township,
so worrisome of finding
a slain mother
sister
brother
just like father,
the gun won't lock
into place,
they never will,
tattered couches
paved with the
***** of
slaughtered buildings,
mother's dead
tears dry not,
fatigued,
hands of
grungy drainpipes
plant beside,
holding stagnant
a somber sibling,
tremors ripple
crimson tides,
planted to
grow even less
awaiting to see
the smile of
his mother
his father
his sister
and say his prayers
with brother
before laying down
Aug 26, 2015
Aug 26, 2015 at 8:29 PM UTC
On the sewage puddles of Sabra and Shatila
there you transferred masses of human beings
worthy of respect
from the world of the living to the world of the dead.
Night after night.
First they shot
then they hung
and finally slaughtered with knives.
Terrified women rushed up
from over the dust hills:
"There they slaughter us
in Shatila."
A narrow tail of the new moon hung
above the camps.
Our soldiers illuminated the place with flares
like daylight.
"Back to the camps, March!" the soldier commanded
the screaming women of Sabra and Shatila.
He had orders to follow,
And the children were already laid in the puddles of waste,
their mouths open,
at rest.
No one will harm them.
A baby can't be killed twice.
And the tail of the moon filled out
until it turned into a loaf of whole gold.
Our dear sweet soldiers,
asked nothing for themselves—
how strong was their hunger
to return home in peace.
Translated from the original Hebrew by Karen Alkalay-Gut.
12.2k
Who believes what we’ve heard and seen?
Who would have thought God’s saving power would look like this?
The servant grew up before God—a scrawny seedling,
a scrubby plant in a parched field.
There was nothing attractive about him,
nothing to cause us to take a second look.
He was looked down on and passed over,
a man who suffered, who knew pain firsthand.
One look at him and people turned away.
We looked down on him, thought he was ****
But the fact is, it was our pains he carried—
our disfigurements, all the things wrong with us.
We thought he brought it on himself,
that God was punishing him for his own failures.
But it was our sins that did that to him,
that ripped and tore and crushed him—our sins!
He took the punishment, and that made us whole.
Through his bruises we get healed.
We’re all like sheep who’ve wandered off and gotten lost.
We’ve all done our own thing, gone our own way.
And God has piled all our sins, everything we’ve done wrong,
on him, on him.
He was beaten, he was tortured,
but he didn’t say a word.
Like a lamb taken to be slaughtered
and like a sheep being sheared,
he took it all in silence.
Justice miscarried, and he was led off—
and did anyone really know what was happening?
He died without a thought for his own welfare,
beaten ****** for the sins of my people.
They buried him with the wicked,
threw him in a grave with a rich man,
Even though he’d never hurt a soul
or said one word that wasn’t true.
Still, it’s what God had in mind all along,
to crush him with pain.
The plan was that he give himself as an offering for sin
so that he’d see life come from it—life, life, and more life.
And God’s plan will deeply prosper through him.
Out of that terrible travail of soul,
he’ll see that it’s worth it and be glad he did it.
Through what he experienced, my righteous one, my servant,
will make many “righteous ones,”
as he himself carries the burden of their sins.
Therefore I’ll reward him extravagantly—
the best of everything, the highest honors—
Because he looked death in the face and didn’t flinch,
because he embraced the company of the lowest.
He took on his own shoulders the sin of the many,
he took up the cause of all the black sheep.
~ Eugene Peterson
Jun 23, 2016
Jun 23, 2016 at 12:31 PM UTC
it was raining on the sun.
it was raining on the sun
this sun had 13 moons
it was raining on the sun
at 3 am.
the sun had lost it's way
only to find it's Madness
13 moons. 13 oceans
13 oceans of god knows what ?
13 dead gods on 13 dead lawns
the sky had gone where skys get very, very lost
where dead worlds sing
in the sick pink ***********
of a host of slaughtered angels
typhoons of awful
like clots of mindless rage
fed only violence and dominion
only sacred cows and baby teeth
and darkling blasphemy
come from the ruptured lungs
of Agony and Thorns
Only you.
only you would.
Only You
could.
**** a Unicorn.
Jun 7, 2012
Jun 7, 2012 at 2:29 PM UTC
I am not just a person in
a uniform, I am a Soldier.
Every time I arise, I obey;
Each time she calls, I step up
To defend her freedom,
To restore her home of peace
I arise, I obey, I soldier on.
Into the forest of her terrors
I charge, not without fear for that
which is mine but with love and strength
and faith, I March. Defending the labour
of heroes past, I march; fighting
for dreams of her children bright-
the future she deserves.
I arise, I obey, I soldier on.
In the army I serve Nigeria, my
Country with heart, might and spine.
Though a thousand times I have fallen,
bits and pieces of me, lost to her darkness,
still I obey, knowing it may be my last. I arise,
leaving my family and friends behind.
I obey your call of duty. My service and loyalty
I pack on with my combat gear, that you may live
to see yet another day, to feel yet another ray of
light on your face. I am not just a person in a uniform.
I am your Soldier, the Nigerian Soldier,
Ambushed and slaughtered in 40s, 70s and 100
for lack of resources.
Bless me O Nigeria as I arise and obey
Send me to your enemies with arsenals
and might to match the fire in my eyes.
As opposed to the massacres of me, let
the headlines read of our gallant victory
For my victory is yours over those who
threaten our unity.
I am not just a person in a uniform.
I am your Soldier
Do not let my bravery dissipate to stupidity
For I rise, I obey, I soldier on
still.
©Belema .S. Ekine
©belemascribbles
Dec 23, 2018
Dec 23, 2018 at 6:51 PM UTC
The sky is falling
The people are hiding
The jackboots are on their way
A mother is calling
A child is crying
Uncertain they'll live through the day
The tanks, they are treading
Across sovereign borders
Some soldiers are dreading
Their inhumane orders
Though they have an advantage
This war can't be won
And that "collateral damage"
Is somebody's son
The victims of war
Are the poor and the sick
Slaughtered like cattle
For the wealthy and rich
Jan 13, 2016
Jan 13, 2016 at 8:47 PM UTC
When the morning was waking over the war
He put on his clothes and stepped out and he died,
The locks yawned loose and a blast blew them wide,
He dropped where he loved on the burst pavement stone
And the funeral grains of the slaughtered floor.
Tell his street on its back he stopped a sun
And the craters of his eyes grew springshots and fire
When all the keys shot from the locks, and rang.
Dig no more for the chains of his grey-haired heart.
The heavenly ambulance drawn by a wound
Assembling waits for the spade's ring on the cage.
O keep his bones away from the common cart,
The morning is flying on the wings of his age
And a hundred storks perch on the sun's right hand.
7.3k
Sixty-seven children have been slaughtered.
Sixty-seven dreams have been shattered.
Sixty-seven beautiful faces have now vanished.
Sixty-seven vibrant smiles have faded.
Sixty-seven beds are left empty.
Palestinian children, like all children, love to play.
Palestinian children are longing for peace.
The children of Gaza dream to be teachers, nurses, artists, engineers, and doctors.
Palestinian children want to breathe.
Palestinian children's lives matter!
(Palestinian children killed by Israel in Gaza in May, 2021)
Hussein Dekmak
May 29, 2021
May 29, 2021 at 5:05 PM UTC
A single life so worthless, that poor fly,
Sooner than its timely moment to die,
As commanded by my unnerving will,
Its incompetent life I chose to ****
Put more simply, for disturbing my peace,
Its feeble and destitute life I ceased.
Yet my bloodstained hands always remained clean,
Once crimeful killing had become routine.
What almighty and sinful God am I
For unsparingly judging who must die
By my sword, without remorse or regret,
The slaughtered fly under my gavel, I forget.
An evil power from no source or spring
Springs power in me like a maddened King.
Mar 19, 2018
Mar 19, 2018 at 10:43 AM UTC
Battles raged on for
the cold, iron throne.
Kings were slaughtered
of origins, unknown.
Misery and death,
that’s what it bred.
That throne, so cold,
to destruction, it led.
Rebels had risen
to claim the throne
whose kingdom from hatred
had slowly grown.
The hunger for power,
the thirst to rule.
The throne turned
the wisest, into a fool.
The land was soaked
with blood that was shed.
That throne, so cold,
to destruction, it led.
In a kingdom built of hate,
with pillars of lies,
stands the cold, iron throne
as it’s glorious prize.
Oct 25, 2014
Oct 25, 2014 at 6:08 AM UTC
before the world i stand as woman, African queen
exotic beauty, strong, tough and resourceful
there in lies the damest of all that bind me to a cruel fate
"Africa, the birth place of mankind"
her daughters, slaughtered,mutilated and, raised to feel inferior
relaxers, skin lighting cream, weaves, wigs, diets
raised by western thinkers, propaganda splashed on the soap box
forced to work for the rich and powerful plastic people
forced watered down music
i dream of a world lead by African queen's
confident in there velvet cream skin
loving afro hair
swagging there bustyness with pride
no more selling our bodies for west
taking pride in being different
Oct 21, 2013
Oct 21, 2013 at 3:58 PM UTC
there once was this guy named oedipus
of whom it was prophesied
that his mother he'd marry, his father he'd ****
at a place where three roads were tied.
his mother and father discovered their fate
and tried to dispose of their son
but he ended up in corinthian lands
and their efforts were all undone.
then a drunk guy ruined his happy facade
and to an oracle oedipus went
who repeated to him the dank prophesy;
he fled corinth, not taking a cent.
while on his sojourn away from his home
he encountered a party royale
which rudely pushed him off of the road,
and angered he slaughtered them all.
then from that blood soaked three-way path
he nonchalantly flew
not knowing that his father was
the man that he just slew.
he continued his journey until he reached thebes
where a sphinx held the city hostage
so oedipus solved the bird-cat's lame rhyme
and released thebes from its *******
as a reward, the people of thebes
gave oedipus their widowed queen,
unknowingly joining mother and son
in a marriage that was unclean.
after they ruled for twenty good years,
during which four children came,
a plague was induced by the sheltering of
the man by whom was slain
in searching him out, oedipus found
that the murderer was really he,
so long ago. the man he had killed
at the place where were joined roads of three.
but by finding this out, he also discovered
that his wife and his mother were one.
he gouged out his eyes after her suicide;
in her own bedroom she was hung.
as it turned out, oeddy exiled himself
but the seeds of his misery were sewn.
so he went to colonus and wandered around
and this is the end.
Jul 30, 2010
Jul 30, 2010 at 5:14 AM UTC
What can we give you that isn't already yours? What can we offer that you don't already possess? You don't ask for slaughtered goats or lambs. You don't need them to survive; they are yours anyway. You don't need us to call attention to outward sacrifice, you would rather our sacrifice be quiet and internal. Sacrifice a little of our time and spend it with you. Sacrifice our desires, our bad habits and make good habits. Sacrifice our selfishness and be a little more selfless. But the most pleasing of all sacrifices to you, you say: is a sacrifice of praise. To give thanks and praise and to glorify your Holy Name. You assure us that if we do this, then when we are in need and call upon your name, you will be there for us.
Lord, so often, as humans we focus on what is on the outside but what matters most to you is what is on the inside. We are often so busy and preoccupied with by the world around us that we forget to stop or slow down and we miss what is most important in our lives. Lord help us sacrifice a little of our time to deepen and strengthen our friendship. Help us Lord to step back and open our eyes to what matters most in our lives: friends, family, and faith and to take time to be grateful for them and really cherish what precious short time we have together.
Open our hearts Lord and fill them with the love you had and gave for the whole world so that we might be less selfish and more selfless. In being more selfless there is less of my self and there is more of you. We were all created in God's image and likeness. God is selfless love. The more we are selfless the closer we are to God and the more clearly we reflect the image and likeness of Christ to the world and those in it. We were created to be selfless, but like Jesus we must take the time to be alone, give thanks and praise for all the blessings we have and to eat, drink and rest that we might have Strength for the Journey.
Sep 15, 2015
Sep 15, 2015 at 6:34 PM UTC
Last night I dreamt I cohabitated with
Two beasts, both loved.
The one, a young lioness
The other a spry lamb
I had raised the both from infancy
But the lioness, who was then entering her adulthood began to size up the lamb.
And it occurred to me that in order to
save
the lamb from the lioness
That I must **** and eat it myself
It is the inescapable nature of a lion to
Hunt and ****
livestock
So while there was no scruple or problem for me to have these two animals,
They could not abide one another.
So I did it.
I slaughtered the lamb and cut it's flank and got at its tender meat
And I cooked it and served it with Marsala sauce and that night the lioness and I dined on the flesh of our old friend.
And I became aware eventually,
Between my ravenous gnawings at the meat
That the lioness was not eating.
She was
Staring fixedly
Directly at me.
She did not blink.
And I stopped feasting on the lamb.
And as I did I saw her eyes dilate
And she pounced across the table
And she gored me with her great claws
And split my gut and spilled my innards
And she ate me bit by bit still screaming
Still covered in Marsala sauce.
Before it was over I had but a breath in me and I cried,
"But why?!"
And I realized that it is the inescapable nature of the lion
To hunt and to ****
Not just livestock, not just lambs.
She had hunted and killed us both.
Jan 27, 2014
Jan 27, 2014 at 5:06 PM UTC
He saw her through the tower window.
Silhouetted by candle light
Her beauty quite breath taking
On this cold November night
High above the tree tops
Imprisoned in the stone
She was far too pretty
To be trapped up there alone
So he fought his way to the top
This damsel deserved his best
He slaughtered the mighty dragon
Blood smeared across his chest
He made his way to the door
And found to his surprise
He could not break it down
Because she barricaded the inside
A scream from the room
You fool she hissed and said
I want to be here by myself
And now my pet is dead!
You ruined my castle
With your disgusting little plight
I am no damsel in distress
And you sir
Are no ******* knight!
Jan 8, 2016
Jan 8, 2016 at 2:17 PM UTC
From the black recesses of the earth
She rose from her long slumber
Icy death smile on her crimson lips
Face gleaming with wicked knowledge
Slanted eyes of emerald green
Glazed and mad
Her crown jewels of the dead
Bleached human bones
Encircled her head
Fine glass complexion of shimmering gold
She spoke the words of The Sleeping Three
Hair falling in rich waves down to the floor of snakes
The color of the crows breast
A rich purple ebony
Snake scale gown of finely woven human skins
Gathered from her poor victims sin
Wrapped round her lithe body
A thousand souls it took to weave
Awakened from its dark sleep
Spells cast in hell's deep
By a powerful witch
Who stirred the cauldron
Tainted with revenge
The demon was now visible to sight
The apparition appeared in smoke and orange red light
To bow down and submit to the witches bidding
The command never waived from intent
One of chaos and death
Slaughtered, cold in rows they lay
Pity for the one this creature seeks
Of a terrible perfume her heart reeks
That of blood and brimstone
Perfumed smoke and fire
The devil is her line and sire
So by demons touch
Plotting cold hands
She claims the souls of mortal man
More thread for her clothing
The beautiful demon
This poem is copyrighted and stored in author base. All material subject to Copyright Infringement laws
Section 512(c)(3) of the U.S. Copyright
Act, 17 U.S.C. S512(c)(3), Tammy M. Darby
Jul 13, 2013
Jul 13, 2013 at 6:08 PM UTC
I am innocent
I swear I'm not responsible
For any damage she's had
I swear I'm not the reason
Of her tears at night
And I swear I did not intend
To hurt and scar
I am guilty
I'm guilty for being weak
And guilty for being a kid
Guilty for committing a mistake
And for the actions I make
Misdemeanor; such ******
I slaughtered the feelings
We had for each other
Loving is a crime
And I am afraid
Of committing it again
Apr 2, 2017
Apr 2, 2017 at 11:59 AM UTC
Zeus, your predilection for banishing Titans to Hades...
anathema of them--revolt was theirs of you...Titanomachy.
Enter Prometheus, second generational Titan, brother
to Atlas--Prometheus of whom Titan revolt at first ran
no fire through his veins.
Thus, Zeus was well pleased and employed Prometheus
to put earth to water, water to earth...as to yield man.
As so man was, and was unto Prometheus...a fondness
entered him of them.
And in of passion Prometheus' veins were run through
with fire...fire fought fire--thus Prometheus reached out
taking hold Zeus' lightning.
Hid in a hollowed fennel stalk, to be bequeathed unto man.
Torrents of fire now ran Prometheus' veins, and in a fit of
infamous mockery presented Zeus with two packets of
slaughtered animal parts.
A hubris was born in Prometheus that being so halved
God-man gave itself fully to that polarity...he gawked at
Zeus and bade him choose between the two packets.
One of ox meat and innards coated in stomach lining, the
other of ox-bones coated in its own abundant fat.
Thus Zeus chose, the wretched lesser of the two...
inconsumable ox-bones coated by fat.
A charged and terrible air cut and heavied all direction,
pointing assuredly that Zeus was one given over to the
surface of things, a psychological casualty of his own
vanity.
Zeus overcome with Prometheus' disaffection for the God
of him struck at Prometheus' family.
At length, this assault could not, would not put asunder
Prometheus from the ground he stood.
A certain Haphaestus was summoned by Zeus...whose
directive was writ in torment.
Chain Prometheus to Mount Caucasus...where from on
high a sackcloth cloud shall shake loose an eagle, whose
homing hunger shall have only a taste for Prometheus' liver.
Day in, and day out, that accursed ***** shall be the
bounty of itself!
Jan 17, 2012
Jan 17, 2012 at 6:06 PM UTC
Horror speaks in silence
and Fear speaks in signs
it’s written on my face
and on the faces I see.
How did I end up here?
A masked man brought us food.
The smell of it drives us mad in hunger.
We eat like we're crazy.
Devouring it like messy animals.
I see the eyes of superiority
in the sight of the masked man.
I look at them with deep curiosity.
He looks back with a look of intent.
Deep blue eyes inspect the whole me.
then I realized, everyone, including me
wears nothing but just two pieces of
undergarments.
I quickly cover my well-being,
then he just walks away.
I felt ***** ,
Weary,
and Cold in this rusty dark place.
Where are we going?
Our future is uncertain.
I felt that our life is for sale,
like animals going to be slaughtered.
Sleep is taking my reality
Hoping that dreams will wash away
the fear, horror and uncertainty along the way.
© Pax
Nov 23, 2014
Nov 23, 2014 at 1:06 AM UTC
Asleep alone
I got the light scare
Of a nightmare
With my plight there
Which wouldn't fight fair
Awake awaits
Chirping is all I hear
Dragging life into focus
Getting the lens clear
To see things are hopeless
My aches and pains
Are my body's refrain
To remind me of existence
Despite my mental resistance
I am lucid
I take my shoelace
And loop it
To run a new race
Timidly trembling
The violence in my dreams
Matches the silence and screams
That defile us and our team
Making the nightmares real
And the pain I can feel
So it's love I steal
A devil's deal
Hell unsealed
I can hear the vultures chirping
Or maybe they're just burping
Out the demons I ignored
My forgiveness they implored
To meet a silent scorn
Like a muted tribal horn
Banishing them to another realm
With my ostracism at the helm
Until the lonely are overwhelmed
And I see the error of my ways
Once I'm part of this chaotic haze
Practically paralyzed
I am lost
In this game
I've met the boss
He and I the same
He is a voice
Chirping in my ear
Saying I have no choice
I should give in to fear
And just drink beer
Until the end is here
Carelessly comatose
The birds that once sang beautifully
Now retreat dutifully
When they see my thoughtless anger
Turn me into a ruthless stranger
Creating danger
For those living righteously
They start fighting me
Trying to enlighten me
Which is only exciting me
Because I lack the sight to see
What the world could be
If we could harmonize
Like the birds
Not using argent lies
But soothing words
Yet there is no tax exemption
For my reluctant redemption
So my mind invented
No incentive
Soul slaughtered
The tear jerking
Birds chirping
Constantly remind me
Inside my sleep they find me
Thrusting me into a life unwinding
Through my window the sun is blinding
When I start to fear my brother
After seeing mirrors in others
Reflecting my attitude
Of ingratitude
I had a nasty nightmare
Of Camp Crystal Lake
Filled with misfit flakes
Paying for their mistakes
With pain and suffering
As deep as a submarine
Being torn apart
For every decision
Hiding their heart
To avoid incisions
And once all these losers are slain
The birds chirping start a new day
Jun 29, 2018
Jun 29, 2018 at 4:14 AM UTC
Before you get lost in the unfinished maps of her veins
the ones like yours, but not stitched up too many times to count on the ticks of a clock,
make sure that she trusts you enough to tell the truth.
Make sure that she loves you enough to know how you lie.
Remember that every single time you open your mouth, she's wishing
you're saying I love you.
Remember that on Fridays she doesn't want to cook.
And she sure doesn't want you to cook anything that was slaughtered.
Remember that she prefers cheap whiskey over champagne.
And when you're opening your ribcage to show her how fast your heart beats
when she grabs your wrists, make sure the butterflies are set free.
Make sure they find the window.
Make sure they find a home.
Remember that every living creature is just that, living.
Remember that they have a heartbeat.
And when you stop breathing when you see her with her hair down,
when you're thinking about starting a religion about girls with flowers for eyes,
tell her she's beautiful.
Tell her she's so full of the future.
Get her a telescope so you can show her the moon when it's bigger than both your thumbs.
Take her skiing while it's Summer in Australia even though you curse the snow as if it
were born out of wedlock.
Let her know she's not the first but she's definitely the only, and you're so scared of dying.
You never know what you have until it's locked firmly in your grasp as if to not let it run away.
You might lose a lot of blood but you'll never lose your way home.
I don't want to hear the dial tone.
I want to hear your voice, I want to hear you scream. Tell me to leave.
Tell me that I am the only road that leads you to a purpose.
That in a world of blindness I am so technicolour.
Even though I can't promise you that, I can give you my words, thrusted from my lungs
like wildfire.
Searching for the way out.
Talk to me about religion, please please convince me that there is something out there other than
rotting in the ground for all of eternity.
Bible scripture doesn't whisper of your lips like my pillows do.
I never really thought about pillow talk until they started speaking me to sleep.
I find myself found by the curvature of your spine, of the shadows that take up residence on your shoulders like they have lived there all along.
I want to kiss away every bit of pain that has ever stopped you from smiling at strangers
and let you know that I'm coming home and I will always find your hands.
Let your ribs shake when your heart has had enough.
Let them shake.
Let the rain come through your window while you're sitting there in your makeshift darkroom.
You are the only thing I know about consistency.
And before I get lost in the unfinished maps of your veins,
I will be making sure they lead to me.
Oct 30, 2013
Oct 30, 2013 at 6:42 PM UTC
the child recieves his paper
****** backward by the one in front
flip the three pages flippantly
one : intimidating . . two : boring
the third adorned unexpectedly
a longer -than seems can be usually- grown hair with a clump of green root
sprung out and slaughtered, down across the width; stuck above the questions beneath
how could he not have seen?
a pile so viscous and obscene?
does everyone else have one???
are they holding their disgust beneath?
he looked up at the teacher.
A look of vigilance his face bequeathed.
B ut now it sprung out almost pus like
a faint smile,
a teachers calm reprieve
he then leaned back on his chair in comfort
drooping his head back
his nostrils flared now toward the child
the hairs brustling from inside, all locked up in a ***** days remnants
all foul
and long
and dehydrated
like a swamp now sunned crisp; reeds on a stale bank
drawn in he felt uneasy
unable to cease to stare
incased inside the world that spawned
in the swamp that lay up there
in the cavernous orifices there
then he saw the teachers eyes, his gaze it
stuck on him, the teacher began to grin
further back his head leant
his eyes jaundiced
his teeth tanned
his face pale
his grin outstretched and thin
Oct 17, 2013
Oct 17, 2013 at 6:38 AM UTC