Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
"sniffing" poems
I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair. Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets. Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all day I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps. I hunger for your sleek laugh, your hands the color of a savage harvest, hunger for the pale stones of your fingernails, I want to eat your skin like a whole almond. I want to eat the sunbeam flaring in your lovely body, the sovereign nose of your arrogant face, I want to eat the fleeting shade of your lashes, and I pace around hungry, sniffing the twilight, hunting for you, for your hot heart, like a puma in the barrens of Quitratue.
0
435.7k
Love Sonnet XI
A fine mole down the blue mountain sky cannot be weighed out! It's the cosmos's gold dust the earthy depth triumphs. Oh earth, our close clay-star is far ahead of the day at noon. Ahead of the moon ahead of the Neptune! With a million dash of curiosity every new sunrise paints upon her black box with the roaring fire. Yet the ****** is a veiled wonder! It has the plethora a room for everyone and time for timeless times. Guess, with her longhand what an inside scoop did it pick out? You too can be in the know It's the feminine beauty all in all. You may have by now seen women million and one. The earth is eyeing on only one! Her closest admirer is the star of the very luminary bunch with open eyes in the hearts. Her dead man is waking up sniffing the daylight by her. Yet to make the discovery both are still wondering outside!
0
Oct 14, 2017
Oct 14, 2017 at 4:52 PM UTC
One Earth One Woman
Did you ever hear about ******* Lil? She lived in ******* town on ******* hill, She had a ******* dog and a ******* cat, They fought all night with a ******* rat. She had ******* hair on her ******* head. She had a ******* dress that was poppy red: She wore a snowbird hat and sleigh-riding clothes, On her coat she wore a crimson, ******* rose. Big gold chariots on the Milky Way, Snakes and elephants silver and gray. Oh the ******* blues they make me sad, Oh the ******* blues make me feel bad. Lil went to a snow party one cold night, And the way she sniffed was sure a fright. There was Hophead Mag with ***** Slim, Kankakee Liz and Yen Shee Jim. There was Morphine Sue and the Poppy Face Kid, Climbed up snow ladders and down they skid; There was the Stepladder Kit, a good six feet, And the Sleigh-riding Sister who were hard to beat. Along in the morning about half past three They were all lit up like a Christmas tree; Lil got home and started for bed, Took another sniff and it knocked her dead. They laid her out in her ******* clothes: She wore a snowbird hat with a crimson rose; On her headstone you’ll find this refrain: She died as she lived, sniffing *******
0
29.1k
******* Lil and Morphine Sue
Love, the world Suddenly turns, turns color. The streetlight Splits through the rat's tail Pods of the laburnum at nine in the morning. It is the Arctic, This little black Circle, with its tawn silk grasses - babies hair. There is a green in the air, Soft, delectable. It cushions me lovingly. I am flushed and warm. I think I may be enormous, I am so stupidly happy, My Wellingtons Squelching and squelching through the beautiful red. This is my property. Two times a day I pace it, sniffing The barbarous holly with its viridian Scallops, pure iron, And the wall of the odd corpses. I love them. I love them like history. The apples are golden, Imagine it ---- My seventy trees Holding their gold-ruddy ***** In a thick gray death-soup, Their million Gold leaves metal and breathless. O love, O celibate. Nobody but me Walks the waist high wet. The irreplaceable Golds bleed and deepen, the mouths of Thermopylae.
0
22.9k
Letter In November
My dog has died. I buried him in the garden next to a rusted old machine. Some day I'll join him right there, but now he's gone with his shaggy coat, his bad manners and his cold nose, and I, the materialist, who never believed in any promised heaven in the sky for any human being, I believe in a heaven I'll never enter. Yes, I believe in a heaven for all dogdom where my dog waits for my arrival waving his fan-like tail in friendship. Ai, I'll not speak of sadness here on earth, of having lost a companion who was never servile. His friendship for me, like that of a porcupine withholding its authority, was the friendship of a star, aloof, with no more intimacy than was called for, with no exaggerations: he never climbed all over my clothes filling me full of his hair or his mange, he never rubbed up against my knee like other dogs obsessed with *** No, my dog used to gaze at me, paying me the attention I need, the attention required to make a vain person like me understand that, being a dog, he was wasting time, but, with those eyes so much purer than mine, he'd keep on gazing at me with a look that reserved for me alone all his sweet and shaggy life, always near me, never troubling me, and asking nothing. Ai, how many times have I envied his tail as we walked together on the shores of the sea in the lonely winter of Isla Negra where the wintering birds filled the sky and my hairy dog was jumping about full of the voltage of the sea's movement: my wandering dog, sniffing away with his golden tail held high, face to face with the ocean's spray. Joyful, joyful, joyful, as only dogs know how to be happy with only the autonomy of their shameless spirit. There are no good-byes for my dog who has died, and we don't now and never did lie to each other. So now he's gone and I buried him, and that's all there is to it.
0
17.7k
A Dog Has Died
My dog has died. I buried him in the garden next to a rusted old machine. Some day I'll join him right there, but now he's gone with his shaggy coat, his bad manners and his cold nose, and I, the materialist, who never believed in any promised heaven in the sky for any human being, I believe in a heaven I'll never enter. Yes, I believe in a heaven for all dogdom where my dog waits for my arrival waving his fan-like tail in friendship. Ai, I'll not speak of sadness here on earth, of having lost a companion who was never servile. His friendship for me, like that of a porcupine withholding its authority, was the friendship of a star, aloof, with no more intimacy than was called for, with no exaggerations: he never climbed all over my clothes filling me full of his hair or his mange, he never rubbed up against my knee like other dogs obsessed with *** No, my dog used to gaze at me, paying me the attention I need, the attention required to make a vain person like me understand that, being a dog, he was wasting time, but, with those eyes so much purer than mine, he'd keep on gazing at me with a look that reserved for me alone all his sweet and shaggy life, always near me, never troubling me, and asking nothing. Ai, how many times have I envied his tail as we walked together on the shores of the sea in the lonely winter of Isla Negra where the wintering birds filled the sky and my hairy dog was jumping about full of the voltage of the sea's movement: my wandering dog, sniffing away with his golden tail held high, face to face with the ocean's spray. Joyful, joyful, joyful, as only dogs know how to be happy with only the autonomy of their shameless spirit. There are no good-byes for my dog who has died, and we don't now and never did lie to each other. So now he's gone and I buried him, and that's all there is to it.
Continue reading...
53
And when I met that girl in San Francisco Off a dusty little pier with rotting wood and squawking seals And screaming bayside wind She caught me off-tropics and danced with the grace of a palm tree lines between the quaked concrete off telegraph avenue On an obscuring Sunday morning and no she didn't go to church or any silly thing like a temple or synagogue She said those were no places for god God was the trees We smoked cigarettes and got off to each other's carcinogenic practices oxidizing a little faster in conjunction with hopeful Formaldehyde Deriding the formalities of small talk and trivialities She liked her guitars with nickel-wound strings I with nylon But I couldn't play songs that sounded any good with them while she could and did. and girl did it ever sound good She'd laugh at the contests on the radio while we drove on a half-moon to half-moon full and whole of ourselves We'd stopped in the lobby of a cheap motel And waltzed to background muzak wacked out of our minds Sniffing in deep huffs of subliminal divinity Understanding loving that mind-numbing monotony muzak... ppsh. Who ever really listened to that? And then she left at the end of one fine winter day in a cloudless sky I waved watched her plane skip off towards the edge of a pale blue horizon back south to warmer climes to wherever she truly stayed The tugging on my heartstrings chimed grotesque in precise D minor.
0
Jun 6, 2018
Jun 6, 2018 at 9:23 PM UTC
Steel Guitar
Every day is new the age-old sun mints in sniffing a blossoming fragrance off nothing just off the soil, a pure earth! Deep inside of this hallowed turf is a a perfumed earth: A rose in the heart!
0
Oct 15, 2017
Oct 15, 2017 at 10:24 PM UTC
A Rose in the Heart
I heard a howling in the woods, freezing me right where I stood. That sound: it turned my blood to ice I knew he'd hunt me this full moon night. Great, big footsteps pounding near; Their deadly echo resonating with fear. His heavy breathing reeked of blood and thirst. I knew right then, I was in for the worst. I clutched my throat in desperate need of oxygen so I could breathe. Unluckily I began to faint. Knowing, once black, I'd never wake. And just as my eyes began to close I saw his wet, sniffing nose. I felt his snarling teeth biting deep inside of me. Then I knew that I was done. I had lost and he had won.
0
Jan 19, 2015
Jan 19, 2015 at 7:08 PM UTC
Werewolf
Do you want to hear a story droll? About a dog with a kind soul Outside, that night, I heard the winds howl Inside was the sound of an intermittent growl I opened the door and he slipped out Some time later, he came back with a pout Reprimanded he was for coming back with a muddy taint. Remorseless, head raised, he stood there defiant. “Okay, Scot! Let’s see what you got” He gently dropped his big scowl and Out fell, in my palms, a baby owl! Apparently he had peeped far from his tree hole When Scot was beneath that tree sniffing a mole Frightened but fine, the owlet was a bit choosy So we went, to put him back, in his tree hole cosy!
0
Jul 21, 2014
Jul 21, 2014 at 6:01 AM UTC
A story droll!
There are wolves in the classroom. They sit and stare watching, waiting sniffing the air for a hint of blood. Remember Red There are wolves in the classroom. You have to tread carefully, cautiously Lest their teeth Sink into your soft flesh. There are wolves in the classroom Whimpering, growling and howling, Gently now, be wary now *Remember Red, Remember.*
0
Dec 21, 2014
Dec 21, 2014 at 10:55 PM UTC
Wolves in the Classroom
/*h'americans can call it a striptease, but in amsterdam, with legal self-employed prostitutes? we call it a cocktease: because you'd really visit amsterdam for the **** these days?* isabella: the french psychology exchange student -     hung up on her ex-boyfriend - really in anime movies -       and that american i competed with on an edinburgh pub-crawl for freshers - and lost my virginity to -                   probably the only time i had the ontological parameters of your atypical man -   "hunting", competing -    oh so, so, enthralling....     (spot the irony mingling with ridicule, when people "know" how the modern man behaves, with his caveman predecessors: dragging a woman by the hair type of cartoonish depiction) - the other fun time i've had encounters with h'americans was in Soho - two colts, texan tourists asking for directions, or where this or that place was... it almost warmed my heart hearing that twang                        of the tongue... perhaps someone from arizona? that has that - "mid" western twang of the tongue                  added to the bite... snub the Boston high-mind eloquence, like:     you really really want                to sound european... never mind...    people say that water is tasteless... hmm...     so last night i was heating up one arm of scissors...                  and sniffing it... then licked the other arm of the scissor... what's in water again?    minerals... a subtle presence... magnesium, potassium, iron... you name it...    so yeah... water is... "tasteless"... eisenzahn that i am.
0
Jul 25, 2018
Jul 25, 2018 at 12:04 PM UTC
water is, "tasteless" (eisenzahn)
/*h'americans can call it a striptease, but in amsterdam, with legal self-employed prostitutes? we call it a cocktease: because you'd really visit amsterdam for the **** these days?* isabella: the french psychology exchange student -     hung up on her ex-boyfriend - really in anime movies -       and that american i competed with on an edinburgh pub-crawl for freshers - and lost my virginity to -                   probably the only time i had the ontological parameters of your atypical man -   "hunting", competing -    oh so, so, enthralling....     (spot the irony mingling with ridicule, when people "know" how the modern man behaves, with his caveman predecessors: dragging a woman by the hair type of cartoonish depiction) - the other fun time i've had encounters with h'americans was in Soho - two colts, texan tourists asking for directions, or where this or that place was... it almost warmed my heart hearing that twang                        of the tongue... perhaps someone from arizona? that has that - "mid" western twang of the tongue                  added to the bite... snub the Boston high-mind eloquence, like:     you really really want                to sound european... never mind...    people say that water is tasteless... hmm...     so last night i was heating up one arm of scissors...                  and sniffing it... then licked the other arm of the scissor... what's in water again?    minerals... a subtle presence... magnesium, potassium, iron... you name it...    so yeah... water is... "tasteless"... eisenzahn that i am.
Continue reading...
51
Im Sitting Here Thinking about life. As The Homies Are Taking Turns Passing, Shot Gun Sniffing, Racking, hot railing Twisting The Pookie Pipe 666 The Devils Clear **** There Getting lost in that **** Addicts since they were all youngin Kicking it with 19, 25 30 40 year olds Im Looking, Then Im looking down. see the pipe passed on to me Where ibegan to think and Look Down On my Life. Reality hits me. Im following the same line, chasing the same thang
0
Sep 22, 2014
Sep 22, 2014 at 12:14 PM UTC
Thinking Drug Life 13
they danced in a dream of bending shadows face down begging *** all hungry back door paradise ankles strapped on a foot worn floor paint faced in whorey nights with pin needle eyes beded blood crimson neon's cut curtains like kissing claws so their bodies wouldn't forget dark pleasures lightening and biting tantra tantrums they swallowed mad ***** blossoms of hell candy breathing the others inhalations foot sniffing ballet arch in fastened Japanese melting red slippers gazing upwards rectums prayer solar eyed insurrection finger by finger clutching wrists like the grave for bloods salty cove an injured landscape a dire pink desert like bogs hold bones a rave for a slave covered in yellow ocher rubber sheets soft on the feet x rated amputee costume made of blood and spit look mommy no arms a bellied tattoo of hennaed homunculi   burning Candomblé Jejé, skull black eyed beauty hissing while accordion throated rip tie tighten another notch please a dizzy ******* down silver fluted gullet in a steamed up bath house party of blotted sockets *** kitten kissed dead girls thighs tremulous and stretched a shimmering serum like wide tubular channels as pontoon edges slit through midnight howls for velvet skinned girl who thrills her head a veiled Jehovah saliva wagging tongue **** a stuttering ****** dance a hula hot momma in rubble slapping hot lipped kisses over starved darkness along telegraphs avenue melting eyes like butter a globed pudding spill ******* drool drops of gold and black river gladiators slaughter lies with every long stroke between cascading squeals paraphilias mausoleum like tumbling eels a scapegoat pulp fiction chiseled in cement ******* rips drip drip drip babbling **** bubbles **** spasms ooze like a hot glue gun fire spats soil cherry clover
0
Jan 12, 2019
Jan 12, 2019 at 3:39 PM UTC
*** Kitten and Little Dead Girl....Ero ****
they danced in a dream of bending shadows face down begging *** all hungry back door paradise ankles strapped on a foot worn floor paint faced in whorey nights with pin needle eyes beded blood crimson neon's cut curtains like kissing claws so their bodies wouldn't forget dark pleasures lightening and biting tantra tantrums they swallowed mad ***** blossoms of hell candy breathing the others inhalations foot sniffing ballet arch in fastened Japanese melting red slippers gazing upwards rectums prayer solar eyed insurrection finger by finger clutching wrists like the grave for bloods salty cove an injured landscape a dire pink desert like bogs hold bones a rave for a slave covered in yellow ocher rubber sheets soft on the feet x rated amputee costume made of blood and spit look mommy no arms a bellied tattoo of hennaed homunculi   burning Candomblé Jejé, skull black eyed beauty hissing while accordion throated rip tie tighten another notch please a dizzy ******* down silver fluted gullet in a steamed up bath house party of blotted sockets *** kitten kissed dead girls thighs tremulous and stretched a shimmering serum like wide tubular channels as pontoon edges slit through midnight howls for velvet skinned girl who thrills her head a veiled Jehovah saliva wagging tongue **** a stuttering ****** dance a hula hot momma in rubble slapping hot lipped kisses over starved darkness along telegraphs avenue melting eyes like butter a globed pudding spill ******* drool drops of gold and black river gladiators slaughter lies with every long stroke between cascading squeals paraphilias mausoleum like tumbling eels a scapegoat pulp fiction chiseled in cement ******* rips drip drip drip babbling **** bubbles **** spasms ooze like a hot glue gun fire spats soil cherry clover
Continue reading...
75
you can hear the echo via Zizek the Slovak, well, attire me in slavic myths and i'll be mumbling purrs in mud too for a helium bubble to become a comedian, i know a jittery ******* addiction when i see one... if one thing the catholic schooling system taught me was how to avoid sniffing glue and how to recognise a Freudian apostle - still, with all the hippy **** you'd think sniffing glue was what Ukrainian existentialism prescribed with paracetamol, catholic education just said: no no. **** me it's the late 90s and we're talking post-Chernobyl antics... but that's how i see the left, leftist politics, the right                utilises prefixes and suffixes in the old stance of simple pre- pro-                                     anti-                                             qua-                                                                -so so... the left? oh they're right in there... their prefixes are                                 Marxist- liberal-                                          Hegelian-              whatnot...                                                 they don't use abstract prefixes,                                           their prefixes are concrete,                         they want the porridge in their mouth to ensure a slur that never comes, among a range of onomatopoeias they argue from the perspective of the hushed and ushered crowd, via one observation: Stalin clapped after a speech to enjoin with the crowd, a real big brother, ****** never clapped, a sitting-duck method; i'm not advocating, but by a proxy placebo dynamo experimenting, it's called experimenting with thought rather than practising with will, former no chance of footstep evaluation for cult status imitable -                                       the left intellectual has no rubric of thought concerning to and fro - it has to be concrete layered and a shut off perfect architecture without fault - it can't be what it is -                                       con- has to be conservative                                                   pro- has to be socialist                                      you once said legitimate transparency - but you didn't say legislation - well, the left understood it as legislation, the right too wanted legitimate transparency - the green party said we could have neither but could have the replanting of a thousand oak trees with a Robin Hood placard on the first oak tree replanted in Sherwood Forest... b. ~ d. ~... shot ~100 bent arrows into a bullseye - hurrah! hurrah! maid marian lost her virginity too! to a broomstick rather than maradona's fingernail toothpick! at an essex market the cockney shouts (out of place): *** yer courgettes! *** yer courgettes! ta fa a pudding! ta fa a pudding! *** yer cucumbers! tooth firth 'un!
0
Apr 20, 2016
Apr 20, 2016 at 9:50 PM UTC
i don't talk
you can hear the echo via Zizek the Slovak, well, attire me in slavic myths and i'll be mumbling purrs in mud too for a helium bubble to become a comedian, i know a jittery ******* addiction when i see one... if one thing the catholic schooling system taught me was how to avoid sniffing glue and how to recognise a Freudian apostle - still, with all the hippy **** you'd think sniffing glue was what Ukrainian existentialism prescribed with paracetamol, catholic education just said: no no. **** me it's the late 90s and we're talking post-Chernobyl antics... but that's how i see the left, leftist politics, the right                utilises prefixes and suffixes in the old stance of simple pre- pro-                                     anti-                                             qua-                                                                -so so... the left? oh they're right in there... their prefixes are                                 Marxist- liberal-                                          Hegelian-              whatnot...                                                 they don't use abstract prefixes,                                           their prefixes are concrete,                         they want the porridge in their mouth to ensure a slur that never comes, among a range of onomatopoeias they argue from the perspective of the hushed and ushered crowd, via one observation: Stalin clapped after a speech to enjoin with the crowd, a real big brother, ****** never clapped, a sitting-duck method; i'm not advocating, but by a proxy placebo dynamo experimenting, it's called experimenting with thought rather than practising with will, former no chance of footstep evaluation for cult status imitable -                                       the left intellectual has no rubric of thought concerning to and fro - it has to be concrete layered and a shut off perfect architecture without fault - it can't be what it is -                                       con- has to be conservative                                                   pro- has to be socialist                                      you once said legitimate transparency - but you didn't say legislation - well, the left understood it as legislation, the right too wanted legitimate transparency - the green party said we could have neither but could have the replanting of a thousand oak trees with a Robin Hood placard on the first oak tree replanted in Sherwood Forest... b. ~ d. ~... shot ~100 bent arrows into a bullseye - hurrah! hurrah! maid marian lost her virginity too! to a broomstick rather than maradona's fingernail toothpick! at an essex market the cockney shouts (out of place): *** yer courgettes! *** yer courgettes! ta fa a pudding! ta fa a pudding! *** yer cucumbers! tooth firth 'un!
Continue reading...
70
I put on my aqua-lung and dive, Exploring there I see a giant tortoise plunge to the coral reef, Just missing a lonely lobster gliding across the sand. I hide from a fearsome shark, sniffing the water for blood. A crawling crayfish scuttles away. I come to an angry octopus squirting its enemy with ink. Swaying seaweed hide sleeping starfish. A fluttering flounder quickly swims by in pursuit of a sliding seal. But too soon the bitter cold wraps around me like a blanket and pulls me to the surface. Back to the ordinary world.
0
Feb 27, 2013
Feb 27, 2013 at 10:23 AM UTC
The Diver
vanishing hope for consumption as a way of life obese children shovel pharmaceuticals down the throats of the infirm internally developing low-tone hymns relating to slow death by corporate greed – albino judicators pass melanin laws felonizing the populace perpetuating the proletariat while pontificating on the post 9/11 society – isolated rabble-rousers screaming at eggshell walls dislodge tacks holding together the fabric of American culture with ingrown and chewed fingernails flailing armies think back to trench warfare – robust midwives mediate heated discussions as the United Nations blindly support U.S. imperialism looking for kickbacks from energy companies globalization giving all humanity incurable S.T.D.’s – the last free house mouse bounds betwixt the ruins energetically sniffing the rubble seeking some small morsel to satisfy its hunger –
0
Sep 23, 2015
Sep 23, 2015 at 12:49 PM UTC
dinner bell
There's a boat, there's a boat in the middle of the road in a massive traffic jam rolling after some old van i can tell from the look that shes trying to float away that shes hungry for the seas that shes sniffing in the breeze and this boat, she could float but she leaked a little bit she was leaky full of holes full of smoke and alcohol she was white she was shiny with a crooked timber deck with a crows nest full of crows with six cannon lined in rows on the sea in a storm she keeps sailing on and on sometimes sunk beneath a splash drunken boat and acting rash
0
Jun 24, 2013
Jun 24, 2013 at 11:54 AM UTC
Boat
It’s like walking on air Floating on sunshine Sniffing rainbows Dancing with unicorns Twirling under sunsets Always and forever my love
0
Apr 6, 2018
Apr 6, 2018 at 9:15 AM UTC
In Love
You're thirteen, sorry fourteen this week You think you know the world, have it figured out You think you know yourself, without a doubt Let me tell you some things I learned when I was about your age I learned how to go from popular ***** to no good freak show Nothing but an ipod every day at lunch, no friends, no food I learned that I had addictions that I didn't know even existed I learned how badly I wanted attention from his hands, his mouth I learned what it like to be violated in the worse most degrading way I learned how to get high I learned that the intentional pain I'd always caused could be A harnessed tool to cope by I learned that if I stopped eating altogether no one cared I learned what it was like to think you loved someone I learned that I liked girls I learned what girls could taste like, feel like -- what I could feel like I learned that I didn't like girls I learned what it's like to have people spread rumors about you I learned what it's like to try to drown yourself then feel guilt Guilt about your little brother who would have no idea why You little ******* it wasn't long after that the violence between us started You're big enough, strong enough to do damage on the family pet I'm the family pet, you think you know but you don't You've been calling me names for years But you don't know how true they are You think you love her -- you don't know love until you're nothing When you're nothing and this skinny little kid everyone hates saves you This annoying as hell kid who shows you that The world isn't as dark as you thought it was This kid who loves you not for *** not for bragging rights, but because He sees this skinny little bird who lost her feathers and her wings And is waiting to die and he thinks she could be beautiful She thought she knew who she was before but he helped her find it Soon you'll be fifteen When I was fifteen I couldn't find my skinny little kid, he'd changed Not for the worse but away from me I fell into old habits And new ones Deadly ones I changed back into the addict, not eating, not sleeping, sniffing, watching, cutting, stabbing, nothing I covered myself in laughter, hysterical and crazy I became quiet I fell apart more because of guys, complete ********* guys Like you're turning out to be Don't think you know everything, that you're an angel Because I was ****** up at six because of what they did You were ****** up at four because of him Both were accidents, but as you can see in me from six to seven To nine to eleven To when I was your age, all that happened was I got ruined because of the secrets The ones no one can know The ones that when crossing paths with the world **** you inside You can't see that yet You aren't aware that you're broken Now you're **** well old enough to Wake Up
0
Nov 29, 2014
Nov 29, 2014 at 12:27 PM UTC
Letter To My Brother For His Birthday
You're thirteen, sorry fourteen this week You think you know the world, have it figured out You think you know yourself, without a doubt Let me tell you some things I learned when I was about your age I learned how to go from popular ***** to no good freak show Nothing but an ipod every day at lunch, no friends, no food I learned that I had addictions that I didn't know even existed I learned how badly I wanted attention from his hands, his mouth I learned what it like to be violated in the worse most degrading way I learned how to get high I learned that the intentional pain I'd always caused could be A harnessed tool to cope by I learned that if I stopped eating altogether no one cared I learned what it was like to think you loved someone I learned that I liked girls I learned what girls could taste like, feel like -- what I could feel like I learned that I didn't like girls I learned what it's like to have people spread rumors about you I learned what it's like to try to drown yourself then feel guilt Guilt about your little brother who would have no idea why You little ******* it wasn't long after that the violence between us started You're big enough, strong enough to do damage on the family pet I'm the family pet, you think you know but you don't You've been calling me names for years But you don't know how true they are You think you love her -- you don't know love until you're nothing When you're nothing and this skinny little kid everyone hates saves you This annoying as hell kid who shows you that The world isn't as dark as you thought it was This kid who loves you not for *** not for bragging rights, but because He sees this skinny little bird who lost her feathers and her wings And is waiting to die and he thinks she could be beautiful She thought she knew who she was before but he helped her find it Soon you'll be fifteen When I was fifteen I couldn't find my skinny little kid, he'd changed Not for the worse but away from me I fell into old habits And new ones Deadly ones I changed back into the addict, not eating, not sleeping, sniffing, watching, cutting, stabbing, nothing I covered myself in laughter, hysterical and crazy I became quiet I fell apart more because of guys, complete ********* guys Like you're turning out to be Don't think you know everything, that you're an angel Because I was ****** up at six because of what they did You were ****** up at four because of him Both were accidents, but as you can see in me from six to seven To nine to eleven To when I was your age, all that happened was I got ruined because of the secrets The ones no one can know The ones that when crossing paths with the world **** you inside You can't see that yet You aren't aware that you're broken Now you're **** well old enough to Wake Up
Continue reading...
57
Snot Sniffer, I hate you. I hate sitting nex to you. Why do you choose to keep the snot inside of your head by sniffing it back up? Why don't you get up and grab a tissue so, I don't have to listen to you. I'm sick and tired of hearing you every five seconds, with your nose and your snot Your snot and your nose. Why can't you blow it and make yourself happy? and better yet, relieve me from listening to you... Its like the guy or gal that chews like a loud cow I hate you just as much as snot sniffer. I hate you Snot Sniffer go and marry Chews Loud and die In your Overwhelming Abundence of Auditory ****
0
Oct 2, 2012
Oct 2, 2012 at 12:28 AM UTC
Snot Sniffer.
I feel lost at times, Like I'm losing my mind Everybody else letting loose, **** dropping, pill popping 'Booty' on pelvis grinds Joint sharing, sniffing ******* lines Unemployed but still no one has time Everyone is commited, But nobody knows why. I feel lost because The education system taught us Mathematics, English And a bunch of other stuff But not how to apply for a job Behave in an interview or Maintain and mindset That actually gives a **** How our voting system works, Whether we elect our leaders Or if the system is really corrupt So was it enough?
0
Jun 5, 2015
Jun 5, 2015 at 11:20 PM UTC
Losing Education
I heard him at first, though barely a sound, But I saw him, I saw me, on sinister ground. *I am the caution and stillness and sniffing the air, I am the fearing the danger that’s not even there, I am the ‘watch where you tread’ and the silence and hush, The always on lookout, the hardest to touch. I am the quickness and briskness and swiftness and speed, I am the flash of a tail and a warning to heed, I am the bounding and leaping and steam in the woods, The danger apparent, the fear understood.* And I felt myself crying, for as soft as the breeze, My beautiful deer melted into the trees.
0
Sep 20, 2015
Sep 20, 2015 at 4:16 AM UTC
The Stag
See, they return; ah, see the tentative Movements, and the slow feet, The trouble in the pace and the uncertain Wavering! See, they return, one, and by one, With fear, as half-awakened; As if the snow should hesitate And murmur in the wind, and half turn back; These were the “Wing’d-with-Awe,” Inviolable. Gods of the wingèd shoe! With them the silver hounds, sniffing the trace of air! Haie! Haie! These were the swift to harry; These the keen-scented; These were the souls of blood. Slow on the leash, pallid the leash-men!
0
4k
The Return
the barker in charge is sniffing markers & the dog's the one in the shock collar. good god. I'll come back tomorrow. galapagos, I'm sorry. rocketship jalopy wrote a handbook on banana boat cutthroat reconnaissance exotica, abominable beast of tropic atrophy broke folk casualty engulfed in telescopes & TV shows being monitored thru a monocle the theatrical apathy & topical misanthropy can anybody understand me?
0
May 26, 2015
May 26, 2015 at 8:47 PM UTC
Shock Collar